Of Beggars and Buddhas

New Perspectives
in Southeast Asian Studies

Series Editors

Alfred W. McCoy
Thongchai Winichakul
Ian Baird
Kather ine A. Bowie
Anne Ruth Hansen

Associate Editors

Warwick H. Anderson
Ian Coxhead
Michael Cullinane
Paul D. Hutchcroft
Kr is Olds
 Of Beggars
and Buddhas
The Politics of Humor
in the Vessantara Jataka
in Thailand

Kather ine A. Bowie

The University of Wisconsin Press

 Publication of this book has been possible, in part,
through support from the Center for Southeast Asian Studies
and the Anonymous Fund of the College of Letters and Science
at the University of Wisconsin–Madison.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Bowie, Katherine Ann, 1950– author.

Title: Of beggars and Buddhas: the politics of humor in the Vessantara Jataka in Thailand
/ Katherine A. Bowie.
Other titles: New perspectives in Southeast Asian studies.
Description: Madison, Wisconsin: The University of Wisconsin Press, [2017]
| Series: New perspectives in Southeast Asian studies
| Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016017724 | ISBN 9780299309503 (cloth: alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Tipitaka. Suttapitaka. Khuddakanik¯aya. J¯ataka. Vessantaraj¯ataka.
| Jataka stories, Thai—Political aspects. | Buddhist stories, Thai—Political aspects.
| Jataka stories, Thai—Humor. | Buddhist stories, Thai—Humor.
| Buddhism and politics—Thailand—History.
| Buddhism and state—Thailand—History. | Buddhist giving.
Classification: LCC BQ1470.V487 B69 2017 | DDC 294.3/82325—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016017724
 To my parents,
E. J. Walter Bowie and Gertrud S. Bowie (née Ulr ich),
who saw us through many a cr isis
with laughter and love.
 Contents

List of Illustrations ix
Acknowledgments xi
Note on Transliteration xv

Introduction: Of Monarchs, Monks, and

Peasant Masses 3

Part I: Diversity in Humor

1 Central Thailand: Humor Defeated 39

2 Northeastern Thailand: Humor Diverted 81
3 Northern Thailand: Humor Delighted 123

Part II: The Politics of Diversity

4 Jujaka as Tr ickster: The Peasant Imaginaire 169

5 Jujaka as Threat: Consolidating Control 208
6 Jujaka as Deity: Rebirths under Global Capitalism 243

Conclusion: The Jour ney’s End 267

Notes 275
Bibliography 309
Index 345

vii
 Illustrations

Figures
1 Scene from Kumarn chapter: Vessantara gives his children
to Jujaka 4
2 Memorial shrine to Luang Poh Bunthong 9
3 Jujaka’s funeral procession 26
4 Jataka performance in honor of the birthdays of the Thai king
and queen 41
5 Junk replica at Wat Yannawa, Bangkok 53
6 Jujaka chapter: bawdy village scene 60
7 Escorting the royal family to the village temple 82
8 Bawdy scroll scene from Jujaka chapter 104
9 Phiitaakhon ghosts at Dansai Folk Museum 113
10 A northern village performance 124
11 The maze 132
12 Jujaka in the palace 150
13 Jujaka in tree surrounded by Jetabutr’s dogs 170
14 Villagers being taken as war captives 190
15 Jujaka surrounded at court 209
16 Statue of Khruubaa Srivichai 228
17 Jujaka statues 244
18 Coyote dancers at Jujaka house 249
19 “Grandfather” Jujaka at parade 257
20 Temple mural of Nakornkan chapter 268

Table
1 A regional comparison of the Vessantara Jataka 166

ix
 Acknowledgments

As I reflect back on how this book came to be, I have both warm and sad
memories. I hear the sounds of laughter echoing through the decades back to
my childhood. My father had a great laugh. He was known among his friends
and family for his amazing recall of limericks and other poems. In high school
he humored me by allowing me to record him laughing to begin a class presenta-
tion I made on Hilaire Belloc, helping to prove the point that laughter is infec-
tious. More importantly he showed how a sense of humor can help in coping
with life’s unexpected turns. After a tragic ski accident left him partially para-
lyzed, his first words to me were “Do you know anyone who would like to buy
a pair of skis?”
I would like to thank Frank Reynolds, who taught the first class on
Buddhism I took as an undergraduate and mentored me throughout my career,
also always with a laugh at the ready. His decision to spend a sabbatical at
Stanford University that year shaped my life’s trajectory, including my decision
to attend the University of Chicago for graduate school. Kesa Noda, my fellow
classmate in Frank Reynolds’s class, decided to write her term paper on the
jatakas; her fascination with them clearly lingers in this book. I also would like
to remember Surasinghsamruam Shimbhanao, who took me to see Bruce Gas-
ton’s performance of Chuchok in Chiang Mai in 1977 and who loved northern
Thai literature. I am also so grateful that I met Luang Poh Bunthong. At the
time I interviewed him, he was already undergoing kidney dialysis but still found
the strength to share some laughs with me. He was indeed one of those rare
storytellers whose tapes, even after his death in 2007, can still bring laughter to
his audiences.
I owe a particularly profound debt to Narong and Kongchan Mahakhom,
who took me into their northern home forty years ago. They, together with their
children, grandchildren, relatives, friends, and acquaintances, have provided
me with friendships and networks that underlie this book. Their son and
daughter-in-law, Amornwat (Aod) and Phunnaphat (Ning) Watcharawichaisri,
now adults with their own children, have been wonderful, not only humoring
my latest fascinations but sharing in the research. Some of my best memories

xi
 xii • Acknowledgments

have been sitting with Kongchan, helping her prepare my favorite northern
dish, saa phak muang (mango leaf salad), and gossiping about village goings-on.
In Narong, I could not have found a better teacher and debate partner.
Having received his early education at Lamphun’s prestigious Rongrian Methi
Wuthikon at Wat Phrathat Haripunchai and later at Chiang Mai’s Teachers
College, Narong kept abreast of local events and was never-endingly opinion-
ated. After Narong retired from his position as principal of a village school, he
spent many, many hours driving me to interviews and helping me to translate
texts. Narong accompanied me to my first interview with a tujok (the monk
who performs the comedic Jujaka chapter of the Vessantara Jataka) in 2004.
When a close relative died a few years later, Narong decided to invite a monk
to perform a chapter from the Vessantara Jataka at her funeral, both because of
the northern tradition of performing chapters from this jataka at funerals and
because he knew of my interest (the Matsi chapter was chosen for that funeral
because a monk at the village temple was known for his performance of this
chapter). His oldest brother, Ai Naan Saengmuang Ryansin, I learned in the
course of working on this book, had himself been a tujok who, upon disrobing,
went on to form a well-known likay troupe. Conversations with Lung Naan,
now in his nineties, are always fun.
Narong’s death in November 2014 not only affected his immediate family
but left a huge hole in my life as well. I take some consolation in knowing that
I was able to host a tujok performance at his funeral. Although the practice of
tujok performing at funerals was once widespread, as will become clear in this
book, the custom has been fading away in recent decades. The monk invited to
perform as the tujok at Narong’s funeral apologized profusely if anyone in the
audience was upset by hearing him telling jokes. The performance turned out
to be such a success that not only did Narong’s family enjoy it but a member of
the audience decided to invite a tujok to perform at a funeral being organized
in another village. Given Narong’s love of northern cultural traditions, I think
this performance would have had him chuckling with approval. He would have
enjoyed the irony of knowing that his funeral was reinfusing life into a dying
northern custom. I can only hope he was there in spirit. His spirit certainly in-
fuses this book.
So many monks and villagers in Thailand generously humored my ques-
tions, but I would particularly like to thank Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul
(Wat Nongtong, Hang Dong), Phrakhruu Winaithorn Dr. Manop Paalaphan
(Wat Pho, Bangkok), Phrathammakittimethee (Wat Samphanthawongsaram,
Bangkok), Phra Racha Thammawaathii (Wat Prayoon, Bangkok), Phra Racha
Vijitphatiphaan (Chaokhun Phiphit, Wat Suthat, Bangkok), Phrakhruu
 Acknowledgments • xiii

Winaitharam Thanom (Kukai, Wat Mongkol Kowithaaram, Ubon), and

Phrakhruu Prachotipacharothai (Uthai Chutmanuto, Wat Pothiyen, A. Hoom-
kao, Petchabun). I would also like to thank former monks Khun Somchai
Kuakoon (Ministry of Culture, Bangkok) and Ajarn Manee Phayomyong. In
Sanpatong district, I would like to thank Narong’s brother, Lung Naan
Saengmuang Ryansin, and Thanom Sutthana for their help.
I am ever grateful to Narintip (Piak) Virabanditkul and Wimonked (Mint)
Suwapattunakorn, who have never complained no matter how late I arrive at
their home in Bangkok. For their help with various aspects of the research, I
would like to thank my students and the networks of Prakirati (Biek) Satasut,
Sujittra (Nion) Chanthakawanich, Boonlert Visetpricha, Chaiyaporn (Bass)
Singdee, Wiriyaporn (Yim) Ekphon, Anthony Irwin, Kangwan ( Jojoe)
Fongkaew, Stephanie Du Chatellier, and Neeranooch ( June) Malangpoo. I
would also like to thank Sulak Sivaraksa, Sanitsuda Ekachai, Pracha Hutasingh,
Aroonrut Wichienkheeo, Ratanaporn Settakul, Renoo Atthamaek, Paritta
Chalermpow Koanantakool, Siraporn Nathalang, Suchitra Chongstitvatana,
Arthid Sheravanichkul, Yukti Mukdawijitra, Kusra Mukdawijitra, Nalinee
Tantuvanit, Jirapha Worasiangsuk, and Patcharin Lapanun. For his help driving
me to interviews in the northeast, I would like to thank Jarin Boonmathya.
I must also make a special mention of Davisakd Puaksom and his student,
Krijakorn (Ice) Kokpuak, who not only drove me around Uttaradit, Phitsanulok,
and Sukhothai but drove all the way back to Uttaradit when I realized I had, in
exhaustion, left my notebook at a villager’s home. I also thank all the myriad
taxi drivers who indulged my weird obsessions with this jataka while we were
stuck in Bangkok traffic.
Stateside I am grateful for the many conversations about Bun Pha Wet
with Leedom Lefferts and Sandra Cate; indeed, Leedom accompanied me to
the northeastern village recitation I describe in this book and kindly made his
tape of the performance available to me. For conversations and e-mails providing
insights into comparative jataka performances throughout mainland Southeast
Asia and beyond, I also thank Forest McGill, Bonnie Brereton, John Hartmann,
Alan Potkin, Catherine Raymond, Santikaro, F. K. Lehman, Tharaphi Than,
Erik Davis, Nicola Tannenbaum, Juliane Schober, Ingrid Jordt, Alicia Turner,
Pat Pranke, Ashley Thompson, Satoru Kobayashi, John Holt, Jonas Bens, Ken
George, Kirin Narayan, Rob Brightman, and Maria Lepowsky. I thank UW
librarians Larry Ashmun and Thomas Durkin for their help in tracking down
library resources. I thank Steven Collins, Kelly Meister, Barbara Gaerlan, and
Michael Herzfeld for providing opportunities to present aspects of this research
at the University of Chicago, UCLA, and Harvard University, respectively.
 xiv • Acknowledgments

The influence of Stanley Tambiah, my advisor as a beginning graduate student

in anthropology at the University of Chicago, together with Frank Reynolds,
Ralph Nicholas and Theda Skocpol, also runs through this book.
For reading and commenting on the original much, much longer draft of
this book, I must express my gratitude to Anne Hansen, Alfred McCoy, Steven
Collins, Frank Reynolds, Stephen Berkwitz, Justin McDaniel, Patrick Jory,
Hugh Wilson, and Mike Cullinane, as well as students in my Spring 2016
Southeast Asia class and the press’s anonymous reviewers. They helped me to
persevere while honing the book into its current shape. For their help seeing this
book through the publication process, I would like to thank Sheila McMahon,
Judith Robey, Matthew Cosby, Sarah Hope Kapp, Jan Opdyke, Scott Smiley,
and particularly Gwen Walker, who has a sense of humor of her own. I thank
the Institute for Research in the Humanities and the Graduate School of the
University of Wisconsin–Madison for providing me with funding at various
stages to help research this book.
Moving closer to my Madison home, I would like to thank my parents,
E. J. Walter and Gertrud S. Bowie, for their remarkable patience. My mother
in particular helped with translating French and German texts, overcoming her
frustrations with macular degeneration with her own love of reading. Other
friends provided important breaks from academics, but I would particularly
like to thank Susan Nelson for her help with the book’s illustrations. I would
also like to express my profound appreciation to my sons. James accompanied
me on a portion of my travels in Thailand and has also helped with the illustra-
tions. Even though Matthew does not think historical anthropology is a science,
his support for my research has been unwavering. Neither complained when I
ignored them to work on this book when they came home for winter breaks.
So many people have helped me in my journey in search of Jujaka. I can
only hope that whatever mistakes in interpreting the Vessantara Jataka that I
have made in this book serve to catalyze further research in a story that has had
so many tellings through the centuries.
 Note on Transliteration

Translation and transliteration always pose challenges. Because I am focusing

on the Thai recensions, I will not use the Pali diacritics in my transliterations.
The Vessantara Jataka is known in many languages, each leading to different
transliterations. Throughout Thailand the Vessantara Jataka is often called the
“Great Life,” which could be transliterated as Mahaachaat, but it is more
commonly found in English as Mahachat, so I will use this form. The Thai pro-
nunciation of Vessantara is transliterated variously as Wessantara, Wetsandorn,
and Pha Wet. The Thai transliteration of the character Jujaka is typically
Chuchok or Choo Chok. I have chosen to use Vessantara and Jujaka through-
out this book, since much of the current literature in English draws on these
names. I have transliterated the Thai names of the other characters as follows
(see Collins 2016, 26, for a more complete chart):

Pali Transliteration Character

Sañjaya Sonchai Vessantara’s father

Phusatı̄ Phusadi Vessantara’s mother
Maddı̄ Matsi Vessantara’s wife
Kan·hājinā Kanhaa Vessantara’s daughter
Jāli Chalii Vessantara’s son
Amittatāpanā Amitataa Jujaka’s wife
the Cetan Jetabutr The forest hunter
Accuta Ajuta The forest hermit

The jataka is divided into thirteen chapters. There are some differences in
the individual chapter names across regions. In northern Thai, Thotsaphon is
Thasaphorn, Wanaprawet is Wanlaprawet; Kumarn is Kumaraban, Matsi is
Mathi, and Chohkasat is Sakati (see Manee 1976, 47). I shall use the central
Thai names, based on Gerini ([1892] 1976, 27). Because the number of verses is
also relevant in jataka performances and totals the one thousand verses of the
Khathaphan (“khathaphan” meaning one thousand verses), I list them below as
well.

xv
 xvi • Note on Transliteration

Chapter name Translation No. of verses

1. Thotsaphon The Ten Blessings 19

2. Himaphan The Himalaya Forest 134
3. Thanakan The Donations 209
4. Wanaprawet Entrance into the Jungle 37
5. Chuchok Jujaka 79
6. Chulaphon The Sparse Forest 35
7. Mahaphon The Thick Forest 80
8. Kumarn The Children 101
9. Matsi Matsi 90
10. Sakabap Indra’s Words 43
11. Maharaat The Great King 69
12. Chohkasat The Six Royals 36
13. Nakornkan The Return to the Capital 48

An additional challenge is transliterating northern and northeastern Thai

since they are different dialects of Thai. The festival celebrating performance
of the Vessantara Jataka is called Bun Pha Wet in the northeastern region.
Although it is transliterated variously as Bun Phra Wet, Bun Phaves, Bun Phra
Ves, Bun Prawet, and so forth, I shall call it Bun Pha Wet.
Generally I am using a modified form of the Haas system of transliteration.
In the case of Thai proper names, I have followed their preferred transliteration
whenever known, for example Manee (instead of Manii) Phayomyong. In
other cases, I am using the transliteration by which someone has become
known in English, for example Prince Vajiranana instead of Wachirayan. Simi-
larly with temple names, I am using the most common English spelling, for
example Wat Mahathat instead of Wat Mahathaat. Place names are also trans-
literated in various ways, so I have generally used the most common English
spelling.
The regional designations of central, northeastern, and northern are them-
selves problematic, reflecting the political outcome of the formation of the
modern country known as Thailand. The central region was once called Siam;
the northern kingdoms have become known as the Lanna region, although the
region was once also called western Laos. However, to simplify matters, I have
chosen to use the contemporary designations for these regions.
Of Beggars and Buddhas
 Introduction
Of Monarchs, Monks, and
Peasant Masses

The Vessantara Jataka is celebrated as “the most famous story in the Buddhist
world” (Cone and Gombrich 1977, xv). When I first read it as an undergraduate
in 1971, I found the story appalling.1 In it, a prince named Vessantara perfects
the virtue of charity with ever-greater feats of generosity. I could admire him
when he gave away gold coins, jewelry, and even his magical rain-making ele-
phant, but I had serious difficulty with his decision to give away not only slaves
but also his children and his wife. As an anthropologist grounded in studies of
political economy, I hardly expected to become mesmerized by a myth. But it
happened, and this book is the result.
The Vessantara Jataka is part of a broader collection of 547 jatakas, or moral
parables about the previous lives of the Buddha.2 In each jataka, the future
Buddha is born in a variety of animal, human, semidivine, and divine forms;
while perfecting a virtue necessary for his final enlightenment, he is born as the
historical Gotama Buddha in northern India.3 Retold for over two thousand
years, the stories are entertaining. The Sri Lankan scholar Rajini Obeyesekere,
warmly recalling her grandfather reading jataka stories from a leather-bound
book by lamplight, describes these stories as playing an important role in “how
we learned to be Buddhists” (1991, ix–x; see also Jones 1979, xi). Their importance
is summarized in the words of a noted historian of religion, Frank E. Reynolds:
“within the entire history of religions there is no sacred biography which has
had a wider dissemination or made a greater impact” (1976, 37).4
Of all the hundreds of jatakas, the Buddha’s incarnation as Prince Vessantara
has been given pride of place as his penultimate earthly birth and is often called

3
 4 • Introduction

Figure 1. Scene from Kumarn chapter: Vessantara gives his children to Jujaka. Vessantara convinces
the children to come out of the lotus pond where they were hiding (left ). Jujaka then departs
with the two children, Kanhaa and Chalii (right). Temple mural at Wat Nam Bo Luang, Amphur
Sanpatong, Chiang Mai, July 2013. Photo by author.

the story of the “Great Life” (Mahachat in Thai). Scholars have suggested that
this story is “better known in Buddhist cultures than even the story of Gotama
Buddha’s own life” (Collins 1998, 333; see also Mizuno 1971, 171). Although
fading into obscurity in India, it grew in popularity over the centuries through-
out the Theravada Buddhist countries of Southeast Asia—namely, Sri Lanka,
Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos.5 Rev. Robert Spence Hardy, writing
in the late nineteenth century, records that “the Sinhalese will listen the night
through to recitations from this work, without any apparent weariness” ([1853]
1967, 101). Writing of Burma, Melford Spiro notes that the Vessantara Jataka
is “the best known and most loved of all Buddhist stories,” adding that it is
“alluded to frequently in conversation, recounted repeatedly in sermons, and—
even more important—regularly enacted in dramatic form as part of the standard
fare of the itinerant Burmese repertory groups” (1970, 108, 359; see also Shway
Yoe [1882] 1963, 294; Mi Mi Khaing [1946] 1956; Nash 1965, 114, 148, 295). In
Cambodia, an eighteenth-century Khmer inscription refers to the popularity
 Introduction • 5

of its recitation among the laity at Angkor (Chandler 1996, 24); writing in 1902,
Adhémard Leclère observes that the Vessantara Jataka is “certainly the most
important, the most beautiful and the best known” (1902, 3; see also Harris
2005, 69–70; Hansen 2007, 88). Of Laos, John Holt writes that the Vessantara
Jataka is “easily the most popular jataka” (2009, 40; see also Karpeles 1931;
Condominas 1968, 93; Stuart-Fox 1998, 174). Writing of Thailand as late as
1987, Charles Keyes summarizes, “The ‘Great Life’ is known widely throughout
Thailand to this day. . . . There is probably no Buddhist in Thailand beyond
the age of ten or so who could not give at least a synopsis of the story, and many
people especially in villages, can quote passages in the same way English speakers
can quote parts of the Bible, or selections from Shakespeare” (1987, 181).
I first traveled to Thailand in 1974. My research in those days focused on
the growing poverty and political tensions in the countryside. However, I recall
seeing a modern operatic performance of the story in Chiang Mai, the largest
city in northern Thailand, in 1977.6 The performance focused on Jujaka, the
beggar to whom Vessantara gave his children. I remember indignantly asking
my companion (a friend who taught Thai literature) how a story featuring a
beggar whose stomach explodes after he overeats could have any socially re-
deeming message. Where was the compassion for the beggar? What right did
Vessantara have to give away his children and his wife, let alone slaves? How
can anyone—particularly any woman—hold such an inhumane man as a moral
exemplar? When my friend tried to tell me the story was funny, I was outraged.
Focusing on Vessantara, I considered his acts of generosity as marked by an
appalling callousness rather than an admirable charity.
My abhorrence of the jataka also meant I had barely noticed that, for all the
scholarly discussions of the jataka’s popularity, in fact its performances were
becoming increasingly rare in the central and northern regions of the country.7
Historically when monks recited the full jataka, it was a major event lasting
several days, and the temples were decorated in grand style to re-create the
ambiance of the forest where Vessantara gave away his wife and children.
Although individual chapters were recited at funerals, the village in northern
Thailand where I have spent the most time over the past forty years has never
hosted a full recitation during this entire period. Nor (with a few exceptions)
has any village in the surrounding area. Nonetheless, one still finds mural
paintings of the jataka on the walls of most temples in Thailand, including in
the villages where I have conducted fieldwork. Nationally the jataka is still
being printed on special stamp editions, assigned in schoolbooks, and broad-
cast from time to time on television.8 However, my Thai women friends also
find Vessantara’s decision appalling and as modern women showed no concern
 6 • Introduction

about the story’s apparently growing irrelevance. An important transformation

appears to be occurring unremarked.
Having prematurely decided that the Vessantara Jataka was an immoral
oddity best relegated to the dustbin of history, I blithely ignored the obvious
puzzles posed by both its former popularity and signs of its current transforma-
tions. In retrospect, I realize that men and women in the past were no less
perplexed by it, if not horrified. As Richard Gombrich noted of Sri Lanka,
Vessantara’s decision to give away his wife and children not only “strikes us as
excessive. It strikes the Sinhalese in the same way” (1971, 267).9 Two Sinhalese
monks flat out told Gombrich that “Vessantara was wrong” (1971, 267). An
elderly Lao man whom Patrice Ladwig interviewed found Vessantara’s esca-
lating gift-giving “problematic and egoistic,” explaining, “His drive for giving
becomes a burden for other people and it produces considerable suffering. His
excessive generosity is almost comparable to a kind of illness” (2009, 146).
Many taxi drivers I have subsequently interviewed in Thailand also believed
that Vessantara was wrong and that the jataka served as a lesson about wrongful
giving.
Some scholars have tried to ameliorate the horror of Vessantara’s acts by
suggesting that they needed to be placed in the historical context of ancient
India, which they characterize as a rigid patriarchy in which women and children
were viewed as property (e.g., Cone and Gombrich 1977, xxi). This pseudo-
explanation ignores both the text and the performance of the jataka. In the text,
the scenes in which Vessantara gives away his children are prolonged and heart-
wrenching. Indeed, as Steven Collins notes, “the Pali text here goes out of its
way to emphasize the pathos of these scenes” (1998, 44). Numerous accounts of
performances note that the audiences were in tears over the agony of Vessantara,
his wife (Matsi), and their children (e.g., Pallegoix [1854] 2000, 253; Forbes 1878,
150; Winternitz 1933, 152; Ladwig 2009).10 Monks are taught voice-modulation
techniques to elicit emotional responses of admiration, awe, love, fear, calm,
grief, suffering, and pity (Ladwig 2009, 146). One monk I interviewed in Thai-
land said that the chapter describing Vessantara’s wife’s profound grief upon
learning her children are gone is widely known as the “Tearjerker Chapter”
(Kan Riak Nam Taa).
Furthermore, the listening audience was overwhelmingly female. Unlike
women in patriarchal societies, women in the Theravada Buddhist countries of
mainland Southeast Asia have long held positions of considerable economic
and political strength, owning property and managing businesses. Men typically
marry into their wives’ households (a post-marriage residence pattern known
as matrilocality, or, more accurately, uxorilocality); inheritance is bilateral with
 Introduction • 7

a tendency toward female ultimogeniture rather than male primogeniture.11

Despite my tacit awareness that women comprised the primary audience for
performances of this jataka, and my recognition of the remarkable strength of
women in mainland Southeast Asia, I had never forced myself to confront the
contradiction between the text’s apparent misogyny and its popularity, particu-
larly among women.
My fascination with the Vessantara Jataka developed serendipitously.
Planning to conduct research on changes in rural electoral politics, I got off the
plane in Bangkok in 2004 and was greeted by newspaper headlines about a
controversy over signs in northern Thailand prohibiting women from entering
certain parts of Buddhist temples, ostensibly due to concerns regarding men-
strual pollution. Since most of my fieldwork has been conducted in northern
Thailand, I was aware of this prohibition. Having long hated those signs, I was
quietly delighted to see a movement challenging them. The senator who raised
the issue was from northeastern Thailand, where this taboo was not in effect.
The senator found herself the subject of a cursing ceremony and was beset with
death threats. She was forced to apologize for her ignorance of northern Thai
customs, and she then resigned from the parliamentary committee on women,
children, and the elderly.12
Although the senator’s resignation may have quelled the immediate contro-
versy, my curiosity was catalyzed; I had not realized this taboo was regionally
specific. When I was back visiting friends in Chiang Mai province, I began
asking them what they thought of the taboo; I encountered an entire spectrum
of opinions. My village friends were far more skeptical of the taboo than my
urban friends. While my urban friends argued for the importance of maintaining
traditional beliefs, my village friends wondered why men whose habits included
drinking, gambling, and womanizing were considered any purer than them-
selves; and, as they pointed out, what about Kotex and other such modern
feminine hygiene products? Recognizing the intense passions the senator’s
simple query had aroused, I decided I needed a more neutral avenue to discuss
the northern prohibition with its leading northern proponents. Reviewing
hundreds of interviews I had conducted over the years, I began making a list of
some of the differences I noticed between northern practices of Buddhism and
those in other regions in Thailand.
My list included comedic monks called tujok. I remembered hearing tujok
monks performing at northern Thai village funerals in the 1970s, sometimes in
person but more typically through tape recordings. Villagers loved them,
laughing uproariously at all the punchlines. Because tu is the northern Thai
word for “monk,” I assumed that tujok must refer to “monks who joke.” Given
 8 • Introduction

my mistaken belief that jok came from the English language, I viewed this form
of humorous preaching as a more recent development. Although the funereal
tradition of listening to these tujok monks has largely been replaced by other
types of entertainment, I began asking my village friends for more information
about them. I was surprised to learn that these comedic monks were not modern
but instead were part of a long-standing tradition related to northern Thai per-
formances of the Vessantara Jataka. The much beloved tujok monks were none
other than the monks who recite the Jujaka chapter of the Vessantara Jataka.
Jujaka is the beggar who requests Vessantara’s children; Jujaka is pronounced
“Chuchok” in Thai, and through elision the term “tujok” results.13 Suddenly I
found myself contemplating not only the factors that had shaped northern
feminist history but also the text I had so long reviled. Wrapped in an aura of
sacral horror, the Vessantara Jataka had never struck me as funny.

The Journey Begins

Intrigued by the new interpretive vistas that were looming, I asked a village
friend to check with other villagers at the morning market to see if anyone still
had any of the old tujok tapes. She learned of a store in Chiang Mai city that
still sold tujok tapes, and we immediately headed into town. The most famous
of the tujok monks was named Luang Poh Bunthong. I proceeded to buy every
tape of his that the store carried, most of which appeared to date to the 1970s. I
had heard his tapes at funerals, but I had rarely understood the punchlines; at
the time I had no opportunity to break into the roar of the listeners’ laughter
because my questions would have interrupted the flow just as the monk was
moving on to the next story. Now I was able to stop the tape and ask my friends
to explain the jokes. The stories were funny, but I was surprised by their bawdy
and scatological humor. In retrospect, perhaps I should not have been so sur-
prised since I had already heard fairly raunchy repartee between male and female
chang saw singers at northern temple festivals—but those singers were not or-
dained monks!
As I began discussing these tapes with villagers, I learned that one of
Bunthong’s disciples was the abbot of a temple in a nearby village in Tambon
Nongthong, Amphur Hang Dong; he was also known as a tujok monk. The
next day a couple of village friends and I headed off to meet him. We were in
luck since we caught the abbot, Phrakhruu Athong, on a quiet day. Evidently
bemused by my fascination with tujok, the abbot generously provided me with
an extended interview. To give me some sense of the poetic form of the northern
Thai versions of this jataka, the abbot began demonstrating the operatic
 Introduction • 9

Figure 2. Memorial shrine to Luang Poh Bunthong. The body of the famous tujok monk, covered
with gold leaf, lies in the glass casket. In front are wax replicas of Luang Poh Bunthong and his
beloved dogs. Wat Sophanaram, Tambon Don Kaew, Amphur Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, July 2011.
Photo by author.

techniques behind the various styles of chanting. Soon he had me laughing in

amazement. I could not believe my ears. As he described Jujaka’s pillows made
from chicken droppings and bamboo containers made to hold his wife’s excre-
ment, I found myself entering the provocative domain of village humor. Further-
more, the abbot was explicit that much of the humor had been toned down lest
it offend modern urban audiences. Having been raised by a father famous for his
recall of bawdy limericks unsuitable for polite company, I became increasingly
fascinated with the abbot’s account of this disappearing genre of village humor.
The Vessantara Jataka is divided into thirteen chapters, each with its own
title. The story begins in heaven, when the god Indra realizes that the time has
come for his chief queen Phusadi to be reborn on earth. In this chapter, called
“The Ten Wishes” (Thotsaphon), Indra grants her ten wishes, which include
giving birth to a Buddha and not having her breasts sag. Born to a chief queen
on earth, Phusadi is married to King Sonchai in Jetuttara, the capital of the Sivi
 10 • Introduction

kingdom. Soon thereafter, she gives birth to Vessantara. From the moment of
his birth, Vessantara wants to offer gifts, so his mother provides him with one
thousand gold coins to give away. On the same day, a magical rain-making ele-
phant appears in the royal stable. Vessantara continues offering gifts. At age
sixteen, he marries Matsi, who becomes his chief queen in charge of sixteen
thousand royal women in court. Matsi gives birth to a son named Chalii and a
daughter named Kanhaa. When a drought causes famine in the neighboring
kingdom of Kalinga, the King of Kalinga sends eight Brahmins to ask Vessan-
tara for his magic rain-making elephant. Vessantara gives them his elephant.
Under pressure from his outraged followers, King Sonchai sends Vessantara
into exile, thereby concluding the second chapter (called Himaphan). The third
chapter is called “The Donations” (Thanakan). Here Vessantara makes the
people a huge offering known as the “Gift of the Seven Hundreds”; he then
leaves for exile in the forest with Matsi and his two children.14 In the next
chapter (Wanaprawet), the royal family visits Matsi’s kingdom; Matsi’s father
sends a hunter named Jetabutr to protect them while they live in the forest.
The setting now shifts to the impoverished kingdom of Kalinga, where we
are introduced to Jujaka, the beggar, in the chapter with his name. When his
wife Amitataa is teased by other village women, she asks Jujaka to get Vessan-
tara’s children as her servants. Reluctantly, Jujaka begins his journey, entering
the forest where Vessantara and his family are living. Jetabutr’s dogs chase Ju-
jaka up a tree, but Jujaka is able to convince Jetabutr not to shoot him because
he is a royal messenger. In the Chulaphon and Mahaphon chapters, Jujaka finds
Ajuta, an ascetic, and tricks him into giving him directions to the home of the
royal family in exile. In the chapter titled Kumarn (children), Jujaka is given
the two royal children; he ties them up and leads them off into the forest. In the
Matsi chapter, Matsi, who has been gathering food in the forest, returns home
after being blocked by magical animals, learns that her children have been
given away, and faints in shock. Vessantara restores her to consciousness and
explains his actions. In the Sakabap chapter, the god Indra, disguised as Jujaka,
requests Matsi but then returns her to Vessantara. In the Maharaat (great king)
chapter, Jujaka and the two children find themselves back in Jetuttara, where
the king pays Jujaka the handsome ransom Vessantara had set for them and
feasts Jujaka. Jujaka dies from overeating, and the ransom is restored to the king.
King Sonchai and Queen Phusadi are delighted to learn that Vessantara and
Matsi are alive. In the twelfth chapter, called “The Six Royals” (Chohkasat), the
king and queen set out with a large retinue to invite Vessantara and Matsi back
to court; they all faint for joy at their reunion, so a red rain falls from the heavens
to revive them. In the last chapter, called Nakornkan, the reunited family returns
 Introduction • 11

to the capital, jewels fall until everyone is knee deep in them, and everyone is
happy. (For the full English translation, see Cowell [1895] 1957; Cone and
Gombrich 1977, 2011; see also Gerini [1892] 1976.)
In the course of interviewing northern monks and villagers in earnest, I
became increasingly aware that Jujaka was their favorite character. Although
other chapters can also be performed, the Jujaka chapter has long been the
main choice for funerals. Monks developed reputations for their specializations
in specific chapters, but the most beloved were the tujok monks who performed
the Jujaka chapter. Only tujok monks were set apart as a specific named category;
they wore costumes and made grand entrances into temples. Evoking warm
memories and laughter among older villagers as they recalled past perform-
ances, the tujok monks were held in high regard for their comedic abilities.
My academic training had certainly not prepared me to encounter Jujaka
as a beloved character who brought joy and laughter to his audiences. The
literature, based in the ancient Pali texts of the Theravada Buddhist canon,
had focused on Vessantara and portrayed Jujaka as the cruel, frightening, and
greedy villain. In the Pali version jatakas have codas that explain who each of the
characters ultimately became during the historical life of the Gotama Buddha;
the principal character (almost invariably male) is identified with the Buddha,
other characters are his relatives or key disciples, and the villain is “always the
schismatic monk Devadatta” (Cone and Gombrich 1977, xvi). Devadatta is
understood to be the evil cousin of the Buddha who plotted to kill the Buddha
and his own father. He is also believed to have created the first schism within
the monastic order, itself one of the highest offenses in Buddhism. In the coda
for the Vessantara Jataka, we are told that Jujaka will be reborn as Devadatta.
Prevailing scholarship about Jujaka follows the Pali coda, casting him in
negative terms. Thus Charles Forbes describes him as “the villain of the piece”
(1878, 149); L. Allan Goss as “the surly and greedy brahmin” (1895, iii); and
Khin Thitsa as a “hideous creature” who caused children to tremble at the
thought he “could be allowed to get his hands on the boy and girl” (1980, 20).
Similarly, Vallaya Piyarat writes of the “villain-like Chuchok whose cruel treat-
ment of the children often makes the listeners or the readers cry” (Sombat 1981,
194). Characterized as “scheming” and “vengeful,” Jujaka is described by Nidhi
Eoseewong as “a cruel, selfish, wicked, and heartless man. He is cunning, afraid
of his wife, and a coward” ([1982] 2005, 221, 222). Furthermore, vernacular recen-
sions of the jataka often add that he was reborn in hell.15
With possible portrayals of Jujaka now ranging from funny to frightening,
I wondered if the northern interpretation was also typical of other regions of
Thailand. Whenever I traveled to Bangkok and elsewhere in the central region
 12 • Introduction

and in northeastern Thailand, I asked people I met what they knew about
Jujaka and the Vessantara Jataka. These random informal interviews resulted in
three additional surprises. The first surprise was the number of people in the
central region who not only had never attended a reading of the Vessantara
Jataka, but could barely recall anything about this story without my prompting;
this lack of familiarity was particularly true of the younger generations living in
Bangkok. The second surprise was that there were significant differences in the
actual performances of the jataka in each of these three regions, beginning with
the simple fact that each region preferred to perform it in a different time of
year.
The third surprise was that the northern portrayal of Jujaka differed dramati-
cally from that of the central and northeastern regions. The central region, and
to some extent the northeast, largely paralleled the negative academic portrayal.
When I asked a central Thai monk and a northeastern monk who perform the
Jujaka chapter how they came to their specialization, both told me it was because
there were no other monks willing to perform this chapter. When I asked which
chapters people were least eager to host, many central Thai monks and villagers
replied that it was the Jujaka chapter; potential lay sponsors feared they would
somehow become contaminated by Jujaka’s demerit (baab), inauspiciousness,
negativity, poverty, ugliness, and greed.16 Several people explained that the
practice of having lay sponsors draw lots to determine who would sponsor each
chapter developed as a way to solve the problem of finding a host for the Jujaka
chapter. Some monks told me that they cajoled lay hosts, assuring them that
Jujaka was a khuu baramii, or partner, to Vessantara without whom Vessantara
could not reach enlightenment. Even when Jujaka was seen as laughable, he
was certainly not viewed as lovable. If Jujaka could be interpreted differently
across regions, how many other aspects of the jataka’s meaning also varied?
These surprises in the story I had so long ignored now intrigued me. And so
this book exploring regional variation across space and time was born.

Regional Var iation in Space and Time

Most studies of the Vessantara Jataka have been undertaken by scholars of reli-
gious studies rather than anthropologists. Consequently, attention has centered
on the text rather than the context of its performance. Furthermore, analysis
has focused on the Pali text, in part because scholars viewed the Pali texts as
more authentic than localized versions and in part because they believed that
local texts did not differ from the Pali version.17 Margaret Cone and Richard
Gombrich, writing about the importance of the Vessantara Jataka in Sri Lanka
 Introduction • 13

and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, insist, “For all this area, then, the version
presented in this book is the basic one; local versions are derived more or less
directly from it, and do not innovate” (1977, xli). Similarly, Collins argues in his
earlier work that “the many tellings of Vessantara’s story do not seem to display
the enormous variation, even in such basic features as plot elements, to be
found in different tellings of ‘the’ Ramayana story” (1998, 538). Donald Swearer
writes, “The Vessantara Jataka has been translated into the major Southeast
Asian vernacular languages with minor changes in the text” (2010, 34). Writing
of Thailand, Elizabeth Lyons concludes that the Thai version “differs only in a
few unimportant details from the original Pali” (1960, 167). Similarly Patrick
Jory, while noting the existence of “countless vernacular translations” of the
Vessantara Jataka in Thailand, concludes that “when comparing versions of the
Vessantara Jataka texts from different regions of Thailand one is struck by their
lack of divergence from the same basic narrative” (1996, 24).
A contemporary wave of literature more grounded in anthropological
approaches has highlighted the robust diversity of folklore. As the noted anthro-
pologist Kirin Narayan observes, “Folklore, in its very nature, displays multiple
existence and variation” (1989, 26). In South Asia, Paula Richman and others
have described the diversity of narrative traditions of the Ramayana (see Rich-
man 1991; Jaiswal 1993). Philip Lutgendorf (2007) has taken a single figure
from the Ramayana complex, the monkey-king Hanuman, revealing an ever-
expanding epic cycle that he calls the “Hanumayana.” Furthermore, as A. K.
Ramanujan (1991) comments, different tellings are neither totally individual
stories nor divergences from the “real” version. Instead, each version is a
“unique crystallization, a new text with a unique texture and a fresh context”
(Richman 1991, 8). Significantly, as Wendy Doniger suggests in her engaging
cross-cultural study of bedtricks: “When myths tell us what happened, they do
not always tell us why the people in the story did what they did or how they feel
about what happened to them. To this extent, they remain open and transparent
and can be retold, within one culture or in several cultures, with several very
different meanings” (2000, xviii).
There is some foundation to the argument for a certain uniformity of
performance and interpretation in the Vessantara Jataka. In most recitations,
the Pali recension is almost invariably recited together with the vernacular ver-
sion; the maintenance of the Pali text arguably encourages a certain uniformity
in the basic plotline of the story. As Nidhi points out, “the Vessantara Jataka is
a ‘sacred’ Jataka. So the alterations that can be made to the story are much more
limited” ([1982] 2005, 223). Contributing to the unique sacrality of the Vessantara
Jataka is the fact that it is interwoven retrospectively into three events in the
 14 • Introduction

historiography of Gotama Buddha’s life. The first mention occurs when the
Buddha is being tested by Mara (the personification of evil) just prior to reaching
enlightenment; the Buddha calls the earth to witness his generosity in his life
as Vessantara.18 The second reference occurs after he has reached enlighten-
ment and goes to preach to his father and other relatives; as he prepares to
preach, a miraculous red rain falls. The Buddha explains that a red rain had
fallen before, when he was Vessantara. The final reference is when he returns
after his enlightenment to visit his wife and reminds her of her past role in
allowing him to give away all their possessions.
A further contribution to the sacrality of textual recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka is the way the story is framed. In the Theravada jataka tradition, “the
stage is set by a short ‘story of the present’ in which the occasion when the
Buddha supposedly recounted the jataka in question is described. This staging
is followed by the ‘story of the past’ which constitutes the jataka itself ” (Reynolds
1997, 23). Each jataka ends with an explanation of how each character was
reborn during the life of the historical Buddha (e.g., Jujaka as Devadatta).
Even when the Vessantara Jataka is recited in local dialects, each chapter begins
with a brief excerpt from the Pali version at the beginning of each chapter
(chunniyabot), thereby adding to the sacrality of the recitation.
However, a new wave of scholarship is beginning a serious engagement
with indigenous recensions, marking a shift from the prevailing paradigm of
scholarship, which has hitherto ignored earlier evidence of local variation
(Appleton 2010; Collins 2016). Already in the late nineteenth century, scholars
noted significant differences between jataka collections (Feer [1865] 1963;
D’Oldenberg 1893). Viggo Fausböll remarked that a Burmese manuscript of
the Maha Nipata, a collection of the ten jatakas that includes the Vessantara
Jataka, offers a much enlarged text so different that he would “advise some
scholar to give a separate edition of the Maha Nipata according to the Burmese
redaction” (Winternitz 1928, 12).19 A collection of some fifty jatakas believed
to have originated in the Lanna kingdoms of northern Thailand contains addi-
tional stories different from those in the Pali canon.20 Other jatakas include an
indigenous Southeast Asian deity named Manimekhala, shipwrecks, and other
Southeast Asian motifs that, Padmanabh Jaini suggests, “would never have
been found in the canonical Jataka stories originating on the Indian mainland”
(1989, 26). Comparing the stylistic transformations that occurred in Thai artistic
depictions of the Buddha to those in Thai literature, A. B. Griswold wrote, “The
old Siamese dramatists borrowed scholarly words from Sanskrit and Pali, but
embedded them in Siamese syntax; they looked to the Ramayana and the Jatakas
for their plots, but steeped their incidental descriptions in local color” (1953, 6).
 Introduction • 15

Several Southeast Asian vernacular texts are more than mere variations in details
of local color. Laos has a jataka called Phra Lak Phra Ram, which has elements
of the Ramayana but is very different from the South Asian nexus (see Sahai
1996; Holt 2009, 58–60, 259–69; Kislenko 2009, 68; Wilson 2009; Bowers
2011). With the growth of interest in community culture and indigenous
knowledge, scholars at regional teacher colleges and universities have begun
studying local texts. Several analyses, written in Thai and hitherto overlooked
by most non-Thai scholars, reveal regional variations on the Vessantara Jataka
itself (e.g., Manee 1976; Prakong 1983; and Nidhi [1982] 2005; see Jory 1996 for
a bibliography of Thai regional recensions).
In addition to geographical variation, evidence suggests that the jataka’s
popularity also varies across time. Its overall longevity has been buttressed by
its incorporation into two interrelated prophecies, both of which were widely
known. The first prophecy was popularized by the noted fifth-century Indian
Buddhist commentator Buddhaghosa; he declared that Buddhism will deterio-
rate over time, only lasting five thousand years (Digha Nikaya, 26). As George
Coedes remarks, it is a prophecy “with which all Buddhists are familiar” (1956,
96). The earliest known inscription explicitly linking the Vessantara Jataka with
this prediction dates to 1357 CE and was made by King Lithai of Sukhothai
kingdom. The Theravada Buddhist calendar begins on the day of Buddha’s
enlightenment; thus Thailand is currently in the year 2560 BE (Buddhist Era),
or 2017 CE.21 The inscription predicts that the decline of Buddhism would
begin in 2000 BE (circa 1457 CE). In 2000 BE, according to the inscription:
The Three Pitakas will disappear. There will be no one who really knows them,
though there will be some who know a little bit of them. As for preaching the
Dharma, such as the Majajati [Great Life or Vessantara Jataka], there will be no
one who can recite it; as for the other Dharmajatakas, if the beginning is known
the end will not be, or if the end is known the beginning will not be; and as for
the Abhidhamma collection, the Patthana and the Yammaka [the last two
books of the Abhidhamma] will disappear at that time. (Griswold and Prasert
1973, 99)

That this prediction was well known is reflected in the remarks of prominent
monks of the nineteenth century, albeit with some slight variations.22 Phra
Wannarat, a senior monk involved in the ninth Council Tripitaka revisions in
1788–89 during the reign of Rama I, makes the link between Buddhism, the
Vessantara Jataka, and government explicit; he writes, “When study of the
scriptures declines, when it slips away, there will occur an age of vice and misery
(Skt. kaliyuga) of the unrighteous people. When the king is without Dhamma
 16 • Introduction

the people, the ministers, for example, follow, and become without Dhamma
in the same way” (Reynolds 1972,54). The monk goes on to detail the stages of
deterioration:
When lay people are poor they cannot offer the monastic requisites and
monks cannot look after their disciples. As study of the texts declines further,
monks lose knowledge of the commentaries, then the canon itself. First the
Abhidhamma is lost, leaving the Suttas and the Vinaya. Then the Suttas follow,
beginning with Anguttara-Nikaya and ending with the Digha-Nikaya. Only
the Vinaya and Jatakas remain. Conscientious monks will adhere to the Vinaya,
but those who look to the acquisition of gain and advantage will be unable to
exercise their rational faculties when reciting the Suttas and will know only the
Jatakas. Like the Abhidhamma and the Suttas, the disappearance of the Jatakas
takes place in sequence, beginning with the Vessantara, the most popular Jataka
in Siamese tradition. Finally, the Vinaya is forgotten, and the last vestige of the
Buddha’s teaching is considered lost forever when there is no layman who
remembers a four-line verse of the Buddha’s words. (Reynolds 1972, 54)

Phra Wannarat’s remarks are echoed in Prince Paramanuchit’s edition of the

Buddha’s life, completed in 1845. Prince Paramanuchit, who became the supreme
patriarch (sangharaja) of the monastic order in 1851, concluded his edition with
Buddhaghosa’s famous prediction, noting that Buddhism was destined to dis-
appear in five thousand years after the Buddha’s enlightenment in five equal
stages: the decline of the scriptures, the decline of conduct, the decline of
knowledge of the way and its fruits, the decline of asceticism, and the disap-
pearance of the relics (Reynolds 1972, 134–35).
This bleak prophecy was generally linked to the second major prophecy
about the coming of the future Buddha, Maitreya.23 The Phra Malai Sutra,
considered one of the three most important texts in Theravada Buddhism, is
the primary medium through which the belief in the coming of Maitreya was
popularized. According to this text, Phra Malai visited the hells and the heavens.
When he was in the heavens, he met the Maitreya Buddha. Maitreya informed
Phra Malai to tell people to listen to the Vessantara Jataka “in one night and
one day” if they wished to be reborn during his coming. Accordingly, the Phra
Malai Sutra is almost always recited just before the Vessantara Jataka itself,
particularly in the northern and northeastern regions of Thailand. As one
northern Phra Malai text of Maitreya’s message explains:

If anyone wishes to see me in the future, they should make extraordinary merit
in the following way. Have them set their minds on listening to the Vessantara
Jataka Dhamma. Have them listen in one day until it is finished, with the
 Introduction • 17

customary objects of worship, that is, a thousand lanterns, a thousand lotuses,

completely without lacking in any way, a thousand balls of rice. Have them
invite the monks to preach the esteemed Vessantara Jataka Dhamma, all one-
thousand stanzas. . . . The people should go together and listen to it in one
night and one day until it is finished. When everyone follows these teachings, . . .
they will see me. (Brereton 1995, 64; see also Griswold and Prasert 1973, 85;
Collins 1993, 85; McGill 1997, 207)

The affiliation of the Vessantara Jataka with the survival of Buddhism and
the arrival of the Maitreya Buddha buttressed the importance of the jataka.
However, despite apparent safeguards for its longevity and despite the presump-
tion of its unchanging appeal by many of its scholars, the Vessantara Jataka has
undergone changes in its appeal over time.24 In Thailand today, the northeast
is the only region where the Vessantara Jataka is still being widely recited annu-
ally. Although it is hard to imagine a northeastern villager of any generation
who is not familiar with the Vessantara Jataka, a majority of younger central
Thai and northern Thai have never attended a performance and have almost
no familiarity with the story. Urbanites regardless of region are less likely than
villagers to know the story. Most younger Bangkokian looked at me in amaze-
ment when they learned of my interest in the Vessantara Jataka; they viewed
the story as implausible and largely dismissed it as irrelevant. Many village elders
with whom I sat at various village funerals in northern Thailand also had to be
prompted to recall parts of the story that had become vague over the course of
the passing decades. Clearly the scholarly paradigm about the importance of
the Vessantara Jataka is in need of reconsideration.

Histor ical Agency

Recognition that the Vessantara Jataka is not uniform either in its interpretation
or its performance opens new avenues of inquiry. Regional variation raises the
issue of historical agency, providing an invitation to engage in an imaginative
exercise to rediscover the people who were individually and collectively shaping
regional shifts. Whose interests were being promoted in the shifts over the
course of the jataka’s long history? This engagement with historical agency has
been missing in the prevailing text-based analyses of the Vessantara Jataka,
which have centered on analyzing essentialized existential and ahistorical core
meanings of the story. However, the readings of texts change as contexts
change; sometimes new themes take precedence within a story and at other
times the entire text fades into oblivion. Like many American mothers of my
generation, I chose not to read my children Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel
 18 • Introduction

and Gretel, or the Strummelpeter stories, deciding instead to read Dr. Seuss’s
corpus and later J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series.
Explorations of the rise and fall of texts over both space and time provide
an avenue into history. If the Vessantara Jataka is not to be analyzed as an
abstract, essentialized, universal expression of some element of the human
condition but as a historically dynamic expression of ever-changing points of
emphasis, who were the people responsible for these changes? Who had enjoyed
tellings of the Vessantara Jataka and why? What points did the teller want the
audience to understand? Whose interests were being promoted? Why has the
story’s appeal changed differentially across regions? How should we explain
the process by which the single most famous and important story of Theravada
Buddhist Southeast Asia is fading away in some regions? The Vessantara Jataka
is still being recited throughout Southeast Asia, but its individual tellers and
listeners have made decisions, big and small, that have reshaped the story in
different ways over time and across regions.
In order to integrate historical agency into our analyses of the Vessantara
Jataka, we can begin by considering the fundamental categories of social actors.
Historians have generally categorized Theravada Buddhist societies of South-
east Asia into three main groups: the court, the monkhood, and the peasantry.
Paralleling these social divisions, explanations of the story’s popularity might
be categorized according to those that emphasize its appeal for the monks, for
the monarchs, and for the masses. Because Vessantara was both a member of a
royal family and a future Buddha, scholarly attention has hitherto focused on
the story’s significance for the first two categories—namely, for the monkhood
and for kingship. Explorations of peasant interests in participating in Vessan-
tara Jataka recitations have been minimal and have tended to portray villagers
as superstitious or utilitarian in their motivations. Were the interests of the
monks, the monarchs, and the masses being served equally? Did these respective
interests overlap or conflict?

Monastic Motivations
Religious studies scholars’ analyses of what they have assumed to be a uniform
text generally highlight the value of the jataka in supporting the monastic com-
munity. Although they argue that the Vessantara Jataka emphasizes the social
virtue of generosity for the common good, their analyses ironically tend to
focus on the value of renunciation for the benefit of the individual. As Larry
McClung writes, the Vessantara Jataka “provides Buddhists with an important
vehicle for the attempted resolution of a deep-seated conflict which prevails
between the urge to pursue an ethic of individual salvation and the desire for
human community ” (1975 , 36). Collins phrases this central tension as “a
painfully
 Introduction • 19

honest confrontation of the difficulties of renunciation” and “the most subtle

and successful attempt in Pali literature to infuse ascetic values and soteriological
motifs into an ideal image of collective life in an ordinary, productive and repro-
ductive society” (1998, 501). Cone and Gombrich suggest the story has a covert
appeal for monks since, like them, “Vessantara has renounced all worldly ties,
and in particular, family ties” (1977, xxvi).
Furthermore, the jataka supports the monkhood by encouraging parents to
gift their sons and wives their husbands to the temple (Theravada Buddhist
monks may enter the monkhood after marriage). Writing of central Thailand,
Lauriston Sharp and Lucien Hanks mention the importance of gifting children
in the Vessantara Jataka in connection with ordination; they write, “parents, by
giving their sons to the temple, make greater merit than by any other single act
of devotion” (1978, 143). Writing of Burma, Melford Spiro suggests that the
Vessantara Jataka serves as “an impressive historico-mythological charter” that
sanctions the decision to ordain (1970, 346).25 Providing a provocative formu-
lation, Spiro explains the tensions inherent in a husband’s decision to ordain:
“Simply to abandon one’s family would provoke intense social disapproval in
Burma. . . . If their wives were to protest their action, it is they and not their
husbands who would become the objects of disapproval: how can they object to
their husbands’ search for salvation? . . . Rather than being disdained for shirking
their obligation to their families, they are praised for having had the strength to
cut their attachment to them” (1970, 346).
The jataka not only safeguards the recruitment of monks into the order but
also legitimizes the alms needed to support them (Spiro 1970; McClung 1975;
Brereton 1995). As Alfred Foucher suggests, the monastic community encour-
aged recitations of the Vessantara Jataka because it “is totally dependent upon
alms—for food, clothing and medicines—and exalts all examples of generous
givers in its preaching to the laity” (Foucher 1955, 331; see also McClung 1975,
11). Similarly, Bonnie Brereton observes, “for the Sangha [monastic order],
which must rely on the generosity of the laity for its very survival, the Vessantara
Jataka provides a convenient way of reminding the faithful of the preeminent
importance of dana [ gift-giving]” (1995, 65). Thus, as Keyes writes, “Ordinary
people emulate Prince Wetsandon, not by giving their goods to anyone who
asks for them, but by offering alms to those most worthy of receiving them, the
members of the sangha” (1987, 181).26

Royalist Motivations
Among scholars with a more historical bent, the Vessantara Jataka has been
portrayed as a mechanism to establish royal political legitimacy. Many Southeast
Asian kings sponsored recitations of the Vessantara Jataka , often
accompanied
 20 • Introduction

with spectacular displays of gift offerings. By generously supporting lavish recita-

tions of the jataka and by drawing upon an implicit parallel between themselves
as kings and Vessantara as both king-to-be and Buddha-to-be, monarchs could
hope that the public saw them as incarnations of Vessantara and, implicitly,
the Buddha. In his pioneering essay about the long-standing importance of the
Emerald Buddha, Frank Reynolds highlights the importance of the Vessantara
Jataka in the symbolism of political power. The Emerald Buddha was seen as
the palladium of whichever kingdom came to hold it, not least because “the
various princes of the kingdom swore their fealty to the reigning monarch who
possessed it”; Reynolds notes that “at least from the time of the Bangkok period
this ritual of changing the Jewel’s adornments had come to involve, as a central
element, the chanting of the Mahavessantara Jataka” (1978, 184).
Sombat Chantornvong explored the background of the earliest extant
version of the Vessantara Jataka of 1482, which was believed to have been trans-
lated from Pali at the behest of King Trailok (r. 1448–88), ruler of the ancient
kingdom of Ayutthaya. Sombat argues that the king’s sponsorship of the trans-
lation was part of a “strategy that King Trailok used in establishing supremacy
over the people of Sukothai, especially in legitimizing himself in their eyes as a
pious Buddhist ruler” (1981, 192). Throughout this recension, the Buddha and
Vessantara “are addressed by various names, all of which are very similar to
King Trailok’s” (1981, 196). Sombat also suggests that the story highlights as
“deviant behavior” the angry demand that Vessantara be banished for giving
away the magical rain-making white elephant. Sombat takes this demand as
evidence of the people of the kingdom’s brazen belief that the elephant belonged
to them. According to Sombat, the text’s ending indicated that “the ruler had a
legitimate right to everything” and pointed to “the need to accept unlimited
monarchical rule” (1981, 197). He concludes: “In short, the Maha Chat Kamluang
appears to present the masses as ignorant and evil and the rulers as wise and
benevolent. This kind of presentation is compatible with the political tradition of
the day which not only demanded total loyalty on the part of the common people
but also excluded them completely from any active political role” (1981, 198).
Forrest McGill provides further insight into the pressures King Trailok
faced. King Trailok’s reign coincided with the ominous prophecy made earlier
by King Lithai in his inscription of 1357 predicting that Buddhism would begin
declining in 2000 BE (1457 CE). In a variety of acts ranging from creating Jataka
sculptures and constructing temples to staging his own ordination and sponsor-
ing Vessantara Jataka recitations, King Trailok was seeking to link himself with
Vessantara and “may have intended to present himself as a bodhisattva, or
even, indeed specifically as Maitreya” (1993, 437–38).
 Introduction • 21

Patrick Jory has also emphasized the role of the Vessantara Jataka as a
royalist text in the early nineteenth-century Thai state, arguing that “the
Vessantara Jataka was one of the most important texts in the premodern Thai
State for the expression and dissemination of a political theory based on the
concept of barami [charisma] and the exemplary figures of the bodhisatta-king”
(2002b, 38). As Jory explains:
The association between the Vessantara Jataka and Thai rulers can be traced
back as early as the Sukhothai period, but it is in the early Bangkok period that
the status of the Vessantara Jataka as one of the key texts expressing the politi-
cal ideology of the Thai kingdom can be seen most clearly. In this period the
kingdom’s rulers, modeling themselves on the bodhisatta-king, consciously made
use of the story to promote the idea that barami was inherent in the royal line
itself, conflating the genealogy of the Buddha with that of the ruling dynasty.
(2002b, 38)

Jory suggests that because of their utility as “the principal conduit of a conception
of authority and social hierarchy,” Thai rulers actively promoted recitations of
the Vessantara Jataka (2002a, 913). In Jory’s view, “The Thet Mahachat con-
tributed to the creation of a cohesive cultural community” (2002b, 62).

Peasant Motivations
Kings and monks may have had vested interests in encouraging the propagation
of the Vessantara Jataka, but did they succeed in promoting their agendas with
the peasantry? Anthropological accounts have provided generally apolitical and
utilitarian motivations for village participation in its recitation, ranging from
otherworldly desires to make merit to this-worldly desires to safeguard rainfall.
Anthropologist Charles Keyes provides perhaps the most expansive early in-
sight into the range of meanings of the jataka for villagers, noting that the story
“provides moral models for the most important social relationships: those of
father and child, husband and wife, mother and child, ruler and subject, world-
renouncers and people who remain in the world. Above all, it validates the
supreme religious significance of the sacrifice of possessions through acts of
generosity” (1987, 181). Stanley Tambiah writes that, as part of an annual village
festival, the recitation “combines merit-making with secular interests,” sug-
gesting, “In terms of the agricultural cycle it reflects two themes—thanksgiving
and looking forward to the next cycle. Occurring as it does in the middle of the
dry season, it looks forward to the onset of rains” (Tambiah 1970, 161). Stephen
Sparkes describes its performance as an “attempt to induce rain” (2005, 177).
Similarly, Howard Kaufman, writing of a village in central Thailand, notes the
 22 • Introduction

recitation’s association with boats (krathong) that are offered to river spirits to
ask for health and wealth for the coming year. In Kaufman’s village the focus
appears to be less on Vessantara and more on Phrayar Naga, the naga snake.
Villagers believe Phrayar Naga resides at the bottom of the canal by the village
and, following in the Buddha’s footsteps, has succeeded in reaching Nirvana.
The legend of Phrayar Naga is told together with the Vessantara Jataka story
depicting “the king who gave away his rain-producing elephant and went into
exile, thus causing the rains to cease” (Kaufman 1960, 195–96). After both stories
are told, villagers go down to the canal to float their krathongs, praying to the
“Goddess of the River, Maekhongkha, and the King of Snakes, Phrajanag,” to
bring them health and wealth—and a winning lottery ticket (Kaufman 1960,
196).
These anthropological accounts provide primarily utilitarian motivations
for these village performances without indicating whether villagers interpreted
the jataka as affirming either monks or monarchs. What were the attitudes of
villagers toward the court and the ecclesiastical hierarchy? Why did villagers—
women in particular—enjoy listening to recitations of the Vessantara Jataka?
While I accept the sober scholarly emphases on the importance of the Vessantara
Jataka for monarchs and monks, the question remains as to why the story was
popular among the peasantry. To the extent that the story is being told in a
Buddhist context, the argument that jataka supports monastic interests has
weight. However, despite repeated mention of the link between the Vessantara
Jataka, the Phra Malai Sutra, and millenarian political movements, scholars
have been remarkably silent regarding the political message of the Vessantara
Jataka as interpreted by the peasantry.

Reasons for Decline

Furthermore, whatever the reasons that the Vessantara Jataka appealed to
monarchs, monks, and the masses in the past, why have those reasons changed
such that interest in the story has diminished in the present? And why has it
diminished differently across regions? The scholars, monks, and laity I talked
to throughout Thailand proffered a variety of reasons for this declining interest.
Louis Gabaude (1991) notes that both criticism and defense of the Vessantara
Jataka have increased in the last few decades, at least among urban and university
intellectuals. One obvious factor is the negative reactions of feminists, who have
openly denounced the way Vessantara has been held up as a moral exemplar for
giving away his wife and children (e.g., Kornvipa 1989; Khin 1980). Some
monks I interviewed did not want to preach the story because they felt it was
 Introduction • 23

implausible. One monk specifically objected to the absurdity of a beggar being

able to outsmart royal guards. A female store owner in a northeastern city said
that the younger generation is interested in video games and movies rather
than ancient folklore, adding that young people prefer shopping in malls to
sitting around listening to monks preach.
The most frequent reason I heard for this shift in interest centered on the
growth of science and rationalism in the face of mythology and folktales. As a
man with a PhD in engineering who runs a computer software business in
Bangkok suggested to me, the belief in rational science was overcoming silly
superstition. Yet any casual visitor to Thailand can see that Thai urbanites as
well as villagers engage in a wide variety of ritual practices that can easily be
considered “superstitious,” including such practices as making morning offerings
to territorial spirits (chaothii ), consulting with geomancers to lay out their
business offices, buying magazines in malls about amulets, and visiting monks
to obtain lottery numbers. In the United States, celebrations of Halloween
witches, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny have not only not died out but
appear to be steadily expanding. Griswold’s observation regarding divergent
tendencies in Buddhist scriptures could no less apply to modern acceptance of
the Vessantara Jataka: “On one hand, the rationalist could accept as metaphor
and parable the most fantastic inventions of the pious. . . . On the other hand
the mystic could read transcendental meanings into the most prosaic records,
while the superstitious could pick up a few words from the Scriptures, use them
out of context, and turn them into spells” (1953, 9).
If the growth of scientific rationalism and urbanism is not in itself a
compelling explanation for the declining interest in the Vessantara Jataka,
other people I interviewed suggested more mundane logistical considerations.
Several interviewees in the central region mentioned the difficulty of finding
monks who knew how to recite the various chapters. Another person mentioned
the expense involved: for example, one of the famous monks from Petchabun
was paid 100,000 baht to travel to Suphanburi province to recite only one
chapter in a Vessantara Jataka recitation. A monk noted that lay organizers play
an important role, but nowadays many laity do not know how to organize a
Vessantara Jataka. When I asked northern monks why the Vessantara Jataka
had declined in their region but not in the northeast, they suggested that
northern performances involved greater expense and greater expertise. I do not
find the expense arguments compelling since northeastern celebrations also
involve considerable time, effort, and expense. Although the issue of expertise
is relevant, the northeast has developed a center for training monks. In both
 24 • Introduction

the northern and northeastern regions, many of the younger generation of

monks cannot read their indigenous scripts. As in northern Thailand, villagers
in northeastern Thailand have faced similar issues in the use of a regional
dialect, the decline in the number of monks and novices at local temples, and
the rise of secular education; but northeasterners have maintained a strong reci-
tation tradition. The reasoning behind these logistical explanations is circular;
if monks and laity found recitations to be important, they would continue to
support them.
Patrick Jory provides the most detailed and thought-provoking explanation
for the declining popularity of Vessantara Jataka recitations. Analyzing the
jataka in terms of its importance for monarchs, Jory explains the story’s decline
as a result of political shifts in court attitudes during the reign of King Rama V
(r. 1868–1910). The modern Chakri dynasty was founded by Rama I in 1782.
Jory argues that the early Chakri kings, like their earlier premodern predecessors,
found the Vessantara Jataka a useful bulwark of its political legitimacy and thus
the Vessantara Jataka remained “one of the key texts expressing the political
ideology of the Thai kingdom” and a “discourse of authority” (2002b, 38, 63).
However, Jory suggests that during the reign of Rama V, “the process by which
the Jatakas were displaced from their formerly central position in popular
Buddhist teaching began” (2002a, 892).27
Four major reasons for this historical change in royal statecraft can be
found in Jory’s analysis. First, with the expansion of a more stable administrative
bureaucracy the state no longer depended on oaths of allegiance and other such
public rituals to govern. Second, given the growing presence of European ob-
servers, the nineteenth-century Thai court was increasingly embarrassed by the
mythological content of Buddhist legends. In its defense of Buddhism against
Christian missionizing, the court sought to emphasize the life of the historical
Buddha over the jataka stories. Jory notes that King Rama V provided an intro-
duction to a collection of thirty jatakas in 1904 in which the king drew upon the
work of the British Pali scholar T. W. Rhys Davids to argue that the jatakas
should be understood “as mere ‘tales’ (nithan), which, moreover, were ‘pre-
Buddhist’ in origin” ( Jory 2002a, 894). The overall objective of the king “was to
remove the Jatakas from orthodox Buddhism. . . . No longer acceptable as stories
of the Buddha’s former lives, the Jatakas were now to be read either as parables
with a moral, or for those with more scholarly interests, as folktales (nithan
boran) containing a wealth of information about how ancient peoples of foreign
countries lived” ( Jory 2002a, 897). The king even flaunted the ancient prediction
about the future of Buddhism, suggesting that the Vessantara Jataka was most
likely to be the first to disappear rather than the last ( Jory 1996, 100).
 Introduction • 25

A third and related reason was the expansion of the Thammayut sect, itself
a movement that foregrounded science and reason. The Thammayut sect was
founded by King Mongkut (Rama IV), during his days as a monk. King
Mongkut came to the throne in 1851. During his reign as king, the Thammayut
order became increasingly influential. As Colonel Gerolamo Emilio Gerini
explained, “Members of the Dhammayuttika-nikaya [Thammayut] or orthodox
congregation . . . do not as a rule hold recitals of the Maha Chat or any other
Jataka story, because they contend that such tales cannot have been uttered by
the Buddha, but must be the work of commentators. Their chief argument is
based on the fact that no allusion to events in former births is ever met with in
the sacred texts which they regard as the pure world of the Great Teacher”
([1892] 1976, 26).
A fourth reason was active court suppression of jataka recitations in the
face of a growing number of millenarian revolts at the turn of the twentieth
century. Jory sees the Vessantara Jataka as a double-edged sword. While its
political ideology supported the moral authority of rulers, its performance “also
enabled local figures to take advantage of the same concepts of authority and
thus threaten the control of the Bangkok kings” ( Jory 2002b, 62). The ambiguity
in the political discourse of the Vessantara Jataka made it possible not just for
kings but also for local rulers, local monks, and other local leaders to lay claim
to being incarnations of the future Buddha as well; such claims provided the
justifications for revolts against the crown. Jory suggests that “up until the period
of the Fifth Reign, the religious and cultural affairs of the rural hinterland had
not seemed to be a major issue of concern for the Thai court” ( Jory 2002a, 910).
With the increase in the number of revolts in the countryside, the court would
no longer have found the Vessantara Jataka an effective discourse of authority.
However, in Jory’s royalist reading, the jataka did not serve as a peasant critique
of royal power but rather as a legitimation of competing claims to the throne.
Jory’s explanation does much to provide a laudable sense of historical con-
text to explain changes in the jataka’s popularity; indeed, this book owes much
to his serious engagement. However, Jory’s analysis masks three complicating
issues. First, Jory presumes a top-down flow of political opinion-formation
without a full consideration of the perspective of the peasantry. Just because
courts or local rulers sought to buttress their political legitimacy through ritual
does not mean they succeeded. The occurrence of peasant revolts both before
and during the early Chakri Dynasty suggests the possibility that political
legitimacy was often, if not always, problematic. Thus, even before the expan-
sion of the administrative bureaucracy, oaths of allegiance and other such
public rituals were never sufficient to suppress public unrest. Second, as will
 26 • Introduction

become clear in the next chapter, the Chakri court does not appear to have
opposed recitations of the Vessantara Jataka per se and indeed has continued
to support public recitations even up to the present day.28 Furthermore, oaths
of allegiance and other state rituals continue to serve as an important form of
modern statecraft (see Bowie 1997 for fuller discussion of state rituals and effi-
cacy). Third, Jory’s emphasis on efforts of the Bangkok court to suppress Ves-
santara Jataka recitations does not explain regional variation. While Jory has
conducted pioneering and important work in the use of the Vessantara Jataka
in Thai statecraft, we need to find a fuller explanation for its rise and variable
demise.

Of Rabelais and Comedy

I believe that a closer re-reading of relevant court edicts suggests the court was
concerned with comic recitations, a position that should not be conflated with
court support for serious recitations. Already from the beginning of the Chakri
Dynasty, evidence suggests that the court’s interpretation of how the Vessantara
Jataka should be performed differed markedly from the peasantry’s. Court
edicts themselves reveal both the widespread popularity of comic performances

Figure 3. Jujaka’s funeral procession. Excerpt from temple scroll showing Jujaka, who evidently
died happy. From Sisaket province, dated 1967. Photo courtesy of Thomas Kaiser, Völkerkunde-
museum der Universität Zürich.
 Introduction • 27

and the attendant royal condemnation that, as Jory himself notes, can be traced
back to the very first of the monastic regulations issued by Rama I in 1782:
At this time the entire populace of the kingdom is holding recitations of the
Vessantara Jataka. However they do not respect the story as part of the
Dhamma. They listen only to the comical poetry, which is of no benefit to them.
Some of the monks who recite the story have not studied the Tipitaka. They
know only the parts, which have been put into song-verse (kap klorn), which
they then recite in a comical and obscene manner. They are interested only in
fame and riches. They have never desired to study and pass on the knowledge
of the Dhamma. This is damaging to the religion and encourages people to be
careless in teaching the Dhamma. Such people will suffer long torment in the
four hells. . . .
So as of this time the king orders that monks who give sermons and the
people who listen to the recitation of the Maha Chat Jataka must recite and
listen to only the Pali canonical verses and the Commentary. . . . The recitation
of and listening to sermons in song-verse or the expression of buffoonish words
for comic purposes is strictly forbidden. ( Jory 2002b, 59, emphasis mine)

The king also notes that monks who preach using “comic and vulgar
speech” (thoi kham talok kanorng yap cha) will not meet Maitreya in the future;
they will only receive the full merit and meet Maitreya if they preach “the full
Pali text and commentary” ( Jory 1996, 38). The king’s regulation was addressed
to all royal officials and the monastic authorities “both in Bangkok and in the
kingdom’s First, Second, and Third-class cities of the Western, Eastern, South-
ern, and Northern regions of the kingdom, and ‘everywhere’” ( Jory 2002b, 59).
Violators of the law, along with their relatives, were liable for punishment ( Jory
2002b, 59). The king evidently objected not to recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka but to comedic performances. Why? If the court condemned comedy,
what was the politics behind their concern?
Rama IV similarly denounced “buffoonish recitations” of the Vessantara
Jataka in his colorful decree in 1865. I quote it in some detail so that readers can
contemplate the royal critique for themselves:

It is the traditional custom of Siam . . . to hold recitals of the Maha Chat. . . .

By so doing, the supporters of these exhibitions think to perform a meritorious
work, and deem the money spent upon them, to be as a tribute of honour paid
to religion.
However, there is no lack of people who fail to see and believe that the
practice of having such farcical shows can be really meritorious. Such ones
 28 • Introduction

censure the practice, and question how merit can possibly be derived from
buffoonish recitations of the Maha Chat and from the treasure and valuables
squandered upon them.
Now, here is the story. One preaching hall had remained deserted for
nearly a whole season, no recital of the Maha Chat having been held in it. A
layman felt sorry for this, and started to go around from house to house asking
the people to take up participation tickets. . . . At this juncture, a person
belonging to the class of dissenters above spoken of, came forth and said: “How
can merit accrue from holding farcical recitations of the Maha Chat? In my
opinion the money collected for such a purpose could be better employed in
buying fuel to burn dead dogs’ carcasses with. No regret would be felt for
money devoted to such a useful end, whilst the same cannot be said of money
spent upon buffoonish exhibitions of the Maha Chat.” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 57,
emphasis mine)29

The king in this edict suggests that monies would be better spent “in
honouring the members of the clergy who zealously observe the disciplinary
rules of the order and are true upholders of the prestige of religion; or in paying
a tribute of gratitude and veneration to one’s parents and aged relatives and
benefactors; or in assisting the poor and relieving invalids; or in making roads
and footpaths, building bridges and hospices; or in any other philanthropic
work.” Rama IV goes on to suggest that monks involved in buffoonish exhi-
bitions are parasites “seeking in holy orders a means of earning a livelihood.”
He continues, “Such parasites, as soon as they have received in alms enough
candles studded with silver coins, forsake the religious life, take a wife, and
become drunkards and gamblers.” He concludes that such donations contribute
to “demolishing true faith, and the practice must therefore be deplored.” Ac-
cording to Gerini, the king’s edict had some effect: “since that time the exposi-
tion of the Maha Chat in temple grounds and homely circles has become more
dignified” ([1892] 1976, 25).
However, comedic performances continued over the course of the nineteenth
century despite these royal edicts and opinions. In 1917 the supreme patriarch,
Prince Vajiranana (Wachirayan), despite initial efforts at prohibition, assumed
a more conciliatory stance “in which he recognised that a song-like thamnorng
[rhythm] encouraged certain kinds of people to listen and to make merit, and
that as long as the recitation was intelligible and the reciting monk maintained
his monastic dignity, such preaching was acceptable” ( Jory 1996, 39). Official
objections to comic performances of the Vessantara Jataka continued well into
the twentieth century, ironically suggesting their continuing popularity. Thus
 Introduction • 29

in 1937 the Ecclesiastical Council (Mahatherasamakhom) issued another regu-

lation forbidding bawdiness “as well as comic behaviour which is damaging to
monastic dignity” ( Jory 1996, 40).
As evidenced in the multiple royal edicts seeking to suppress it, humor
was clearly a major component in the popular appeal of the Vessantara Jataka
throughout Thailand. We know from the sangha inspectors who traveled in the
central regions in the early twentieth century that the jataka was “very popular
among local people” (Kamala 1997, 30).30 In 1886 Mary Cort highlighted the
importance of humor, writing that the natives “choose priests who are good
talkers and can tell stories to make the audience laugh” (1886, 117). Throughout
the nineteenth century, when the court was trying to suppress comedic reci-
tations of the Vessantara Jataka, the court itself was sponsoring its own state
performances. Consequently I would suggest that the court took umbrage at
the displays of humor but not at the jataka itself. However, the reasons for the
court’s objections to humor are unclear. In the eyes of King Mongkut, comedic
recitations of the Vessantara Jataka made a “burlesque of the life of him whose
career they were intended to honour” (Young 1898, 324). The later regulations
suggest a concern for “monastic dignity”; however, earlier generations of monks
had evidently considered the use of humor to teach the dharma as legitimate.
What was so objectionable about comedy?
Scholars from Sigmund Freud and Henri Bergson to Mikhail Bakhtin and
others have tried to analyze humor, but its roots remain elusive. Compounding
the difficulties of analyzing humor cross-culturally is the problem that “many
comic effects are incapable of translation from one language to another, because
they refer to the customs and ideas of a particular social group” (Bergson [1911]
2005, 4).31 Nonetheless, humor often lays bare the cleavages and faults in society,
sometimes merely expressing shared frustrations and other times hopes for
change. In Rabelaisian Europe, peasant humor mocked “the official and serious
tone of medieval ecclesiastical and feudal culture” (Bakhtin [1965] 1984, 4; see
also Thompson 1974). Such folk humor “makes no pretense to renunciation of
the earthy” (Bakhtin [1965] 1984, 19). James Peacock’s work on the ludruk
performances in Indonesia provides an example of working-class humor occa-
sioned by cross-class interactions (1987). Donna Goldstein (2003) provides
insight into the absurdist and black humor used by women in Brazilian urban
shantytowns in the face of trauma and tragedy, and Steve Lipman (1993) de-
scribes the use of humor during the Holocaust. Even in the face of death,
“gallows” humor emerges. Similarly, James C. Scott has written of humor as a
“hidden transcript” (1990). A long-standing literature on tricksters—from the
coyote in the Navajo tales to Brer Rabbit in the African American slave
 30 • Introduction

community and the bawdy Uncle Tompa in Tibetan tales—reveals comic

characters who dare to challenge the most powerful figures in society (Radin
[1956] 1972; Dorje 1997; Brennan 2003, 73; Dembicki 2010). Indeed, there is a
growing literature noting the role of humor in political brinkmanship (e.g.,
Feinberg 1971; Townsend 1992; Jenkins 1994; Sanders 1995; Boskin 1997; Hart
and Bos 2007; Krikmann and Laineste 2009).
The recent translation of the once popular tale Khun Chang Khun Phaen
by Chris Baker and Pasuk Phongphaichit (2010) serves to remind us that
nineteenth-century Southeast Asian audiences enjoyed a bawdy sense of humor
that puritanical audiences of today find shocking. The court may have sought
to suppress the sexual and scatological elements in a religious ceremonial occa-
sion in order to maintain respectability in the eyes of European dignitaries and
puritanical American missionaries. If the nineteenth-century performances
contained irreverent references to members of the court or the monastic order,
the king’s concern with humor may have been less about Victorian sexual re-
spectability than it was about control over the monastic community and political
security. Formal recitations in court settings may indeed have been intended to
glorify divine kings, but popular performances may have mocked royal and
ecclesiastical pretentiousness. In one of the few surviving nineteenth-century
descriptions of humor, Ernest Young suggests that not only was popular humor
bawdy, but it had an edginess that came from political critique. Describing the
humor in likay performances, Young writes, “The buffoonery is excellent, but
the language is nearly always coarse. Current events are burlesqued, and foreign
residents with pronounced mannerisms get caricatured” ([1898] 1982, 170).
As various scholars have noted, villagers believed that by listening to the
Vessantara Jataka they would improve their chances of being reborn in the time
of the Maitreya Buddha, a time of social justice and compassion for all.
Grounded in his royalist reading, Jory sees the jataka as providing legitimacy
for rulers, be they actual or aspiring. But read as an anti-authoritarian perform-
ance associated with millenarianism, the Vessantara Jataka is less a means for
local leaders to portray themselves before the masses as incarnations of Vessan-
tara than it is a comic expression of peasant frustration against administrative
abuses of power. The Phra Malai Sutra, which was often read before Vessantara
Jataka recitations, has passages that served as humorous critiques of those in
power. For example, corrupt or unjust rulers were reborn “with huge decayed,
foul-smelling testicles that hang down to the ground” (Kamala 2003, 305).32
Similarly, a corrupt government official was reborn as a hungry ghost: “He had
testicles that were as huge as water jugs. They hung way down to the ground
like a shoulder bag. Rotten and putrid, bloated, and stinking, they were like
 Introduction • 31

slimy snails. Whenever he wanted to go somewhere [the hungry ghost would]

fling his testicles over his shoulder, stagger under their weight, and reel from
side to side. Whenever he wanted to sit down, they’d get pinched between his
legs, and he’d have to stand up, and then sit down on top of them” (Kamala
2003, 306).
The Traiphum has similar colorful passages suggestive of peasant political
critiques and the hopes for future retribution. In its descriptions of the hells
awaiting those who commit wrongdoings, the very first hell listed is the Vetarani
hell for the rich, who possess “property and men and slaves” because they
“harmed others and took their property by force.” The description is lengthy,
but a brief excerpt provides an overview:
The guardians in the Vetarani hell have clubs, large knives, lances, swords,
spears, and all kinds of weapons for killing, stabbing, shooting and beating, all
of which are made of fiery red iron, have flames that shoot upward like a fire in
the sky, and blaze without ceasing. The yama guardians hold these throwing
and stabbing weapons; they chase the hell beings, throw at them, stab them,
and beat them with these weapons. These beings suffer great pain and anguish
that is too much for them to bear.
In this hell there is a large river called Vetarani in which the water is
extremely salty. When the hell beings flee and try to escape, the river has in it a
tangle of intertwining rattan stems and vines. The rattan has thorns as huge as
hoes that are formed of fiery red iron and are constantly aflame. When the hell
beings flee into the water they come against the thorns of the rattan, and their
bodies are cut to pieces just as if someone was taking a very sharp knife and
cutting them everywhere. Under the rattan vine are huge, long spikes made of
red fiery iron. The flames burn the bodies of the hell beings like the fire burns
trees in the middle of the forest. . . . They suffer great anguish. (Reynolds and
Reynolds 1982, 71–73)

There is a similar hell for “those who are ordered by a ruler to collect taxes from
his subjects, but collect more than is prescribed”; they are reborn as hell beings
who “live in a large river full of feces with a terrible smell. . . . At a certain point,
not being able to restrain themselves any longer, they take the feces for food
and drink, and do so every day” (Reynolds and Reynolds 1982, 77). While the
vivid descriptions of hell presented in the Traiphum appear to be intended to
impress its readers with their horror, one can also imagine how they might be
integrated into comic routines.
Similarly echoing such anti-authoritarian interpretations in the present,
Phra Thepwethi (also called Prayut Payuttho, Ratchaworamuni) observes that
 32 • Introduction

the jatakas mention instances of people demonstrating against an unjust ruler.

This monk suggests that if a monarch causes difficulties for his subjects and
fails to uphold the ethical principles appropriate for a king (the dasaraja-
dhamma), the jataka stories invite the people to rise up and protest, forcing the
monarch to reconsider his actions and edicts. Thepwethi maintains that these
references can be regarded as “an origin of the contemporary idea of demon-
strating. . . . This is the Buddhist system of government” ( Jackson 1993, 90; see
also Aung San Suu Kyi 1991). Incidents in the Vessantara Jataka such as Vessan-
tara’s gift of the magical rain-making elephant to representatives from the
neighboring drought-stricken kingdom can be seen as examples of his generosity
to the disadvantaged masses. Vessantara’s father’s decision to expel Vessantara
from his kingdom can be portrayed as the result of bad political advisers in his
court who had no sympathy for the plight of the poor—or as the result of an
ignorant populace. Thepwethi’s interpretation inverts the pro-royalist reading
of Sombat.
Understanding the politics of humor is an underexplored avenue into his-
tory. The fact of royal and monastic efforts to suppress this humor raises the
possibility that the court and monastic orders were themselves the comedic
targets. Any of the jataka characters could have conceivably been turned into
comedic foils. Even the tragic figure of Matsi can occasion a humorous moment,
as when the monk stops his wailing to ask his audience for money for Matsi’s
coffin since she appears on the verge of death. In another example that might
seem heretical today, Vessantara himself might have been made a target. Mary
Grow, in her analysis of Thai dance drama, describes comic routines in which
the monarch, sporting the headdress of a checkered snake, plays with the Thai
term “chao lok.” As Grow explains, “chao lok means ‘ruler of the world,’ yet in
slang it is a euphemism for the phallus.” The pun thereby “[exposes] the hidden
passions and illicit behavior of a seemingly flawless ruler” (1996, 48).33 Perhaps
the entire Vessantara Jataka was performed as a comedy in which the super-
generous Vessantara was contrasted with the super-grasping Jujaka, and each
character is exaggerated to provoke a discussion of the Buddhist middle path of
moderation. Although we must allow the possibility that comedic traditions
developed differently across the Theravada Buddhist regions, evidence based
on the northern Thai performances suggests that the humor was centered not
on the revered Vessantara but primarily on the irreverent figure of Jujaka. The
survival of the northern portrayal of Jujaka provides a window into the humor
among the peasants of the nineteenth century, and in turn it raises the question
of why the comedic tradition continued to be robust in the northern region but
not in the other regions.
 Introduction • 33

Overview of This Book

This book is a travelogue of my journey in search of Jujaka, as he in turn
searched for Vessantara. The serendipity of a newspaper headline back in 2004
led me on unanticipated trips through the central, northeastern, and northern
regions of Thailand. By paying attention to Jujaka, I reconstruct a comedic,
peasant-based reading of the Vessantara Jataka to add to the sober monastic
and monarchical readings already extant. By embedding the text in its historical
context, my reading revives the story of the tensions between monks, monarchs,
and the masses and transforms the Vessantara Jataka from an essentialized
homogeneous text into a cudgel brandished by rich and poor in their struggles
to shape society, at both the village and national levels. Understanding the
historical processes that molded the interpretations and performances of the
Vessantara Jataka helps to provide an explanation of its regional divergences in
Thailand. Thus the politics of humor is an important element in understanding
both the vicissitudes of Thai society and the Vessantara Jataka.
My approach is interdisciplinary, combining my long-standing interest in
history and political anthropology with research in folklore and religious studies.
Since my first trip in 1974, I have lived in Thailand for a total of some eight years.
Most of my time has been spent in villages in northern Thailand, but I also
lived in Bangkok for two years and spent nearly a year in Khon Kaen in north-
eastern Thailand in 1996–97 as a Fulbright Scholar. These earlier stays have
enabled me to develop a wide network of friendships to draw upon for this
research. After preliminary interviews with current and former tujok in the
summer of 2004, I conducted further interviews in northern Thailand in the
summer of 2005. I spent the summer of 2009 interviewing monks and villagers
in northeastern and central regions; I conducted more interviews in March
2010, and again in the summers of 2011 and 2013–15. I also collected vernacular
recensions, tapes, and VCD recordings of recitations. Thus this book draws on
primary interviews, archival sources, DVD/VCD recordings, photographic
collections, websites, vernacular textual studies, and secondary sources as well
as in-person observations of Vessantara Jataka performances in northern, north-
eastern, and central Thailand. All quotations from Thai printed materials, tapes,
performances, and interviews are my translations.
I divide this book into two main parts. Part I, divided into three chapters,
focuses on regional variation in the performances and interpretations of the
Vessantara Jataka in the central, northeastern, and northern regions, respectively.
Chapter 1 focuses on the central Thai court and the central region. I argue that
the court supported jataka recitations in state rituals but defeated humor by
 34 • Introduction

authoring texts that portrayed Jujaka as terrifying. By foregrounding the boat

imagery of the Kumarn chapter, the jataka became more aligned with the
political and metaphysical emphases of the Thammayut movement. The court
met with some success in implementing its interpretation in the central region.
In chapter 2 I turn to northeastern Thailand, where villagers have maintained
their tradition of annual recitations, albeit in a subdued form in which humor
has been largely diverted. The northeastern emphasis on the Nakornkan chapter,
family reunification, and village unity embeds a very ambiguous attitude toward
the state, reflecting a de facto detente established between the villagers and the
state. In chapter 3, I describe the northern interpretation, highlighting both its
focus on the Jujaka chapter and its broader delights in the exploits of the Jujaka
character. Rather than glorifying royalty, the northern emphasis on Jujaka
enables monks to address the earthly, non-royalist challenges facing villagers in
everyday life.
In part II, also divided into three chapters, I describe the historico-political
process by which each region came to develop a different interpretation of the
Vessantara Jataka, and I bring our understanding of the jataka up to the present.
Because comedic performances of the Vessantara Jataka endured in their most
robust form in northern Thailand, we are able to gain insight into the broader
peasant imaginaire of the nineteenth century.34 In chapter 4 I argue that in the
northern imagination, the comedic Jujaka was understood as a trickster whose
exploits provided opportunities for not only instruction in morality but also
critiques of earthly kings. Once performances of the Vessantara Jataka are
interpreted as anti-authoritarian critiques embedded in a historical context of
millenarian revolts, the court’s desire to suppress comedic recitations becomes
understandable, not merely as deference to bourgeois morality but also as a
means of addressing threats to its political security.
However, the court was positioned quite differently in each of the three
regions. The Bangkok court was able to exert its influence in central and north-
eastern Thailand much earlier than in the northern region. Because perform-
ances of the Vessantara Jataka were primarily in the hands of monks, the court
sought to gain control over the monastic order. Chapter 5 outlines the expansion
of the court’s control in the central, northeastern, and northern regions, showing
how understanding the differences in this expansion helps to explain not only
the differences in humor but also the differential decline of performances in
each region over the course of the twentieth century. In chapter 6 I summarize
the ongoing transformations in Vessantara Jataka performances, describing its
new relevance for the promotion of wealth, tourism, and cultural heritage. In
evaluating the jataka’s future transformation, I will return to the feminist
 Introduction • 35

concerns that initially prompted my explorations and suggest that the jataka
has a wide range of possible conservative and progressive interpretations. If
understanding the politics of humor reveals a historical intersection of the
agency of kings, monks, and peasants, the jataka’s future may well depend on
its interpretation by the modern generation of women.

As we pack our bags to embark on this journey through space and time, let
me review some preliminary assumptions. First, given that the sources currently
available allow us to travel back in time little more than a century, I am basing
my assumption that comedic recitations were widespread by the early nine-
teenth century on the following: common sense, the passing remarks of late
seventeenth-century European visitors to Ayutthaya, nineteenth-century court
edicts, and the few surviving bawdy temple mural paintings. Furthermore, I
am assuming that the Jujaka character is the primary focus of this humor.
Second, I regret that our journey does not include the south. The reasons
for this omission are a lack of sufficient information in existing secondary
sources and my own lack of any particular expertise in the south. However,
if I were to venture some preliminary guesses, I would anticipate more simi-
larities with the central region than either the north or the northeast. The first
sangharaja of the central Thai court in Thonburi was a monk from the southern
province of Nakhon Sithammarat; the Thonburi edition of the Tripitaka (the
Theravada Buddhist canon) was copied from the texts from Nakhon Sitham-
marat; King Rama III’s mother was from a southern Muslim noble family; and
the recitation of the jataka in Nakhon Sithammarat is today a major tourist
event held during Buddhist Lent on Wan Sart, as is common in the central
region.35
Third, the Vessantara Jataka has many tellings in a range of media, from
postal stamps to mural paintings, from illuminated manuscripts to school text-
books and children’s cartoons,36 from versions that are read silently to versions
that are performed for listening audiences, from versions told by grandparents
in the privacy of homes to mass public recitations in temples, from versions
performed by monks to versions performed by theater puppets, from versions
performed with live audiences to versions recorded on DVDs and sold globally.
In all three regions, monks recite two versions of the jataka, one in Pali (called
the Khathaphan) and one in vernacular Thai, the dialect varying with the region.
This book focuses on regional variation in the vernacular tellings in which
monks “read” the jataka, some chanting the words written on the page, some
chanting from memory, some following the words, some abridging the story,
and some expanding upon it.
 36 • Introduction

Finally, a brief note is in order on my methodology with regard to textual

recensions and performances. I can best describe my method as “pointillism,”
an approach in painting of placing dots of color on a canvas. These dots seem
random when viewed up close but form recognizable patterns when seen from
a distance. There is no “authentic” jataka text or performance. Even the same
performer never fully replicates a previous interpretation. Indeed, as Justin
McDaniel notes, “monks have not felt obliged to accurately relate a story
handed down from the Pali canon and commentaries. Instead, their story
changes with each retelling” (2008, 129). Yet when various texts and renditions
of them are compared in each of the three regions we will visit, overall patterns
emerge. In developing my portrayal of overall regional patterns, I am drawing
not only on sample textual recensions but also on scores of interviews with
monks and villagers in each of these areas. For each region I draw on a primary
text to illustrate more generalizable patterns: in the central region that primary
text is the “court” version; in the northeast the primary text is my translation of
recorded excerpts of a recitation I attended; and in the north I draw on my
translation of tapes recorded by the north’s most famous tujok, Luang Poh
Bunthong.
We are now ready to begin our journey into history.
 Part I

Diversity
in Humor
 1

Central Thailand
Humor Defeated

This part of the book begins in central Thailand, where glimpses of Jujaka and
his comedy are fleeting, disappearing behind the bedazzling glamour of royal
recitations of the Vessantara Jataka at formal state functions. The jataka was
once very widely popular in the region. Late seventeenth-century European
visitors to Ayutthaya note “how far the People are infatuated with such Fables,”
including the story in which the Buddha “even gave his Wife to a poor Man
that begged an Alms” (Tachard [1688] 1981, 291–92; see also Gervaise [1688]
1989, 129, 140–41). Its popularity continued well after the court was re-established
in Bangkok. Writing in the late nineteenth century, Gerini notes that it is “not
uncommon to see a rush of people at some temple of the Mahanikaya congrega-
tion in order to attend the premier of some one of such productions” ([1892]
1976, 25). Gerini, although disdainful of the “unscrupulous” theatrics deployed,
provides a rare description of the “sorts of tricks calculated to excite laughter in
the multitude”:

The blaring of trumpets, the ringing of bells, the whistling of birds in the
recesses of the Himavanta forest, the noises of a storm and the pealing of
thunder were imitated almost to perfection and given after each Pali distich
with a flourishing of many whimsical adjuncts, to relieve the monotony of the
entertainment. This then took more the character of a pochade of Christmas
mummers than of a solemn religious ceremony. The sole object was to obtain
effect, for as soon as the new literary production met with public approval its
author and expounder became famous and the exhibition in general request.
([1892] 1976, 25)

39
 40 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Ernest Young also provides a scornful description of popular recitations, viewing

them as having “degenerated” into theatrical performances “accompanied by
pantomime and song.” Nonetheless, his description provides some sense of the
excitement and creativity these performances generated, as he explains that
“new versions were given; the rhythm of the original poem was altered; and
temple vied with temple, and house with house, in the introduction of novelties
that would attract large audiences” ([1898] 1982, 324).
Much has changed over the course of the twentieth century. Central Thai
audiences today hold their hands in the formal wai position of respect as they
listen to the sacred recitations; their expressions are solemn, meditative, and
emotionless. At a public recitation I observed at Wat Samien Nari in Bangkok
in the summer of 2013, the temple committee had even invited the central Thai
monk who was famous for his performance of Jujaka. With the exception of
inattentive school children who were giggling at each other’s jokes and oblivious
to the monk, the audience was not laughing. The audience I observed at another
recitation at Siriraj Hospital was similarly solemn. The expectation that a
performance of the Vessantara Jataka be enjoyable has clearly faded among
modern central Thai audiences. This chapter will argue that despite scholars’
suggestions that the court opposed jataka performances, the Thai court has in
fact played an important role in promoting formal recitations while successfully
defeating humor. Thus the decline in the jataka’s popularity is better explained
by the lack of humor in the now dominant courtly textual version and the after-
math of the transition from absolute to constitutional monarchy in 1932.
This chapter is divided into four sections. The first section presents evi-
dence showing significant court involvement in recitations from the founding
of the Bangkok dynasty in 1782 to the present. The second section notes the
important role of members of the royal family in shaping a stately, sober inter-
pretation of the jataka. By downplaying the Jujaka chapter and foregrounding
maritime imagery in the Kumarn chapter, the court provided a more meta-
physical interpretation of the jataka, portraying it as a boat to cross the sea of
suffering. These two sections rely heavily on the account of Colonel Gerolamo
Emilio Gerini, an Italian who spent twenty-five years in Bangkok (1881–1906)
and whose account I consider particularly reliable since it was proofread by
none other than King Rama V himself.
The third section describes recitations and interpretations in central Thai-
land, highlighting their overall similarities with those of the court in Bangkok.
The concluding section notes the decline in the overall popularity of Vessantara
Jataka recitations in the central region, attributing this decline both to royal
 Central Thailand • 41

Figure 4. Jataka performance in honor of the birthdays of the Thai king and queen. The monk
recites a chapter in a forest setting, surrounded by mounds of coconuts, banana stalks, lily pads,
money trees, and pyramidal offerings made from flower blossoms. Siriraj Hospital, Bangkok, July
20–22, 2011. Photo by author.

success in eradicating humor and the weakened position of the aristocracy

following the revolution of 1932. This chapter shows how the Bangkok court
succeeded in damping down the laughter Jujaka might have elicited, but for the
reasons why it objected to this humor we will have to track Jujaka into other
regions in subsequent chapters.

Royal State Perfor mances

Although some have argued that court support for the Vessantara Jataka ended
by the late nineteenth century, this section will show that court support for
formal recitations has been maintained into the present. State recitations at the
royal temple of Wat Phra Kaew continue to this day, and a state-supported
recitation also occurs at Phutthamonthon, a national Buddhist park located
west of Bangkok. The court was also involved in public recitations at Wat Phra
 42 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Kaew and in chapter recitations by novices; these recitations continued well

into the twentieth century but appeared to have declined after 1932 with the
transition from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy.

Wat Phra Kaew (Emerald Buddha Temple)

The importance of the Vessantara Jataka in statecraft is made clear by the
maintenance of the long-standing tradition of its triannual recitation at the
royal court temple. The court temple of the modern Thai kingdom is Wat
Phra Kaew, the popular tourist destination located in the compound of the
Grand Palace in Bangkok. This royal temple has long been the site for the most
important state rituals for the Bangkok court. Today, an excerpt of the jataka is
recited three times during Buddhist Lent each year at Wat Phra Kaew, notably
by lay officials and not by monks.1 The three occasions are the beginning of
Buddhist Lent, the middle of Lent (wan sart), and at the end of Lent (wan
ohk phansaa) (Gerini [1892] 1976, 23).2 I would suggest that the association of
the Vessantara Jataka recitation with the Emerald Buddha is the result of the
convergence of two earlier traditions: (1) the tradition of the recitation of the
Vessantara Jataka at the royal court temple of Ayutthaya and (2) the tradition of
its recitation for the Emerald Buddha.
State recitations can be dated at least as far back as the Ayutthayan court.
According to Gerini, King Songtham, a former monk and accomplished poet
who ruled Ayutthaya from 1611 to 1628, wrote a version of the Vessantara Jataka
designed for thamnong suat, or chanting style (Mahachat Khamluang). Thereafter
court lay officials chanted his version at the royal court temple at Wat Sri
Sanphet in Ayutthaya. When the court was moved to Bangkok, court officials
and pupils of royal schools recited this version at both Wat Phra Kaew and
Wat Sri Sanphet every holy day. However, during the reign of Rama V, the
recitations were reduced to three (Gerini [1892] 1976, 23–25). According to
Khun Somchai Kuakoon, who is himself one of the lay specialists (kharawaat)
involved in chanting, most of the Ayutthayan text was lost when the city was
sacked, and only eight sections of the Mahaphon chapter survived. Consequently
at Wat Phra Kaew today, only the surviving eight sections of the Mahaphon
chapter of the Vessantara Jataka are recited.3
Today the recitation is entwined with the worship of the Emerald Buddha.
Considered the palladium of the modern Thai kingdom, the Emerald Buddha
was captured from Vientiane, Laos, in 1778 by the future Rama I and brought
to Thonburi, where it was initially enshrined in the palace temple of King
Taksin.4 After Rama I took the throne in 1782, he moved the court from
Thonburi to Bangkok, located on the opposite side of the Chao Phraya River.
 Central Thailand • 43

He then had the Emerald Buddha relocated and enshrined at Wat Phra Kaew
in the compound of the Grand Palace in Bangkok in 1784. Obviously recitations
for the Emerald Buddha would not have occurred in the Ayutthayan kingdoms
since these kings never possessed the image. Although the Vessantara Jataka
was likely recited at the Hor Phra Kaew temple in Vientiane, the recitation in
Laos may have occurred during Bun Pha Wet, the usual timing for Vessantara
Jataka recitations in Laos. Following a lunar calendar, Bun Pha Wet usually
occurs around March, whereas Buddhist Lent generally falls in July–October.
Consequently it appears the modern practice of reciting the Vessantara Jataka
during the rainy season at Wat Phra Kaew in Bangkok is an amalgam of the
Ayutthayan practice of reciting the jataka at the most sacred royal temple and
reverence for the Emerald Buddha itself.
The ceremonies for the changing of the Emerald Buddha’s robes follow a
different schedule from the ceremonies for chanting the Vessantara Jataka. Ini-
tially there were only two seasonal costumes; these were made for the Emerald
Buddha by King Rama I—one for the summer season and one for the rainy
season. King Rama III (r. 1824–51) had a third costume made for the cold season.5
The ceremonial changing of the robes today takes place three times a year, at
the beginning of each season: the rainy season, the cold season, and the hot
season. The chanting of the Vessantara Jataka only coincides with the changing
of the robes for the beginning of the rainy season; it is not chanted on the occa-
sion of the other two robe changes. Although the king (and now the crown
prince) performs the robe-changing ceremony, the king is only present for the
first of the three occasions during the rainy season when the excerpt from the
Vessantara Jataka is chanted (see also Wells 1939, 93). In the past, court officials
organized the jataka recitation at Wat Phra Kaew, but this role has now been
turned over to the Religious Affairs Department (Krom Kaan Saasanaa). On
the days when the king or his representative comes, the lay reciters begin
chanting in the morning so some of it has already been completed by the time
the king arrives. On those days, the chanters wear white jongkraben-style pants
and white dress jackets with white cloths across their chests. On days when the
king is not in attendance, they wear simpler white pants and shirts. Chanting
the excerpt today takes less than two hours.

Public State Recitations

In addition to the triannual formal chanting of an excerpt during Buddhist
Lent by lay officials, a second tradition appears to have developed at Wat Phra
Kaew over the course of the second half of the nineteenth century—namely, a
public recitation by monks of the full thirteen chapters. These recitations were
 44 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

held during the rainy season, toward the end of Lent. I stumbled upon this
now defunct annual monastic recitation by accident. In my search for people to
interview about Vessantara Jataka recitations at Wat Phra Kaew, I had gone to
the Grand Palace inquiring about who might be knowledgeable about “thet
Mahachat.” Because I had read about annual Vessantara Jataka recitations for
the changing of the Emerald Buddha’s robes, I was quite surprised when I was
repeatedly told by staff that annual recitations are no longer held and indeed
had ended “decades ago.” I was finally given the name of a former staff person,
an elderly man who had worked there since 1937. He insisted that the recitation
of the Vessantara Jataka had not been held annually or in association with the
changing of the robes for as long as he could remember.6 However, I later
learned that the main organizer of the recitations at Wat Phra Kaew was the
lay leader (makhathayok, also called huanaa nakthaet) of Wat Prayoon (or Wat
Prayurawongsawat).7 I wondered why Wat Prayoon came to play such an
important organizational role. Wat Phra Kaew is not a temple with monks, so
of course any monastic recitation would involve monks from elsewhere. Wat
Prayoon was built in 1828 by the powerful Minister in charge of the Royal
Treasury, Foreign Affairs and Defense, Somdet Chaophraya Borom Maha
Prayurawong (Dit Bunnag, also known as Somdet Ong Yai). In 1832 the mon-
astery was declared a royal monastery by King Rama III under the name of
Wat Prayurawongsawat. (Wat Prayoon is its shortened form.) Prayurawong
played a very important role in Prince Mongkut’s ascension to the throne as
the King Rama IV. Prayurawong died in 1856 at the age of sixty-eight. Of his
forty-seven children, many held positions of high rank.8 Since Wat Prayoon
only became a royal temple in 1832, it is unlikely it was involved in organizing
annual monastic recitations at Wat Phra Kaew before then (although the court
itself may have organized such performances directly). Recitations may have
begun during the reigns of Rama IV or Rama V, since this period marked the
height of the Bunnag family’s power. It is possible the recitations began during
the period when Rama V took the throne as a young boy and when Chao Sri
Suriyawongse, Prayurawong’s son, was serving as regent, perhaps as a way to
provide stability in this transition period.
These recitations appear to have ended by the 1930s. When I asked Phra
Rajathammawaathii, a senior monk at Wat Prayoon, why the recitations had
ended, he said that when the main lay organizer at his temple died, no one else
was able to continue organizing the recitations. Clearly this explanation is in-
sufficient; other lay organizers could have been found. I suspect that the demise
of annual monastic recitations at Wat Phra Kaew is correlated with the eco-
nomic pressures on the court budget during the 1920s and intensified by the
 Central Thailand • 45

Great Depression of 1929–30, as well as political pressures following the People’s

Coup of 1932. For both economic and political reasons, the new government
likely wanted to curtail this quasi-royalist recitation.

Special State Occasions

In addition to the triannual lay recitation and annual monastic recitations at
Wat Phra Kaew, the court sponsored particularly lavish recitations on special
state occasions. One such occasion was the founding of the new capital in
Bangkok in 1782. Given that Rama I’s predecessor, King Taksin, was deposed,
one can imagine a political period of uncertainty. The 1782 recitation was on a
grand scale, drawing explicit comparisons to the “Gift of the Seven Hundreds”
and the dramatic almsgiving of the Ayutthayan king Prasat Thong in 1639.
The “Gift of the Seven Hundreds” is a reference to the Thanakan chapter in
which Vessantara offers seven hundred elephants, horses, chariots, beautiful
women, well-trained slaves of both sexes, cows and bulls (Cone and Gombrich
1977, 24). The year 1639 marked the millennial anniversary of the Chulasakarat
calendar, which began in 638 CE.9 Faced with dire prophecies predicting the
“end of the ages” and questions about his legitimacy, the Ayutthayan king
performed a symbolic version of Vessantara’s offering by giving one hundred
items from each of seven categories: elephants, ponies, carts, male slaves, female
slaves, gold and silver catties (Gerini [1892] 1976, 33; Baker et al. 2005, 156–57,
243–44). Rama I gave on a lesser scale than King Prasat Thong, but the amount
was nonetheless apparently impressive. In addition, the king and his relatives
showered the assembled crowds with limes containing “lottery tickets, consisting
of slips of palm leaf inscribed with the name of the donor or donors and the
designation of the articles, either in nature or correspondent value in cash, to
which the recipient of the tickets is entitled” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 33). Given the
circumstances of Rama I’s succession to the throne, one can easily see the grand
distribution of gifts not only as part of an effort in merit-making but also in
establishing the new court’s political legitimacy.
Special state recitations also took place in 1805 and 1807. Gerini does not
explain the circumstances prompting these recitations, but he provides details
of the 1807 recitation and notes that it surpassed the 1805 ceremony. The reci-
tation began on November 7 and lasted two days. It took place in the Grand
Palace, with three senior priests each reciting one-third of the Pali Khathaphan.10
The king attended, together with “the royal family, the court and ministers of
the realm, the wise men (kravijati), the purohitas of the royal household and
the astrologers.” The throne hall was “gaily decked with conical umbrellas,
flowers of the most brilliant hues and sweet fragrance; gorgeous lustres and
 46 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

candleabra, giving it a highly picturesque appearance.” The raised platform

where the monks sat was also decorated with flowers and “the golden and silver
trees of tribute sent by the Malayan, Cambodian and Laosian States recognizing
the suzerainty of the King of Siam” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37).
Although the decorations and the performance inside the throne hall
would only have been witnessed by participants inside the court, the spectacular
offerings would have been visible to the broader public. On the first day, as each
monk completed his reading, the king presented him with “a set of robes and
priestly requisites, besides a quantity of sweetmeats, fruits and other presents.”
Each monk was then “escorted with great pomp to the barge designed for
him.” The gifts were loaded into one of three canopied royal barges “decked
with innumerable hanging lamps, gay makara flags (Chinese dragon standards),
which was moored at the royal landing, each waiting to convey in turn one of
the three officiating high-priests to their monasteries.” Each senior monk was
then accompanied “by a large retinue of other boats to the temple, where the
offerings were taken out of the barge and carried to his cell” (Gerini [1892]
1976, 37).
On the second day, the gifts were no less extravagant. On this day, the
thirteen chapters were recited in Thai. The supreme patriarch (sangharaja)
who resided at Wat Mahathat recited the first chapter, and Phra Phanarat of
Wat Pho recited the final chapter (Gerini [1892] 1976, 36). Different members
of the royal family assumed responsibility for preparing the krajaats, or offering
baskets, for each of the thirteen monks.11 The king’s eldest son supplied the
offerings for the first and last chapters, the king’s second son provided the gifts
for the second chapter, and other princes and princesses provided gifts for the
remaining chapters (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37, 63).12 In addition to the krajaat, the
king gave the monks gifts that included bedsteads, large brass bowls, boats,
palanquins, sedan chairs, covered howdahs, and uncovered elephant seats replete
with mahouts, as well as money and clothing for each of the thirteen chapters.
As each monk completed his chapter, “the musical band consisting both of
string and brass instruments, Malay drums, sankha shells, etc., struck up a
lively strain” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37). They were then escorted in a grand royal
procession, either in palanquins or in boats, back to their temples.13
The thirteen krajaat baskets were gigantic. Each krajaat was a pyramidal
structure comprised of five or seven layers, thirty-three feet wide at the bottom
and as much as forty-seven feet in height. At the base were wicker baskets
“with dry food, boiled rice and sweetmeats prepared in the best style.” Around
the upper edge were monks’ robes folded up in white cloth “in the shape of
conical umbrellas, sprays, twigs and flowers,” or displayed so as to represent
 Central Thailand • 47

flags and banners. Eight companies of body guards (tamruat) and government
serfs ( phrailuang) had erected sheds to protect the krajaat from the sun and
rain. One of the krajaats, prepared by a prominent palace lady, included “a
slave youth still wearing the top-knot, who was to be presented as a servant to
the priests” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37).
According to Gerini, the enormous krajaat were “the prominent feature of
the festival.” He describes the reaction of the public as follows: “The people
assembled in large crowds to see the krachats [krajaat]; all beholders were raising
up their joined hands in act of praise and admiration, exclaiming sadhu, sadhu
(well done! hurrah!) and rejoicing in their hearts at the sight of the great act
of merit accomplished by the king. The elders, who had in their childhood
witnessed similar exhibitions at Ayuthia, said they never beheld krachats of so
sumptuous and imposing a character” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37).
As Gerini himself writes, his account “gives an idea as to what high impor-
tance the recitation of the Maha Jati [Mahachat] acquires in Siam when it be-
comes a State ceremony” ([1892] 1976, 37). Writing at the end of the nineteenth
century, Gerini remarks that even though the Thet Mahachat ceremony was
“not so general and popular as in the days of yore,” it was still held annually, the
temples were still gaily decorated with five varieties of nymphoea flowers, and
it “[ranked] among the important religious performances to be witnessed in the
country” ([1892] 1976, 34). King Rama III included in his coronation ritual an
imitation of Vessantara’s act of giving away his son (Nidhi [1982] 2005, 200).
Another grand recitation took place in 1882, on the occasion of the one hun-
dredth anniversary of the founding of Bangkok.14 In addition to these ostenta-
tious state occasions, the aristocracy supported recitations at the various royal
temples throughout Bangkok and in other towns in the central region.
Thus evidence indicates that recitations of the Vessantara Jataka have
remained an important element of royal statecraft. The practice of court repre-
sentatives chanting an excerpt at Wat Phra Kaew continues to the present.
Although less lavish than in the nineteenth century, royally sponsored recitations
have been re-established at Phutthamonthon, a government park opened in
1955 in celebration of the 2,500th year of the Buddhist Era. According to a
senior staff member there, recitations of the Vessantara Jataka began there in
about 1990 and are held during Buddhist Lent.15 In 1991 the jataka was recited
in honor of Crown Princess Sirindhorn and in 1992 in honor of Queen Sirikit’s
sixtieth birthday ( Jory 1996, 5n22). Members of the royal family, notably Princess
Sirindhorn, continue to host chapters. Thus in 1995 the princess hosted the Matsi
chapter in memory of her grandmother. In 2005 she hosted the Maharaat
chapter in honor of her fiftieth birthday. In 2006 she sponsored the Maharaat
 48 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

chapter in honor of the king’s sixtieth anniversary on the throne. In other

years she has sponsored chapters in honor of her father’s and mother’s birth-
days, supporting recitations of Nakornkan, Kumarn, and Chohkasat. Recently
Princess Chulabhorn came, hosting the Jujaka chapter. Different government
agencies work with the National Ecclesiastical Council (Mahatherasamakhom)
to organize these major state recitations.

Novice Recitations
Further evidence of royal support of the Vessantara Jataka is exemplified through
novice recitations. Unique to the central region, these ceremonies feature novices
who returned to their parents’ homes to recite a single chapter from the Vessan-
tara Jataka.16 The timing “for this simple but impressive ceremony” was typically
in October or November, just after Buddhist Lent. The ceremonial reading
“was performed with great pomp in every household in past generations” and
would “[confer] pleasure on [the] parents” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 34–35). The
logic underlying the custom, Gerini suggests quite plausibly, “seems to owe its
origin to Buddha having pronounced the Vessantara jataka in the midst of an
assembly of his relatives and friends.” He continues, “This is the reason the
Vessantara jataka and no other is selected for the novice to rehearse on such
occasions” ([1892] 1976, 34; see also Young [1898] 1982, 336–37).
Although novice recitations were once widespread, they survived the
longest among royalty and other elite families. As Gerini observes in 1892, “this
custom, which up to forty or fifty years ago was quite general and strictly adhered
to by every family whether rich or poor, has gradually declined, and nowadays
its observance is limited to a few of the noblest and wealthiest families of the
realm” ([1892] 1976, 34). Similarly, Ernest Young, writing in 1898, remarks:
“With the exception of the public state recital of the poem, it is now only recited
in connection with the novitiate of the eldest sons of rich parents. The poor no
longer ask their friends to visit their houses to listen to the thousand stanzas. . . .
The honour of thus repeating the old story belongs now to the eldest son,
except in the case of children of royal birth, for each of whom a public recital is
held” ( [1898] 1982, 336–37; see also Fournereau [1894] 1998, 123; Lyons 1960,
168).17
The novice normally recited only one or two chapters (kan) (Gerini [1892]
1976, 34). According to Phya Anuman Rajadhon, “There is a certain kan or
part of its story which has a popular and favourite melody and one which the
father of the novice wishes his son to learn and recite. When he has mastered
the kan with its melody, he is invited to give a recitation of that kan at his
parents’ house. It is a great day for there is gathering of the family, also of
 Central Thailand • 49

friends and neighbours to hear the recitation” (1988, 193). According to Young,
the novice may recite even less: “As the novice has not had time to learn the
whole poem, he only delivers the first few lines, the rest being repeated by
monks of longer standing, who have it all by heart” ([1898] 1982, 336–37; see
also Gerini [1892] 1976, 34).18 At the conclusion of the ceremony, “offerings of
food and robes are ostentatiously distributed to those priests who have given
their services” (Young [1898] 1982, 336–37). The offerings are prepared “for the
boy in whose honour the celebration is held” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 34). Upon
completion of the recitation, the novice then “distributes these offerings among
his brethren and the elders of the temple” and, even more remarkably, “also to
his young relatives and friends of the laity” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 34).
In the case of the crown princes, the ceremonies took place at the royal
chapel in the Grand Palace ( phra thinang song tham) (Gerini [1892] 1976, 36).
The young novices were brought to the chapel from the monasteries at which
they were residing (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35–36).19 The 1866 account provides a
poignant description of the prince-novice’s arrival by state coach at the chapel,
noting his father, the king, “came forth to meet him, and taking him in his
arms made him alight; then led him by the hand up to the royal chapel” (Gerini
[1892] 1976, 36).
When a crown prince performed his novice recitation, the ceremonies were
extraordinarily lavish and very public spectacles. Accounts remain of all three
of the crown princes—namely, Prince Mongkut (later Rama IV) in 1817, hosted
by his father, King Rama II; Prince Chulalongkorn (later Rama V) in 1866,
hosted by his father, Rama IV; and Crown Prince Vajirunhis in December
1891, hosted by his father, Rama V (Gerini [1892] 1976, 34–36).20 Interestingly,
Gerini remarks that the 1817 performance “had never in former reigns happened
on such a magnificent scale” ([1892] 1976, 35). Unlike the trays and wicker
baskets used in other novice recitations, the krajaat for the 1817 recitation was
“colossal”—namely, “a conical seven storied structure like a Siamese royal
umbrella or canopy of state” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35). With “the Court, the
nobility and the people assembled in large crowds,” these lavish krajaat, “splendid
to behold,” were restricted for use only by novices who were heirs apparent
(Gerini [1892] 1976, 35, 63). The offerings for the 1866 and 1891 novice ordinations
were even more spectacular, the framework for both structured as Chinese
junks.
Such novice recitations suggest that the Vessantara Jataka recitations
continued to be an important part of the lives of both members of the court and
other elite families well into the twentieth century. Writing in the mid-twentieth
century, Phya Anuman notes that “many Kings and Princes of the present
 50 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

dynasty, have, in the past, entered the Faith as [novices] and have performed
such a recitation of the Great Birth for the monarchs, their august forefathers,”
but adds, “this custom is seldom done nowadays” (1988, 193–94). A senior
monk in Suphanburi recalled that parents were still hosting novice recitations
in the 1950s. The noted Buddhist intellectual Sulak Sivaraksa (1933–) informed
me that he himself recited a chapter for his parents when he was a novice.21

Establishing the Court Text

A survey of royal performances of the Vessantara Jataka suggests profound
royal interest in supporting annual recitations at the court temple of Wat Phra
Kaew, in both lay chanting and monastic readings. King Rama IV, despite his
role in founding the Thammayut reform sect, recited the Matsi chapter for his
novitiate and wrote editions of several chapters, including the Sakabap chapter,
which was recited by his son when he became crown prince at his own novice
ceremony. Similarly, King Rama V, despite his modern attitudes regarding
administration and philosophy, continued to support recitations during his
reign. He had his son recite a chapter as crown prince for his novitiate in 1891
and asked his half brother to recite a chapter on the occasion of the one hun-
dredth anniversary of Bangkok in 1882. Although Thammayut temples generally
did not perform Vessantara Jataka recitations, the royally supported Mahanikai
temples continued to do so.22 Consequently, the evidence does not demonstrate
an obvious pattern of decline in royal support for recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka over the course of the nineteenth century. Instead, the court took steps
to establish an approved edition of the jataka, with members of the court actively
involved in writing most of its chapters. This court version provided little room
for comedy, presenting the jataka as a serious metaphysical text. As this section
will show, the court appears to have sought to gain control over the jataka’s
core message by portraying it as an otherworldly text about escaping suffering
rather than a this-worldly celebration of bawdy humor.

Court Authors
Court interest in the Vessantara Jataka is indicated not only through official
support for recitations but also through the court’s role in developing a definitive
text. Of the thirteen chapters that comprise the Vessantara Jataka, all but three
were written by members of the Bangkok court, including King Rama IV him-
self. No complete court text of the Vessantara Jataka apparently survived the
sacking of Ayutthaya, so various poets, primarily princes affiliated with the court,
worked together to reproduce all thirteen chapters. Chaophraya Phrakhlang
 Central Thailand • 51

(Hon),23 Minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs under Rama I, wrote editions
of the Matsi and Kumarn chapters; a subsequent version of Matsi was written
by Prince Kromsomdet Phra Bamrap Parapak, a son of Rama IV (Gerini [1892]
1976, 54).
Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot, a son of Rama I who later became supreme
patriarch of the Buddhist sangha, played a particularly important role. In the
version used in state recitations, Prince Paramanuchit wrote or edited at least
seven chapters: Thotsaphon (chapter 1), Himaphan (chapter 2), Thanakan
(chapter 3), Wanaprawet (chapter 4), Maharaat (chapter 11), Chohkasat (chapter
12), and Nakornkan (chapter 13) (Gerini [1892] 1976, 54). Prince Paramanuchit
also produced a version of Chulaphon (chapter 6) (see Nidhi [1982] 2005,
219–20).24
King Rama IV himself—despite being the founder of the Thammayut
order and having denounced buffoonish recitations—composed editions of
three chapters—namely, Wanaprawet (chapter 4), Chulaphon (chapter 6),
and, most notably, Sakabap (chapter 10). His edition of Sakabap was recited by
his son, Rama V, upon his ordination as a novice and was also recited by Crown
Prince Vajirunhis on his ordination as a novice in December 1891 (Gerini [1892]
1976, 60; see also Nidhi [1982] 2005, 208–9).
Government interest in the Vessantara Jataka continued into the early
twentieth century. The role of Rama IV and other high-ranking members of
the aristocracy can be seen in the compilation published as the “standard” by
the Department of Education in 1910 (Nidhi [1982] 2005, 207) and the related
compilation recently published by the Munithi Hortrai in 1990. The Munithi
Hortrai adopted the following recensions:

1. Thotsaphon Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot

2. Himaphan Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot
3. Thanakan Unnamed; Wat Thanon
4. Wanaprawet King Rama IV
5. Jujaka Unnamed; Wat Sangkrajai (Phra Thepmuni [Duang])
6. Chulaphon King Rama IV
7. Mahaphon Phra Thepmoli (Klin)
8. Kumarn Chaophraya Phra Khlang (Hon)
9. Matsi Chaophraya Phra Khlang (Hon)
10. Sakabap King Rama IV
11. Maharaat Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot
12. Chohkasat Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot
13. Nakornkan Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot
 52 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Boat Symbolism and the Kumarn Chapter

In comparison with the Pali version and versions from other regions of Thailand,
the royal version of the Vessantara Jataka differs in its emphasis. In Chaophraya
Phrakhlang’s version, the boat imagery in the Kumarn chapter is greatly elabo-
rated. In this chapter, the two children flee and hide in a lotus pond when they
learn of Jujaka’s intention to take them to be his wife’s servants. As can be seen
in the following passage, in the Pali rendition, the boat imagery is very brief. In
the Pali version, Vessantara follows their footprints to the pond and calls out:
Come hither, my beloved son, my perfect state fulfil;
Come now and consecrate my heart, and follow out my will.
Be thou my ship to ferry me safe o’er existence’ sea,
Beyond the worlds of birth and gods I’ll cross and I’ll be free.
(Cowell [1895] 1957, 5:282)

This boat imagery is dramatically expanded in Chaophraya Phrakhlang’s

variation of this scene. Although written in the early nineteenth century, this
version has become the “official” one. Nidhi has done a close comparative
reading of Chaophraya Phrakhlang’s and an older version, which Nidhi argues
dates from the late Ayutthayan period found in Phetchaburi. The importance
of the boat metaphor is already evident in the Phetchaburi text (see Nidhi [1982]
2005, 216). Thus Chaophraya Phrakhlang was expanding upon not only the
Pali but also the Phetchaburi version by adding even greater maritime detail to
the already extensive passage involving boat imagery.25 In one very long section,
the central Thai text describes a junk’s hull, mast, rigging, flags, cargo, and
encounter during a monsoon while on the high seas (Nidhi [1982] 2005, 217).
Gerini also highlights the growing symbolic importance of the boat imagery
over the course of the nineteenth century, concluding humorously:

As a matter of course new features were gradually introduced into modern

versifications of this passage of the Maha Chat; and in a measure, as shipping
progressed, the golden Vessel of the Law was also improved in fittings and
appearance. From King Song Tham’s reign, when it was depicted as a Chinese
junk, down to the present time, it passed through numerous transformations,
and became successively a square rigged vessel, a frigate, a paddle-steamer, a
screw-steamer, and an iron-clad; and it would not be at all surprising in some
contemporary or future refashioner of the poem should describe it as a torpedo-
boat or a submarine vessel. ([1892] 1976, 50)
 Central Thailand • 53

Figure 5. Krajaat built as a Chinese junk for the novitiate of the crown prince in 1891. Part of the
elaborate maritime display erected for the occasion next to the palace, the fifty-meter-long wooden
krajaat was a replica of the masonry junk jedi located at Wat Yannawa, Bangkok. With two jedis as
its masts, the boat symbolizes the means to enable humans to cross the sea of suffering. Photo on
display at Wat Yannawa, Bangkok, July 2015. Rephotographed by author.

The importance of the boat imagery of this chapter is also highlighted in

aspects of its performance. The Kumarn chapter is chanted in a special style
called lae Yannawa (boat chanting), serving to further emphasize the importance
of the boat imagery and underscore the children as the ship that will carry their
father over the sea of suffering (Manee 1976, 62). When the crown princes held
their public recitations, the offerings were presented in the form of junks. For
the 1866 ceremony of the crown prince, the krajaat was “in the shape of a sym-
bolical ship, built after the style of a Chinese junk or samphao” (Gerini [1892]
1976, 35). Set up in front of the Grand Palace, it was “the admiration of the
people at large, who assembled in crowds to see it” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 00).
Gerini provides the following detailed description: “The junk was intended as
a support or basement for the krachats which were three in number and stood
in the place of the masts. One towering seven storied krachat was substituted
for the main mast, and two smaller ones of five tiers for the fore and mizen
 54 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

masts. On deck were disposed stalls replete with goods after the manner ob-
served on board the junks which formerly came to trade with Siam.” These
goods included “sweatmeats, cold eatables, fruits, Buddhist priests’ requisites
and implements, in large quantities.” To make sure the offering boats would be
widely viewed, the king “directed that theatricals or ‘Lakhons’ should be added
to the programme, so as to render the pageant more attractive” (Gerini [1892]
1976, 35–36).
For the novice ceremonial in 1891, the boat was even larger than in the 1866
version. Descriptions are provided by Ernest Young, Lucien Fournereau, and
Gerini. Young notes, “A huge junk was erected on the grass, and its sides were
totally covered with boxes of cigars, boxes of sardines, and tinned provisions.
The cabins and hold were filled with eatables” ([1898] 1982, 337). In addition,
Gerini points to “a numerous fleet of minor craft of all descriptions; of fishes
both real and fantastic; and marine monsters, all made of or filled with eatables
and other offerings tastefully arranged” ([1892] 1976, 36). Fournereau describes
a long palisade made of sugarcane and enclosing a public exposition, “a curious
retrospective history of shipbuilding in Siam”; he elaborates:

The traveler who visits this strange enclosure at least believes that he is
transported to the island of pleasure, of a gastronomic past: a lighthouse of
sugar throws its electric light on ice fields of sweet things. All around the junk
and its accessories runs a small barrier of edible things and cakes and at the end
opposite of the lighthouse, a crenellated wall, flanked by donjons of match-
boxes, closes the enclosure.26
The remainder of the terrain is overcrowded with fabulous or mythological
animals, dragons, griffins, sharks, the smallest of which are six meters long. A
gigantic swordfish made of sardine cans opens its eyes formed by American
stopwatches and moves its fins made of Japanese platters.
The junk, fifty meters long, produces a complete illusion. All kinds of gifts
overload it from the front to the back. On the false bridge stand wax figures in
natural sizes, chairs and furniture of the same material; on the poop deck a
niche launches a slender Phra Chedi in to the sky. Along the masts and the
ship’s rail electric lamps illuminate this terrestrial vessel the hull of which is
overflowing with fruits, areca-nuts and coconuts.
The lower part of the hull below the line of flotation is made of sugar cane.
Let us still indicate the steam launch, a masterpiece of ingenuity, given that the
construction materials consist of paper, rags, matchboxes and tinplates.
Summing up, this spectacle is most picturesque at night when it is animated
 Central Thailand • 55

by this rainbow-colored and shouting crowd which applauds and claps their
hands like a herd of children. ([1894] 1998, 122–25)

Nidhi argues that the expansion of the boat imagery was an indication that
the jataka was being interpreted “less as a religious sermon and more [as] a
piece of literature.” Explaining that Chaophraya Phrakhlang was making full
use of his own direct experience of the junks leaving the port of Bangkok,
Nidhi suggests that this change “reflects the greater confidence in human
ability which is characteristic of the thinking of the upper class generally in the
early Bangkok period” ([1982] 2005, 218). In Nidhi’s view, Chaophraya Phrakh-
lang “added metaphors from this world which results in a considerable weaken-
ing of the other-worldly meaning” ([1982] 2005, 218). I would like to offer a
different interpretation—namely, that by expanding the boat imagery in the
text, the jataka becomes more firmly linked not only with scientific maritime
advances and global trade but also with the metaphysical message of a more
philosophical tradition of Buddhism being encouraged by the court and its
intertwined Thammayut reform sect.
The comparison of worldly suffering with ocean imagery is widespread in
Buddhism, “the stormy ocean of continued existence or transmigration” from
which the soul “is only able to escape by following four sublime courses or
paths (ariyamagga) leading to the dipa, the ‘island’ of Arhatship and thence to
Nirvana, the ‘Further Shore’ (Para) where salvation is attained by a release
from existence” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 44). Yana nawa is the “water-vehicle” of
salvation and has gained a symbolic place in Siamese art. At Wat Pho, the
“golden vessel of the Law” is depicted as a Chinese junk, or samphao, on the
Buddha’s foot (Gerini [1892] 1976, 47). Wat Yannawa has an enormous masonry
junk that was built by order of King Rama III; it has two jedis as its masts.27
The symbolism was also repeated in the boat replicas used as public krachat
beginning at least as early as the celebration of the crown prince’s novice ordina-
tion in 1866. In sum, the boat is “the vehicle which will enable human beings to
cross the ocean of rebirth, affliction, and death, and reach a safe and peaceful
haven” (Gerini [1892] 1976, 48). Its elaboration in both text and performance
can be seen as a combination of the court’s growing dependence on the junk
trade and on King Mongkut’s interest in combining science with philosophical
insights in Buddhism through the use of nautical imagery.
A subsequent passage in the Kumarn chapter establishes the link between
the this-worldly ship and the transcendental ship. Gerini provides the following
summary text of this passage:
 56 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

My children, my dear ones, your father scarcely sees your faces in the broad
light as yet. You must come forth, and learn of the golden ship your father
devises to build. He will take as her deck the ten perfections accumulated
during one hundred thousand kalpas [eons]; the eight successful attainments in
the path of charity and other meritorious practices, as pilots steering on a
straight course across the ocean of worldly existence. Of the three jewels (i.e.
Buddha, the Law and the Order) he will make three sublime masts; of his
virtuous behaviour and high morality, her excellent sails and awnings; of the
superior virtues he has practised and perfected for ages (i.e. his steadfast and
true resolve to attain Buddhahood), her hull. Moreover, he will take the four
sublime truths to be the hour glass that will tell the watches of day and night
whilst the ocean is being crossed. He will take the star of truth as the guide of
the ship’s course; the modesty that deterred him from sin as the windlass; his
meritorious actions, as shipmaster and mate; and out of his unflinching determi-
nation and unswerving resolution he will make the rudder which shall keep the
ship on a straight course.
Do ye be attentive now, my children! Your father will load this ship with all
that is required to accomplish the journey, that is, the seven constituents of
Buddhahood; he will erect amid ships a royal throne for himself adorned with
the seven gems of the scriptures and canopied by a gold and jewelled pavilion.
Crowds of Devas [deities] will sing his praises and extol his universal science;
the golden ship will meanwhile weigh anchor and glide off majestically on the
billows. Although thousands of impetuous surges may rush against her bulwarks
and the immense violence of the wind of desire and lust try to stay her course
and drive her back to this world, the ship will yet keep on going and will over-
come all dangers, and lo! Your father will effect his escape from the realm of
ignorance, error and see it no more.
Such is the transcendental ship and it now must appear clearly before the
mind, my dear Chali, that only with a ship like this will it be possible for me to
cross. ([1892] 1976, 49–50)

Fournereau provides more details of the 1891 novitiate of the crown prince,
which further suggests that the boat imagery was selected deliberately as a
metaphysical metaphor. The four-day event began with reading the jataka
([1894] 1998, 122–25). On the second day, the crown prince held a lecture on the
allegory represented by the junk as a krajaat, explaining that the junk is a “sym-
bol of the journey of all men towards Nirvana” (Fournereau [1894] 1998, 123).
On the third day he held a sermon in which he elaborated upon the four noble
truths. On the final day Fournereau says there was a lottery for the materials of
 Central Thailand • 57

the junk and its contents, which were “distributed among the monks” ([1894]
1998, 123). Ernest Young states that “the whole vessel was broken up, and its
contents distributed amongst the poor and the hospitals ([1898] 1982, 337).
Gerini writes that the gifts, “though intended exclusively for the young Prince,”
were donated by him “partly to the relief of the sufferers from a recent cyclone
in one of the Southern provinces of the realm, and partly to the hospitals and
other charitable institutions of the capital” ([1892] 1976, 36). In the crown
prince’s actions one can hear the echoes of his grandfather Rama IV’s exhorta-
tion that the money spent on buffoonish recitations would be better spent
helping the poor. The young prince’s generosity would likely have been seen as
reinforcing the message of Vessantara’s generosity to the poor. In his sermon
and his generosity, the prince made the association of the boat imagery with
the theme of transcendence explicit. Even today, the association is widely
recognized.28

Other Royal Chapters

Other chapters of especial significance for royal recitations were the three
chapters that were most likely recited by novices, namely Sakabap, Chulaphon,
and Mahaphon (Gerini [1892] 1976, 27, 35). Of these three, Sakabap appears
the most important. Although Rama IV had recited the Matsi chapter for the
celebration of his novitiate as crown prince, he specially wrote a recension of
the Sakabap chapter to be recited by his son Chulalongkorn for his novice recita-
tions as crown prince (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35–36). As king, Chulalongkorn had
his son Vajirunhis recite this same chapter for his novice recitation in 1891
(Gerini [1892] 1976, 35–36). He also asked his half brother, Prince Vajiranana
(Wachirayan), to recite this chapter as part of the 1882 Bangkok anniversary
celebration (Reynolds 1979, 53).
In part, the relative brevity of these chapters was a reason why they were
often chosen for novices. For his novitiate, Sulak Sivaraksa had recited the
Chulaphon chapter. When I asked him why, he laughed and replied, “Because
it was short!”29 These chapters are indeed among the shortest ones; Chulaphon
has thirty-five verses, Sakabap has forty-three verses, and Mahaphon has
eighty verses. Compared to longer chapters such as Thanakan, with 209 verses,
or Himaphan, with 134 verses, these chapters are relatively short; however, they
are not the shortest. (See the list of chapters on page 00: Thotsaphon, with
nineteen verses, is the shortest, and Chohkasat has thirty-six; see Gerini [1892]
1976, 27, 35.)
However, more importantly, only certain chapters were considered appro-
priate for members of the royal family to recite. In general, according to senior
 58 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

monks who are themselves involved in royal recitations today, princes only per-
formed stately, majestic chapters that had slower cadences (riap riap, thamnong
chao). One senior monk mentioned chapters such as Thotsaphon, Himaphan,
Sakabap, or Nakornkan were appropriate for princes. Another senior monk
said members of the royal family (chya phawong) would recite the Sakabap,
Chulaphon, and Wanaprawet chapters. Chapters such as Kumarn and Matsi
were inappropriate because they show high emotion, as were the Jujaka or
Maharaat chapters because of their comedy. Chapters such as Chulaphon and
Mahaphon were also acceptable because of their flowery descriptions of nature;
as Nidhi remarks of court literature in general, “The crux is not the story or
plot but the poet’s ability to weave fine words and images” ([1982] 2005, 13).
Another possible factor in their association with royalty is that in chapters such
as Thotsaphon, Wanaprawet, and Sakabap, the god Indra is speaking; the
noble words of the powerful Indra were likely considered as more appropriate
for members of the royal family to recite than those of the covetous Jujaka.

Jujaka Chapter
The court appears to have wasted no time in establishing a court version of the
Jujaka chapter. Court concern with bawdy comic recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka can be documented back to Rama I. We can presume that the Jujaka
chapter was of particular concern. The court version of the Jujaka chapter also
dates back to the reign of Rama I. Although the text is often referred to as the
Wat Sangkrajai version, its likely author was Phra Thepmuni (Duang), both
because he was abbot of the temple at the time and because he was known for
his performances of the chapter (Damrong 1918; Manee 1976, 24–25). Phra
Thepmuni was himself a monk whom Rama I frequently consulted. Further-
more, Rama I’s chief consort, Chaochom Waen, played a major role in the
temple’s establishment.30 Waen, the daughter of the King of Vientiane, became
a consort of Rama I in 1779, in the days before he became king, when he was
leading a military campaign against Vientiane. After a major altercation between
Rama I and his queen over Waen, Waen became his chief consort and oversaw
palace affairs.31 Consequently, the selection of the abbot of Wat Sangkrajai as
the author of the problematic Jujaka chapter was likely not accidental but instead
suggests the deep concern of the court with this chapter.
Phra Thepmuni’s rendition of Jujaka portrays him as evil and very disgusting.
The tone of the chapter is not humorous. Amitataa is portrayed as filial and
tragic, a woman who views herself as a slave (thaat). Even the scene of the village
women attacking Amitataa is filled with pathos rather than humor; the village
women question the integrity of her parents, commenting that parents usually
 Central Thailand • 59

try to do well by their children and not marry them off to the likes of such a
despicable old man. They malign her by suggesting that she must have made
an offering to the gods at the wrong time such that an old black crow flew off
with them before they reached the gods, or she made incorrect offerings to the
gods, or she spoke badly with monks or someone who was an arahant. They
suggest she would be better off dead than having to live under her current
circumstances.
Senior monks I interviewed stated explicitly that not only was humor in-
appropriate for chapters recited by members of the royal family, it was also
inappropriate for royal recitations at court. They explained that there were two
main types of recitations: royal and popular. The thamnong luang style uses
more formal language, a more languorous recitation style, and often includes
the accompaniment of a piiphaat ensemble.32 Furthermore, royal readings are
tightly structured; each monk must stick to the time allotted him. Royal per-
formances do not include comedy (luuklen) because, as one senior monk stated
explicitly, it would be “inappropriate to have joking in a royal performance for a
king or other member of the royal family.” By contrast, when these same
monks perform for regular audiences, they use a style called thamnong lae, in
which the vocabulary is changed to make sure the audience can understand the
words. As one monk explained, instead of royal or formal words for “to eat,”
sawoej or raprathaan, they use informal words such as daek and kin. Several
monks indicated that they felt their audiences would not approve of any joking.
One taxi driver from Nakhon Nayok, responding to my query about whether
any central Thai monks made jokes part of their recitations, stated that monks
were not supposed to chant that way and should instead “preach as the Buddha
had taught that it should be done” (thet baep phraphutthachao sohn wai).

Popular Perfor mances

If court performances were formal and centered upon a maritime metaphysical
metaphor, how did the public interpret the Vessantara Jataka? In this section, I
will suggest that, given overall similarities in the way the jataka has come to be
performed in the central region, the Bangkok court was relatively successful in
implementing its more metaphysical interpretation. The overall pattern in reci-
tations of the Vessantara Jataka in the central region shares many similarities
with the court form in such matters as timing, offerings, favored chapters, de-
emphasis of Jujaka, and lack of humor.33
Although the Bangkok court developed an increasingly negative attitude
toward bawdy humor, early nineteenth-century court literature itself had erotic
Figure 6. Jujaka chapter: bawdy village scene. An early nineteenth-century central Thai cloth
painting with bawdy vignettes showing Amitataa being ridiculed by village women, villagers
fighting, and Jujaka with Amitataa. Paint and gold on cloth. Gift from Doris Duke Charitable
Foundation’s Southeast Asian Art Collection. Object Number 2006.27.81.3. Asian Art Museum,
San Francisco.
 Central Thailand • 61

elements portrayed in “wondrous scenes” (bot atsachan).34 Although Nidhi

suggests that they had faded from Thai upper-class literature even before the
influx of Victorian morality from the west, “once western Victorian morality
had come to totally dominate the upper class in the second half of the nineteenth
century, wondrous scenes completely disappeared from upper class literature”
([1982] 2005, 32; see also Pasuk and Baker 2011). Nonetheless, bawdy literature
rife with “wondrous scenes” continued among folk poets. As Nidhi explains:
Sexual activity is a rather major part of folk literature. Many forms of singing
such as boat phleng, harvest phleng, courtship phleng, Korat phleng, and phleng
thepthong (a kind of popular verse-play) are about flirting and courtship between
men and women, and refer to sexual activity by using metaphor. . . . In folk
literature, metaphors about sexual activity employed on the one hand compari-
sons with nature such as bees, flowers blooming, and rain, and on the other
hand, comparisons with everyday life such as transplanting paddy, pounding
rice, and weaving cloth. ([1982] 2005, 29–30)

Similarly, surviving Buddhist temple murals throughout Thailand include

“scenes of flirting, courting, and more-or-less explicit depictions of lovemaking”
(Brereton and Somroay 2010, 69). A temple painting dated to 1670 at Wat
Chong Nonsi in Bangkok depicts a humorous scene of a couple pounding rice
together as a mischievous boy is poised to ensnare the man’s genitals in a noose
(Napat and Gordon 1999, 7). Surviving Ayutthayan mural paintings suggest
that Amitataa and the village women was a favorite scene; Wat Chong Nonsi
features “a hilarious depiction of a near-riot when Amitataa is drawing water
from the village well. One lady is so vigorous in her protest against Amitataa’s
anti-social behaviour that she is tumbling head first down the steps of the front
porch” (Napat and Gordon 1999, 14; for more on Wat Chong Nonsi, see Anony-
mous 1982).35 Other depictions show the village women mooning Amitataa.
However, these visual memories disappear from the formal recitations.

Timing: During Buddhist Lent

Unlike other regions where recitations during Buddhist Lent were considered
to be inappropriate, recitations of the Vessantara Jataka in the central region
frequently occurred during Lent or immediately following the end of Lent.
The recitation of the excerpts of the Vessantara Jataka at Wat Phra Kaew took
place during Buddhist Lent. Mary Cort notes that krajaat festivities were usually
held in the seventh Siamese month, and she describes a ceremony in August
1883 (1886, 61–62). Monks and laity I interviewed indicated that recitations of
the Vessantara Jataka in the central region were most likely to take place either
 62 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

on Wan Sart or Wan Thewo (also called Wan Tak Bat Thewo), both festivals
occurring during Lent.
Wan Sart appears to have been the preferred date in the central region
for recitations of the Vessantara Jataka and occurs on the fifteenth waning day
of month ten of the Thai lunar calendar, or circa September–early October
(Anuman 1961, 96; 1988, 190). On this day hell opens, releasing the ghostly
spirits ( phii ).36 With the dead returning to the human world, merit made for
them is believed to be especially effective on this day. In the famous nineteenth-
century account of the Vessantara Jataka in Khun Chang Khun Phaen, the recita-
tion was held at a temple in Suphanburi on Wan Sart (Baker and Pasuk 2010,
65). At Bangkok’s Wat Suthat and Wat Arun the Vessantara Jataka is performed
annually on Wan Sart. Thonburi’s Wat Suwannaram holds the Vessantara
Jataka every year on this day. An abbot in Samut Sakorn said that his temple
no longer performed the Vessantara Jataka, but that it was usually performed
on Wan Sart. It is also one of the three days the jataka is chanted at Wat Phra
Kaew (Gerini [1892] 1976, 23).
Many other central Thai temples host Vessantara Jataka recitations on
Wan Thewo. Wan Thewo falls the day after the end of Buddhist Lent, on the
first day of the waning moon of lunar month eleven (circa October).37 This
festival marks the day that the Buddha returned from heaven after preaching to
his mother, who had died shortly after his birth. When the Buddha returned to
earth, thousands of people presented food to him and his disciples. In remem-
brance of this day, devotees make special food-offerings to monks. In many
areas, people bring a Buddha image down from a hill, imitating the Buddha’s
descent from heaven (Anuman 1986, 69). Bangkok’s Wat Mahathat holds its
recitation on Wan Thewo. Wan Thewo is a big festival in Uthai Thani, Uttara-
dit, and Suphanburi, as well as provinces in the south. Photos from Muang
Klaeng in Rayong province taken in the late 1960s show Wan Thewo being
celebrated with townspeople dressed as ghosts, animals, the god Indra, and
other deities to represent the hells and heavens (Tesabaan Tambon Muang
Klaeng 2009, 56, 126, 144, 321, 327, 353).
Convenience also factors in. Wat Pho holds its annual recitation before the
end of Lent.38 At Bangkok’s Wat Chaichanasongkram the Vessantara Jataka is
recited over a two-day period before the end of Buddhist Lent; they choose a
holy day (wan phra) that is followed by a Sunday so that people have time to
join. In explaining the general preference to hold recitations during Buddhist
Lent, one monk suggested that there are many monks gathered at temples
during Buddhist Lent, so there are more monks available for recitations. An-
other monk suggested monks are not able to beg for alms (bintabatr) in the
 Central Thailand • 63

rainy season; furthermore, many of the novices are poor and need to focus on
their studies, so the performance helps support them.
However, there were also central Thai temples both in and outside of
Bangkok that held their recitations after Buddhist Lent. Kaufman, writing of
Bangkhuad in Bangkapi district (25 kilometers northeast of Bangkok) in 1953,
notes that the Vessantara Jataka is recited as part of Loi Krathong (November)
(1960, 195). Jane Bunnag observed a partial recitation in Ayutthaya in February
1967 as part of a fund-raiser to complete an ordination hall (1973, 117–18). An
abbot in Chanthaburi (Wat Klang) said they host the Vessantara Jataka every
December. Another abbot (Wat Dorn Taan) in Chanthaburi said they hold
their annual Vessantara Jataka reading in January, adding that most temples in
Chanthaburi hold it after Lent. The explanations for why recitations were held
after Lent were also varied. Phya Anuman suggests that “the reason why it is
usually performed after the Lent is obvious. For during the period October to
December, food especially fish and prawns, are in abundance, and the people,
in particular the countryfolk, have a comparative leisure time” (1988, 190). An-
other monk suggested they did not hold their recitations during Lent because
the audience flees if it is raining (Wat Klang, Chanthaburi).

Maitreya Ignored: Beyond Twenty-Four Hours

Among the central Thai temples that held their Vessantara Jataka recitations
during Buddhist Lent, many spread their chapter recitations over a period of
days or weeks. This extended pattern is a dramatic contrast with the northern
and northeastern belief that the recitation must occur within a twenty-four-
hour period. A taxi driver from Nakhon Nayok related that a chapter of the
Vessantara Jataka was performed on holy days (wan phra) throughout Buddhist
Lent, beginning on Wan Khao Phansaa and taking three months to complete.
A taxi driver from Chachoengsao also provided an account of recitations that
extended throughout Buddhist Lent. Wat Lahaan in Nonthaburi also does a
chapter each holy day. Some wats recited a chapter each week, but on a Sunday,
when people have time. Phra Vijit provided a historical description of such an
expanded recitation from Ayutthaya, involving multiple temples and villages; I
recorded our conversation in my notes: “He was born in Ayutthaya where the
rice grew twice as tall as people. During the growing season, there was nothing
for people to do, so they had time to go to temple. The Vessantara Jataka was
generally not recited all at once, but rather 1–3 chapters were recited on a given
holy day [wan phra]. . . . A group of temples along a given river way would get
together and divide up the sponsorship of various chapters, so it wasn’t recited
all at one single temple. Each temple took a turn to host the reading of a chapter.
 64 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Whichever temple was hosting, villagers from the other communities would all
arrive by rafts and boats. The jataka was recited each year. In the central region,
the reading fostered community co-operation by having multiple communities
and monks working together.”39
While some temples stretch the reading over the entire period of Buddhist
Lent, other temples divide the reading over several consecutive days (e.g.,
Anuman 1988, 190). At Wat Suwannaram in Thonburi the recitation takes
three days. The first day the thousand verses are done in Pali, with only short
Thai summaries. The Thai version begins on the second day, with the final
chapters recited on the third day. On the final day they also hold a ceremony to
distribute the sacred water (nam mon), and they give away the bananas, coconuts,
and other offerings to the attendees. Similarly, at Wat Chaichanasongkram in
Bangkok the Vessantara Jataka is recited over a two-day period before the end
of Buddhist Lent; they choose a wan phra that is followed by a Sunday so that
people have time to join in. They recite the first six chapters in Pali in the
morning, followed by the Thai version in the afternoon; on the second day
they recite the remaining chapters in Pali and the respective chapters in Thai in
the afternoon. Interestingly, because this is historically a Mon temple with
many Mon supporters, they recite one chapter—namely, the Wanaprawet—in
Mon rather than in central Thai. At Bangkok’s Wat Mahathat, the recitation
lasts three days, each day beginning about 10:00 a.m. and ending about 6:00 p.m.
A monk at Wat Prayoon commented that the recitation may be completed in
just one day since in the modern era people are busy, or it may be spread out
over two to three days.
In the Hua Hin region, in the past these performances were done in stages
over the course of three consecutive days. The recitation typically began in the
evening and lasted from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m., when the first two chapters were
recited. Then everyone went home to bed. The next morning began about
4:00 a.m., and two more chapters were recited before breakfast. After a pause
for breakfast, two more chapters were recited. After a break for lunch, two more
chapters were recited from 1:00 to 5:00 in the afternoon. After everyone had
dinner, another two chapters were read and then everyone went home to sleep.
On the third day, the recitation again resumed at about 4:00 a.m., following
the same pattern until all thirteen chapters were completed. Nowadays it is
becoming much more common to finish the recitation in one day, using just a
few monks; this format is not because of any belief about seeing Maitreya but
simply because of the time constraints of people’s work schedules. In this
abridged format, the monk explained, three monks may take turns getting
 Central Thailand • 65

through the first six chapters in the afternoon and the remaining seven chapters
in the evening.
It is unclear how the central Thai pattern of extended recitation developed.
Nonetheless, it is easy to imagine that the court would have found this pattern
preferable to the pattern in the other regions since it undermines the association
with the millenarian Maitreya, who told people to listen to the jataka from be-
ginning to end within a twenty-four-hour period. It is ironic that many temples
are now undertaking single-day recitations, but merely for logistical reasons.40

Number of Monks
Whereas in the North the number of monks is fixed at thirteen for the thirteen
chapters and in the northeast may range as high as fifty or more, in the central
region the number of monks was generally lower. In Gerini’s account of the
1807 state recitation, three senior priests recited the Pali Khathaphan on the
first day, with thirteen reciting the thirteen Thai chapters ([1892] 1976, 37).
Kaufman notes five monks recited the jataka he observed during his fieldwork
(1960, 195). Abridged versions are also becoming more common in the central
region, further reducing the number of monks involved. However, even when
the full jataka is performed, most central Thai recitations still involve fewer
monks. Thus at the recitation in 2009 at Wat Mahathat, one of the principal
temples in Bangkok and home to a Buddhist university, five monks recited all
thirteen chapters; the reading was held over three days, and selected monks
read more than one chapter (monks were invited from Wat Pho, Wat Prayoon,
Wat Samien Nari, and Wat Saamphrayar). At Wat Suwannaram, some ten
monks were invited from various Bangkok temples, some monks chanting
more than one chapter. At Wat Prayoon, the number of monks varied from
three to thirteen. Outside of Bangkok, in Chanthaburi province temples recited
the abridged format with as few as two monks summarizing the story. One
Chanthaburi monk recalled that in the past monks specialized in certain chapters
and were carried in for the recitation (haam). A monk in Chanthaburi (Wat
Dorn Taan) said they invite five to six monks, each of whom recites two to
three chapters; monks may come from as far away as Bangkok. A taxi driver from
Chachoengsao who also said that a monk may recite more than one chapter, so
that fewer than thirteen monks need be invited, added that a person is not
considered a full monk unless they have received kathin robes and recited the
Vessantara Jataka.
Many central Thai monks and members of the laity denied that monks
specialized in specific chapters, commenting that it was difficult these days to
 66 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

find monks knowledgeable in any of the chapters. The abbot at Wat Dorn
Taan, Chanthaburi, denied that, with the exception of the Matsi chapter,
which required a softer voice, specific chapters called for special voices.41 By
contrast, several senior monks in Bangkok said that monks needed particular
kinds of voices for certain chapters: a big voice (siang yai ) for the Maharaat
chapter; a soft voice (siang lek) for the Kumarn and Matsi chapters; a lovely
voice for the Mahaphon chapter (siang numnuan, phairoh); and a voice like an
old man (siang khon kae) for the Jujaka chapter.

Lay Sponsorship
Unlike northern Thailand, where individual chapters are sponsored in accord-
ance with one’s year of birth, in central Thailand sponsorship occurred in one
of three ways: through invitation by a monk or temple committee member,
volunteering, or drawing lots. Although some members of the laity did not
want to host the Jujaka chapter, Wat Suwannaram avoided the problem by
inviting individuals to serve as host, a request the monk I interviewed said the
laity was not likely to refuse. Taxi drivers from Suphanburi and Samut Sakorn
said they drew lots ( jap salak) to see who would host the various chapters. A
taxi driver from Nakhon Nayok said people hold a lottery to see who will host
which chapters. A taxi driver from Chachoengsao said that hosts would reserve
( jong) their chapters but were not supposed to reserve the same chapter two
years in a row. At Wat Klang and Wat Dorn Taan in Chanthaburi, the temple
committees organize the sponsorship, with people reserving chapters. (Here
hosting the same chapter two years in a row is allowed.) A similar pattern is
followed at a temple in Hua Hin, where reservations are made on a first come,
first serve basis. In cases where multiple villages cooperate to host a conjoint
reading, representatives of each village get together and draw lots to determine
which village will sponsor which of the thirteen chapters (according to another
Chachoengsao taxi driver).

Offerings: Quest for Status

The central Thai performance style does not appear to have placed particular
emphasis on the skill of the monk reciting or on the temple decorations but
more on the competitive grandeur of the public offerings. As in other regions,
in central Thailand (according to the monks and members of the laity I inter-
viewed) the temple is decorated to look like the Himaphan forest with sugar-
cane, bananas, and coconuts.42 Many interviewees also noted offerings and
decorations of fruit, perhaps reflecting the fact that central Thailand has so
many fruit orchards. No one recalled ever having seen cloth scrolls or mazes,
 Central Thailand • 67

which typify the northeastern and northern regions, respectively. By comparison

with the other two regions, the temple decorations in the central region were
relatively simple and basic.
In central Thailand, emphasis seems to have been placed on the lay offerings
that were brought in a procession by the lay hosts of a given chapter, traveling
either by boat along the riverways or through the village or town. Unlike in
northeastern Thailand, where the villagers unite to form large processions, in
central Thailand the sponsors of each individual chapter formed competitive
and separate processions. An abbot I interviewed in Samut Sakorn (whose
temple has not held recitations for as long as he could remember) told me that
in the past he had heard that members of the laity arrived by boat with their
offerings and all of their relatives in tow, in a competition to see who had the
largest following. Phya Anuman (1888–1969) provides a similar description with
the caveat that already at the time of his writing (circa mid-twentieth century),
“You will not be able to see such things as I describe in present-day Bangkok or
in other progressive towns” (1988, 195). He notes that once it has been deter-
mined who is hosting the various chapters, “Each owner vies with the other for
the performance.” Often more than one family may join together, creating a
sense of “bustle and merriment” as everyone helps with the cooking and the
decoration of the offering baskets (krajaat). The offering basket is typically “a
big basket made of bamboo in the shape of a huge blooming lotus flower with
its many coloured paper petals pasted on, together with other decorations,” and
it is sometimes so big “that it takes a number of persons to carry it in a proces-
sion from the house to the wat” (Anuman 1988, 195). The basket was typically
filled with food, sweetmeats, and fruits, while other items such as monks’ robes
were carried on other special trays. Phya Anuman continues, “There will be
crowds of people along the route to witness the procession. If you are a wealthy
man and your offerings are mean, there will be gossip in the village and you will
‘lose face,’ which psychologically, you do not desire. If there are many wealthy
owners of different kans or parts of the recitation, it will be a great day. For
there will be competition among themselves as to whose offerings and proces-
sion are the best and most costly because everyone wants to ‘gain face’ as much
as possible” (1988, 195).
One of the only nineteenth-century accounts of a Vessantara Jataka recitation
that occurs outside of Bangkok is found in the famous epic tale Khun Chang
Khun Phaen, a version of which was recently translated into English by Chris
Baker and Pasuk Phongpaichit (2010). This account provides insight not only
into the grandeur possible in the lay offerings but also its comedic possibilities.
The performance takes place at Wat Palelai in Suphanburi. The wealthy Khun
 68 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Chang is asked to host the Kumarn chapter, both because of the chapter’s impor-
tance and because the chapter offerings are among the most grandiose. Khun
Chang wants to impress the heroine, Phim, but Phim is in love with Khun
Phaen. The heroine’s mother will provide the offerings for the Matsi chapter.
Each lay sponsor will parade through the town with the chapter offerings.
Our heroine’s elegant offering is described in some detail. Its decorative
elements—such as the lion that blocked Matsi’s return—mirror the key events
in the chapter and its inclusion of Hindu-derived deities intimate court
Brahminical influence:
Phim Philalai summoned the servants. “Make the betel for the episode for me.
Go and fetch betelnut, pan leaf, and cotton.”
They brought many papaya to slice and carve, added color to make the
figures bright and attractive, and set up the whole display as a mountain range.
The carvings included a lion with a full face, standing looking majestic;
Lord Brahma in a votive pose; Lord Indra soaring through the air holding a
crystal; and Lord Narai mounted on Garuda, swooping across the sky. “Carry
them along for everyone to appreciate.” The servants set off immediately, and
put them on display at the sala. The lay faithful crowded around to look. “Oh
they did everything and so beautifully!” “All that hard work was certainly not
wasted!” (Baker and Pasuk 2010, 70)

The pompous Khun Chang’s offering provides a comic contrast. The

carvings in his offering have nothing to do with the content of the Kumarn
chapter; they include flowers, which typically symbolize love, surrounding a
papaya carving of vultures eating a corpse! The display completed, Khun
Chang orders his servant to carry the offerings in a noisy procession along the
road so that people will see it, and he adds, “Be careful with the offerings. If
you drop or lose anything, I’ll kick you along like a ball” (Baker and Pasuk
2010, 69). The offerings sent off to the temple, Khun Chang then turns to
bathing and dressing himself. Despite being old and ugly, Khun Chang tries
his best to look attractive in order to woo the young and beautiful Phim. He
then leaves his house and struts off “with his head in the air, nodding in greeting
to bystanders.” Once at the temple and at the appropriate time for the recitation
of his chapter, Khun Chang orders his servants to present the offerings to the
monks: “Pile up the offerings for the episode—all the taro, potato, white sugar-
cane, red sugarcane, watermelon, pomelo, maduk, mafai, chamot and wheel
sweets, red sticky rice, touchstone sweets, clam sweets, and big melons. . . .
Bring in the monks’ robes and bowls, the mats, mattresses, seats, and cushions!
And don’t hide away the betel tray for the episode! Place it out in front of the
 Central Thailand • 69

salver with the triple robes” (Baker and Pasuk 2010, 71–72). Despite Khun
Chang’s best efforts, his hopes are dashed. The monk who is supposed to recite
the Matsi chapter is taken ill and replaced by a talented novice. The novice is
also interested in Phim and in a mildly erotic—and by modern standards
wholly inappropriate—scene is able to enchant her such that at the end of his
recitation, Phim removes her beautiful shoulder cloth and offers it to the novice.
The romance continues, and I shall recommend the reader pursue the famous
folktale for all the ensuing complications. However, Phim’s prayer for her
merit-making is also intriguing, for it reveals her conscious intentions; she
prays, “I salute the almighty power. I offer alms. May I have rank and servants
into the future, and be rich and joyful in every way” (Baker and Pasuk 2010, 75).
Phya Anuman provides one additional element of the offerings made in
central Thai recitations that I have not encountered in the northern or north-
eastern village performances—namely, the offering of a pig’s head. I have seen
such offerings at wai khruu ceremonies for central Thai theater troupes and at
major ceremonies at royal Buddhist temples in Bangkok.43 According to Phya
Anuman, this offering of a pig’s head takes place early in the morning at the
time that the first chapter is being recited. As he explains:
It has been the custom that the presiding monk must be the abbot of the wat
where the recitation takes place. Apart from the usual offering there must also
be offered, a boiled pig’s head complete with its four legs and tail, and a “Bai Sri
Pak Cham,” a sort of ritual—boiled rice in a big earthen bowl. Nobody can give
me a reasonable explanation of this offering, except that it is merely a tradition
and a custom. Here I venture a conjecture. It is a custom among well-to-do
people to have a “Bai Sri” and a boiled pig’s head, as an offering to the guardian
spirits . . . of the place, when an important undertaking is to be carried out and
a successful issue is desired. This has nothing to do with Buddhism but is a
survival of the belief of primitive days. The guardian spirit of the place where an
important undertaking is to take place must be propitiated before-hand. The
boiled pig’s head with the four legs and tail is nothing but a supposedly whole
pig. It is easy to hoodwink the unseen, if you think so. Now you will under-
stand why the abbot is the first person to perform the recitation for the abbot
himself is the tangible guardian of the place. (Anuman 1988, 198; see also
Manee 1976, 59)

Offerings of pigs’ heads are often associated in Thailand with Brahminical

rites. Court Brahmins played important roles in such royal rituals as coronations,
royal weddings, oaths of allegiance, and the first ploughing ceremony. They
also make astrological calculations for auspicious times for various ceremonies
 70 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

and undertakings. Even today Brahmins officiate at the ploughing ceremony,

the anniversaries of the king’s birthday and coronation, and the changing of
the seasonal robes of the Emerald Buddha at Wat Phra Kaew.44 Additional
occasional royal ceremonies in which Brahmins are involved include the king’s
acceptance of a new white elephant, the birth of a royal child, a royal cremation,
and so on. Among ordinary townspeople in the central region, Brahmins may
be called upon to perform a variety of rites, such as the setting of a spirit house,
the laying of a building’s foundation stone, weddings, pre-ordination cere-
monies, and various other occasions at homes, offices, schools, and shops. Many
Buddhist rites are performed in conjunction with Brahmin priests, including
even the installation of a Buddha image (the phutthaphisek ceremony). Thus
the offering of the pig’s head suggests officiants may be making a symbolic link
to the court.
I did not ask systematically if the chapter offerings correlated in specific
ways with the respective chapters. Anuman’s description of the offering of the
pig’s head as part of the inception of the recitation suggests this possibility.
The offerings described in Khun Chang Khun Phaen suggest that the lavish
offerings were not only supposed to be spectacular but reflected in some manner
the content of the specific chapter. A monk in Chanthaburi, after I thought the
interview was over and was making small talk, unexpectedly mentioned that
the foods offered to the monks varied according to the chapter. He said that for
most chapters the monks were given khao tom, ground sticky rice steamed with
sugarcane and coconut fillings. However, there were two exceptions: the monk
who chanted Matsi was offered fruits in recognition of her role in the forest,
and the monk who chanted Jujaka was given dried food because, after all,
Jujaka had to go on a journey.45

Broader Central Thai Reading

The central Thai interpretation of the Vessantara Jataka in villages and towns
beyond the court is notable for three aspects. The first is the shared emphasis
placed on the Kumarn chapter. The second is that many central Thai monks
and laity did not even mention the favorite chapters of the other two regions.
Remarkably, one monk I interviewed in Chanthaburi explicitly told me that
neither the Jujaka nor the Nakornkan chapter was of any particular importance;
such a remark would have been unimaginable in northern or northeastern Thai-
land. Third, central Thais manifested a greater diversity—or lack of consensus—
of favorite or most important chapters. A monk at Wat Dorn Taan, in Chantha-
buri, said simply that people preferred to sponsor the chapters chanted during
the day.
 Central Thailand • 71

Overall, the most important single chapter in the central Thai reading of
the text is the Kumarn chapter. The expanded text of the Kumarn chapter sug-
gests its importance to royalist readings of the jataka. However, its importance
appears to have been widely shared throughout the central Thai region. Long-
standing public awareness of this chapter may date back to the former court
custom, which lasted into the reign of Rama IV, of having the vice-king travel
upcountry to receive offerings of lotus flowers (Gerini [1892] 1976, 37, 62); the
lotus flowers likely represented the lotus pond in which the two children hid.46
However, most people I interviewed did not highlight the chapter’s metaphysi-
cal meaning but rather its focus on the children and in particular the bond
between the mother and her children. One woman in Chanthaburi said that
everyone’s favorite chapter was Kumarn and the people in the audience often
cried thinking of the poor children hiding in the pond. A monk in Bangkok
highlighted an earlier part in the chapter, commenting, “The Kumarn chapter
is the most famous. It is read with a very sad voice. The focus is on the bond
between a mother and her children. The mother dreams about her children,
wakes her children up and teaches them how to take care of themselves. She
then heads off into the forest.”47 It is easy to imagine the tugs on the heart-
strings of mothers in the audience.
The second most frequently mentioned chapter was the Matsi chapter, a
favorite throughout Thailand. When Rama IV was a novice, he recited the Matsi
chapter for his father (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35). The Maharaat and Nakornkan
chapters were also mentioned, although with far less frequency than in northern
or northeastern Thailand and with far less frequency than either the Kumarn
or Matsi chapter. Thanakan was another chapter mentioned in the central region
as a favorite. Two monks even went so far as to say that Thanakan was the main
chapter. Not one single person whom I interviewed in the north or northeast
mentioned Thanakan as being particularly important, and certainly not as
being a favorite.
Mahaphon is another chapter frequently mentioned by monks and laity in
the central region as one of their favorites. In this chapter Jujaka wanders in the
forest and encounters Ajuta, the ascetic. The Mahaphon chapter was one of
the three chapters that young novices were most likely to recite for their families
and relatives (Gerini [1892] 1976, 27). Most people today emphasize its vivid
reconstructions of nature. Several people mentioned that it is enjoyable because
of its many birdcalls.48 One monk told me that the monk who recites this
chapter should have a lovely, delicate voice (siang numnuan, phairoh) in order to
replicate the beauty and sounds of nature.49 Kamala also notes, “The preacher
of this episode had to be good at describing the forest poetically: its trees,
 72 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

streams, and wild animals—tigers, deer, songbirds” (2003, 7). With its descrip-
tions of nature, one can speculate that rural audiences enjoyed the familiarity of
the forest into which they would go to seek mushrooms, bamboo shoots, or
kindling on its edges and honey, beeswax, animals, or wood in its inner depths.
Alternatively, one can speculate about the appeal of the romance of nature and
the deep forest to an urban population that rarely (if ever) ventured far from
town.
However, one can also reconstruct a more comedic interpretation of the
Mahaphon chapter that may have explained its popularity in the past. A senior
monk who actively teaches how to recite this chapter to other monks and novices
said he assigned it to novices because it is difficult and uses many different
voices, from the gentle sounds of nature to the old man’s voice of Jujaka and
the booming voice (siang raeng) of Ajuta. As he demonstrated the voices, he
brought the text to life. One monk famous for his recitations of the Mahaphon
chapter was Ajarn Son Suwannasuk (1865–1932), the abbot of Wat Palelai in
Suphanburi. In Kamala’s description of the reason for his popularity one can
begin to imagine an engaging and even funny encounter between Jujaka and
the ascetic:
When he was a young monk he had trained to preach the Vessantara Jataka.
He could perform all episodes of the Vessantara, although he is said to have
been at his best in the Mahaphon, the episode in which the brahmin Jujaka
traveled alone through a great forest in order to reach Prince Vessantara’s
hermitage. . . . Whenever he took on the character of the vile brahmin who
deceived the hermit he met in the jungle, Ajan Son drew great crowds. Once the
preaching hall was so overcrowded that the sala (pavilion) collapsed. (Kamala
2003, 7)

ATTITUDES TOWARD JUJAKA

Although the modern attitudes toward Jujaka in central Thailand are mixed,
they are more negative than positive. Of seven senior monks I interviewed in
Bangkok, six had negative associations with the Jujaka chapter and character;
the remaining monk had a more neutral description. People in the central
region I interviewed outside of Bangkok had more ambiguous attitudes, but in
no case was there the warm chuckle that accompanied the mention of Jujaka’s
name in northern Thailand. Instead of remarking on the comic timing skills
required of a monk reciting the Jujaka chapter, monks focused on the ability to
sound old.
 Central Thailand • 73

A senior monk in Bangkok remarked that although the audience enjoyed

listening to this chapter, no one wanted to be its host because everyone hated
Jujaka: he was a cheater and liar (khon niyom dae mai mii khrai yaak ben
chaophaab, kliat Chuchok, tua kong). Other members of the laity did not want to
host the chapter because they were afraid they would become poor like Jujaka.
Another senior Bangkok monk commented that he had heard that in the old
days many women did not like hosting the Jujaka chapter because they were
afraid that they might also get an old husband (klua ca dai phua kae). Yet another
senior monk said members of the laity did not have a problem with the Jujaka
chapter since they thought it might help them get rich and get a young wife
(tham hai ruai, ca dai mia sao), but that it was difficult to find monks willing to
perform the chapter. A monk in Thonburi remarked that hosts were not happy
if they had to sponsor the Jujaka chapter, but they avoided the problem by in-
viting sponsors to host specific chapters, an invitation the laity was not likely to
refuse. Another Bangkok monk assured me that the laity liked Jujaka because
he became rich, but that monks themselves did not want to recite this chapter
in part because it was a difficult chapter to perform and it involved a lot of acting,
but also because one had to be able to replicate the voice of an old man. As one
senior Bangkok monk added jokingly, “So it is not a good chapter for handsome
monks.”
Dr. Manop (Phrakhruu Winaithorn, Wat Pho, Bangkok) is possibly the
most famous of the Jujaka monks in central Thailand. As he explained to me in
a lengthy interview, he became interested in Jujaka because no one ever wanted
to chant that chapter, yet it was necessary for a complete Vessantara Jataka recita-
tion.50 He tried to find people to teach him, but they had all died. Monks and
laity were concerned that they might end up poor like Jujaka. When he indicated
his interest in learning to perform this chapter, a senior monk commented,
“Aren’t you afraid of becoming impoverished” (mai klua aaphab ryy)? He said
he used to think this way too, but then he changed his mind. He studied with
Maha Fai,51 who was originally from Nakhon Sawan but was then residing at
Wat Ben, whose style imitated likay performances . He also studied with Ajarn
Saiyan at Wat Welurachin in Thonburi; although not specifically a specialist in
Jujaka, he had a funny style. He also spent time with beggars and listened to
their music ( plaeng khoh thaan). Dr. Manop now performs the Jujaka chapter at
recitations held at the most famous of Bangkok’s temples, including his own
temple, Wat Mahathat, and Phutthamonthon.
Central Thai monks generally followed the text. Dr. Manop has written
his own sections for Jujaka, in which he elaborates on the kinds of foods that
 74 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Jujaka’s mother wanted to eat while she was pregnant. He has not gone further
both because time is restricted and because many in the audience will complain
that to go beyond the text (nohk ryang) is not authentic and therefore inappro-
priate. Another senior monk explained that when he is performing the formal
kamluang version, he sticks to the script. However, he said there was more
opportunity for humor in the lae form since monks could make faces and be
more creative. He himself has written a version in which a smelly, drooling
Jujaka, with his nose and hands eaten away by leprosy and his back bent over
like a sea shell or a Volkswagen, eats seven pots of food.
Outside of Bangkok, among those whom I interviewed from the central
region, the view of Jujaka was decidedly mixed. A taxi driver from Chachoengsao
told me that people did not like Jujaka because he was always asking for things.
An abbot in Chanthaburi said the audiences enjoyed the Jujaka chapter as it
added flavor (tham hai mii lot chaat), but monks did not want to learn how to
recite it (mai mii khrai yaak rian). A Mon abbot in Samut Sakon said that
Jujaka has a funny body and is a reincarnation of Devadatta; he recalled beggars
coming by boat during the recitation singing a song called “Waniphok” (unfor-
tunately he could no longer remember the lyrics). Many people assured me that
Jujaka was necessary because without Jujaka there would be no story. Several
said Jujaka was not funny. An abbot in the town of Chanthaburi said that Jujaka
was funny, and he had heard in the past that there were monks who wore white
beards and carried yam bags and canes; he added that baab (demerit) and bun
(merit) go together like black and white. Several said that people like Jujaka
because Jujaka was hardworking and good at getting money (haa ngen kaeng).52
Several people mentioned the existence of Jujaka amulets to help people make
money (of which more in chapter 6). Another monk said that Jujaka should not
be understood as a bad character; after all, he made it possible for Vessantara to
become the Buddha (chuai sang baramii). Although a few people viewed Jujaka
as a comic figure, the reasons that central Thais gave for their positive view of
Jujaka tended to focus more on Jujaka as hardworking and good at making
money. This portrayal is very different from the vaudevillian portrayal of Jujaka
in the northeast or the beloved figure in the northern Thai portrayal.
ATTITUDES TOWARD AMITATAA
The portrayal of Amitataa is also varied, but she is generally portrayed as an
obedient daughter and a good wife. A monk in Chanthaburi saw Amitataa as a
good example of a dutiful daughter (katanyu) who helped her parents when
they had no other way to repay their debt to Jujaka. Another monk at another
temple in Chanthaburi praised her for being hardworking, saying the other
 Central Thailand • 75

village women were lazy and therefore jealous of her; but he also believed she
went astray (sia) when she wanted Vessantara’s children. Some monks used the
village women as an example of how jealousy is wrong. A monk in Hua Hin
described her as industrious. One senior monk in Bangkok used Amitataa to
discuss virtue and parenting.53 Many monks and members of the laity com-
mented that her misfortune in having to marry Jujaka resulted from her old
karma (kam kau) from her previous life playing itself out. As one villager ex-
plained, “Maybe she had not made merit properly back then; maybe she was
naughty when the monks were making alms rounds. And so she ended up with
a husband who looked like a toad [khankhohk].” Others portrayed Amitataa in
a negative light, as “a young but bad-tempered, scolding wife” (Anuman 1988,
188).54
Various portrayals can be used to heighten the audience’s disdain for Ju-
jaka. In cases where Amitataa is a shrew, the audience can dislike both Jujaka and
Amitataa. In cases where Amitataa is filial, she serves to heighten audience aver-
sion to Jujaka. In some nineteenth-century central Thai recensions, an emotional
scene is added to the brief Pali text. In this version, the parents meet with their
daughter while Jujaka is waiting outside; the mother explains why they must
surrender their beautiful daughter to this old man and end her hopes for a bright
future (Damrong 1918). The tone is emotional and heart wrenching rather than
comic; Jujaka appears covetous and disgusting. Similarly, Nidhi describes an
Ayutthayan version in which “the Ayutthaya author of the recitation version of
the Mahachat creates a whole scene of conversation between the Brahmin father
and mother of Amittada and Jujaka, so that the giving away of their daughter
does not appear too heartless” ([1982] 2005, 226).
CHAPTER DIVERSITY
Thus a perusal of the favorite chapters in central Thailand reveals an emphasis
on the Kumarn chapter and the metaphysical imagery of a boat crossing the
sea of suffering, a wide diversity of chapters considered to be important, and a
de-emphasis of the Jujaka chapter. Although opinions of the Jujaka chapter
show some variation, they indicate significant reluctance among the laity to
serve as its sponsors and among monks to serve as its performers. Priority ap-
pears to be given to the chapters that were most likely to have been endorsed by
the court, including those most likely to be performed by young princes at their
ordinations.
A recitation of the Vessantara Jataka held July 20–22, 2011, in honor of the
king’s eighty-fourth birthday and the queen’s seventy-ninth birthday, provides
some interesting, though not conclusive, contrasts regarding preferred chapters
 76 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

in contemporary Bangkok. The occasion was a fund-raiser held at Siriraj

Hospital, the hospital where the king had been residing for some time. A board
announced the amounts of money raised, divided by chapters. The total amount
was 28,289,116 baht.55 The three lowest earners were the Pali Khathaphan (at
1 million even), the Maharaat (at 1,006,000), and Jujaka (at 1,007,080). Most
chapters, including Kumarn and Matsi, were in the 1,000,000 baht range.
However, the highest earning chapters were Chohkasat (at 5,168,809), the
Nakornkan (at 3,072,060), the Himaphan (at 3,015,440), and Sakabap (at
3,001,800). Himaphan is one of the chapters considered appropriate for royalty;
Chohkasat and Sakabap are both chapters in which the god Indra appears, and
Chohkasat has the word for king (kasat) explicitly in its title. I saw many in the
audience wearing skirts from northeastern Thailand; they may have boosted
the donations for the Nakornkan chapter. A similar fund-raiser in northern
Thailand would likely have the Jujaka and Maharaat chapters at the top of the
leaderboard, together with the Khathaphan and Nakornkan.

The Decline of Vessantara Jataka

Reviewing the history of performances of the Vessantara Jataka over the course
of two centuries reveals dramatic changes. The French Bishop Pallegoix, who
lived in Bangkok from the 1830s to his death in 1862, while writing of burlesque
theater performances, describes the Vessantara Jataka as “a very touching story . . .
which the monks preach each year, so as to make their listeners weep” ([1854]
2000, 122, 217, 253–55). Various sources, including the kings’ edicts, inform us
that bawdy comedic recitations were once widespread in Bangkok and central
Thailand more broadly.56 Already by the late nineteenth century, Ernest Young
suggests that what was once a “universal custom” had become “chiefly a state
ceremony performed in special places” ([1898] 1982, 324).57 Similarly, novice reci-
tation, once popular among all classes, became a custom of elite families.
This general decline of popular recitations in the central region may ex-
plain why anthropologists working in central Thai villages beginning in the
late 1940s failed to include detailed descriptions of Vessantara Jataka recitations
in their accounts. Beyond a passing mention that “in one of the more popular
Jataka tales it is related that King Wessantara gave away his wealth, his kingdom,
and finally his children” (1978, 143), Lauriston Sharp and Lucien Hanks make
no mention of Vessantara Jataka recitations in their book.58 Also writing of the
same village (Baan Chan), located thirty-one kilometers northeast of Bangkok,
Herbert Phillips makes no mention of Vessantara Jataka recitations. Similarly,
Barend Terweil, writing of a village near the town of Ratburi, mentions that
 Central Thailand • 77

sermons often included episodes from the jatakas, and he makes repeated
mention of the Phra Malai sermon but no explicit reference to the Vessantara
Jataka or its recitation; furthermore, he notes that “at present . . . very few
monks know how to chant Thai texts in the proper traditional manner and the
story is not told any more” ([1975] 2012, 251).59 Ajarn Kingkeo Attagara, in her
dissertation on Ban Nai in Chonburi province, provides a list of village rituals
but does not mention any recitations of the Vessantara Jataka (1967, 68–70).60
Kaufman is one of the few anthropologists to provide even a minimal description
of the ceremony, which appears to be primarily focused on Phrayar Naga (1960,
195). Jane Bunnag remarks on a “general decline in lay support” and an “increas-
ingly general lack of enthusiasm for spending lavishly to support the Sangha;
an attitude which is correlated with the growing interest in Western ways and
material culture” (1973, 128). Thus the urban temple’s recitation of the Vessantara
Jataka was intended to raise 800,000 baht to complete the bot, but only realized
5,885 baht (1973, 118).
My own efforts to determine the frequency of Vessantara Jataka recitations
suggest that in contemporary central Thailand, only a minority of temples still
hold Vessantara Jataka recitations. It is held annually at major royal Bangkok
temples of the Mahanikai order such as Wat Suthat, Wat Mahathat, Wat Pho,
and Wat Suwannaram. However, the overall trend is toward greater decline.
Wat Prayoon, which used to hold Vessantara Jataka recitations every year, now
only holds it in “some years.” At a temple I visited in Chanthaburi, I was told
that the temple had not hosted a Vessantara Jataka recitation in at least thirty
years. An herbal healer in Chanthaburi said that he has never seen it performed,
adding that young people have no interest in it. At another temple in Chantha-
buri (Wat Dorn Taan), where recitations are currently held, I was informed
that Vessantara Jataka recitations had died out but were revived about thirty
years ago. An abbot of a temple in Samut Sakorn said he had never seen a per-
formance at his temple. A monk in Hua Hin said his temple no longer hosts
the Vessantara Jataka, but an association (krum sorn pariyatthitham) founded
in 1982 sponsors it each year and uses the money raised for good causes, such
as pencils and other school supplies. A taxi driver from Suphanburi said he
cannot remember his village ever hosting it. A taxi driver from Ayutthaya who
had ordained for one Lent in Lopburi knew the Vessantara Jataka story from
school but had never heard it recited. Some members of the laity even went so far
as to deny that the Vessantara Jataka is recited in any temples in their province.
How should this dramatic pattern of decline be explained? The argument
that statecraft had changed with the development of an administrative bureauc-
racy is not convincing since, as we have seen, the court and now the state have
 78 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

continued to support annual recitations. Similarly, the utilitarian desires of the

villagers for prosperity, good crops, and good health remain in the present day.
Three reasons for the observed decline seem more compelling.
Firstly, the world depression in the late 1920s had a huge impact on the
central region. Lauriston Sharp and Lucien Hanks describe the impact on their
village near Bangkok, writing that “from 1930 to 1945 Bang Chan underwent
fifteen years of travail. The decade of easy living had ended. A new period
began as prices for padi sagged and dropped” (1978, 145). More and more villagers
pawned their land, such that “owners became renters and renters became hired
laborers” (Sharp and Hanks 1978, 147). This economic decline would have ob-
viously impacted all religious ceremonies since even cremations were being
delayed (Sharp and Hanks 1978, 146). The central region appeared to have been
experiencing hardships even before the Great Depression. In 1912 the Bangkok
Times Weekly Mail reported that “a number of landowners in Bangkok are
doing what they never had to do before—buying rice here and sending it to
their tenants in the country who have nothing to live on” (BTWM, July 23,
1912). Another report records, “Very few people in Bangkok can afford to give
alms every morning to the monks, and it is not unusual for priests to have to
traverse a whole street before reaching a house where food is still distributed. . . .
The cessation of almsgiving is not due to any great slackness of religious prin-
ciples on the part of the people . . . but is wholly owing to the present high price
of rice. Formerly the palace ladies used to send out alms every morning sufficient
for nearly four hundred priests. This has also ceased” (BTWM, August 3, 1912).
Second, the replacement of the absolute monarchy with a constitutional
monarchy in 1932 appears to have had a significant impact on a range of Buddhist
ceremonies. Many members of the aristocracy had homes and landholdings
outside of Bangkok; they supported local temples and local ceremonies. These
local performances would have provided opportunities for local elites to display
impressive krajaat offerings. After 1932 many of these princes went into exile,
had their assets confiscated, or otherwise experienced economic hardships.
Furthermore, the post-1932 governments sought to prioritize educational, eco-
nomic, social, and administrative development over religious ritual. As Virginia
Thompson summarizes the changes, “Festivals are dying out; and though the
Buddhist Lent and Kathins continue to be observed, government schools for
the first time in 1933 failed to honor Wan Phra, the Buddhist equivalent of
Sunday” ([1941] 1967, 640).
Third, the court pressure to eliminate humor from the popular perform-
ances appears to have been another factor. As Phya Anuman observes, “The
religion of the intellectual and of the mass . . . is not exactly the same” (1988,
 Central Thailand • 79

193). Noting explicitly that the humor is focused in the Jujaka chapter, Anuman
comments that popular recitations contained drollery and vulgarity upon which
“the orthodox people frown” (1988, 193). He remarks that there are usually only
the chapter sponsors and “a few old people” for the first chapters in the early
morning, but there will “gradually be more people in the congregation in the
succeeding kans until the fifth kan describing the scene of Jujaka, the aged
Brahmin mendicant and his shrew, the young and beautiful wife.” Anuman
continues:
There is much drollery and humour which naturally attracts the people. If the
reciting monk is well known for his wit and humour, the place is packed to the
utmost, for people from far and near, come to hear the recitation. The young
men will ask for encores and more money contributions will willingly be
made. . . . In former days such recitations with additions of drollery and humour
in some cases overstepped the limits of modesty and were distasteful to cultured
minds. Through the progress of time such things are now seldom to be found,
for moral ideas have changed, but the need for humour is still there with the
folk. While here in Bangkok the recitation in some wats has the tendency to be
more prosaic and has become monotonous thus depriving much of its psycho-
logical value of display and ceremony which the mind needs as well. (1988, 199)

With a more orthodox emphasis on the Pali Khathaphan, one monk com-
mented that the monks just read the words in Pali, with neither the monks
themselves nor the audience knowing their meaning. Explaining that the audi-
ence was basically just listening to gain merit, he remarked that “the better the
monk, the faster they could recite the Pali and the happier the audience was.”
Phya Anuman also observes that the Pali recension did not appeal to the
masses:
Although the hearing of such sacred words recited may give rise to mystical
feelings, the people do not understand them and their emotions are not satisfied.
The people want something more. They want to hear the voice of their favourite
presiding monk, to hear his melodious voice which is familiar to them, for
many are able to recite too. They want to live in love and hate, in happiness and
sorrow, to be sad or to be in humour, and to raise their imaginative mind to a
higher plane and ideal, which the various characters of the story manifest.
Hence the reciting of the Pali Thousand Stanzas only, does not appeal to the
masses. (1988, 191)61

Court disdain for humor in sacred performances, the growing influence of

Thammayut monks, the Great Depression, and the aftermath of the political
 80 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

revolution of 1932 contributed to a significant decline in the number of temples

holding Vessantara Jataka recitations. By the 1930s, it appears that the majority
of central Thai temples were no longer holding recitations. By contrast, Vessan-
tara Jataka recitations were continuing apace in northeastern Thailand. Why
did performances continue in the northeast to the present day? We now turn to
northeastern Thailand, where significant differences in the performance and
interpretation will become apparent. From humor defeated we will find signs
of humor diverted.
 2

Northeaster n Thailand
Humor Diverted

Although performances of the Vessantara Jataka have declined dramatically in

the central region, recitations continue to be performed annually in most villages
in the northeastern region.1 Tracking Jujaka into northeastern villages is at once
easy and difficult—easy because the story is so deeply embedded in the fabric of
everyday village life and difficult because Jujaka masquerades as multiple personas.
In the twelve-month lunar calendar of rituals, northeasterners have a month
explicitly titled “Bun Pha Wet,” or the “Merit-making for Vessantara” ( pha is
an honorific and Wet is an abbreviation from Wesandorn, the Thai pronuncia-
tion of Vessantara).2 Typically falling in February–March, its importance is
remarked by nearly every anthropologist who has conducted fieldwork in
northeastern villages. Stanley Tambiah, writing of the village in Khon Kaen
where he conducted his fieldwork in 1961, concludes Bun Pha Wet is “the
grandest merit-making complex of ties in the village” (1970, 160). Thomas
Kirsch, who conducted his fieldwork in 1962–64 in Nakhon Phanom, described
it as the favorite and most elaborate of village annual ceremonies (1967, 154,
298).3 In 1983 anthropologist Yukio Hayashi asked inhabitants of a village in
Khon Kaen to rank thirteen annual rituals; villagers overwhelmingly ranked
the Bun Pha Wet as the most important (2003, 121).4 Leedom Lefferts and
Sandra Cate have conducted by far the most extensive study of Bun Pha Wet.
Having traveled to over two hundred temples in northeastern Thailand, Lefferts
states unequivocally that Bun Pha Wet remains “the most important merit-
making event of the ritual calendar” (2006/7, 100; see also Brereton and Somroay
2010, 30; Lefferts and Cate 2012).
More than just an annual celebration, the jataka permeates villagers’ everyday
lived environment. In ordinary conversations, a person who generously gives

81
 82 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Figure 7. Escorting the royal family to the village temple. After a ceremony inviting the royal
family to return, monks and villagers prepare to process the scroll back to the village temple.
Vessantara and Matsi ride the elephant. Made of burlap and decorated with flower garlands, the
elephant has a large red and white penis. Village in Khon Kaen province, March 2010. Photo by
author.

something away can be described as “having Vessantara’s heart” ( jai Pha Wet);
a virtuous, long-suffering wife is said to be like Matsi; and children who listen
to their parents are equated with Kanhaa and Chalii (e.g., Ladwig 2009, 142).
Those who are stuffing themselves or eating noisily can be described as “eating
like the brahmin” (kin yang phraam), that is, like Jujaka. Kirsch found that
just during the period of his fieldwork, even beyond the festival, “the story of
Vessantara was also portrayed by school children of the village on one occasion,
and was performed (at the villagers’ request) by traveling folk-players on two
occasions” (1967, 38). A cave in Nakhon Phanom is known as “Tham Pha
Wet,” or Vessantara’s cave (Kamala 2003, 31). One group of northeasterners,
the Phu Thai, even believe themselves to be descendants of the father of Vessan-
tara (Kirsch 1967, 36–38, 140).5 Koichi Mizuno remarks that people in the
 Northeastern Thailand • 83

northeastern village he studied were more familiar with Vessantara than the
Buddha (1971, 171). The jataka is usually the only jataka depicted in temple
murals (Brereton and Somroay 2010, 30). The jataka’s pervasive presence in the
local imagination is revealed in a well-known story about how Matsi saved the
life of Ajarn Chop, one of the most famous meditation monks of the northeast.
In 1930, when he was meditating in Udonthani, his mother came to visit. While
she rested, Matsi appeared to her. Excited, she called to her son to come, just
as a tree crashed on the spot where he had been sitting (for details, see Kamala
2003, 31).
The festival usually lasts three days, with the jataka itself being recounted
on the final day. Because of its correlation with the Maitreya Buddha, north-
easterners believe very strongly that the recitation of the jataka itself must begin
and end within the same twenty-four-hour period. A complete recitation of
the jataka begins in the early morning and ends late in the night. However,
today the dominant format is an abridged version called Hok Kasat, or “The
Six Royals.” One monk I interviewed estimated that about 80 percent of Vessan-
tara Jataka recitations in the northeast now are Hok Kasat performances. This
abridged format lasts approximately three to five hours. The monks, typically
three in number (saam thammaat, or “three pulpits”), use narrative interspersed
with dialogue to tell the story, mixing stylized chanting with more normal
speaking. In the Hok Kasat version I observed, one monk performed Vessan-
tara’s dialogues, another monk performed Matsi’s dialogues, and the third
monk performed the roles of King Sonchai and Jujaka; the monks summarized
the remainder of the story largely through narration. Such Hok Kasat monks
are usually virtuoso performers who specialize in this form. With the exception
of the Hok Kasat abridgment, the rest of the celebration has remained largely
unchanged; thus, the recitations of the Phra Malai Sutra (Malai Myyn and
Malai Saen), the Sangat, and the Pali Khathaphan are recited as before (see
Lefferts and Cate 2012, 56–57). Some elements, such as the village processions,
have even expanded.
Booking monks during the month of Bun Pha Wet is challenging since
they do numerous recitations during this period—often more than one in a
single day. Using cell phones to coordinate their arrivals, monks involved in a
full jataka performance typically recite a few pages of a given chapter and then
leave to go to the next village. Hok Kasat monks are performing over a period
of several hours, so they are unlikely to schedule more than one or two perform-
ances on a single day. One monk escorting me to interview a famous monk in
Ubon remarked that my timing was fortunate; if I had come during the month
of Bun Pha Wet, this monk would have been so busy that he would have had
 Northeastern Thailand • 83

northeastern village he studied were more familiar with Vessantara than the
Buddha (1971, 171). The jataka is usually the only jataka depicted in temple
murals (Brereton and Somroay 2010, 30). The jataka’s pervasive presence in the
local imagination is revealed in a well-known story about how Matsi saved the
life of Ajarn Chop, one of the most famous meditation monks of the northeast.
In 1930, when he was meditating in Udonthani, his mother came to visit. While
she rested, Matsi appeared to her. Excited, she called to her son to come, just
as a tree crashed on the spot where he had been sitting (for details, see Kamala
2003, 31).
The festival usually lasts three days, with the jataka itself being recounted
on the final day. Because of its correlation with the Maitreya Buddha, north-
easterners believe very strongly that the recitation of the jataka itself must begin
and end within the same twenty-four-hour period. A complete recitation of
the jataka begins in the early morning and ends late in the night. However,
today the dominant format is an abridged version called Hok Kasat, or “The
Six Royals.” One monk I interviewed estimated that about 80 percent of Vessan-
tara Jataka recitations in the northeast now are Hok Kasat performances. This
abridged format lasts approximately three to five hours. The monks, typically
three in number (saam thammaat, or “three pulpits”), use narrative interspersed
with dialogue to tell the story, mixing stylized chanting with more normal
speaking. In the Hok Kasat version I observed, one monk performed Vessan-
tara’s dialogues, another monk performed Matsi’s dialogues, and the third
monk performed the roles of King Sonchai and Jujaka; the monks summarized
the remainder of the story largely through narration. Such Hok Kasat monks
are usually virtuoso performers who specialize in this form. With the exception
of the Hok Kasat abridgment, the rest of the celebration has remained largely
unchanged; thus, the recitations of the Phra Malai Sutra (Malai Myyn and
Malai Saen), the Sangat, and the Pali Khathaphan are recited as before (see
Lefferts and Cate 2012, 56–57). Some elements, such as the village processions,
have even expanded.
Booking monks during the month of Bun Pha Wet is challenging since
they do numerous recitations during this period—often more than one in a
single day. Using cell phones to coordinate their arrivals, monks involved in a
full jataka performance typically recite a few pages of a given chapter and then
leave to go to the next village. Hok Kasat monks are performing over a period
of several hours, so they are unlikely to schedule more than one or two perform-
ances on a single day. One monk escorting me to interview a famous monk in
Ubon remarked that my timing was fortunate; if I had come during the month
of Bun Pha Wet, this monk would have been so busy that he would have had
 84 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

no time for an interview. Lefferts photographed the calendar of one famous

preaching monk; he was booked solid over the weekends from Friday to Monday
for over a month. The weekend I met him, he had four recitations to perform,
traveling in one weekend from Selaphum district in Roi Et province to Nam
Phong district in Khon Kaen and performing a recitation in Petchabun that
Monday (I interviewed him in his car while he was en route).6
In this chapter, I will argue that Bangkok penetration into the northeast
resulted in a kind of detente in which northeasterners maintained many elements
of their performances but accommodated pressure from Bangkok by diverting
the risqué elements in their humor to apolitical vaudeville. I divide this chapter
into three main sections. In the first section, I lay out the northeastern emphasis
on the Nakornkan chapter of the Bun Pha Wet. As we have seen, central Thai
interpretations of the Vessantara Jataka tend to foreground status hierarchy and
the metaphysics of boats; the northeastern interpretation highlights themes of
family reunification and village well-being. Although northeasterners are more
likely than central Thais to find some humor in Jujaka, he is not their central
focus.
In the second and third sections, I explore the political ambiguity of the
northeastern performance by focusing in particular on presences and absences.
The second section suggests that northeasterners safeguarded their traditions
by at once defying and accommodating the Bangkok court, conducting a royal
procession with a democratic tone, portraying a comic Jujaka, and maintaining
their Maitreyan emphasis. Despite the pro-royalist appearance of the royal
procession, I will argue that its emphasis on family reunion is not necessarily
evidence in favor of the acceptance of the legitimacy of earthly rulers: it can also
be seen as a form of critique. Although the humor in the modern performances
appears apolitical, evidence of absences suggest the possibility that the northeast
acquiesced to many of Bangkok’s concerns. The third section considers the
muted humor, the virtual erasure of Amitataa from the story, and the apparent
deletion of much of Jujaka’s wandering. In addition to my own interviews and
reading of secondary sources, the argument in this chapter owes much to dis-
cussions with Leedom Lefferts and Sandra Cate; indeed, Leedom accompanied
me to the Hok Kasat performance I describe in this chapter.

Points of Emphasis in Northeaster n Perfor mances

In central Thailand the court developed the Vessantara Jataka into a state ritual
that served to highlight the lavish offerings of individuals, reinforce social hier-
archy, and impress a passive public. By contrast, the Bun Pha Wet as celebrated
 Northeastern Thailand • 85

in the northeast is egalitarian and highly participatory. It has long been a time
in which all the village households worked together and celebrated with friends
and relatives from throughout the region. Accordingly, the northeastern festival
has developed very different emphases—namely, themes of family reunifica-
tion and village harmony.

The Nakornkan: Family Reunification

Unlike in central Thailand, where the Kumarn chapter became the primary
focus, the main focus of the northeastern Bun Pha Wet is the Nakornkan and
its theme of family reunification. Villagers and monks I asked overwhelmingly
replied that Nakornkan was their favorite chapter. When I asked why, villagers
explained that this chapter emphasized the family’s return home and the audi-
ence felt happy that the whole family was reunited. In addition to the final
Nakornkan chapter, many monks and villagers mentioned the Matsi chapter as
one of their favorites, often remarking that a talented monk with a beautiful
voice (siang phroh) would have the audience in tears. Indeed, the two chapters
fit together in the northeastern reading, the agony of separation in the Matsi
chapter heightening the joy of reunion in the Nakornkan chapter.
I was struck as I listened to a Hok Kasat version by how intensely the
monks emphasized the anguish of the family breaking up, mirroring the agony
in prolonged, operatic wailing. The performance began with a protracted dia-
logue between Indra and his chief queen, Phusadi, in heaven; Indra had to
convince her the time had come for her to be reborn on earth as a human since
Phusadi did not want to be separated from Indra. The story then proceeded in
summary form until the announcement that Vessantara was to be banned from
the kingdom. Vessantara hardly had any dialogue at all; his longest speech
occurred in the scene where he says he does not want Matsi to suffer with him in
the forest. Although not named as a favorite, this scene is part of the Himaphan
chapter. Out of the five-hour performance, this chapter, in which King Sonchai
banishes his son and Matsi decides to follow her husband, took a full forty-five
minutes.
The focus was on Matsi, first as she convinced Vessantara that she would
not stay in the palace but join him in exile, and then as she convinced Queen
Phusadi and King Sonchai of the same point. The monk who performed the
role of King Sonchai lamented that was he losing not only his son but also his
daughter-in-law and his grandchildren; he asked Matsi to remain in the palace
so she and his grandchildren would not have to face the dangers of the forest.
The monk who dramatized Matsi gave an amazing performance, singing with
stylized wailing and without taking a breath for virtuoso lengths of time. I was
 86 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

in awe. Refusing to change her mind, Matsi then took her leave from King
Sonchai in another protracted emotional operatic soliloquy. The tension was at
one point eased by a comic aside in which Matsi indignantly informs the audi-
ence that she was not about to stay and become King Sonchai’s wife.
Matsi continued to play a major role in the remainder of the performance,
with another long episode of stylized wailing reoccurring in the Matsi chapter
itself as the monk re-created Matsi’s grief at the loss of her children. Matsi’s
heart wrenching agony was clearly being dramatized in order to set the stage
for the joy of the reunification. As several northeastern monks explained, the
listeners feel sorry for Matsi (songsaan). She is a woman who has complete love
for her husband and children. She did not need to go into the forest with Ves-
santara when he was banned, but she chose to stay with him so she could help
him. She is the perfect wife. Her importance in the northeastern interpretation
is reflected in the annual parade in Roi Et, where a large group of women form
a contingent, each holding hands with two children.7
This theme of family reunification parallels the celebration as a time when
village families and friends reunite. As Lefferts explains, “It is a major occasion
during which villagers extend invitations to relatives, friends, work associates,
and acquaintances to visit and see the village at its best” (2006/7, 102). Writing
of the 1960s, William Klausner observes that “villagers come from near and far,
and there is much visiting of old friends and, on the part of the young, making
new friends” (1993, 47). A villager in Sakon Nakhon recalled that “elderly people
from other Lao villages in Sakon Nakhon often came at that time to stay in his
village wat to observe the Eight Precepts and listen to the recitations” (Kamala
2003, 245). A central Thai sangha administration official who traveled to Korat
in 1934 and criticized the performance for being too “crude and noisy” noted
that there were some three hundred villagers in the audience (Kamala 1997, 35).
In order to accommodate the large number of guests, the host villagers prepared
lodgings for their guests from neighboring villages; these lodgings were typically
made of bamboo, thatch, and coconut fronds (Sommai and Dore 1991, 43;
1992, 90).
As Lefferts and Cate suggest, these festivities tie in with the Nakornkan,
replicating the chapter’s description of the court “celebrating the prince’s return
from exile” (2012, 48). The atmosphere is convivial. Walking through the village
at the festival I was observing, I saw circles of families and friends chatting,
drinking, and sharing laughs. Adding to the merriment, villagers usually hire
outside performers as entertainment. In earlier times, there was often a perform-
ance by morlam singers. By the 1980s, Khon Kaen city had a traveling movie
agent who brought the film equipment to the villages in a large truck; Hong
 Northeastern Thailand • 87

Kong kung fu movies were especially popular (Hayashi 2003, 133). Villagers used
to construct their own wooden stages, but “today outside professional performers
bring their own stages, loud-speaker systems, and curtains” (Lefferts 2006/7,
102). For the Bun Pha Wet celebration I saw in 2010, the temple committee
had organized a traveling likay troupe to perform at night; during the day there
was a fair replete with a large inflatable bouncy castle, a shooting gallery with
prizes, a sort of merry-go-round, and a trampoline.
Bun Pha Wet is an occasion when villagers working in Bangkok or else-
where are likely to return home.8 As the poorest region of Thailand, the north-
east has the highest rate of outmigration. In the past their sons and daughters
migrated to Bangkok as pedicab drivers and domestic servants (Textor 1961;
Keyes 1967, 36–40; Mills 1999). Writing in 1967, Keyes notes that in a village in
Mahasarakham province, “49 percent of the men 20 years of age and over or
67 percent of the men between 30 and 39 had worked in Bangkok” (1967, 38).
Although initially men migrated in search of work, increasingly women also
began migrating to Bangkok; today many of Bangkok’s taxi drivers and factory
workers come from the northeast. Mary Beth Mills writes of a village she studied
in which temporary and circulating migration to Bangkok, especially by un-
married youth, involved “nearly three-quarters of the community’s 200 house-
holds” (1999, 28). Nonetheless, Mills notes that migrants she knew “retained
close ties with people in the countryside, visiting at least once a year or more”
and almost all “had plans to return home” (1999, 149). As Lefferts writes, “For
many, the festival is a homecoming” (2006/7, 100). In this context, the north-
eastern emphasis on the Nakornkan becomes particularly poignant, as villagers
celebrate the royal return as an emotional meta-language of their own family
and village reunification.

Unifying the Village Community

Monks and laity I interviewed are quite explicit that one of the major purposes
of the Bun Pha Wet is to foster unity among villagers. Even in its abridged
form, the celebration of the Vessantara Jataka requires considerable cooperation.
As one villager explained to Cate and Lefferts, “The whole village is owner of
the festival” (2012, 169). In addition to preparing food for all the friends and
relatives, households must organize the temple decorations and share financial
costs. As Lefferts writes:

The Bun Phra Wet requires extensive planning: the temple and village commit-
tees agree on a date a month or more in advance and discuss the amount of
monetary assessment to be levied on each household; a contract is signed with
 88 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

one or more performing groups; and the lay head of the wat committee (tayok
wat) contacts monks from outside the community and invites them to par-
ticipate. At least two weeks before the festival, specific groups of people begin
to prepare the requisite accouterments: elderly men weave bamboo baskets;
elderly women prepare a thousand betel nut chews, a thousand hand-rolled
cigarettes, a thousand balls of rice, and other prescribed items. The tayok wat
pulls out of storage the nine long flags that are flown in the wat and locates the
bamboo poles that hold them. (2006/7, 102)

Villagers contribute labor to decorating the temple grounds, turning it into

the mythical “royal space, appropriate to welcome the prince and the Buddha-
to-be” (Lefferts and Cate 2012, 49). Outside the hall where the monks will
recite the jataka, villagers erect nine poles with long flags, one at the entrance
of the temple and the remaining eight at the eight cardinal points (Lefferts
and Cate 2012, 49). Inside the temple hall, villagers re-create the royal forest
hermitage (rajawat), decorating it with banana tree stalks, sugarcane stalks,
coconuts, flowers, wasp nests, and the like. One or two large jars of water, rep-
resenting the pond where the royal children hid, are filled with lotus flowers,
fish, turtles, and mud. At the recitation I observed, villagers festooned the temple
hall in strings with birds and fish woven from banana leaves, strings of colored
paper with old audiocassette tape forming tassels, strings of plastic straws cut
into short lengths and interspersed with bits of colored paper, and strings onto
which rice had been glued. The baskets that each household had prepared were
set on a shelf that surrounded the rajawat. Villagers also helped prepare the
thousand wicks, which were then formed into thirteen candles, the number of
wicks in each candle dependent upon the number of the respective verses in
each chapter. Each candle would be lit as its corresponding chapter was read
and the wax dripped into one of the pots of water; after the ceremony villagers
could take this sacralized water (nam mon) home to bless their homes and
family (although at the recitation I observed, almost no one did so). (For further
details, see Manee 1976, 52–53; Cate and Lefferts 2012, 176–77; Lefferts and
Cate 2012.)
Because the recitation was also an important occasion to raise money for
their village temple, monks and villagers also worked together to organize a
temple fair. The temple fair included not only secular forms of public entertain-
ment, but also various booths staffed by local monks and novices to raise money
with such enticements as selling gold leaf to apply to a statue of the Buddha
and raffling objects donated by villagers, merchants, and others (soi daaw; see
Lefferts 2006/7, 102).
 Northeastern Thailand • 89

Number of Monks
Further contributing to the unifying and democratic character of the north-
eastern performance is its pattern of drawing upon large numbers of local
monks and novices. Unlike in other regions of the country, here it is not un-
common for a full recitation to involve as many as forty to fifty monks and
novices, each reading a few pages. Thus Klausner writes, “It is customary to
have fifty or more monks come and participate in this festival, as the chanting
is very taxing, and the more monks there are, the less each individual monk will
have to chant” (1993, 47). In Tambiah’s account, villagers invited twenty-six
monks from surrounding temples to join those at their own temple (1970, 168).
At Ubon’s Wat Mongkol Kowithaaram in 2009 they invited fifty monks; an-
other temple in Ubon invited sixty monks. Monks in Khon Kaen described a
similar pattern, generally inviting thirty-five to forty-five monks from many
different temples in the area. Each monk chants for some ten to thirty minutes.
A shorter chapter may involve three or four monks, and longer chapters may
involve many more. The decision about the number of temples (sai kii wat) and
the number of monks to invite is made by the individual temple committees.
Very often novices are invited to do the opening Sangat or Khathaphan. This
democratic format serves to help bind village temples in the region into a
strong social network.
Given the large number of monks and novices being invited, the emphasis
was less on operatic excellence than on broad participation. Unlike the north,
the northeast does not associate particular monks with specific chapters.9 Al-
though the proliferation of the Hok Kasat version has changed this democratic
format, villagers have maintained elements of this pattern by having local monks
from their own and adjoining temples recite the other affiliated texts that com-
prise the full northeastern complement. In the village recitation I observed,
villagers had invited about a dozen monks to receive morning alms. A local
senior monk chanted the Phra Malai Sutra, and four local novices raced through
the Khathaphan in Pali, all four reading simultaneously in a delightful cacoph-
ony. We all empathized with the lone novice who was the last to finish his as-
signed verses.

Selection of Sponsors: Lottery

In contrast to the central Thai pattern in which considerable attention was
focused on the lavishness of the individual offerings, the northeastern offerings
for the monks were relatively modest and offered conjointly on behalf of the
village as a whole. A typical donation for an ordinary monk reciting verses for
 90 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

the ceremony is currently about 300–500 baht, but a monk known for his
preaching talents can receive significantly more. A Hok Kasat monk may be
invited for an initial donation of 1,500–2,000 baht. At the Hok Kasat perform-
ance I observed, the three monks each received an offering of 2,000 baht, a sum
agreed upon in advance and given to them on behalf of the village as a whole;
the three sponsors of the monks received no formal public recognition, although
their identities were known to the villagers themselves. During a monk’s perform-
ance, the audience members often get up and put additional money into his
bag, particularly if he “has hit a few ‘high notes’ or held a sound for a long time”
(Klausner 1993, 48). At large events, a monk may receive as much as another
5,000 baht in his bag. In addition to spontaneous offerings from the audience
during the performance, monks may include a special request for donations for
their character. During the recitation I attended, villagers made much smaller
donations into their bags, in amounts ranging from 1–100 baht. “Jujaka” also
begged for additional money from his audience, provoking chuckles and more
contributions.
In general in the northeast, the hosts of each chapter are drawn by lottery
( jap salak) or by people volunteering to host.10 Villagers are responsible for
providing an offering to whichever monks recite the particular verses in the
chapter they have drawn. Since individual monks were not reciting designated
chapters, there was no need to have lay sponsors for specific chapters. Instead a
lottery was held for gifts for the local monks and novices involved in chanting
the related texts. At the recitation I observed, while the dozen or so monks and
novices were eating their morning meal, a bowl was passed around among the
laity. Everyone kept drawing names until all the slips of paper were gone.
Because there was little time to prepare any specific gifts, the offerings were
simple. Offerings for novices and monks consisted of only a few necessities,
although whoever drew the name of the abbot was likely to prepare a some-
what more substantial gift. The offerings were presented unobtrusively after a
given monk or novice had completed his reading and was leaving. The only
exception to this pattern of simple offerings was the “random” offering (kan
lon), an additional overflow offering for which villagers parade through the vil-
lage soliciting extra donations.11 Unlike the central Thai performance, in which
the chapter offerings were a competitive form of public display for status by
individual donors, the northeastern celebration focused more on village unity
and shared responsibility.

The Three Processions

Also contributing to the unification of the village are the three processions that
form part of the normal structure of northeastern Bun Pha Wet celebrations.
 Northeastern Thailand • 91

Each of these processions is an invitation to various personages, invisible and

visible, to join the recitation. Typically, the first day features the procession
inviting Upakut; on the second day the procession inviting Vessantara and his
family takes place; and the third day features the procession of one thousand
balls of rice, which serves as a de facto invitation to the villagers themselves.12
Rather than proceed to the temple as individuated sponsors of a given chapter,
the village comes together to parade as a group. Participation in the three proces-
sions, each historically a unique component in the northeastern performance,
is open to everyone.

Inviting Upakut
Typical of northeastern recitations is the invitation to Upakut (Upagupta). 13
Villagers have various explanations, albeit interrelated, for who Upakut is.
Upakut is widely associated with “protecting the village and ensuring the rains”
(Tambiah 1970, 161; see also Kirsch 1967; Sparkes 2005, 177, 184–92; Lefferts
and Cate 2012, 51). For many villagers Upakut is a Naga, or serpent spirit, who
lives in the water and is invited to safeguard against murder, storms, and light-
ning that Mara might cause; Mara is variously understood as the king of demons,
the Buddha’s enemy, and a signifier of death (Tambiah 1970, 170). In another
interpretation, Upakut is believed to be the monk whom King Asoka called
upon to preside over a gathering of one thousand monks to eliminate doctrinal
differences; at the time Upakut was meditating in water (Tambiah 1970, 170).
The most colorful explanation was provided by two elderly ritual specialists:
“Phraa Uppakrut was a novice who lived in the water of the swamp (in a sub-
terranean town). He was the son of Buddha and his mother was a mermaid. It
is said that once the Buddha forced his semen . . . into the water and a mermaid
swallowed it, became pregnant and gave birth to Uppakrut. He was subsequently
ordained as a novice (or monk) and lives in the water, for he is a mermaid’s son”
(Tambiah 1970, 169).
Regardless of his origins, Tambiah notes that informants were agreed that
Upakut is the enemy of Mara and is invited to the Bun Pha Wet in order to safe-
guard the proceedings. One village elder explained, “Whenever a big ceremony
is undertaken, he must be invited to ward off dangers caused by Praya Marn
[Mara],” adding, “When we make merit, we invite Phraa Uppakrut to come so
that he will prevent fighting and killing and damage by fire” (Tambiah 1970,
170). Sommai Premchit and Amphay Dore also suggest that Upakut is invited
to prevent Mara from interrupting the ceremony (1992, 87). Thus, as Tambiah
summarizes, “In the villagers’ statements continual references are made to rain,
long life, good health and absence of conflict” (1970, 172; for further discussion,
see Tambiah 1970, 168–78; Lux 1971; Strong 1992; Sparkes 2005, 185–86).
 92 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

The invitation of Upakut in effect marks the formal beginning of the cere-
mony. Tambiah provides one of the earliest scholarly accounts of this part of
the ritual. Since villagers believe Upakut lives under water, they form a pro-
cession to a nearby body of water (byng) such as a pond or swamp. Inviting
Upakut involves the following list of ritual paraphernalia: “a monk’s bowl, a set
of monk’s yellow robes, umbrella, a pair of monk’s sandals, two small images
of the Buddha, karuphan (made of various kinds of flowers), puffed rice, two
banana-leaf trays containing locally made cigarettes, and a kettle” (Tambiah
1970, 162–63). Tambiah continues:
All these articles were placed on a cushion which rested in the centre of a
wooden sedan chair. The procession actually started from the wat compound
and was led by three monks, who were followed by elderly leaders ( phuu thaw)
carrying the sedan chair. Then followed a large body of villagers—men,
women, and children. Guns were carried, and music was provided by a bamboo
flute and drums. Conspicuous were the flags with pictures of Nang Thoranee
(goddess of the earth), a mermaid, a crocodile, etc.14 . . . The procession, after
passing through the hamlet, headed for a pond in the paddy fields. The ponds
selected must have water all the year round. (1970, 162–63)

At the pond, a village elder invited Upakut “to come and be guardian of the
ceremony.” The elder threw puffed rice on the sedan chair. Guns were fired
several times, drums were beaten, and the people shouted “Chaiyo.” According
to Tambiah, the guns were intended to frighten off Mara, and the word
“chaiyo” proclaimed their victory. The kettle was then filled with water from
the pond and placed on the sedan chair. In Tambiah’s account, Upakut appears
to have been symbolically represented by the water in the kettle; several other
accounts suggest that Upakut is represented by a stone placed on a tray or even
a novice or monk (e.g., Sommai and Dore 1992, 94; Strong 1992, 172). When
the Upakut procession arrived at the temple, the villagers circumambulated the
temple hall (sala) three times. The flags were placed near the pulpit; the kettle
and other paraphernalia were placed on a shelf in the corner of the sala (Tambiah
1970, 162). Other observers provide a similar account of villagers setting off fire-
crackers, firing guns, and playing musical instruments as they processed back to
the temple (Manee 1976, 51; Sommai and Dore 1992, 94; Sparkes 2005, 186).
At the ceremony I observed in a Khon Kaen village, the invitation of Upakut
occurred in the morning rather than in the late afternoon, and at the river that
flowed by the temple rather than outside the village at a pond.15 Nonetheless, it
was very similar in principle to the invitation ceremony described by Tambiah.
As the monks were eating their morning meal, villagers began assembling the
 Northeastern Thailand • 93

things needed to invite Upakut: his statue, an umbrella, a begging bowl, sandals,
robes, a tea pot, candles, and flowers. The procession of villagers, led by the
head of the lay community (thayok wat), headed down the steps to the river
landing. No monks were involved. The lay leader performed the invitation
ceremony. Instead of stones, he used a statue of Upakut. At the completion of
the brief ceremony, instead of firing guns or lighting firecrackers, villagers beat
a large gong. The thayok wat who was carrying the Upakut statue led the pro-
cession of villagers up the stairs from the river. The procession was mainly
women, many of whom were dancing as they walked. We danced around the
sala three times. The thayok wat then climbed up on a preaching chair to place
Upakut, his umbrella, and other paraphernalia up high in the back left corner
facing the altar. After some announcements, which included remarks by the
abbot about his plans for future building, this phase of the ceremony was
complete and we returned to our village hosts for breakfast around 9:00 a.m.
Villagers’ concern with safeguarding harmony and unity against Mara
raises questions about their implicit views about the potential sources of conflict
or evil. At the most mundane level, one can easily imagine youth getting into
arguments with youth from other villages; I recall many such fights at alcohol-
infused temple festivals I have attended. Tambiah also suggests that the Upakut
is defending Buddhism “by reconciling theological differences in the sangha”
(1970, 171); as one reflects back on history, one can reconstruct the possible ten-
sion that existed as villagers’ traditional religious praxis came into increasing
conflict with the central Thai Thammayut reform order. It is also perhaps not
too much of a stretch to imagine that for nineteenth-century villagers fearful of
the next military campaign, their prayers for protection included protection
from the Bangkok state itself. Thus in their invitation to Upakut—this am-
biguous mix of naga, novice, and court-appointed negotiator—villagers express
their hope that their community might be in harmony with nature, the monas-
tic hierarchy, and the state—and thereby safe from drought, schism, and war,
respectively.

Scroll Procession: The Royal Return

A major element widespread throughout the northeast—but not a part of
traditional recitations in northern or central Thailand—is the invitation of
Vessantara and Matsi to return to the kingdom and the correlated procession
of the scroll (Mizuno 1971, 171; Manee 1976, 51–53; Sommai and Dore 1992, 87;
Hayashi 2003, 132; Sparkes 2005, 188). This phase of the ritual begins outside
of the village where villagers gather to hold a ceremony in which they invite
Vessantara and Matsi to return. Carrying a long cloth scroll, the villagers then
 94 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

parade through the village, ending at the temple. These scrolls are a key symbol
of the Bun Pha Wet; Lefferts and Cate have documented their widespread
use throughout the northeast.16 About a meter wide and some 25–45 meters in
length, “even today, almost every village temple in northeastern Thailand owns
at least one of these scrolls” (Lefferts 2006/7, 99; see also Cate and Lefferts
2012, 170). The scroll is so representative of northeastern Bun Pha Wet celebra-
tions that the scroll parade scene has even been painted into the wall mural of
a recently built temple in Khon Kaen city, which itself does not even hold
Vessantara Jataka recitations.
Described as “murals on the move,” Sandra Cate and Leedom Lefferts
have conducted by far the most detailed studies of this hitherto neglected folk
art. The importance of the Nakornkan chapter is reinforced in the scroll since
this chapter typically “receives by far the most space”; one scroll devoted “almost
35 percent of its length to this one section” (2012, 172,174). However, as they
point out, the scroll “has meaning beyond its immediate function of visually
recounting the Vessantara Jataka,” but it is in effect an embodiment of Vessan-
tara and the royal family returning to the city, with the villagers serving as their
entourage. As Lefferts explains, “The scroll itself becomes the prince and his
family, invited by the villagers and guided by them from the forest to which
they had been exiled into this village, transformed into a city (muang), and into
the wat, transformed into a palace (wang)” (2006/7, 101).
Making the parallel between the mythological time of the Nakornkan and
the real time of the present even more vivid, many villages have expanded the
procession beyond the scroll itself. Very often villagers are dressed up as Vessan-
tara, Matsi, and other figures from the jataka, the royal figures often making
their return on elephants, real or fake. Klausner provides an account of a north-
eastern village (probably Ubon) from the 1960s: “The monks in their bright
saffron robes lead the procession. It is a colorful sight. However, perhaps the
most imposing sight of the process is the ‘white elephant’ of Prawaed. The
villagers spend quite a few days in making a gigantic elephant out of bamboo
and white cloth. It is usually a realistic facsimile, even to the last detail of an
extra large cucumber dangling between the elephant’s hind legs. The elephant
is pushed along on a cart” (Klausner 1993, 47; see also Manee 1976, 52–53).
The colorful procession I saw in Khon Kaen village in March 2010 began in
the late afternoon of the day before the jataka recitation. Around 3:30 p.m.
Leedom and I made our way through the village to the pond on its outskirts,
where Vessantara and Matsi were to be invited to return. We caught up with a
life-size elephant covered with brown burlap except for its white and gold tusks
and its large red and white penis. Freshly decorated with flowers, it carried a
 Northeastern Thailand • 95

covered howdah on its back. We joined a cast of characters in rented likay

costumes, drummers, monks, and an ever-growing crowd of villagers. Soon the
thayok wat arrived by bicycle carrying in his basket a small Buddha image
intended to represent Vessantara.17 Mats were spread out on the ground next
to the pond, the monks sitting with their backs to the pond and the villagers
facing the pond. With the Buddha image and the scroll before him on one tray
and a second tray with flowers and two lit candles, the thayok wat read the
invitation to Vessantara from a small book. Afterward the monks chanted and
the audience chanted in response. The ceremony completed, the village children
who were representing Vessantara and Matsi, dressed in colorful rented outfits,
climbed up a ladder to get into the howdah on the elephant’s back.
The procession was now ready to begin. The elephant carrying Vessantara
and Matsi led the way. Next followed Jujaka with the two royal children bound
by ropes. The two children also wore fancy rented costumes. The villager playing
Jujaka, a samlor driver the rest of the year, wore white jongkrabaen style pants
with a pillow stuffed under his blue T-shirt; he carried a white shoulder cloth,
white bag, and cane. He danced lamwong style, mock hitting the children as
the parade moved through the village.
The scroll procession was next and portrayed the story in reverse. Monks
led the scroll parade, holding the Nakornkan scene. Villagers held the rest of the
scroll, which concluded with a scene representing the first chapter, the scene of
the Buddha’s enlightenment during which he recalled his life as Vessantara,
and scenes from the Phra Malai Sutra in which Phra Malai visits the heavens
and the hells.18 Following the scroll were large numbers of villagers. There was
a contingent of middle-aged dancing housewives, wearing flowers in their hair
and matching flowered shirts and northeastern-style skirts ( phasin). Next came
a contingent of male drummers, many of them in flowered shirts that matched
those of the housewives. Following behind the drummers was an array of
musicians, some with cymbals, one with a keyboard, and another with an un-
usual Thai style wood carved electric guitar; these latter instruments were
plugged into a loudspeaker system mounted to a cart. Along the route inside
the village, people had set up chairs with plastic water jugs and cups so that all
could quench their thirst in the heat. Some threw water on us as we walked
past; even the ice cube that landed in my collar felt refreshing in the heat. As
we passed by the shops near the temple, one of the shop ladies threw handfuls of
candies into the passing crowd, bringing about squeals of laughter as children
dove and jumped to get them.
When the procession arrived at the temple, the scroll was carried around
the sala three times. Since it was impossible to parade the burlap elephant over
 96 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

the rough ground around the sala, its riders dismounted and joined the circum-
ambulating group. Villagers apparently often hold mock debates about whether
or not Jujaka should be allowed to enter the temple grounds but conclude that
he should be allowed since “he’s really a Buddhist.”19 On the occasion I observed,
Jujaka joined in the circumambulations. As they entered, some villagers placed
small offerings into the nine baskets located at the bottoms of flagpoles around
the sala.20 Then the scroll was mounted on the walls surrounding the sala. A
monk seated in a preaching chair recited the Phra Malai Sutra, setting the stage
for the recitation of the Vessantara Jataka to follow the next day. Villagers then
went home for dinner, returning in the evening for the show performed by
traveling entertainers and other temple fair attractions.

Procession of the Thousand Balls of Rice

The day of the recitation begins with another occasion for a shared village
procession—namely, “the procession of the thousand balls of rice” (hae khao
phan kohn). The procession serves in effect as the final village announcement.
The thousand balls of rice represent the thousand verses of the Vessantara
Jataka. The procession I saw in 2010 was similar in principle to that described
by Tambiah, but with some differences in detail.21 The procession began at
about 4:00 a.m. on the morning of the day the Vessantara Jataka was to be recited
(the temple fair had ended and the performers were packing up). The thousand
balls of rice had been arranged into a single beautiful arrangement comprised
of a pyramidal cone with one thousand sticks of bamboo about two feet in
length, on the end of each of which jiggled a small ball of sticky rice. The ar-
rangement had been prepared in advance and had been placed in the center of
the temple sala on a fancy gold-painted preaching chair (thammart). While it
was still dark, a small nucleus of villagers assembled at the temple. Two men
carried the arrangement through the streets of the village, the white rice balls
bouncing up and down with each step, casting a beautiful contrast against the
dark streets. Behind them followed a small contingent of noisy drummers,
men with cymbals, and a man playing the same apparently homemade electric
wooden guitar attached to amplifiers on a cart. As the procession passed by
village homes, more and more villagers joined in (though not as many as during
the Vessantara procession the day before since many young people who had
attended the fair were still sleeping and others were preparing breakfast for
their families and guests). After arriving at the village temple, the procession
circumambulated the sala three times, and the arrangement was then returned
to its former position in the sala.
 Northeastern Thailand • 97

With the monks and audience now assembled, the lay leader chanted an
invitation to the thewada and spirits of deceased ancestors “who have not yet
moved to the spirit world” to join in listening to the Vessantara Jataka (Lefferts
and Cate 2012, 57). As Lefferts and Cate summarize, “Past and present beings
of the water, the heavens and of the earth are now assembled” (2012, 57). A
monk then chanted the Sangat, beginning with the current date as told in the
number of years that have passed since the Buddha reached enlightenment.
The Sangat explains the occasion of the Buddha’s enlightenment when the
earth goddess (Mae Thoranii ) bears witness to the merit he had accumulated
in his previous life as Vessantara by sending a flood.
On the occasion I observed, the Sangat took place at about 6:00 a.m. It was
followed by the recitation of the Khathaphan by four novices, each of whom
was sitting in one of the four decorated preaching chairs. Since the Khathaphan
is in Pali and the novices were reading simultaneously, no one understood
much of it. When the Khathaphan was completed, the monks were offered
breakfast. All of us who were at the temple then ate breakfast together. We
then waited for the Hok Kasat monks to arrive.
The three monks arrived at the village temple shortly before 11:00 a.m.
The villagers offered them food, and we ate after the monks had finished. At
about noon, the recitation began. Their performance was impressive, a mix
of narrative and dialogues between characters. The performance took about
five hours to complete, with the monk who was performing Vessantara taking
breaks from time to time to talk quietly on his cell phone or smoke a ciga-
rette. Some chapters were given in brief summary form, and other moments
were turned into extended dialogues. When the end of each chapter was an-
nounced, a villager sounded the gong. As a new chapter began, joss sticks
and the appropriate candle with wicks corresponding to the number of verses
in the chapter were lit. Since the Hok Kasat version abridged various chapters,
candles accumulated as some chapters were zipped through in a matter of
minutes.
Unlike the central Thai interpretation, in which emphasis is placed on the
children in the Kumarn chapter, the clear emphasis in the northeastern inter-
pretation is on family reunification and village solidarity. Rather than grandiose
displays of individual offerings, the emphasis is on drawing the village together
as a unified whole. This difference in emphasis is also reflected visually in the
scrolls, the panels concerning Vessantara’s gift of the children and Matsi’s return
to the hermitage being “only of middling importance” (Cate and Lefferts
2012, 172). This royal reunification occurring in the jataka no doubt parallels
 98 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

the joy villagers are feeling at the reunification of their own families for the
recitation.

Political Ambiguity:
Signs of Defiance and Accommodation
Given the significant difference in emphases between the central Thai court
and northeastern interpretations of the Vessantara Jataka, the question arises of
the Thai state’s position in the peasant imaginaire. How did villagers view the
state? If Bangkok was trying to reshape or suppress jataka performances, is
there any evidence that they were successful in the northeast? Assessing the
extent of central Thai influence involves knowing more about historical indige-
nous practices. Unfortunately, such a historical reconstruction, due to the lack
of sources, involves considerable speculation. On the one hand, to the extent
that northeasterners maintained a very different tradition in their celebration
of the Vessantara Jataka, their maintenance of their customs or refusal to mod-
ify their recitations could be construed as evidence of their independence and
even as a form of defiance. Indeed, Pranee Wongthet suggests that the jatakas
helped the Laotian prisoners of war who were resettled in Prachinburi in eastern
Thailand “to achieve new awareness and hope in a new society, a society in
which they had to accept the status ‘captives’” (1989, 24). On the other hand, to
the extent that the Bun Pha Wet was altered to be more in accord with central
Thai values, northeasterners could be seen as accommodating Bangkok. In this
section, I will explore three elements of ambiguity: the royal procession, the
portrayal of Jujaka, and the timing of the performance. Positioned between
defiance and accommodation, each hints at the possibility that northeasterners
maintained their independent interpretations while accepting compromises
with the Bangkok court.

The Royal Procession

As is borne out by the importance placed on the Nakornkan chapter, for north-
easterners the return of Vessantara and his family “is the core meaning of the
festival” (Lefferts 2006/7, 103). What is the political subjectivity being expressed
by northeasterners in the Bun Pha Wet? If the theme of family reunification,
celebrated in the Nakornkan chapter, resonates with the villagers, are villagers
generalizing from the royalty whose reunion is being celebrated in the jataka to
earthly royalty? Cate and Lefferts suggest that for participants, the scroll be-
comes “far more than a ‘representation’ of the story; it provides the means by
which the community transforms itself into the subjects of the Prince” (2012,
 Northeastern Thailand • 99

174). By processing the scroll, celebrants are “actively becoming subjects of the
Prince accompanying his return” (Cate and Lefferts 2012, 178). As one monk
explained, “the spirit of the Prince is ‘in the cloth’” (Cate and Lefferts 2012, 174).
The northeastern emphasis on the return of Vessantara and his family
would appear to support a pro-royalist interpretation. The incorporation of
national symbolism in many northeastern performances provides further sup-
port. Nationalist messaging is interwoven into the modern performances in the
northeast: “In Northeast Thailand this procession also demonstrates that today’s
citizens now come to agree with today’s ruler and his kingdom. Flags—both
the Thai national flag and the yellow flag of Buddhism—are ubiquitous during
this festival along the route of the procession” (Cate and Lefferts 2012, 178–79).
However, interpreting the political subjectivity inherent in the northeastern
interpretation is complex. In a region whose political allegiance has long been
under suspicion by the Thai state, the ubiquitous flags also raise a sense of “the
lady doth protest too much, methinks.” The northeast is comprised largely of
war captives force marched into the region from Laos at the beginning of the
nineteenth century.22 Their resistance to the Bangkok administration was made
manifest in various revolts, the most famous being the millenarian “Holy Men’s
Revolts” of 1902. In the nineteenth century, it is doubtful that northeastern war
captives were sponsoring recitations of the Vessantara Jataka in order to cele-
brate the legitimacy of the Bangkok court. It is possible the court promoted
recitations hoping to portray itself as the chosen government of the people, but
it is unclear how effective this approach would have been. Few northeasterners
would have seen the lavish gifts offered when the Vessantara Jataka was being
performed in Bangkok; if they had, it is not known what their reaction might
have been—awe or outrage at the extravagance in the midst of widespread
poverty.
The generations of impoverished northeasterners who sought work as
domestic servants, factory workers, or taxi drivers in Bangkok were often mocked
as unsophisticated country bumpkins and turned into stock characters in many
national television shows; these portrayals often comprised themes in north-
eastern morlam and country songs (luuk thung). Their loyalty and identity as
“Thai” citizens has even been called into question (e.g., Keyes 1967; Mills 1999).
During World War II the northeast was an important base for the Free Thai
movement (e.g., Haseman 1978; Wimon 1997; Sorasak 2005). The region has a
history of electing socialist candidates and over the course of the twentieth
century became a stronghold of the Communist Party of Thailand. Accordingly,
the region was subject to numerous communist suppression campaigns during
the 1960s and 1970s (Morell and Chai-anan 1981; Bowie 1997; Kasian 2001).
 100 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

The region remains the poorest in Thailand. Today the northeast is a

bulwark of the “red shirt movement,” many members of which are increasingly
critical of the institution of the monarchy and its accumulated wealth.23 Many
northeasterners today hold great admiration for King Bhumiphol; however,
their admiration is not based upon his support for recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka or a royalist ideology reinforced by the jataka but instead on his efforts
over the decades to provide relief from their poverty. Faced with the dangers of
having their village labeled as “communist,” it is not inconceivable that earlier
generations of villagers sought to couch their struggles for social justice within
a framework that affirmed their loyalty to the nation. A similar argument can
be made for villagers now being labeled as “republican” at a time when charges
of lèse majesté can lead to prison terms (see Streckfuss 1995, 2011; Thongchai
2012).
Cate and Lefferts broach the political message, suggesting that “the Bun
Phra Wet constitutes also a festival of allegiance: the people have acquiesced
and accepted this Prince as their future King” (2012, 178). However, accepting
Vessantara as their future king is not necessarily the same as accepting an
earthly ruler as their legitimate king. Thus the royalist imagery raises the ques-
tion, in whose kingdom did the northeastern villagers imagine themselves? Did
villagers presume an isomorphism between the divine and the earthly, between
the village realm and the national realm? The possibility exists that villagers
may have been envisioning a divide between the future imagined ideal and the
present earthly reality, either as two dissociated realms or as associated realms
in which the former is used to critique the latter.
In part analyzing the jataka’s political resonances depends on how one
interprets the manner of Vessantara and Matsi’s exile and return. If one believes
Vessantara was virtuous by helping his drought-ridden neighbors, then the
courtiers or populace who pressured King Sonchai were in the wrong and
Vessantara was unjustly banished. If one believes Vessantara was wrong to
give away the rain-making elephant, then he deserved his punishment. The
decision to invite Vessantara back to their village kingdom can be understood
accordingly as the result of recognition by the court, courtiers, and/or populace
that they had made a mistake. Alternatively, the invitation can be understood
as the result of the people’s willingness to forgive Vessantara for his mistaken
overzealousness.
In socialist Laos, where the king was deposed in 1975, the jataka is widely
celebrated and Vessantara is portrayed as having made a mistake. As a former
longtime monk explained to Patrice Ladwig:
 Northeastern Thailand • 101

As a king, Vessantara has responsibility for the kingdom and all the people
living in it. They pay taxes, are his subjects and the kingdom flourishes until he
gives away the magic white elephant. Although the elephant was born on the
same day as Vessantara, it’s strictly speaking not his personal property. It is the
ming-khwan [magic symbol; essence] of the kingdom and it is necessary to
protect it and make the rice fields fertile. The elephant is the property of the
people. Vessantara knows that, but still gives it away without any conditions
when the Brahmins from the other kingdom beg for it. The people are right to
demand his dethronement, because he has acted in a highly irresponsible
manner. A king cannot simply do what he wants to do, he has to care for the
people and listen to them. That is sometimes the problem with kingship.
(2009, 151)

Another man that Ladwig interviewed also portrayed Vessantara’s decision to

give away his wife and children negatively, saying:
If you think about the difficulty of his decision, what options did he have? He
also loves his wife and children, but he also wants to attain enlightenment. He
acts incorrectly in some sense in order to advance on the path of enlightenment.
I pity him for that, but through this big sacrifice he becomes the Buddha and
will be able to show humanity the way out of suffering. And in the end, when
he was Vessantara, he was a being with much merit, but still a human, and as
humans we sometimes fail. (2009, 153)

For Ladwig, the audiences show pity and compassion for Vessantara. As he
explains the Lao interpretation, “An exemplary figure that is human without
producing suffering and carrying out acts that are at least ambivalent is probably
more accessible for the listener than a completely perfected being” (2009, 153).
Northeasterners seem to share the view of their fellow Lao across the Mekong
River that Vessantara may have made mistakes; even in one of the scrolls
Lefferts and Cate studied, two court ministers remark to each other, “Phra
Wet should not have given away his two royal children” (2012, 136).
In the central Thai murals depicting the Chohkasat chapter, Vessantara’s
parents invite the royal couple to return (Lefferts and Cate 2012, 91). By contrast,
Lefferts and Cate note that northeastern paintings “emphasise the role of the
citizens in extending the invitation to Phra Wet to return to govern his king-
dom”; northeastern artists usually depict “citizens, soldiers, or ministers” who
“march to the forest to negotiate his return to the kingdom and then parade
triumphantly back to the temple” (2012, 4, 91).24 Lefferts and Cate suggest that
 102 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

this democratic interpretation is grounded in long-standing traditions of

popular involvement in local government:
Until the state-administered reforms established centralised control of the
ordination, promotion, and titles of monks, village laity in this region exercised
considerable control over their local wat, even choosing their own abbots in a
tradition that one government inspector of the period identified as samoson
sommut (authority based on popular consent). Perhaps echoing this tradition,
in the performance of Bun Phra Wet, monks and laity alike have interpreted to
us the relationship between the citizens and their king—the act of sending him
into exile and then requesting his return—as the workings of prachathipathai
(democracy). (2012, 55–56)

Supporting this more democratic world view is evidence from northeastern

temple paintings. Bonnie Brereton and Somroay Yencheuy suggest that the
early twentieth-century temple murals in the central and southern regions of
Thailand reflect a hierarchical world view, with villagers “relegated to genre
scenes found only on the periphery.” By contrast, they suggest that northeastern
murals are “radically different in that the landscape they portray is a democratic
one, in which commoners and their activities occupy all levels of the compo-
sition” (2010, 47).
Furthermore, it should be noted that the idea of elective rather than he-
reditary kingship is not new in Buddhist philosophy, but rather comprised its
core. Thus the Aggana Sutra describes how after disorder among human beings
reached its highest point, people “selected from among themselves ‘the hand-
somest, the best favoured, the most attractive, the most capable’ and invited
him to be king in return for their contribution of ‘a proportion’ of their rice”
(Tambiah 1976, 13). If villagers did follow millenarian leaders, it may well have
been because, in accord with the Aggana Sutra, they had elected them. Even in
modern times the carryover of the Bun Pha Wet appears to contain an ambigu-
ous message about monarchy, given that republican red shirts and kingless
socialist Lao still celebrate readings of the Vessantara Jataka.

Vaudevillian Jujaka
The northeastern portrayal of Jujaka is similarly ambiguous in that he is both
despised and comic. Many monks and members of the laity I interviewed had
negative associations with Jujaka, suggesting that the dominant central Thai
portrayal was also influential in the northeast. Thus northeasterners commented
that Jujaka was a bad person, that it was difficult to find monks willing to
perform his role, and that the laity had mixed feelings about sponsoring this
 Northeastern Thailand • 103

chapter. A monk in Ubon observed that he mollifies distressed sponsors of the

Jujaka chapter by explaining that Jujaka is very clever and reminding them that
Jujaka is an important part of the story. Another monk in Khon Kaen noted
that while the listening audience enjoys the humor of Jujaka, many think hosting
Jujaka will bring them demerit (baab); he also explains to the unhappy hosts
that Jujaka is part of the story. When I asked one monk who specializes in the
role of Jujaka in the Hok Kasat performances how he came to learn this role,
he replied, “Because no one else was willing to do it. Everyone wants to be
Vessantara or Matsi!” He added that actually the Jujaka part is harder to per-
form than the other characters because one has to be able to make one’s voice
sound like that of an old man.25 This negativity is reflected in the debates over
whether Jujaka should be allowed to enter the temple at the end of the scroll
procession.26
Yet many northeasterners also view the Jujaka chapter—if not Jujaka
himself—as comic. It is difficult to present a “traditional” northeastern depiction
of Jujaka because the performance has undergone such dramatic changes in the
process of its abridgment to the Hok Kasat form. In the Hok Kasat perform-
ances, which dominate the Bun Pha Wet performances of today in the north-
east, Jujaka is typically portrayed as a vaudevillian character. Although Jujaka is
not terrifying, as in central Thai portrayals, he is also not beloved, as in northern
Thailand. Given the court’s concern with comedic recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka, the portrayal of Jujaka as comic rather than terrifying suggests a certain
measure of northeastern defiance. However, as the following description of the
Jujaka chapter suggests, the laughter the modern Jujaka provokes appears apoliti-
cal. This apolitical comedy suggests the possibility that the court had gained
some measure of control in the northeast.
In the Hok Kasat performance I attended in March 2010, Jujaka played a
central role and provoked laughter on multiple occasions. The dialogue centering
on the Jujaka chapter comprised a prominent part of the overall performance.
Out of the five-hour performance, the Jujaka chapter lasted about fifty minutes.
One monk took the role of narrator and Jujaka; a second monk took the role
of Jujaka’s friend with whom Jujaka entrusted his money and the role of
Amitataa. The narrator began the chapter, informing the audience that those
who listen to this chapter will be rewarded with big clumps of bananas, abundant
vegetables, and other good things. As a comic aside, he adds that bad things
will happen to those who are not listening.
The Jujaka monk then begins the chapter with a description of Jujaka’s
mother’s abnormal pregnancy, during which she was always eating; he humor-
ously enumerates in operatic style that she ate seven bushels of vegetables,
 104 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Figure 8. Bawdy scroll scene from Jujaka chapter. This excerpt shows Amitataa being taunted by
village women and Amitataa with Jujaka. Village in Khon Kaen province, March 2010. Photo by
author.

thirty pans of chopped buffalo meat (laap khwaai), three plates of chopped
chicken (laap kai ), plates of chopped oxen meat (laap wua), and more. Her
pregnancy lasted ten months and she was in labor for seven days. She no sooner
delivered Jujaka than she died. Jujaka’s father then took over raising him, but
he died. Then a series of relatives all took over the responsibility of raising him:
paternal grandparents, maternal grandparents, paternal aunts and uncles, and
maternal aunts and uncles. All died, and so Jujaka ended up at the temple. But
he caused conflict at the temple and was expelled. These events are not in the
Pali version or in the central Thai court version.
Jujaka thus began his life as a beggar. The monk then sings in operatic style
a poetic sequence in which Jujaka begs for goods that rhyme with the names of
the cities to which he travels next: Jujaka set off for Laos, where he asked for
glasses (kaew), and then traveled to Muang Maew. There he asked for a musi-
cal instrument ( phin) and traveled to China ( jin). In China he asked for a comb
(wii ), then traveled to Lopburi. There he asked for chicken (kai) and traveled
to Chiang Mai. There he asked for mats (sat) and traveled to Korat. He asked
for pillows (mohn) and traveled to Yasothon, and so on. The monk then says
 Northeastern Thailand • 105

that Jujaka has now arrived in the midst of the audience and wants money.
Audience members then begin going up to the monk and dropping coins or
bills into his bag. When I approach, the monk says, “Thank you very much” in
English, again getting a laugh from the crowd of listeners. As villagers come
up, he blesses them with such remarks as “Now you will go to heaven, your
water buffaloes will be beautiful and fetch a good price, you will be rewarded
with 10,000 or 100,000 baht.” None of these events are in the Pali version or in
the central Thai court version.
Jujaka then arrives at his friend’s house. An exchange follows when his
friend asks who is at the door and Jujaka replies, “Bak Sui.” (Laughter since we
were not expecting that name.) His friend (the role played by another monk)
finally recognizes him after several exchanges and invites him in to relax and
have a smoke. The friend then comments that Jujaka is looking like a westerner
with lots of money, asking how he made his money and suggesting that perhaps
he had become rich selling coconuts. Jujaka says he has a sophisticated strategy.
(Laughter.)
Jujaka then explains that he has 400 kahapana to entrust. After some to and
fro about 400 kahapana being equivalent to 400 baht, the friend suggests that
Jujaka should put that money in a bank. After all, Khon Kaen has banks. Jujaka
says banks are a big hassle and one has to have all kinds of papers, such as
household registration forms and birth certificates. No one has recorded his
birth and he has no birth certificate. (Laughter.) The friend then says that if he
is to take Jujaka’s money, then they will need witnesses, and so they should
proceed to the kamnan’s house. The occasion for the visit to the kamnan is a
setup for an absurd series of puns. The kamnan is named Joi; his wife, the
Village Head, is named Mitr, and their daughter, the Assistant Village Head,
is named Jat. Having these three administrative titles in the same household is
already implausible, so the setup alone gets laughs. But when the names are
pronounced together, the result is JoiMitrJat, which in effect means “completely
and utterly vanished,” intimating what will happen to Jujaka’s money. Some
banter follows about when Jujaka will return to claim his money, whether at
2:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m. Jujaka then heads off to continue begging.
Jujaka returns to reclaim his money. “Hello, anyone home?” The friend
comes to the door and refuses to believe his eyes. Jujaka says he wants his
money back. “Oh, you want your money? How do you want your money? In
Lao kip or Thai baht?” Jujaka, growling, replies, “Thai baht of course.”
The friend then explains: “Times were bad, my water buffalo had no off-
spring, and the crops failed. So I had to buy rice. And then my daughter wanted
a red skirt for New Years. She went to the market and came home. She told me
 106 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

that she had seen you at the market. She said she saw with her own eyes that
you were hit by a car and died. I believed her and so I used up the rest of the
money making merit for you.”
“But I’m not dead. My money is gone?!”
“I thought you were dead, so I made merit for you.”
“How would I get any merit? I’m not a ghost [ phii ] yet.” (Laughter.)
“My money is gone [Ngen ku mot].” (He begins crying.)
“Well, crying won’t get your money back.” The friend then introduces a
plan for compensation, asking Jujaka if he has a wife. When Jujaka says no, the
friend then says he has three daughters. The audience knows that normally
only one daughter is mentioned, so this remark draws laughter. There is some
back and forth about what a good deal three daughters for 400 baht is. The
three daughters are a setup for a series of risqué puns. The friend proceeds to
describe his oldest daughter, who is a school teacher in the government system
and teaches private lessons on weekends. Jujaka replies that she would be fine,
that it would be good for him to have a smart wife since he is stupid (byyk). The
friend then says her name is Khruu Tuaj, with a series of alternative mispronun-
ciations, which ends with khuaj tru, which might mean “my water buffalo”
(northeastern pronunciation) or “my penis.” The friend adds that “it” could be
sold for several thousand baht. (Laughter.)
The friend then describes his second daughter, who works as a servant for a
Chinese storeowner in Khon Kaen. Because she is so light skinned, the Chinese
merchant calls her Aa Maa, Aa Moi, Aa Mao, and Aaa, shifting the pronun-
ciation of the words through the word for pubic hair (moi) and ending up with
Ow Maa, meaning “to take” and also “to have sexual intercourse with a dog.”
(Laughter.) Jujaka screams in dismay, hollering that he just wants his money.
(More laughter.)
The friend then changes the tone, saying that he was just joking. He had
another daughter named Thong Amitataa, but Jujaka would have to talk to her
himself. The friend then calls for his daughter, calling her a variety of names
from Thong (Gold) to Ii Laa (Last-Born) and Taa, the last name setting up
the next joke. Jujaka asks for her name. The monk, acting out the role of
Amitataa, replies, “My name is Tukhataa [doll],” with overly effeminate intona-
tion. (Laughter, since no one was expecting that answer.) Jujaka asks if she will
take him for her husband (ow ai pai pen phua?). She replies, “But you are so
old.” Jujaka starts hollering again, “Just give me my money.” The friend inter-
venes to say that his daughter is only sixteen years old and that Jujaka should
use a magical formula to win her over. Jujaka does so and the friend comments
 Northeastern Thailand • 107

that the magic seems to have taken effect. (Laughter.) The couple take their
leave, Jujaka saying, “Good-bye my buddy [sio].” The friend replies, “Now you
are not my buddy, but my son-in-law.” (Laughter.) Jujaka and his bride get into
a car and repair to Jujaka’s village.
From this point on, the tone shifts from vaudeville spoken in dialect to a
summary of the main points of the narrative, done in operatic style. The narra-
tive hints at the poetic form of the longer textual version. The Jujaka monk
explains that Jujaka can hardly wait for dark to fall and wishes that he were
young again. He expresses his desire in a literally flowery poetic form:

Smell the fragrance of dok chik Reminds one of the old home [baan lang]
Smell the fragrance of dok khang Reminds one of dok waa
Smell the fragrance of dok champaa Reminds one of the old place [baan kao]
Smell the fragrance of dok khaatkhao And one is young forever.

This pattern follows a common poetic form of the last word rhyming with the
last word of the next line (e.g., lang with khang; waa with paa).
The monk summarizes the remaining story in the chapter—namely, that
Amitataa encountered village women who were upset with her because their
husbands were jealous of Jujaka; that Amitataa returned home and told Jujaka
she would no longer leave her house; that Jujaka offered to do all the household
chores; and that Amitataa refused since her mother told her it would bring
demerit (baab) if her husband did domestic work. Consequently Jujaka sets off
in search of Vessantara’s children. Thus ends the fifth chapter called Jujaka,
with its seventy-nine verses. The monk then instructs that the gong be sounded
to mark the end of the chapter, concluding with “Amen” (Sathu).
It is difficult to assess whether this vaudevillian humor was a long-standing
component of the northeastern oral version or a recent addition. This version is
certainly a significant expansion upon both the Pali and central Thai tellings.
Based on contrived setups of names or words with alternative meanings, its
humor is centered on the dialogue between Jujaka and his friend. Jujaka does
not appear to be particularly terrifying, but rather more like any other frus-
trated villager who wants his money back. This telling has no particular didac-
tic purpose. It is not a satirical look at politicians or monks. While slightly
bawdy, its humor is not critical of the state or the sangha. However, accounts
of northeastern morlam singers refer to the political innuendo possible in
vaudeville. So the tame comedy of the present remains an ambiguous inroad
into the past.
 108 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Maitreyan Timing
When compared to central Thailand, northeastern Thailand maintained its
own traditional form of Bun Pha Wet, as is evident from its differing emphases
on chapters (Kumarn versus Nakornkan), numbers of monks (few versus
many), and types of processions (hierarchical display versus democratic unity)
that I have already described. Another important difference was the respective
timing. Unlike central Thailand, where the recitation is often held during
Buddhist Lent, in northeastern Thailand the Vessantara Jataka is almost always
recited during “Month Four” (February–March).27 The celebration is not asso-
ciated with a particular day but can occur any time during that month to facili-
tate the large numbers of villages that are holding recitations. Increasingly, the
celebrations are being scheduled on weekends since many of the younger
generation have jobs during the workweek. Consequently, some Bun Pha Wet
are held somewhat earlier or later than Month Four.
Furthermore, villagers in the northeast believe that the recitation must be
completed in a twenty-four-hour period. Villagers are explicit in explaining
that this belief is based in the Maitreya Buddha’s own admonition to Phra
Malai. The recitation of the Phra Malai Sutra is an integral part of the Bun Pha
Wet. Phra Malai’s journey to heaven and especially to hell is reproduced on
nearly all the temple scrolls (Lefferts and Cate 2012, 57). As a dedication panel
on a 1959 scroll states, “Phra Malaithera recommended that people keep the
Five and Eight Precepts and listen to the sermon on Phra Wet so that they
could meet Phra Sri Ariya [Maitreya]. In the next life, one will meet the meri-
torious person. After leaving this world, one will go to the gem city of heaven,
truly” (Lefferts and Cate 2012, 8).
The Bangkok court was likely particularly worried about millenarian revolts
linked to the Maitreya Buddha. Given that the central Thai court would have
been interested in breaking the link between the jataka recitation and mille-
narianism, one might expect the court to have sought to alter the timing in the
northeast. To the extent the court sought to change the timing and to the extent
the northeasterners refused to change it, the maintenance of the twenty-four-
hour exhortation, the reading of the Phra Malai Sutra, and the non-Lenten
timing suggest the possibility of northeastern defiance. However, the possibility
that the northeasterners accommodated Bangkok’s concerns to some extent is
suggested by the form of the Sangat, in which monks state the number of years
that have passed since the Buddha reached enlightenment. As Coedes explains,
“Formerly it was the custom of the Siamese priests to begin their sermons with
a reference to the exact number of years, months, and days that had passed
 Northeastern Thailand • 109

since Parinirvana and the number of years, months, and days still to run before
the predicted ending of the five thousand years” (1956, 108). However, Rama V
had this practice ended, decreeing that “henceforth monks should not begin
their sermons by declaring the exact time in years, months, and days that had
passed since the Enlightenment and the time remaining until the year 5,000”
(Reynolds 1972, 135). As Coedes writes, “King Chulalongkorn, considering that
this continued reference to the danger that menaced religion was irksome, and
after having consulted the Supreme Head of the clergy, who was himself critical
of this announcement of the disappearance of the Doctrine, simply suppressed
any reference to the years to come, retaining only a mention of the time that had
passed since Parinirvana” (1956, 108).28 The contemporary Sangat recited in the
northeast no longer refers to the number of years until the arrival of Maitreya,
instead describing only the number of years that have elapsed since the Buddha
reached enlightenment.

Provocative Absences: Hints at an Earlier History

Although the presence of elements in the northeastern celebrations—such as
the royal procession, a comic Jujaka, and Maitreyan timing—is ambiguous, the
absence of other elements further suggests northeastern accommodation toward
the central Thai court’s efforts to reshape northeastern cultural practices. Al-
though northeasterners maintained many elements of their traditional Bun
Pha Wet, there is also evidence to suggest that northeastern religious practices
did change, perhaps voluntarily or perhaps in reaction to growing administrative
pressure. Brereton and Somroay note that central Thai aesthetic views increas-
ingly shaped northeastern practices: “As outsiders from the capital, many of
them tended to denigrate the local people and their cultural forms. Conse-
quently, and not surprisingly, village abbots often failed to see the value of local
Buddhist art and architectural styles and encouraged their replacement by
Bangkok-influenced models” (2010, 6).
If Bangkok’s artistic aesthetics came to replace indigenous traditions, one
would also expect to see central Thai values shaping religious practices as well. In
addition to his dislike of comedic recitations of the Vessantara Jataka, Rama IV
banned northeastern morlam singing from the capital in an 1865 proclamation
because of its destructive influence on traditional Siamese musical genres; he
justified his reasoning by wryly appealing to superstitious beliefs—namely, that
morlam singing affected the rainfall and was responsible for poor rice yields.
Although it was likely only enforced in the central region, the king issued a
request that “all Thai who remain loyal and grateful to him . . . stop performing
 110 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

the Laokaan [bamboo reed instrument].” To give this request more weight, he
added, “Anyone who disobeys this proclamation will be taxed” (Miller 1985,
38–39; see also Raikes 1988, 21–22).
The Bangkok court sought to consolidate its control over the region
through more than direct military suppression. The Thammayut monks residing
in northeastern temples made efforts to change local practices of Buddhism.
The ecclesiastical head for the Thammayut order in Ubon enforced strict
standards of behavior on monks under his control, “forbidding participation in
indigenous rituals such as the rocket festival (bun bangfai ), boat-racing, drum-
beating competitions, and horse raising” (Taylor 1993, 51–52). His successor,
Ubalii, a northeastern monk who studied in Bangkok and had become abbot at
Wat Supat in Ubon, found the behavior of the undereducated rural sangha to
be unsatisfactory. In his report for Monthon Isan, Ubalii noted that villagers
still preferred to spend their time listening to the Mahachat tale, which they
believed earned them merit, rather than adhering to “doctrinal tradition”
(Taylor 1993, 64). As local administrators were increasingly replaced by central
Thai officials, one would expect to see increasing central Thai influence. In this
section I will highlight three intriguing absences that hint at the possible success
of state efforts to control recitations of the Vessantara Jataka in the northeast:
the lack of bawdiness, the erasure of Amitataa, and the abridgement of Jujaka’s
adventures.

Bawdiness Restrained
Although there is some bawdy humor in the modern performances of the
Jujaka chapter in the northeast today, it appears relatively tame in comparison
with other northeast festivals, most notably the Rocket Festival. A hint that
the northeastern performance of the Bun Pha Wet may have been toned down
comes from Klausner’s work. He notes that in comparison with the bacchanalian
celebration of the Rocket Festival, the Bun Pha Wet is more subdued; Klausner
even suggests that the Bun Pha Wet is set apart from other village rituals because
“there is none of the drinking or dancing which is usually found in village festi-
val life” (1993, 47). While the Bun Pha Wet certainly has drinking and dancing
nowadays, it may be that in comparison with other northeastern festivals, it
was more heavily monitored during the twentieth century.
Temple murals provide further hints that the northeastern celebration of
Bun Pha Wet was once more bacchanalian. Thus at Wat Ban Yang in Mahasara-
kham province, the Great Departure scene, when the Buddha leaves the palace
to pursue enlightenment, depicts the palace concubines with exposed breasts
 Northeastern Thailand • 111

and genitalia. At Wat Khon Kaen Nya in Roi Et province, the flood scene at
Buddha’s enlightenment portrays Mara’s soldiers being consumed by fish,
drawn with exaggerated genitalia protruding from the fishes’ mouths (Brereton
and Somroay 2010, 69). Depictions of village ritual processions show “the men
sometimes wrapping their legs around the women or fondling their breasts—
the women resisting, acquiescing, or sometimes reciprocating” (Brereton and
Somroay 2010, 69–72). Village scrolls are themselves often quite ribald.
The northeastern region is hardly devoid of bawdy humor. One simply
needs to consider the water-cannon-like penises ejaculating streams of water
all over onlookers during the Rocket Festival, another event associated with
rain-making and village health. In my incarnation as a prudish westerner, I was
shocked when I attended my first Rocket Festival in the 1970s. Klausner provides
a description:
On the day preceding the actual shooting of skyrockets there is much gaiety in
the village with song and dance, drinking and a great deal of sexual by-play
with risqué songs, crude sexual pantomimes, boys dressed as girls, and phallic
symbols waved about and shot at girls from slingshots attached around the
boy’s groin. In the usually peaceful and restrained setting of the Wat, there is a
late afternoon drunken dance parade about the temple hall with the completed
skyrockets on view for all to admire. The reeling parade, danced almost exclu-
sively by men, weaves around the sala and is a colorful spectacle with male
costumes varying from the traditional tartan-like plaid sarong to a borrowed
dress or skirt and a bandana tied around the head and grapefruit stuffed in the
appropriate places. (1993, 43; see also Tambiah 1970, 285–311; Akin 1992)

Monks were also directly involved in the festivities, and if the rockets they
made turned out to be duds, they could even be “thrown unceremoniously into
muddy fields” (Klausner 1993, 42, 45).
Even today one finds phallic imagery incorporated into many village reli-
gious practices. Mary Beth Mills has written about how villagers became
concerned about a rash of unexplained deaths among northeastern migrant
workers in Singapore and elsewhere. Blaming these deaths on “widow ghosts”
( phii mae mai ), rural communities throughout the northeast erected large,
carved wooden penises on village gateposts and at the entrances of most houses
to ward off these deadly female spirits (Mills 1995, 245). Similarly, one finds
penis-shaped amulets ( palat khik) throughout the northeast. Blessed by monks,
men often wear these on strings around their waists as protection against loss
of virility and physical vitality (Mills 1995, 251). I found a large variety of palat
 112 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

khik for sale in varying sizes in a northeastern store selling Buddhist parapher-
nalia. As the popularity of morlam singers attests, bawdy humor is not shocking
to northeastern villagers (Compton 1979; Miller 1985).
There is evidence of state involvement in policing the Rocket Festival in
recent decades. As Klausner notes, “The dangers inherent in the Bang Fai
[Rocket] festival are recognized to the extent that the District Headquarters
must be advised of the date of the festival and permission asked to hold it.
Usually, at the villagers’ request, two or three policemen will be stationed in the
village during the festival” (1993, 45). Similarly, in his description of the changes
made by government officials in the Rocket Festival, Rabibhadana Akin writes,
“The villagers report that the Governor has prohibited the display of phallic
symbols and other similar sexual objects such as figures of copulating animals
or human beings” (1992, 15).
A sense of how the worlds of ritual and politics can interconnect is provided
in Akin’s account of their interactions in the town of Yasothon, which has
become the most famous of the tourist destinations since the tourist board
began promoting the Rocket Festival in 1972. Official involvement has changed
the style of dancing and the decorative patterns of the rockets to be “more like
those of Bangkok and the Central Region”; the focus has shifted to nagas
shooting water rather than phallic images (Akin 1992, 19). One can also see the
sociopolitical shifts in the route of the processions, which originally began at
the temple and went to the guardian spirit shrines; when the statue of King
Chulalongkorn was erected in 1988–89, the procession added this new destina-
tion (1992, 18). Akin provides further insight into the wide-reaching changes
that have been occurring: “Since Bun Bang-Fai in Yasothon has become a
national event, the Governor, the highest national representative in the province,
has become the Chairman of the Organizing Committee and has a great deal
of weight in the way the ceremony is organized. In 1992, Commander of the
Second Army was the Chair Person of the Ceremony. . . . Earlier (prior to 1966,
or 1977, or 1987 according to different sources of information), the Municipal
Authority was the main organizer of the ceremony” (1992, 17).29
If the Rocket Festival is only being subdued in recent decades, it is possible
that the Bun Pha Wet came under tighter government control even earlier
given its closer association with Maitreya and millenarianism. The colorful and
bawdy celebration of the Vessantara Jataka that still takes place each year in the
remote northeastern province of Loei may provide a hint into how Bun Pha
Wet may have been celebrated in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
The Bun Pha Wet at Dansai is a time when “thousands of people head through
the streets for what becomes a chaotic fertility festival, many participants in the
 Northeastern Thailand • 113

Figure 9. Phiitaakhon ghosts on display at Dansai Folk Museum. Wat Phonchai, Amphur Dansai,
Loei province, July 2009. Photo by author.

parade carry phallic water guns and comically over-sized wooden penises with
them.”30 The celebration is primarily known for its ghosts called phiitaakhon.31
Although no one really knows the meaning of this term, the two most frequent
explanations are that it is abridged from “ghosts following people” ( phii taam
khon) or “ghosts with human eyes” ( phii taa khon).
These phiitaakhon ghosts are part of the contingents of alcohol-infused
dancers in the royal procession to welcome Vessantara and Matsi back to the
city. These ghosts are not mentioned in the Pali text. Some people suggest that
they were awoken from the dead by all the cheering of the city folk when they
learned of Vessantara and Matsi’s return. Another explanation is that they are
supposed to frighten evil spirits away. According to Jetjaras na Ranong, the
men who dress as phiitaakhon “believe that donning this attire will spare them
from illness in the years to come” (2009). These ghosts are portrayed by village
 114 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

men wearing fabulous masked costumes. The masks are made from the woven
bamboo containers that are usually used for steaming sticky rice (huad ); these
rice baskets are attached to coconut-tree trunks and carved into elongated faces
with horns and prominent long noses, painted in wild designs. The body of the
costume is comprised of strips of cloth that hang from head to toe. The dancers
wear strings of noisy bells around their waists and dance around brandishing
swords or large penises with tips painted bright red. The headdresses in particu-
lar can easily take a month to make and involve considerable artistry; indeed, local
stores are now producing them for sale to tourists. The masks are stunningly
beautiful and are often made in secret to hide the identity of the mask’s maker.
After the festivities they are also supposed to be thrown in the river; in fact, most
families, including the owners of the guesthouse I stayed at in Dansai, keep theirs
for the next year (or increasingly sell them to tourists).32
Joining in the parade are also contingents of semi-naked men in blackface
and covered with leaves. They are said to represent wild, primitive forest people
who, it seems, had befriended the royal family while they were living in the
forest; they carry bamboo poles, which they use to pound the ground as they
walk. There are also ghosts, wearing costumes made in the yellow cloth asso-
ciated with monks’ robes (see Jetjaras 2009). In addition, the parade includes
two giant phiitaakhon, one male and one female, considered to be ancestral
figures.33 Made from bamboo and towering over everyone else, each is replete
with explicit and prominent genitalia. At the end of the festival, the giant male
and female phiitaakhon are thrown into the river. None of these colorful
characters are in the Pali version.
The festival takes place over three days, usually in June (in the seventh
month of the lunar calendar), but before Buddhist Lent ( Jetjaras 2009;
abbot).34 As elsewhere in the northeast, the festivities begin when the Upakut
is invited from the Mun River, which flows through the town. On the second
day, the phiitaakhon assemble and form a bacchanalian procession, thrusting
their phalluses at onlookers as they escort Vessantara and his family back to the
city. The dancers go from house to house collecting food, which they bring to
the temple to feed the novices and other temple guests (Dansai Mss). The
jataka is recited on the third and final day. Vessantara has traditionally been
represented by a Buddha image and is followed by four monks carried on litters
to represent the four branches of Buddhists (monks, nuns, laymen, and lay-
women).35 In response to encouragement to create a better attraction for tourists,
a procession of people dressed in royal costumes to represent Vessantara, Matsi,
and the two children has been added, replete with entourages of royal attendants
following them.
 Northeastern Thailand • 115

The festival is associated with rain, water, and fertility. A monk represent-
ing Vessantara is carried on a palanquin around the temple of Wat Phonchai.
Villagers try to shake him from his litter, adding, “If they fail, then the coming
year will be fruitful with plenty of rainfall; if they succeed, there will be drought”
(Dansai Mss). Also in the parade is a man representing Chao Poh Kuan, a
local ancestral figure, riding on a homemade rocket; if this rocket is successfully
launched, “there will be lots of rainfall in the coming year” ( Jetjaras 2009).
According to an official at the Dansai Folk Museum, the festival is held to honor
this ancestral spirit of the Dansai district, in the belief that if it is not held,
people will get sick and the rains will not fall. Interestingly, Jujaka is not a
featured character in the Dansai procession.
A hint that Jujaka may have played a larger role in northeastern Vessantara
Jataka recitations comes from Baan Nongkathao in Amphur Nakhonthai, in
Phitsanulok, located in a region influenced by both northern and northeastern
cultural practices. In this region, Jujaka is considered the most important chap-
ter. Consequently their parade does not include Vessantara, who is considered
to be in the temple, but instead highlights Taa (Grandfather) Jujaka, portrayed
as a drunken old ghost ( phii pret); his human belly has exploded from overeating
but his spirit lives on. With his face blackened to look ghost-like, the local
actor wears yellow monastic robes ( phaa jiiworn) and carries a monk’s bag.
During the procession, Jujaka chases young women and children. After the
procession, his costume is burned. Whoever performs the role does not want
others to know lest his children get teased. At one point the local kamnan
thought it was inappropriate to have Jujaka wearing monastic robes, so he had
the costume changed. However, the rain did not fall much that year and so the
garb was restored. Now using money from the tambon council, each year the
community makes bigger offerings so the ghost of Jujaka will finally die; they
hope to teach him to learn to give and not only take (Pathom 2013). That this
version of Taa Jujaka was once more widespread is suggested by parallels with a
similar performance in Sukhothai.36
Against this broader backdrop of bacchanalian and bawdy village festivals,
the Bun Pha Wet comes to appear relatively sedate. The Bun Pha Wet may
always have been more sedate than other northeastern rituals. On the other
hand, it is possible that the phallus-enriched Vessantara Jataka of Dansai was
once more widespread throughout the northeast, dramatizing the power of the
Buddha’s words to subdue the wildest of spirits. As the examples I have described
in this section suggest, the Bun Pha Wet of the nineteenth century may well
have been much bawdier, but it became more subdued as northeasterners accom-
modated central Thai sensibilities.
 116 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Amitataa Erased
Another feature of Bun Pha Wet performances that suggests they were toned
down is their virtual erasure of Amitataa. The bawdiest scenes are likeliest to
occur in the scenes of Jujaka’s marriage to Amitataa in the Jujaka chapter, in
the descriptions of Jujaka’s relationship with Amitataa, and the relationships of
other village women to their husbands. Remarkably, northeastern versions, both
abridged and long, provide little description of Amitataa’s life and character. In
the Hok Kasat version I described, Amitataa is barely mentioned. She goes with
Jujaka because she has been duped by his love magic. Manee Phayomyong
has compared various regional texts of the Vessantara Jataka. Manee also notes
the diminutive role of Amitataa in the northeastern texts, even in comparison
with the central Thai version. In the northeastern textual versions, the village
women are upset that their husbands are complaining about them and so they
meet at the pier, where they verbally attack Amitataa, teasing her for having
pert young breasts but an old man for a husband (Manee 1976, 275).37 According
to Manee, this scene in the northeastern versions is shorter than those of all
four other regions. In the central and southern Thai versions, Jujaka postures
about how he will bring the village women to court if Amitataa will only tell
him which one was so mean. Amitataa receives her greatest elaboration in the
northern version.
The overall insignificance of Amitataa in the northeastern version is
tellingly revealed in the nineteenth-century mural painting of the jataka at Wat
Thung Sri Muang, in Ubon. As I scanned the walls, I was surprised to realize
that the mural does not even include an image of Amitataa; Jujaka himself first
appears in the mural in a tree. Significantly, the mural is housed in an ordination
hall (ubosot) constructed by Chao Khun Phra Ariyawongsachan Yanawimon
Ubon Sangkhapamok (Sui), the chief ecclesiastical officer, around 1829, in the
reign of King Rama III. Ariyawongsachan had originally resided at Wat Saket,
in Bangkok, but moved to Ubon. He subsequently had a footprint of the
Buddha moved from Wat Saket to Wat Thung Sri Muang and built the ordi-
nation hall to house it. The hall itself is built in a mixture of Bangkok and
northeastern styles. This erasure of Amitataa strongly suggests possible central
Thai censure since the scenes in which she is involved are the bawdiest.
More direct evidence of possible state involvement in shaping the Jujaka
chapter comes in a bizarre addition found in a pre-1970s northeastern edition
that Manee examined. Amitataa is often portrayed as threatening to torment
Jujaka by flirting with other much younger men in order to convince him to
 Northeastern Thailand • 117

search for Vessantara’s children (Manee 1976, 264–65, 266, 271). In this particu-
lar northeastern version, Amitataa, in her efforts to convince a cowardly Ju-
jaka, develops a typology of four kinds of soldiers. The four types of soldiers
are: (1) the type who are men in name only but are not willing to fight and start
shaking in fear at news of a battle; (2) the type who go into battle but are terri-
fied; (3) the type who fight but flee when they lose; and (4) the type who fight
until they have attained victory. Amitataa continues, “All are called soldiers,
but the first type are the vilest, like you who are just as cowardly” (Manee 1976,
267–68). State influence likely underlies this rousing militarist argumentation.
Hints that Amitataa once had a greater role in the northeastern village ver-
sion remain in the Bun Pha Wet scrolls and village temple murals. As Brereton
and Somroay note, the scene of Amitataa and the village women is a favorite of
temple murals. They are quite bawdy and serve to generate sympathy for both
Amitataa and Jujaka. Brereton and Somroay provide the following comparison
with central Thai representations of this scene: “While in Central Region
murals the neighbors’ antics are limited to pinching the unfortunate young
woman, in Isan they go much further. At Wat Ban Yang, they insult her by
‘mooning’ her, lifting their phasin (skirts) to expose their bare buttocks. At
Wat Sanuan Wari, they not only lift their skirts but also urinate at her. Such
portrayals evoke sympathy toward Amittada and Chuchok, who, rather than
being monochromatic icons of good or evil, are tinged with a range of moral,
human hues” (2010, 72–74).38
The way Amitataa is portrayed helps to set the emotional reaction to
Jujaka. The northeastern portrayal varies from victim to shrew. In the Hok
Kasat version, where Amitataa was given love magic, much of the potential
pathos is removed. Northeastern monks and villagers I interviewed, with only
one exception, said that Amitataa was a model of filial virtue who sacrificed
herself to help her parents (as did a generation of northeastern girls who went
into prostitution or married older foreign men). In one of the scrolls Lefferts
and Cate studied, when Amitataa returns home crying, Jujaka asks, “Did the
young men who recently left the monkhood harass you by trying to touch your
breasts, my dear wife?” Amitataa replies, “No, that’s not the case, pot-bellied
old man” (2012, 119). Although Amitataa is not mentioned again in the Pali
version, the scroll that Lefferts and Cate studied includes a touching remark
when he is about to die from having gorged himself: “In his agony he moans,
‘Oh, I miss my dear wife Amitataa so much’” (2012, 137). However, her overall
insignificance is reflected in the fact that several northeastern taxi drivers I
talked to did not even know who Amitataa was.
 118 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Jujaka’s Adventures Abridged

When northeastern performances are compared with northern performances,
differences emerge; the northern performances do not typically emphasize (1) the
invitation of the Upakut,39 (2) the scroll and the invitation to the royal family
to return, and (3) the procession of the thousand balls of rice, each of which is
typical in northeastern performances. Nonetheless, the northeastern and north-
ern recitations share several elements, most notably the recitation of the Phra
Malai Sutra and the belief that the recitation must be completed within twenty-
four hours in order to meet Maitreya Buddha. Similarly, when the northeastern
textual versions are compared to the northern versions, interesting parallels
emerge. Overall, Manee Phayomyong finds that the northeastern versions have
more in common with the northern versions than the central or southern texts.
While the central and southern texts contain considerable royal terminology
and were intended to include members of the court in their audiences, the
northern and northeastern texts contain less royal terminology and are there-
fore more accessible to village audiences (Manee 1976, 244). However, the north-
eastern texts have more royal words and Pali words than the northern texts.
Indeed, Manee surmises that the author of one of the northeastern texts was
likely a monk who had studied a high level of Pali since it included so many
Pali words (1976, 244, 266). Nonetheless, although the northeastern versions
have some fancy royal words, they are largely composed in ordinary language
and make many references to northeastern everyday life. The northern version
has the least amount of royal vocabulary; as Manee writes, “The northern version
portrays Jujaka more like an ordinary person, with no fancy words so it is easy
for audiences of all types to follow” (1976, 244).40
Comparing the northeastern textual versions with the northern versions
reveals further interesting similarities and also intriguing differences. Both
regions offer a comic portrayal of Jujaka. Both regions expand the Jujaka chapter
beyond the Pali or central Thai versions. However, although these creative
elaborations in the northeastern versions echo those we will find in the northern
versions, they appear to have been abridged in the northeast in comparison to
their greatly expanded form in the north.
Both regions develop an earlier life story for Jujaka of events before he
appears in the Pali text begging. In the Hok Kasat version of the Jujaka chapter
I heard, the monk makes mention of Jujaka’s mother’s abnormal pregnancy,
during which she was always hungry; of Jujaka’s father and relatives, who tried
to raise him after his mother’s death; and of a stay at the temple, which led to
him being evicted because he was such an impossible temple boy. With no
 Northeastern Thailand • 119

other sources of support, Jujaka then begins a life of begging. The monks
describe a begging journey for Jujaka, listing items he wanted and destina-
tions to which he wandered before he ever accumulated the gold he left with
Amitataa’s father. Similarly, northeastern temple murals provide evidence of a
longer prehistory for Jujaka, noting that he had to flee his home near the city of
Benares, which burned down “because of his bad deeds” (Lefferts and Cate
2012, 22). Another Hok Kasat monk who specializes in the Jujaka character
said that he sticks to the text, but he also includes a description of how hungry
Jujaka’s mother was during her pregnancy.
Both regions enrich the scene between Jujaka and his debtor beyond the
Pali version. Although the Hok Kasat monks I heard expanded on the conversa-
tion between Jujaka and his friend, the northeastern long textual versions that
Manee studied in the 1970s contain little elaboration. When Jujaka reappears
to reclaim his gold, the northeastern parents give their daughter right away,
without the humorous cajoling and sweet-talking of the northern Jujaka (Manee
1976, 226–28). Unlike the Pali or central Thai versions, both the northern and
northeastern versions often describe the sorry state of Jujaka’s home; nonetheless,
the northeastern versions do not have the level of comic detail typically found
in the northern version (Manee 1976, 225). However, beyond this brief fabri-
cation of an early life for Jujaka, the northeastern monks I interviewed said
they did not elaborate upon the text any further or create new adventures for
him. None I interviewed had heard of northeastern monks creating an extended
wedding performance, and none were familiar with the extended description of
Jujaka’s house, replete with a pillow made from chicken excrement, or the various
other elaborations we shall encounter when we meet the northern Jujaka. One
monk indicated that he would be concerned that the audiences would disapprove
of such elaborations since they would go significantly beyond the text.
The Jujaka chapter concludes with the encounter between Jujaka and
Jetabutr, the hunter. Again, in comparison with the northern version, the
northeastern version is far less elaborated. Manee also notes a difference in tone
between the two regions. In the northeastern version, the passage is humorous
because Jujaka is inappropriately arrogant, trying to intimidate the hunter into
sparing his life, saying, “Listen Jetabutr, I [rao/also ku] am not an ordinary
person, but an important royal official of the kingdom. I am a royal ambassador
of King Sonchai. And not just any ambassador, but the one King Sonchai trusts
to find his son and daughter-in-law to invite them to return home” (Manee
1976, 230–31).41 In the northern version, Jujaka is rendered comically pathetic,
groveling and using royal terminology not for himself but for addressing the
hunter.
 120 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

The northeastern and northern versions of the Maharaat chapter, in which

Jujaka meets his death, include significant additions to the Pali, central, and
southern versions. All four regional versions contain descriptions of how Jujaka
overate, in each case including details about local foods. Thus in the southern
version Jujaka not only eats southern foods but also uses chopsticks (Manee
1976, 249–51). Both the northern and northeastern versions provide long lists of
village delicacies, village commonplaces, and village favorites rather than dishes
known to the Bangkok court. (For lists of northern and northeastern foods, see
Manee 1976, 254–57.) Both regions highlight Jujaka’s lack of manners as he stuffs
himself. Further attesting to the popularity of this scene among northeasterners,
Lefferts and Cate write, “During our fieldwork, while examining scrolls, on-
lookers recited from memory the numbers and kinds of foods Chuchok is
offered” (2012, 90).
Both the northern and northeastern versions expand upon Jujaka’s death
scene. Lefferts and Cate note that northeastern monks often play up this scene,
as the audience eagerly anticipates an explosion of sound (2012, 90). Similarly,
Brereton and Somroay note the frequent inclusion of Jujaka’s demise and funeral
scene in northeastern temple painting, explaining: “Chuchok’s demise is often
depicted with great fun and gusto. Isan painters seem to relish portraying how
his uncontrolled craving leads him to consume such a massive amount of food
that his stomach bursts open, causing him to die. One way to do this is to draw
a bystander pointing to the Brahman and his bulging midriff. A clever caption
can add even more emphasis to this crucial incident . . . thong phram taek tum
tai, ‘the Brahman, his belly bursting open with a bang, bit the dust’” (2010, 72,
75). Jujaka’s death scenes often receive elaborate rendering in the scrolls as well.
As Lefferts and Cate comment, “Sometimes, an X-ray view of his stomach
shows how rapidly Chuchok ate his meal; it contains half-chewed and broken
chicken parts” (2012, 90). They also describe a modern scroll from southern
Laos showing how “exploding intestines force Chuchok into the air, blood and
various food parts fly in all directions, killing and wounding bystanders, even
those dressed in modern attire” (2012, 90). However, the northeastern textual
version is much shorter than the northern accounts.
As if overeating and an explosive death scene were not enough, north-
easterners also frequently include Jujaka’s funeral scene. In temple murals, “Often
a procession is seen carrying his body in a sling or a coffin to the cremation site,
accompanied by monks and laypeople. He lies face up with his hands tied
together on his chest in a wai, the customary gesture of respect” (Brereton and
Somroay 2010, 61, 67). In some cases, the portrayal of the funeral is itself funny.
 Northeastern Thailand • 121

The northeastern versions also often include an abbreviated version of Jujaka’s

problematic funeral arrangements. Thus these northeastern versions mention
that they take the body into the deep forest with krathing bulls and rhinoceroses,
crossing over a deep river (Manee 1976, 260). They try to find a monk to conduct
the funeral, first inviting the head of the sangha (sangaraja), but he says he has
a stomachache; they invite other monks, but they complain of not feeling well
(Manee 1976, 260).42 They finally find an old monk, who, in accordance with
custom, uses his stick to hit the coffin. In an inversion of custom, the old monk
tells Jujaka to turn his face to hell (Awejii) and to stop thinking about his wife,
Amitataa (Manee 1976, 262). In the scroll that Lefferts and Cate translated, in
addition to a painting showing a monk standing over Jujaka’s cremation pyre,
the following is written: “A monk recites an invocation over Chuchok’s body,
‘You must not be among the merit-making group that will go to heaven. You
must humbly accept your fate and go to hell, Uncle Brahmin’” (2012, 139). As
we shall see in the next chapter, this funeral scene is also to be found in the
northern versions, but with far greater elaboration.
The fact that the northeastern and northern tellings share so many comedic
elaborations beyond the Pali and central Thai versions makes the abridgments
in the northeastern version intriguing. Were the northeastern versions once
even more similar to the northern version? Were greater comic elaborations
deliberately deleted? The virtual erasure of Amitataa in the northeastern versions
lends support to the possibility of central Thai censure.
Reading through the kind of humor presented in the modern performances
of the Vessantara Jataka of the northeastern region does not explain why the
Bangkok court was so intent upon suppressing comedic recitations. Cate and
Lefferts imply that the mere preservation of the Bun Pha Wet in the northeast
reveals an uneasy political truce between the descendants of northeastern war
captives and the Bangkok court when they write, “Isaan residents have devised
a means by which they can continue to perform their preferred story—Phra
Wet, instead of the Life of the Buddha—while still being loyal subjects” (2012,
179).43 The northeastern performance’s egalitarianism, its emphasis on family
unity, its possible emphasis on elected leaders, and its desire for the social justice
of Maitreya all hint at political resonances. Jujaka is not the main character or
the main chapter in the northeastern telling; Matsi and the theme of family
reunification are far more important. But the restrained bacchanalianism, the
erasure of Amitataa, and the textual parallels with the northern versions suggest
that the northeastern performances may once have had more in common with
those of the north. Even vaudevillian diversions can mask political resonances.
 122 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

If indeed, as I have suggested in this chapter, the court succeeded in influencing

northeastern performances, perhaps the northeastern Jujaka was once not so
tame. So our search for danger posed by comedic recitations continues. Hints
from the northeast suggest we may find a livelier Jujaka if we continue our
journey into northern Thailand.
 3

Norther n Thailand
Humor Delighted

Our journey in search of Jujaka has now brought us to northern Thailand. Like
the travelers who were amazed to find the ruins of Angkor Wat buried in the
forest, we can delight in finding scattered jewels of laughter that Jujaka broadcast
in his wake during his wanderings through the mountain valleys in this region.
The Vessantara Jataka has had a long, vibrant history in northern Thailand; his-
torians such as Prince Damrong Rachanuphab have even suggested it developed
in northern Thailand and only spread later to the central Thai region (Damrong
1919). According to Prakong Nimmanhaeminda, there are over 120 Lanna
versions of the Vessantara Jataka, some arguably over three hundred years old
(Prakong 1983, 7).1 This tremendous variety suggests not only the importance
of the Vessantara Jataka in northern Thailand historically but also that it has
been a living and dynamic tradition. When the northern versions are compared,
the chapter with the most variation is the Jujaka chapter (Manee 1976, 258–59;
Prakong 1983, 54).
As reflected in the diversity of its Jujaka chapters, humor in recitations of
the Vessantara Jataka has survived in its most elaborated form in the region of
northern Thailand. Much of the humor is Rabelaisian, which, as Bakhtin
explains, makes “no pretense to renunciation of the earthy” and celebrates the
material bodily principle through “images of the human body with its food,
drink, defecation, and sexual life” ([1965] 1984, 18, 19). Recognizing the perform-
ance as one “which to some Westerners would seem to transgress the bound-
aries of respect,” Charles Keyes provides a rare first-person account of a tujok
performance that took place during a funeral of a prominent abbot in 1973:
“On Saturday evening, a well-known monk from Mae Rim near Chiang Mai

123
Figure 10. A northern village performance. A village woman gives the chapter offering to the
monk. Behind her is the tripod in which her fellow chapter sponsors are seated as part of the syyb
chataa. A banner and lantern are decorated with animals representing the twelve-year birth cycle.
Sacral strings and paper cutouts of elephants and horses hang on the string grid overhead throughout
the temple viharn. Photo courtesy of Yuwa Tambon Council, Amphur Sanpatong, Chiang Mai,
November 2006.
 Northern Thailand • 125

delivered a two-hour version of the Jujaka story from the Vessantara Jataka. For
the whole two hours, he had the audience in stitches as he made ribald remarks
about the love of the old Brahmin, Jujaka, for a young pretty girl, as he described,
with imitations of conversations, how this young girl grew into an avaricious
bitch and how Jujaka, constantly plagued by flatulence (noted with appropriate
sound effects), strived to do his wife’s bidding” (1975, 54).2
In the days before radio and television, the monks involved in the recitation
of the Vessantara Jataka were much like the local rock stars of their generations.
As the noted northern intellectual Manee Phayomyong remarked in an inter-
view with me, “People would discuss the monks as they do singers today.” 3
Specific monks became famous for their performances of specific chapters.
Among these monastic stars, the tujok was the most celebrated.4 Sometime
before World War II, performances of the Vessantara Jataka began to decline
(Ferguson and Shalardchai 1976, 131; Manee 1976, 50; Swearer 1978, 3; Sommai
and Dore 1992, 85; Brereton 1995, 83). Although a variety of factors contributed
to this decline, tujok monks themselves foregrounded the sensitivity of bawdy
humor.
This chapter is divided into three parts. The first section highlights key
elements of northern Thai performances of the Vessantara Jataka, providing
evidence of the important role of Jujaka. The second section explains how
tujok monks expanded upon the basic plotline of the Pali text, primarily by
creating a series of adventures for Jujaka in his journey from his life as a scorned
village beggar to his death as an honored court guest. The chapter concludes by
suggesting that understanding Jujaka’s importance in northern Thai interpreta-
tions presents evidence of a non-royalist reading of the Vessantara Jataka and
lays the foundation for an anti-royalist reading; both readings are grounded in
the profane realm of the everyday life of commoners.
This chapter owes much to Luang Poh Bunthong (1934–2007) of Wat
Sophanaram (T. Don Kaew), in Mae Rim District.5 Of all the northern monks
involved in performances of the Vessantara Jataka in recent decades, none was
more famous. Most Jujaka monks throughout Thailand today have either heard
of or been influenced by him, and the best known tujok monks performing in
northern Thailand today are his students. Indeed, his tapes were the ones I
heard in the late 1970s being played over loudspeakers at village funerals; the
attention of the rapt audiences was interrupted only by communal guffaws
each time he delivered a punchline. A gifted storyteller, he had a phenomenal
sense of comic timing. One of his former students, a well-known tujok today,
remarked that Bunthong only needed to say a few words and his audiences were
already laughing. Born the fifth of six children to parents who were landless
 126 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

agricultural laborers, Bunthong attributed his talent to his ability to remember

humorous folktales ( jia) from his childhood. As he recalled in his interview
with me, he used to love listening to the monks’ stories. In those days monks
would stay overnight with the laity during funerals. His mother would have to
chase him home at night whenever there were funerals.
Over the course of his life, Bunthong had been invited to preach in every
tambon in Chiang Mai province and many beyond. His performances of the
Jujaka chapter survive to the present day through his recordings, which are
still being sold and are even now accessible on the Internet. As a mark of how
beloved he was, Bunthong’s body has been preserved in a special pavilion in
his temple. At the outer entrance is an enormous, gold-covered statue of him,
standing. Off to one side by a tree are quasi-life-size replicas of Jujaka with
his cane, holding Amitataa’s hand; they appear to be coming to pay homage
to Bunthong. Inside the pavilion is a lifelike effigy of Bunthong sitting with
two of his favorite dogs, behind which Bunthong’s body lies covered with
gold leaf in a glass casket. Scores of villagers still come daily to pay him their
respects.
There are very few written accounts of northern recitations of the Vessan-
tara Jataka in English, but three northern scholars have provided accounts in
Thai: Manee Phayomyong (1976), Prakong Nimmanhaeminda (1983), and
Sommai Premchit (2001).6 Manee (1930–2009) himself was famous for his
performances of the Maharaat and Nakornkan chapters before he disrobed in
1962.7 In addition to these works, this chapter is based upon interviews with
four current or former tujok monks (including Luang Poh Bunthong, who was
undergoing kidney dialysis but generously made time to meet me); tapes I
obtained of Luang Poh Bunthong’s performance of the Vessantara Jataka (these
tapes were likely made in the 1970s); my own observation of part of a Vessantara
Jataka performance in Hang Dong district;8 photographs taken of Vessantara
Jataka recitations in San Patong district of Chiang Mai province held in 2006
and 2009, respectively, each organized by the local tambon council; tapes and
photographs of a Vessantara Jataka recitation held in the town of Lampang in
2008 and organized by the Lampang branch of Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist
University; and various interviews with monks, former monks, and lay organizers
in Chiang Mai and Lampang provinces.

Points of Emphasis in Norther n Perfor mances

In this section I will summarize the evidence regarding the historical importance
of the Vessantara Jataka in the northern region and highlight key features of its
 Northern Thailand • 127

northern performances. As will become clear, the northern recitations were

explicitly linked to the Maitreya Buddha, and many of its unique performative
elements serve to emphasize the character of Jujaka.

Historical Importance
Evidence suggesting the importance of the Vessantara Jataka in the north dates
back at least to the fourteenth century.9 An inscription dated 1361 compares
the Sukhothayan king Lithai to kings in three jatakas, including Vessantara
(Griswold and Prasert 1973, 163; Skilling 2008, 70). Jataka scenes found at Wat
Si Chum in Sukhothai also date to this period.10 A Sukhothai inscription dated
1380 records, “They listened to the Dhamma of the Dasajati [Ten Jatakas]”
(Wray 1972, 117; see also Skilling 2008, 70). In 1519 the reigning king consecrated
a Buddha image and listened to a version of the Vessantara Jataka that he had
commissioned (Prakong 1983, 6; Veidlinger 2006, 87). By the fifteenth century,
Chiang Mai had become a major center of Buddhist studies; this period has
been described as the “Golden Age” of Lanna literature (Veidlinger 2006).
Chiang Mai is also believed to be the source of the Paññ¯asa-jatakas, a collection
of an additional fifty stories recorded during the fifteenth or sixteenth century
beyond the 547 jatakas in the Pali canon.11 As noted by Jaini, these additional
jatakas reflect “the penchant of Buddhist storytellers to embellish old canonical
tales with new elements drawn from the indigenous cultures of their own native
regions”; since more than half of Paññ¯asa-jatakas are “variations on the theme
of extreme charity,” Jaini also suggests they were inspired by the Vessantara
Jataka (1989, 23, 25).12 The importance of listening to the jataka is reinforced
by the many early nineteenth-century Anisong Vessantara texts catalogued by
Coedes; these texts “are often bound with copies of the Vessantara Jataka and
extol the great merits to be attained by listening to this text” (Veidlinger 2006,
142).
The association of the Vessantara Jataka with the prophecies regarding
the future decline of Buddhism and the coming of Maitreya also appears to be
long-standing. Epigraphs from King Lithai, the ruler of Sukhothai from 1347
to 1368, suggest that he was “deeply concerned about the implications of the
prophecy on future generations in his kingdom” (Griswold and Prasert 1973,
84; see also Brereton 1995, 67). In an inscription dated 1357 the king explicitly
mentions his concern that in the future there will be no one left who can recite
the Vessantara Jataka (Griswold and Prasert 1973; Brereton 1995, 69). Other
inscriptions from this period link the recitation of the Vessantara Jataka “to the
idea that the disappearance of the jatakas is one of the stages in the decline and
disappearance of the Buddha’s teachings” (Skilling 2008, 70). A northern Thai
 128 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

king’s 1426 inscription records that he “devoutly wishes to behold the Lord Sri
Ariya Maitri [Maitreya]”; numerous fourteenth- to sixteenth-century inscrip-
tions contain similar passages (McGill 1993, 435). Although some have argued
the Phra Malai Sutra emerged first in Burma, other scholars suggest its origins
lie in the northern Thai kingdom of Chiang Rai (Brereton 1995, 39). Regardless
of its origins, it is clear that for centuries the Vessantara Jataka was recited
annually in temple ceremonies, evidently with the goals of both preserving
Buddhism and providing the opportunity of beholding Maitreya at the time of
its demise.

Chapter Specialization
The most important character through which to understand the appeal of the
Vessantara Jataka in northern Thailand is Jujaka. When I asked northerners to
name their favorite chapters, by far the most frequently mentioned were the
Jujaka and Maharaat chapters; of these two chapters, the Jujaka chapter was
the most beloved. Donald Swearer notes that audiences “may request encores,
particularly when a skilled, charismatic preacher recited the fifth chapter”
([1995] 2009, 36). Other chapters mentioned were the Kumarn (highlighting
the part when the children are beaten by Jujaka) and Matsi chapters, with a few
including the final chapter, the Nakornkan. Paralleling these favorite chapters,
Prakong finds that the greatest textual variation across versions occurs in the
Jujaka, Kumarn, Matsi, Maharaat, and Nakornkan chapters; the chapter with
the most innovations is the Jujaka chapter (1983, 7, 54). Similarly Manee, in his
comparison across four regions, concludes that the northern Jujaka is by far the
most elaborated (1976, 258–59). This textual diversity reflects the creative license
given to tujok monks to innovate.
Monks in northern Thailand developed reputations for expertise in re-
citing specific chapters.13 Thus monks with deep booming voices specialized
in the Maharaat and Nakornkan, thereby replicating the majestic royal proces-
sions. Monks with high soft voices specialized in the Kumarn, Matsi, and
Sakabap chapters, thereby replicating the voices of the children and mother.
The Chohkasat chapter was usually read by a young novice (Manee 1976, 45).
Monks with a sense of comedic timing specialized in the Jujaka chapter. Other
chapters were not as specialized; very often the abbot of the sponsoring temple
performed the opening or closing chapter as much for reasons of convenience
as honor since these chapters were both likely to be recited in the wee hours of
the morning. Although northerners will note the ability of the monk who
recites the Matsi chapter to reduce the audience to tears, the Jujaka chapter was
considered the most difficult to perform because tujok monks were expected to
 Northern Thailand • 129

be funny and had to continually find new ways to entertain audiences with
their wordplay.
Regardless of their chapter specialization, monks would apprentice them-
selves for extended periods of time with a monk who had already established a
reputation for a given chapter. The preaching style varied from province to prov-
ince; for example, Chiang Mai’s style is somewhat slower and more elongated
than Phrae’s (Manee 1976, 46). Monks I interviewed said it would take weeks
and months to learn how to sing a given chapter. Since there were no micro-
phones in the old days, monks had to be able to project their voices so that
the audiences inside and even outside the temple could hear them. Manee
Phayomyong describes his training when he was a novice in 1944 in Mae Rim
district in Chiang Mai. Although northern monks were asked to recite only
one chapter during an actual performance, Manee practiced by reciting the
entire jataka. As he explained, “I started reciting at 7 A.M. [and] gradually I
began to lose my voice. Yet I kept it up until I reached the final chapter. By
then it was 6 P.M. and my voice was completely gone. For seven or eight days,
I had no voice” (Kamala 1997, 31–32).
Lanna monks traditionally recited their chapters from a raised pulpit in
which they were not visible to the audience.14 According to Prakong, monks
were to recite behind a curtain or other concealed space so that their facial or
body movements would not distract from the narrative (Prakong 1983, 4). Manee
explains that these pulpits enabled monks to assume a variety of postures better
amenable to fulsome chanting than the position one generally sees today when
monks sit cross-legged behind a fan: “In this dhamma booth the monk could
sit comfortably, since he could look out but the audience could not see him.
He did not have to be dignified. He might remove his robes, put his hands
over his ears, open his mouth widely, or tap his hands on the floor to aid his
rhythm. [Instead of sitting on the floor] most preachers preferred to squat. My
teacher told me squatting lets the testicles hang naturally, so the preacher has
no constraint in projecting his voice loudly” (quoted in Kamala 1997, 32).
Monks who developed fame for their operatic ability were in great demand.
As a measure of their status (and possibly their ability to reap significant financial
gain), Manee observes: “Often, monks with lesser skill are jealous and seek to
ruin the preacher by using black magic [khun sai ]. So a good preacher must
possess magical knowledge for self-protection. He must learn to recite sacred
mantra for self-defense as well as to attract people with goodwill. He must
tattoo protective amulets on his body for the same reason. He must always keep
certain kinds of amulets or magic cloth [ pha yan] to make him invulnerable”
(Kamala 1997, 33).
 130 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Tujok-Jujaka
In northern Thailand, the special status of monks who performed the Jujaka
chapter was highlighted by the fact that they traditionally dressed up to look
like Jujaka. No one I interviewed in the northeastern or central regions had ever
heard of monks dressing up in costume, be it for recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka or any other sermon. In northern Thailand, the only occasion for which
monks wore costumes was for performances of the Vessantara Jataka, and even
then only the monk who performed the Jujaka chapter dressed up. Many tujok
monks carried a walking stick, with a bag or a bamboo container over their
shoulders. Some even donned a beard and a white wig. Given that monks have
their heads and eyebrows shaved, sporting hair would indeed have been shocking
to outsiders. One older villager even recalled seeing a tujok monk when he was
young chewing betel and letting some betel juice drip down his mouth.15
Nowadays in contemporary northern Thailand, it would be considered highly
inappropriate for monks to dress up in costumes. Luang Poh Bunthong main-
tained the tradition but modified it. He continued to bring the Jujaka costume
with him, and, although he no longer wore it, he would put the bag, cane, beard,
and wig in the front of the temple hall (viharn) for people to see as they entered.
As Luang Poh Bunthong explained to me:
In the past there were monks who dressed as Puu Phraam [Grandfather
Brahmin, i.e., Jujaka]. They had a bag, with a bamboo salt container. They
would wear a beard and walk with a cane. They wore their yellow robes under-
neath. The more one dressed like Puu Phraam, the more people liked it. But it
is not allowed nowadays. If a monk did this today, it would be in the headlines
of the newspaper as totally inappropriate. They would print a photograph.
People would say, “Look at this. Look how he is dressed! As a Buddhist, is this
appropriate?” Things change with each period. It’s not against the vinaya, but is
considered inappropriate [ phit malayaat]. Monks are supposed to be revered,
and so now it is seen as lowering one’s status because one has self-interests to
gain from the villagers, in other words, the monk wants to get rich. But in the
past, they didn’t think like this. The better the costume, the more people liked
it.16

Tujok monks were also known for making grand entrances into the temple
grounds, a practice not associated with any other monk. Several villagers de-
scribed the tujok entrances as a competition to see who had created the best
costume and had the most dramatic entrance. The tujok’s arrival was eagerly
anticipated. Because the Jujaka chapter was generally performed in the late
 Northern Thailand • 131

morning, there was typically a large crowd of children milling around the
temple grounds. When the tujok monk arrived, a cry would go out, “Tujok maa
laew!,” “the Tujok has come.” Often the tujok would walk into the temple and
chase after the giggling children, waving his crooked cane at them. Some tujok
entered with two children tied to ropes to represent the royal children; one of
my closest village friends, a woman who is now in her midsixties, giggled as
she recalled being chosen to perform the role of Kanhaa as a young girl. Other
tujok playfully threatened to hit village children who had come to watch. Some
tujok entered the temple holding leashes with several dogs, the dogs representing
the thirty-two dogs who chased Jujaka up a tree, as typically detailed in the
northern recitations. One tujok in Lampang even entered with a group of
children who had been dressed up to look like the thirty-two dogs in the story;
the “dogs” then had fun chasing as many of the onlookers to or up whatever
trees were nearby. Monks and laity explained these dramatic entrances as delib-
erate strategies intended to heighten interest. Unlike in the northeast, where
the temple entrances focused on Vessantara, or the central region, where the
temple entrances focused on the individual chapter offerings, in the north the
grand temple entrance was made by the tujok representing Jujaka.

Mazes
The importance of Jujaka in northern Thai recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka is further reinforced by the construction of elaborate wongkot (mazes).17
The term refers to the mountainous region in which Vessantara and his family
traveled in exile (Khao Wongkot, or Crooked Mountain). While it might be
assumed that the villagers are retracing Vessantara’s steps, evidence suggests
that northerners are in fact retracing Jujaka’s path. At many of the entrances to
the northern mazes, Jetabutr the hunter—or sometimes Ajuta the hermit—is
represented, sometimes on simple cardboard and sometimes in elaborate papier
mâché forms. Jetabutr is the hunter the king of Jeta had assigned to guard the
entrance to the forest, and Ajuta is the hermit living deeper in the forest. Jujaka
had to trick both in order to find out where Vessantara and his family are living.
The mazes are quite complicated, with numerous dead ends. Some are
constructed from bamboo, and the more elaborate are made of wood. Although
a simple maze may be waist high, most mazes are taller than a person. Appar-
ently in the past some were even constructed with roofs. In the old days, villagers
traveled into the forest to gather all the necessary raw materials, which they then
had to haul back to their villages. Its actual construction also involved consider-
able village cooperation. The maze design itself is quite intricate, as I realized
when one villager who had designed his temple’s maze generously offered to
 132 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Figure 11. The maze. Villagers inspect the finished maze. Photo courtesy of Yuwa Tambon Council,
Amphur Sanpatong, Chiang Mai, January 2009.

share his blueprint with me. At the center of the maze that I walked through
was a Buddha image, which I was told represented Vessantara. In the maze in
which I found myself lost, children, teenagers, and parents alike were clearly
enjoying the challenge. Wandering through the maze highlights the journey
that Jujaka undertook and is intended to draw young people to the temple.

Syyb Chataa
Preparations for full Vessantara Jataka recitations are extraordinarily elaborate
and involve large numbers of people working together. The decorations usually
begin at the entrance to the temple compound. As is typical of recitations in
other regions, the temple itself is decorated with banana trunks, lengths of
sugarcane, lanterns, and a large jar with fish swimming under lotus leaves; these
items symbolically represent the forest in which Vessantara and his family were
exiled and the pond in which Vessantara’s children initially hid from Jujaka. As
in other regions, northerners also prepare a large bowl of water to be sacralized
in the course of the ritual. The thousand verses of the Pali text are also repre-
sented visually, the temple typically decorated with one thousand small wax
 Northern Thailand • 133

candles, paper flags, and sticks of incense. However, the number one hundred
is also frequently invoked. Northerners will commonly decorate the interior of
their temples with paper cuttings of horses and elephants, and Sommai and
Dore report seeing cut-outs of one hundred oxen, buffaloes, and male and female
servants (1992, 79). Some villagers said these paper cuttings represent the gifts
of the hundreds that Vessantara made before his departure into exile, but most
said it represents the ransom Vessantara set for his children before allowing
them to leave with Jujaka.18
Unlike other regions, northern temple decorations often include a tripod
within the rajawat, or royal fence inside the viharn. The chapter hosts sit under
this tripod. The tripod is associated with the syyb chataa, or life-lengthening
ceremony also typical of the northern region. The tripod is draped with sacral
strings that are connected to a network of strings ultimately leading to the
Buddha image on the altar and the string held by the monk as he recites a given
chapter. Throughout the viharn myriad additional sacral strings hang in a grid
overhead, also leading from the Buddha image on the altar and the monk in
the pulpit to the individual listeners. As Sommai and Dore observed: “The
white cotton cord not only surrounded the ritual enclosure, but also formed
upon it a kind of woven ceiling made of perpendicular lines. From this one end
of cord about 1.50 meters hung down, which lay people would fasten around
their head while sitting inside the enclosure and listening to the reading of the
Vessantara Jataka” (1992, 84).

Timing
Northern Thais share the belief with northeasterners that the Vessantara Jataka
must be recited within twenty-four hours and that audience members who
listen to the entire recitation will be reborn in the time of the Maitreya Buddha.
The Vessantara Jataka—either in its entirety or as individual chapters—is per-
formed on three different types of occasions in northern Thailand: (1) the second
month Full Moon Festival (Dyan Yii Paeng), which occurs in November after
Buddhist Lent; (2) a special temple festival called Tang Tham Luang (great
dharma presentation); and (3) special occasions such as funerals and house-
warmings.19 In the north, there is widespread agreement that the Vessantara
Jataka can be recited any time except during Buddhist Lent. Since most, if not
all, northern Thai temples recited the Vessantara Jataka for Dyan Yii Paeng,
common sense suggests that most recitations for Dyan Yii Paeng drew upon
the monks and novices at their own temples. Konrad Kingshill describes how
in the village where he conducted his fieldwork monks practiced weeks in
advance of Dyan Yii Paeng (1976, 153). Since the northern textual version is
 134 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

already amusing, one can imagine the audience’s enjoyment from a reading by
even a moderately talented monk. This practice appears to continue to varying
degrees. One abbot assured me his temple performs it every year at Dyan Yii
Paeng; when I pressed him to say who had recited the Jujaka chapter in recent
years, he explained that they only recite one chapter.20 Other monks said the
Vessantara Jataka used to be performed at every northern temple but has since
died out.
Funerals are another major occasion for which a monk may be invited to
perform a reading of a single chapter, most often the Jujaka, Kumarn, or Matsi
chapter. Indeed, Prakong Nimmanhaeminda notes that for her own father’s
funeral, none other than Luang Poh Bunthong was invited to perform the
Jujaka chapter (1983, 4; see also Keyes 1975, 54). A particular version of this
chapter was used as the foundational text from which the reciting monk would
then create his own variations, adding asides as teaching examples or songs for
amusement. I have attended several funerals during the 1970s at which the tapes
that Luang Poh Bunthong had recorded were played over the loudspeakers;
indeed, the first time I learned of the existence of tujok was at these funerals.
More recently, I attended a funerary reading of the Matsi chapter, the chapter
chosen both because the local village monk was known for his excellence in
performing it and because one of the relatives knew I was writing about the
Vessantara Jataka. Prakong suggests that the Kumarn and Matsi chapters served
to distract the mourners from their own grief by calling attention to that of the
characters in the jataka (1983, 4). The Matsi chapter also offers not merely a
distraction but an opportunity to affirm Buddhist teachings about life as suffer-
ing and about the need for detachment. Prakong suggests that Jujaka was a par-
ticularly popular chapter for funerals because it provided a way both to entertain
guests and to counter the sadness among friends and relatives, a reason substan-
tiated by villagers I interviewed. Funerals are the most important of an indi-
vidual’s life cycle rituals, and relatives are proud if the deceased’s funeral draws
a large number of guests, even though many of them may not even know the
deceased.21 Since funerals routinely last several days, multiple monks could be
invited to perform different chapters on different nights.
Individual chapters were also performed on other special occasions, such as
housewarmings, auspicious day celebrations (wan mongkol), temple construction
celebrations (ngaan boi), ordination hall consecrations, and ordinations (Manee
1976, 50; Prakong 1983, 4). Although Vessantara Jataka recitations for novice
ordinations were once common in the central region, no one had heard of this
practice in the north. Northerners I interviewed indicated that the Nakornkan
chapter was considered most appropriate for housewarmings since it parallels
 Northern Thailand • 135

Vessantara’s return home. Single chapters could also be recited for syyb chataa
ceremonies (e.g., for life-lengthening ceremonies for individual people, homes,
temples, villages, or cities). One monk said that the Thotsaphon chapter was
considered most appropriate for such occasions.22 Single chapters could also be
performed as a way to raise money for temple construction projects (Manee
1976, 50).
The major event at which full recitations of the Vessantara Jataka take
place, the Tang Tham Luang, is a rare and special occasion. A given temple
may go many years without organizing such an event.23 Although they can last
as long as seven days (Manee 1976, 45), the full performance of the jataka in
its varying forms usually takes two days. On the first day, the Pali version
(Khathaphan) is recited, together with the Phra Malai Sutra (divided internally
in the north into Malai Ton and Malai Plai ). Also recited are the Anisong
Vessantara and Khaiwibaak Vessantara (Sommai and Dore 1992, 80).24 On the
second day the thirteen chapters of the vernacular version are performed, in-
volving thirteen different monks (or novices); this recitation must be completed
within twenty-four hours.25 These major performances often included drum-
ming competitions to encourage surrounding villages to participate. These large
events were usually associated with the completion of some major new addition
to a temple or to raise funds for major temple expansion.

Lay Sponsorship by Birth Year

Unlike in the central or northeastern regions, where chapter sponsors may
vary, in the north one’s birth year determines one’s sponsorship. In the north,
each chapter is correlated with one of the birth years in the twelve-year cycle.
Thus I am born in the Year of the Tiger and would therefore become a sponsor
of the Thanakan chapter. Although everyone is expected to listen to all chapters,
when the chapter associated with one’s birth year is being performed, one is
generally careful to attend. As one monk noted, the audience changes as people
born in different years sit under the strings to gain the blessings transmitted
through them from the monk sitting in the pulpit. The primary chapter sponsors
sit under the syyb chataa tripod, but everyone else participates through the web
of sacred strings. The last, or thirteenth, chapter is for everyone.26
The chapters and birth years are correlated as follows:

Thotsaphon Rat
Himaphan Ox
Thanakan Tiger
Wanaprawet Rabbit
 136 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Jujaka Dragon (Nguu yai; great serpent)

Chulaphon Snake
Mahaphon Horse
Kumarn Goat
Matsi Monkey
Sakabap Rooster
Maharaat Dog
Chohkasat Pig-Elephant
Nakornkan All (Sommai and Dore 1991, 35)27

When an abbot or temple community decides to host a Tang Tham Luang,

the abbot will typically convene a meeting with the lay leader (makhathayok or
ajarn wat), temple committee, and laity to select the date and determine the
primary chapter hosts (Manee 1976, 48). The chapter hosts are responsible for
inviting the monk who will perform the chapter. In the past the invitation to
the monk was made in person, accompanied by an offering with flowers, but
nowadays hosts often simply invite the monks by phone. The chapter hosts are
also responsible for providing the monks a copy of the relevant chapter in
advance so they have time to practice their performance; in the past this text
may have been newly copied by hand for the occasion, but today print versions
can be bought (Kingshill 1976, 276; Manee 1976, 48). During the actual perform-
ance, the chapter hosts present their offerings to the monk after their chapter
has been read; the monk responds with a blessing.28 At the end of each chapter,
a gong may be sounded and firecrackers set off; in more elaborate perform-
ances, a small orchestra may provide musical interludes to mark the transitions
(Manee 1976, 48).

Jujaka’s Extended Jour ney

Northern Thai textual scholars have remarked on the significant elaboration
and variation in the Jujaka chapter of the Vessantara Jataka. The great number
of innovations in the Jujaka chapter results from both its role as a favorite chap-
ter and the inherent demands of comedy. A simple recitation of the northern
written texts of the Jujaka chapter even by inexperienced monks likely generated
laughter, given its extended rhyming patterns and wordplay. But for monks
with the gift of comic timing, the possibilities for humor were considerable. As
tujok monks explained, simply accentuating certain sounds could be funny. For
example, in the scene when Jujaka is attacked by dogs, the northern variations
often go so far as to name and describe as many as thirty-two dogs who attack
 Northern Thailand • 137

Jujaka; Luang Poh Bunthong, simply by the manner in which he said “tua” to
refer to each dog, provoked laughter. Even monks who had apprenticed with
another tujok monk did not necessarily recite the chapter the same way. As one
monk who had apprenticed with Luang Poh Bunthong explained, “Preaching
is not like singing; it is not possible to preach exactly the same way. Each person
develops their own style. For example, when Tu Lung Thong [Bunthong] has
barely started, everyone already starts laughing. If I tried to imitate his style, it
wouldn’t work, people wouldn’t laugh. Tu Lung Thong is the absolute master
at doing this. He barely starts talking and people want to laugh. Even me, I’ve
listened to him telling the same stories ten, twenty times and I still find myself
laughing.”29
Unlike in northeastern Thailand today, where modern humor primarily
consists of bawdy puns, in northern Thailand humor was generated by creating
ever-new episodes in which Jujaka overcame obstacles in his journey to reach
Vessantara. Luang Poh Bunthong often incorporated pop culture into his per-
formances, drawing on villagers’ knowledge of likay performances (a form of
folk theater) and contemporary hit songs, generating laughter in part through
the audience’s surprise that a monk might be familiar with current popular
songs. (In American culture, this kind of incongruity would be analogous to an
older priest who raps.) Although some comic incidents occurred in the Maharaat
chapter, where Jujaka dies from overeating, most of the comic developments
were in the Jujaka chapter. There was considerable variation from tujok to tujok,
with some sticking close to the text while others created new comic obstacles.
However, the most popular tujok monks were known to experiment with new
elements in their performances.

Inventing Episodes
Some sense of the comedic range the figure of Jujaka afforded tujok monks can
be gleaned by following the adventures of Jujaka through the Jujaka chapter. In
the Pali form, this chapter is a mere seventy-nine verse lines in length. In the
hands of a tujok monk, this chapter expanded severalfold as they invented new
episodes in Jujaka’s life. To understand the extent of the northern elaborations,
we can consider the first paragraph of the Pali version of the Jujaka chapter:

At that time, in the kingdom of Kalinga, and in a brahmin village name

Dunnivattha, lived a brahmin Jujaka. He by quest of alms having obtained a
hundred rupees deposited them with a certain brahmin family, and went out to
get more wealth. As he was long away, the family spent that money: the other
came back and upbraided them, but they could not return the money, and
 138 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

so they gave him their daughter named Amittatapana. He took the maiden
with him to Dunnivittha, in Kalinga, and there dwelt. Amittatapana tended
the brahmin well. Some other brahmins, young men, seeing her dutifulness,
reproached their own wives with it: “See how carefully she tends an old man,
whilst you are careless of your young husbands!” This made the wives resolve to
drive her out of the village. So they would gather in crowds at the river side and
everywhere else, reviling her. (Cowell [1895] 1957, 270)

Tujok monks generally began their recitation of the Jujaka chapter with an
initial formal chant in Pali (chunniyabot), which the audience was not likely to
understand but which reminded the listeners of the sacrality of the text. Al-
though Jujaka was invariably portrayed as an old Brahmin beggar, the details of
his personage varied. The Pali version of the Jujaka chapter provides no physical
description of Jujaka other than the fact that he is old. However, in the Kumarn
chapter, Vessantara’s young son provides the following description:
His foot is huge, his nails are torn, his flesh hangs sagging down
Long underlip and broken nose, all trembling, tawny-brown,
Pot-bellied, broken-backed, with eyes that shew an ugly squint
All spots and wrinkles, yellow-haired, with beard of bloody tint
Yellow, loose-jointed, cruel, huge, in skins of goats bedight,
A crooked and inhuman thing, a most terrific sight;
A man, or monstrous cannibal? And canst thou tamely see
This goblin come into the wood to ask this boon of thee?
(Cowell [1895] 1957, 283–84)

All the Thai versions make clear that he is ugly.30 But while the central
Thai court version emphasizes how frightening he is, the Lanna versions delight
in providing an image of Jujaka that is so extreme it becomes comic. All five
Lanna versions Prakong studied describe Jujaka as having feet with leprosy,
wrinkled skin, skin covered in red and black spots, drooping lips, a crooked
nose, crooked teeth, drooping eyelids, blinking eyes, a beard, a back that is
crooked like an elephant’s, and a big stomach. In addition, he is often described
as smelling like a vulture, with a body like a ghost ( phii ). When he laughs, his
stomach jiggles. He looks like a ghost, but his stomach is too big. His eyes roll
up, and his eyelids droop down past his nose. When he laughs, he drools
(Prakong 1983, 43). In a comic scene where Jetabutr is trying to figure out what
he is seeing in the tree in one of the northern versions, Jetabutr says, “Maybe it
is a phii tamoi (a ghost that flashes), but it isn’t flashing. It may be a monkey but
it has no tail. It could be a deer, but they don’t climb trees. It could be a wild
 Northern Thailand • 139

chicken, but it doesn’t have feathers. It could be a person, but it doesn’t look
like one, so it must be a phii phraaj ghost!” (Prakong 1983, 44).
In his taped version of the Jujaka chapter, Luang Poh Bunthong skipped
over the details of this description by mentioning Jujaka’s alleged enormous
dimensions and joking that they might represent lottery numbers. Instead he
chose to create a scenario in which Jujaka was living in one of the hells. He
described Jujaka making the rounds of various cemetery ghosts, in the hope
that one of them would agree to become his parents so he could be reborn in
the world of humans. Playing with a rhyming pattern in which the last syllable
of the line rhymes with an individual’s name, Luang Poh Bunthong created the
following passage:

Bai haa Lung Ai, Lung Ai bo ao He went to Lung Ai, Lung Ai refused
Bai haa Lung Mao, Lung Mao ko bo He went to Lung Mao, Lung Mao said
hyy no
Bai haa Lung Tyy ko pan He went to Lung Tyy, who sent him on
Bai haa Ui Chan. To see Ui Chan
Bai haa Ui Chan, Ui Chan ko klua He went to Ui Chan, but Ui Chan was
afraid
Bai haa Ui Bua, Ui Bua ko bo dai. He went to Ui Bua, Ui Bua wouldn’t
agree
Bai haa Lung Ai . . . He went to see Lung Ai . . .
Ku le bya. Whew, I’m tired of this!31

After the laughter subsided, Luang Poh Bunthong shifted from a chanted
rhyming pattern into a more conversational narrative about how no one wants
to be around difficult people. He concludes that ultimately Jujaka is reborn
with his former mother, who is very poor.
Jujaka’s imagined childhood is another opportunity for tujok monks to
invent episodes, describing how he is a difficult child and how his mother has
to steam lots of rice for him (e.g., Prakong 1983, 54–59). Because his parents
find him so difficult, Jujaka is then sent to live with the abbot at the village
temple. Luang Poh Bunthong then uses the occasion of Jujaka at the temple to
segue into a series of funny stories centering on the theme that temples get all
the difficult children and rejected animals. These stories of Jujaka as a temple
boy or novice end with Jujaka being too difficult even for the abbot to deal
with; he then is sent back home for his parents to cope with (these stories likely
resonated with the trickster stories discussed in the next chapter). His parents—
and sometimes a long list of other relatives—then die and Jujaka becomes a
 140 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

beggar.32 In some other Lanna versions Jujaka was not always poor; instead he
is portrayed as having lived in a large city called Saawaphii, but after his home
was burned down in a fire and he lost all his food and possessions, he had to
leave in sadness and finally arrived at Thunwit (Dunnivittha) in poverty (Manee
1976, 225).33 The northern versions then return to the plot in the Pali version in
which Jujaka accumulates several bags of gold, which he then leaves with a
couple whose daughter is Amitataa.
Unique to the northern region, many tujok monks create an elaborate
wedding ceremony for Jujaka and his bride, drawing upon villagers’ often
bawdy cultural associations with a form of witty courtship repartee known as
joi and soh. To gain some sense of these cultural associations, the following is a
widely known soh about the magical properties of semen:

Namyaa Kaeo Taa Laaj The fluids of Kaeo Taa Laaj (male name)
Khao waa yaa maa nae They say it is reliable
Bo jai yaa kae It is not a medicine
Bo jai yaa khang It doesn’t cure mouth sores
Pen yaa dii-o It’s a strengthening medicine
Pen yaa kamlang It’s a powerful medicine
Khao bo dam It’s white, not black
Chat dii wiiset It’s really quite magical

Namyaa Kaeo Taa Laaj The fluid of Kaeo Taa Laaj

Ja taetiam bai It can be compared
Myan yang makhyathaet To that of a papaya
Yaa yang nii This kind of medicine
Man dii wiiset It’s really quite magical
Kon man taeng thang lum When it enters at the bottom
Man thyng bong thang bon. Things get big at the top (i.e., pregnancy).

Although monks even in the past were never likely to go as far as the
raunchier soh verses, they nonetheless ventured to the edges. Some tujok de-
veloped a section where Jujaka badgers his bride’s parents for more money,
using the old language of poetic couplets ( pen khao pen khrya).34 In his taped
version, Luang Poh Bunthong describes the wedding guests (everyone from
beggars to medical doctors, some of whom were thin as rhinoceroses and others
of whom were as tall as dachshunds) and their gifts (inappropriate gifts ranging
from baby cribs to funerary hangings [thung saam hang]).35 After the meal,
Luang Poh Bunthong described the post-prandial merriment, setting the scene
 Northern Thailand • 141

of a master of ceremonies coordinating a range of different styles of singing

(e.g., soh chiang mai, soh phra lor, soh saelemao). In his taped version, Luang Poh
Bunthong performed seven different songs. I have included three songs to give
a sense of their range from more Buddhist themed to more bawdy. The follow-
ing song draws on more traditional imagery of the heavens and produces a laugh
from the audience mainly because of the incongruity of a sacred Buddhist
theme in a secular folk song format:

Phiinong sathaa hao maa phattana Laity, we have come to develop/learn

Ow suan kuson pai naa To take the merit
Kuson suan bun khunthan The kusol and bun of giving
Thii phiinong wongwan paa kan That our kinship circle has in mind.
dai khit
Khoh hai dai pyyt pai kyyt sawan May all of you be reborn in heaven
Thyng neraphan thii hong chan faa The highest levels of nirvana
Tok mya chao hyy pen khaonai If you get there early let it be for breakfast
Tok mya kwaaj hyy pen phaensya If you get there later let it be clothing
phaenphaa
Tok mya yam laa hyy saphaokham If you arrive at dusk let it be a golden boat
Nam ow fuung ow waa Bring your friends
Bandaa phiinong And relatives
Thaa khong khaet hong pai kyyt To be born in heaven.
sawan.
Thyng neraphan chan faa 9 hong. To the ninth level of heaven.
Khoh hyy thyng thii neraphan May you reach nirvana
Anan ja pen yoot ( f ). That is the peak.
Ooh la naa nong la naaj. Swaj! Ooh la naa nong la naaj. Swaj!

Another song is about the hong kwan ceremony, which calls the thirty-two
aspects of the soul (kwan) together; this ceremony is not strictly Buddhist but
is very common in Thai village life.36 This song begins with some deliberately
pseudo-Pali words and then concludes by moving the khwan elements to in-
appropriate new locations in the body:

Ah ja cai soo. Ah ja jai yo. “Pseudo-Pali.”

Ah ja nai wanni Today
Ko maa pen wan dii bo sao Is an auspicious and not a sad day
Poh Naan ja hong khwan chao Poh Naan will call your khwan
Jong riip reo maa So come quickly
 142 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Khwan aeo hyy yai maa yuu thii Have the waist khwan move to the stomach
thong
Khwan nong khyyn maa yuu thii Have the calf khwan move to the thigh
khaa
Khwan hua kaesa hyy yai bai yuu Have the head khwan move to the butt!
thang kon.

The following song ventures into the bawdy. For added comedic effect,
Luang Poh Bunthong performs it in the Phra Lor style, to create a “cool
[chumchyyn] atmosphere.” It is a more formal, languorous style, but the content
is clearly much more raucous:

Laelaeliu bai sutchan saaj taa Laelaeliu, One can see him coming
Kin sulaa maa mao khao baan Entering his home drunk
Loi loi. . . . [flute part]. [Flute imitation].
Khrohpkhrua thyng man bo khang He didn’t care about his family
Man tae moh man tae haai He broke pots and vessels
Thaa mia man lon khao pai When his wife arrived
Man pia phom mia man wai nen He grabbed her tightly by her hair
Yang maa tukh ok Why such pain in her breast
Yang maa tukh jai Why such pain in her heart
Wan waai niipnaen. She was very upset.
Panyaa kankaen She couldn’t think clearly
Sia mia man yuam taem kam. Then the wife grabbed a big handful
[i.e., his testicles].
Phutthoo tho tham In the name of the Buddha and the dharma
Naa man byyt yao yao. His face grew long.

Luang Poh Bunthong then shifts to a spoken aside: “He was in agony. His
wife had grabbed hold of his . . . [deliberate pause] shirt collar. Remember, ladies,
you don’t have to be afraid of your husbands. They have birth certificates. You
also have birth certificates. Just grab their . . . shirt collars. They will pay atten-
tion.” Clearly neither Luang Poh Bunthong nor the audience was thinking of
shirt collars during his pregnant pauses. Although the song selections I have
translated are specific to Luang Poh Bunthong, other tujok monks followed
this same pattern, singing whichever songs they made up or thought might be
considered funny by the audience.
After the wedding, Jujaka and his bride move to Jujaka’s village (this does
not conform with the dominant uxorilocal post-marital residence patterns
 Northern Thailand • 143

among Thai villagers). The description of Jujaka’s home generally highlights

its poor construction. Thai village homes have long been built on pillars, very
often made of teak for maximum strength and resistance to termites, and with
a minimum of six pillars to ensure stability. However, tujok typically characterize
Jujaka’s home as rickety, built on only four pillars. That this expansion on the
Pali text was widespread among tujok throughout northern Thailand is sug-
gested by one of the few surviving nineteenth-century northern Thai mural
paintings of the Vessantara Jataka at Wat Lampang Luang; unlike temple
painting in other regions of Thailand, this mural shows Jujaka’s home with these
four stilts. The following is an excerpt from one tujok description of Jujaka’s
home, performed with a low, authoritative, chanting voice:

Hyan Puu Phraam thao 4 sao The house of the old brahmin had 4 pillars
Khyyn maa wai Climb up into it, it would sway
Yoh yae yong yaeng yong yaeng To and fro, back and forth
Maa hang ten kwaeng jon phoh A dog wagging its tail would make it
wai sway
Siang maeo ai jon phoh shwai The sound of a cat coughing could make
it collapse
Ow thii wai thung kham bo dai Nowhere to hang a bag of gold.37

Adding to the humorous description of Jujaka’s home were often passages

describing the wood from which it was built, typically wood that villagers
would know was totally inappropriate. In a version retold to me by a temple
leader in Lampang, not only was the house built on four wiggly stilts, but the
stilts were made of mai bao, a wood villagers know is not strong enough to be
used for house building (see also Prakong 1983, 60).38 Some tujok went on to
describe the scene that met Amitataa’s eyes when she entered the rickety home,
noting pillows made from chicken shit (khii), the lack of furniture, and the like.

Developing Amitataa
The way Amitataa is portrayed helps shape the audience’s emotional bond
with Jujaka. In the Pali version, Jujaka’s receipt of Amitataa as his wife is very
abridged.39 As we have seen, central Thai versions expanded on the Pali plot-
line by portraying the daughter as a tragic victim of the cruel Jujaka. In the
northern versions, Amitataa becomes a more important figure than in the central
or northeastern versions. Tujok versions generally represent her as the epitome
of a virtuous wife (much like Matsi) who is badly treated by the other women
of the village. As one tujok monk explained to me, “Amitataa was someone
 144 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

who was modest [sanguan tua]. She was a good wife, swept the house, made
the meals, got water, got firewood, gave him his toothbrush, washed the
clothes—she took care of the old Brahmin. She was not like so many boys and
girls today who aren’t doing their duty.”40 However, northern portrayals of
Amitataa give her a wider range of motivations. Some versions portray Amitataa
as a passive victim whose parents were forced to give her away to repay their
debt. Other versions portray Amitataa as a heroine, the idealized filial daughter
who wanted to help her parents and volunteered to become Jujaka’s wife. Yet
other versions portray Amitataa as conniving, selfish, or shrewish. Thus Prakong
includes variations in which Amitataa volunteers to marry Jujaka because she
imagines him to be rich and, given his age, likely to die soon, leaving her his
fortune (1983; Swearer describes her as “young and selfish” [1978, 3]; see also
Swearer 2009, 36). In the performance Charles Keyes observed, the young
pretty girl “grew into an avaricious bitch,” and Jujaka is a henpecked husband
who “strived to do his wife’s bidding” (1975, 54).
When Amitataa returns home, upset by the village women’s comments,
Jujaka asks which women were involved. Part of the humor is in the details of
the portrayals of villagers. Listeners would be able to readily identify these traits
with the petty foibles and characteristics of individuals in their own villages.
The women are named using the Lanna prefix “Ii,” which denotes close familiar-
ity and is generally used for fellow villagers the same age as or younger than the
speaker. (The prefix has derogatory connotations in central Thailand, another
reason why urban middle-class central Thais tend to be shocked by northern
versions.)41 The women are then described by their physical features, occupa-
tions, or private love lives, including details that would be known within a village
but generally not shared with outsiders. In the process of listening to the charac-
terizations of the village women, we become voyeurs observing the private—
and imperfect—lives of people in Jujaka and Amitataa’s village. Amitataa’s
tormentors included such women as the following:

Ii Johm, the wife of Brahmin Nong,

Ii Phii Phrai, the wife of Brahmin Yii
Ii Yuang, the wife of the brahmin with the eyes that roll
Ii Khambang, the one whose husband is afraid of everything
Ii Crooked, the wife of Brahmin Puurok,
The foreign woman [kulawaa]42 with the blinking eyes
The sweet-talking woman whose heart is always frustrated
Ii Sii, the one who likes to have lovers
The black-eyed woman whose husband abandoned her years ago
 Northern Thailand • 145

Ii Phii Phai, the one who sells miang [fermented tea]

Ii Jiklik, the one who sells fermented fish sauce,
Or maybe the fruit seller or the seller of fermented soybeans.
(Prakong 1983, 15–16; see also Manee 1976, 319–20)

The depiction of Jujaka learning about how cruelly the village women
have treated Amitataa provides other opportunities for comic expansion. In
one variation, Jujaka offers her various medicines so that her injuries can heal
(Prakong 1983, 24). In other variations, Jujaka offers to extract punishment
from the village women, but then he cannot decide what a suitable punishment
might be. Should he ask for a certain flower or some fermented fish paste?
There is no point in asking for a horse because he does not know how to ride it
and is afraid the horse might bite him. There is no point in asking for a flute
because he does not know how to play it. He thinks he might want a fishing
net but then he cannot decide if it should be big or small (Prakong 1983, 46). In
other variations he is portrayed as unbelievably solicitous, willing to do all the
chores that village women normally perform, such as getting up early in the
morning, steaming rice, sweeping homes, drawing well water and washing
clothes, activities that males typically did not perform.43 His actions can be
portrayed as an entirely wonderful demonstration of his love for Amitataa or
his pathetically desperate desire to keep his young wife happy.
After Amitataa convinces Jujaka to travel to ask for Vessantara’s children,
tujok monks often have fun describing a farewell scene. Jujaka is portrayed in a
manner intended to evoke empathy, as extraordinarily tender toward his wife
and very fearful of embarking on his new journey. He makes comically detailed
preparations for Amitataa to help her cope in his absence. He fetches water
and fills every container in the house—not just water pots but matchboxes, salt
containers, spoons, eggshells, duck shells, oyster shells, and the like (Prakong
1983, 47). He collects firewood, gathering not just dried wood but also tree
branches, tree roots, tree bark, and even grass that was not dry (Prakong 1983,
47). While the Pali text also describes his preparations for departure and his
tears upon leaving, the tujok version below provides an example of similar, if
earthier, preparations:

An waa Puu Phraam thao And the old brahmin

Man ko dai thung hor khao laeo Got his bag with rice packed up
Laeo man ko dai long hyan lao And climbed down from his home
Deo tam suung tam suung Walking down up down up
Pai thyyng pratuu baan He got to the gate
 146 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Lio lang sang mia man waa Turned to his wife saying
Haa plaa salaat mii thii pak pratuu If you want salaat fish, it is by the gate
Haa plathuu ko mii yuu thii hing If you want salted fish, it is on the
shelf
An myyng phii klua klua If you fear ghosts,
Myng khai io, hyy pai io sai chong If you want to pee, pee through the
bon hua house floor hole
Thaa yaak khii ja khii sai bong mai If you want to shit, shit in the bamboo
bok mai sang containers
Jon kalaman taem sak 4–5 bok Until you have filled all 4–5 containers
Jon poh ca klap maa Until I return.
Kalanaan thyy.44 Amen.

Whereas the Pali text focuses on Jujaka’s arrival in Vessantara’s kingdom,

the tujok monks’ versions have Jujaka wandering all over, traveling to such
places as India, Japan, Vietnam, the United States, and any other locations
with which the tujok might be familiar. Typically the tujok incorporates a few
words from the language of each locale. Passing reference may be made to
Jujaka’s wife as she wonders what is taking him so long. Only at the end of this
international digression does the tujok version return to the standard plotline,
in which Jujaka finally ends up in Vessantara’s former home to learn where
Vessantara can be found.

Tricking the Royal Guardians

Although Jujaka’s quest to find Vessantara provides numerous opportunities
for tujok monks to invent scenarios, all versions—including the Pali text—
highlight two major events: Jujaka’s forest encounters with Jetabutr the hunter
and with Ajuta the hermit (rysii ). Jujaka must trick both of them into giving
him directions in order to find Vessantara and the royal family who are living
in exile deep in the mountain forest. Of these two events, by far the most elabo-
rated is the scene with Jetabutr, the guard who had been assigned by the Jetan
king to protect the royal family. Jujaka’s encounter with Jetabutr begins when
Jetabutr’s guard dogs corner him up a tree. The northern tujok monks enjoyed
elaborating this moment, finding many opportunities for comedy as Jetabutr
tries to figure out what kind of strange being is in the tree and as Jujaka seeks to
convince Jetabutr not to kill him. They also have fun with the dogs that chase
Jujaka up the tree, which typically number thirty-two in the northern versions.45
A common expansion is giving the dogs individual names and characteristics.
 Northern Thailand • 147

For added humor, the dogs may be given Lanna names that villagers typically
might use for their dogs (Prakong 1983, 65). Luang Poh Bunthong developed a
scenario, recited in a rhyming pattern, in which Jujaka was falling from tree
branch to tree branch until he mistakenly grabs hold of a dead brittle branch.46
Ending the stylized rhymes, Luang Poh Bunthong continued, using his normal
voice:
It was a really big branch, but it just couldn’t take his weight. It broke, khwaek.
Both the branch and Puu Phraam [Grandfather Brahmin—i.e., Jujaka] fell
crashing down; neither could help the other. The branch called out to Puu
Phraam the whole way down. The branch landed in a stream, swaa. Puu
Phraam landed in a yaakhaa patch [khaa is thatch for roofing that grows in tall
thick clumps], boom. The dogs all chased after Puu Phraam, big ones, small
ones, male ones, female ones.
One of the dogs was pregnant, but still chased after the rest. She ran into a
tree with terrific force; out came three pups. So there were two males and two
females; four dogs if you include the mother—after all, she was a dog too. . . .
So there were these four dogs too. The mother didn’t seem to notice. She kept
on, running after the rest. Her pups tried to follow her, yelping. But they
couldn’t see where they were going because their eyes hadn’t opened yet. They
were ferocious. It was in their blood. Just like people or chickens. Some people
just like fights, so they get small pups to try to fight. Or chickens. Chickens can
be really fierce. A fellow was getting rich breeding fighting cocks. One day he
was in his house and he heard the female making nesting noises, top tap top tap.
So he went to see what was happening and he spied the eggs, already fighting.
Not even born. It’s in the blood. So the pups had their mother’s instincts. There
they all were, howling and chasing after Puu Phraam.
Puu Phraam scrambled up the nearest tree he could find. He cried to his
mother and father, “Mother, Father, I’m in a bad situation. Looks like I will
die. Father, Mother, come here and I will help you.” He got it backwards of
course; usually one asks one’s parents for help. That’s what happens when you
are really panicked. You get all confused. Like the fellow who went into town
to buy things. [Here there follows a series of digressions about what happens
when people get confused.]47

Another elaboration is the process of capturing the thirty-two dogs, with

the explanation that the dogs could not all be tied up in the same place because
they might get into fights with each other. The following is an abbreviated
example in which the “tua” is elongated for humorous effect:
 148 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Tua thii nyng pai mat ton basalang The first dog was tied to salang tree
Tua thii song ow pai mat ton makkhaam Second dog tied to a tamarind tree
Tua thii saam ow pai mat ton mai khii Third dog tied to khii wood tree.
Tua thii sii . . . The fourth dog . . . and so on.

But lest the pattern become monotonous by now for the listeners who have
already heard several of these rhyming patterns, Luang Poh Bunthong ended
his list abruptly, saying, “It will take us all day to tie up these dogs. So let’s skip
the rest.”
Another variation is to pursue a scenario in which Jujaka hurts his leg
during his journey; he then has various encounters with alleged doctors who
suggest various improbable remedies and find various ways to cheat him out of
his money. Yet another digression is to have Jujaka upset because he lost the
bag he was carrying when he was under attack by the dogs; the items he has lost
can range from his medicinal bag in which he kept a lump of chicken droppings
to cure his boils ( fii) to silk cloth he was saving to wear at a temple festival (boi
luang). Another alternative is to have Jujaka bemoaning the loss of the various
foods that allegedly were in his bag, such as salted fish, collard greens ( phak
kaat), cabbage, sour bamboo shoots, gaeng bon (stew made with buffalo skin,
a village favorite), tadpoles, or crispy rice cakes topped with sugar frosting.
Precisely because most of these typical village foods were not likely to actually
be taken on trips, they were good for a laugh (see Prakong 1983, 23–24). In
some cases, he laments the loss of the bag because Amitataa wove it for him
(Prakong 1983, 25, 29).
Whatever the range of variations, the tujok then returns to the main plot of
the story, convincing Jetabutr that he is a messenger sent by the king to bring
Vessantara and his family back to the palace. In his encounter with Jetabutr,
Jujaka can be portrayed as quaking in fear as a humble peasant or feigning im-
periousness as an alleged royal messenger; each extreme provides opportunities
for comedy. In the end, Jujaka is able to overcome Jetabutr’s fears that Jujaka’s
intentions are evil and tricks him into disclosing the whereabouts of the royal
family. Jetabutr feeds him and gives him directions how to find Ajuta. The suc-
cessful deception of Jetabutr brings the Jujaka chapter to an end. Following
Jetabutr’s directions, Jujaka then continues deeper into the forest, where he
meets Ajuta, the rysii. Ajuta is also worried that Jujaka harbors evil intentions,
but Jujaka is also able to convince him to reveal the forest path that will lead to
the royal family (this scene typically receives little elaboration by tukok monks).
With these two important roadblocks successfully overcome, Jujaka is now able
to find Vessantara and request the royal children.48
 Northern Thailand • 149

The Death Scene

The subsequent chapters follow the basic plotline of the Pali version, with
the exception of the death scene in the Maharaat chapter, in which Jujaka is
rewarded for bringing Vessantara’s children back to their royal grandparents.
The portrayal of Jujaka’s funeral in the Pali version consists simply of the words
“The king arranged for his funeral” (Cowell [1895] 1957, 299). Far more than
in the northeastern versions, in the northern versions the last meal and final
funeral become an opportunity for extended comedy. In some versions, beauti-
ful, young, bare-breasted female servants are feeding him; in other accounts he
eats alone without any company (Prakong 1983, 49–50). Tujok monks typically
expanded the section in which Jujaka is gorging himself, adding details of all
that he was eating.
Jujaka is typically portrayed as overcome by desire, sometimes quasi-vulgar,
sometimes overly innocent, and sometimes worthy of empathy. When the
courtiers ask if he would like more to eat, Jujaka replies, “If there is more, I will
have more.” In some versions, Jujaka tells everyone that he is full, but people
force him to keep eating, goading him on with such remarks as “What, you’re
not my friend! You don’t like this dish?” Jujaka is portrayed as a hapless village
buffoon who does not know what to do; after all, he did not want to hurt
anyone’s feelings (kraengjai pyan). Some versions emphasize that he is some-
one who has never eaten good food, with such details as “at home if he and
Amitataa had vegetable soup with shrimp, Jujaka would eat the head, his wife
would eat the tail and they would keep the body to eat for dinner.” So now
presented with so many delicacies, Jujaka stuffs himself, eating everything they
bring him, sometimes using two hands at once. A sample list might include
village favorites and delicacies, with accounts of his reactions to these dishes
interspersed. For example:
He ate laap khwaaj, duck stew [ gaeng khae bet], mushrooms, roasted fish, khaep muu
[ pork rinds]
His upper lip curled up,
He ate gaeng ohm [ pork stew], sour sausage, a dish sweetened with sugarcane.
His eyes rolled up.
He ate insect delicacies, he drank sweet juices. . . .49

After overeating, he feels sick, his stomach as big as a palm-sugar jar

(haitaan). He wants to defecate, but he cannot. He wants to vomit, but he
cannot. He wants to urinate (thohk), hoping to feel better. He holds his stomach
all night in pain. In all five Lanna versions that Prakong studied, King Sonchai’s
 150 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Figure 12. Jujaka in the palace. Jujaka, naked, is being fed by palace women while fondling their
breasts. From nineteenth-century (?) painting from Wat Jaroen Muang, Amphur Phan, Chiang
Rai, August 2015. Photo by author.

courtiers discuss giving him various medicines. The medicines or the dosages
are all suggestions that villagers would know was inappropriate, such as three
bags of an herbal laxative (saloht), a dosage villagers would know was far, far
too much (Prakong 1983, 24–25).50 In the Lanna versions, Jujaka appeared to
die not just from overeating but also from too much medicine. After giving
him various medicines, none of which helped, the courtiers then decided to
fetch a doctor. However, their efforts were to no avail:
 Northern Thailand • 151

Went to the doctor at the head of the irrigation dam, who said he was not free
Went to the doctor with the very large head, who said he was busy doing nothing
Went to the old one, who said the medicine he was making was not yet ready
Went to the doctor with white hair, who said don’t bother me
Went to the doctor who weighs palm sugar and found he had died
Went to see Doctor Kaew, who would be difficult
Went to see the doctor with betel in his mouth, who said don’t ask me.
Went to see Doctor Saanhai, who said he didn’t know the directions
Went to see Doctor Yii, who asked, “Who sent you?”
Went to see Doctor Ai, who had also died
Went to see Doctor Chang Kaeo, but he was having a fight with his wife . . .
Went to see the doctor with the scar on his head, but he was clearing his fields
Went to see the khwan (soul) doctor, but he had parasites
Went to see the doctor at the market who had a cough
Went to see Doctor Khambai, but he was fixing the fence around his house and
couldn’t come
Went to see the foreign doctor, but he had fled to his fields
Went to see Doctor Hora, but he was lomphong 51
Went to see Doctor Sohnhong, but he had been bitten by a dog.
(Prakong 1983, 50; see also Manee 1976, 258)

All of this is in a rhyming pattern in which the last word of each line of verse
rhymes with the fourth word of following line.
These various remedies are unsuccessful and eventually Jujaka’s stomach
explodes. In Luang Poh Bunthong’s variation, he details the damage caused by
the explosion:

Puu Phraam was very hungry and began eating. He leaned over the table,
grabbing food from all directions and stuffing it into his mouth. He didn’t offer
any food to anyone else.

Khop khaa baet yuu laalaai He ate duck legs crunch crunch
Khop khaa gai yuu luup luup He ate chicken legs, munch munch . . .
Kin jon mot gaeng mot thuaj Until all the dishes and bowls were empty
Kin mot thuaj mot chan All the bowls and plates were clean.

The food had nowhere to go. His stomach was growing fatter and fatter.
It looked like a balloon. And then it exploded. The blast killed many in the
vicinity:
 152 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Khon thao daai ben 20 The old people who died numbered 20
muu ben bao ben sao daai ben The teenagers who died numbered 200
200
muu moi noi daai ben 1000 The children who died numbered 1,000
muu thii lon bo tan, nap bo dai. And it was impossible to count the numbers
who couldn’t run fast enough.

Fortunately there were no monks in the area, otherwise they might have
been killed in the blast as well. That is what happens when one eats alone. As
the Buddhist saying goes, Nekasii rapthesukang . . . [Pali], or kin khon diaw, haa
pen sukh mai dai: “One is not able to find happiness if one is the only one eating.”
It’s like the middleman [naai naa] who is supposed to share the profits with
others, but steals the money all for himself. He is not going to be happy for
long; he might even get himself killed.52

Even after Jujaka’s death, the tujok continue to create humor in posing
various challenges regarding his funerary rites and the question of where to
cremate him. If they cremate him near the water, it might harm the fish, tad-
poles, and other water creatures; if they cremate him near the termite mound,
it might affect the mushrooms; if the site is too close to trees, it might affect
the leaves; if it is near homes, that would also be inappropriate; if it is too near
a path, people will be afraid to pass by; if it is too near the coconut tree, the
coconuts might not be sweet; if it is near the palm tree, the palm fruit might be
small. The site cannot be too close to the well because people will drink the
water; it cannot be too near the gardens because the vegetables would be dis-
gusting; if it is in the forests, the snakes will bite them; if it is too near a temple,
people will fear that the temple is haunted; if they cremate his body at the crema-
tion grounds, the spirits (phii) will hate them; if they cremate him near water, it
might harm the fish. With the concern about the fish, the list of concerns comes
full circle, implying a never-ending circle (Prakong 1983, 52). One former tujok
who enjoyed this scene said he ended the list by just burying him wherever;
after all, in those days people didn’t cremate bodies, they buried them!
Another problem is finding porters to carry his body. As with the absurd
wedding gifts, absurd medicines, and the like, the procession taking Jujaka’s
body for the final rites is comprised of deformed people and led by a blind man.
As Luang Poh Bunthong tells the story:

Once Puu Phraam had died, the attendants went to inform Phrayar Sonchai.
He hadn’t even been in town overnight. That happens to people, you know.
 Northern Thailand • 153

They win the lottery and go off and party and get drunk; then they run into an
electricity pole and die before they ever get their money.
So they told Phrayar Sonchai that Puu Phraam had died. They began to
prepare the body, but they didn’t know where to take it. They were afraid if
they buried it near a squash field, the squash might all die. If they buried it near
the rice field, the rice might all die. One of the elders said they should take the
body deep into the forest, the place where vulture droppings had piled up as
high as one’s thigh and crow droppings had piled up as high as one’s knee [see
also Manee 1976, 259].
So they set off, carrying Puu Phraam’s body bouncing along, bumping into
tree branches and vines along the way.

Ow khon khaen hak tii kong A person with a broken arm hit the drum
Ow khon taa pong maa tii kom A person with bulging eyes hit a kom
Ow khon khaen ngong maa top swaai A person with a crooked arm banged
cymbals
Ow khon khaa yaeng maa pao pii tae A person with a bad leg played the flute
thalae kham
Ow khon tii kong nam pai tum tum The drummer led the procession, tum tum
Ow khon taa sum maa nam thang A blind man led the way
Ow khon taa fang maa baek khae. Blind men carried the litter
Dii bo dii wae, man ko wae Stopping where they shouldn’t
Thii bo dii pai, man ko pai. Going where they shouldn’t
Ow khon hua saai maa saphaai thung A bald man carried the 3-tailed cloth
3 hang
Kap thung hoh khao. With a bag for his food.

The bald person was a good choice because when it gets dark, he has a
spotlight built in, 12 volts no less!53

Yet another problem is finding monks who are willing or able to perform
the ceremony. In Luang Poh Bunthong’s version, by the time the procession
reaches the cemetery, they realize they have forgotten to invite any monks. So
they travel all over looking for a monk to perform the funerary rites (hap bang
sakun), but when the monks hear it is for Puu Phraam, they do not want to go:

Pai nimon tuchao wat tai, Invited a monk from a southern temple,
ko bo mya he refused to return.
Pai nimon tuchao wat nya Invited a monk from a northern temple,
ko waa he said
 154 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

klua phii Puu Phraam lohk he feared Puu Phraam’s ghost would
haunt him.
Pai thang tawanohk, Went to the east [temple],
ko waa pen fohk who said he had ulcers.
Pai thang tawantok, Went to the west [temple],
ko waa khaa kradang. who said his legs were paralyzed.
Pai haa tuchao Lanchang, Went to find a monk in Lanchang,
ko bo pai who also refused.
Nimon tu chao Thai, Invited a central Thai monk
“mai pai yom. who said politely
Atthamaa mai pai” [refined voice]. “I will not go.” [laughter]54
They finally found a monk who was willing to go, named Tu Chiidok. But he
wasn’t much of a monk. He didn’t know how to do any of the blessings. When
he went begging, instead of having rice put into his bowl, he put his bowl into
their rice. He told people to take his cane. When he arrived at the funeral,
people were stunned. “What kind of a monk is this? He must be Puu Phraam’s
younger brother!” Others said, “Well, he’s wearing yellow robes. So what if he’s
fat? It’s not like he’s harming anyone else.”
The monk poked his stick in the pile of firewood a few times, poured some
lustral water and mumbled something or other, but he didn’t know any of the
chants. He hit the coffin55 and said “Fang tham nyy. Namo Puu Phraam daai la
phaophong wongsa. Listen Puu Phraam, listen to the dharma. You have died
and left your kin. Your spirit doesn’t have to remain here and worry about the
food and other offerings. You can leave those things for me. Kusalathamma
[Pali] a la la khaa ben netnaai . . . a la la la, my legs are getting numb.”
Then the monk gave the blessing to Puu Phraam, “kosakoodula Puu Phraam.
Hey, Puu Phraam, I will tell you the path to follow to heaven. Bend over with
your back to the heavens and your face looking toward hell [the reverse of the
usual chant]. If you fall and land in a good place, get up and get moving right
away. If you fall and land in a bad place, just stay there for a long time.” What
kind of a blessing was that! He really didn’t know what he was doing! If anyone
did a blessing like that for anyone else, people would chase him away from the
cemetery as fast as he could go. So then they cremated his body [ phao phii saak].56

This description of a funeral is at odds with many of the key ceremonial

features of the normal village ritual, most notably the suggestion that Jujaka go to
hell rather than the expected encouragement to pay respects to the Phrathaat
Chulamani in the heavens. In some northern versions, the tujok may invent
scenes typical of village funerals, in which some attendees play chess, some play
 Northern Thailand • 155

checkers, some play cards, some tell stories, some are doing nothing but chewing
miang and eating the royal feast, some beat gongs all night long, and some watch
the mahorasop entertainment (see, e.g., Prakong 1983, 27). With his death,
Jujaka’s role is over and the northern versions of the Vessantara Jataka return to
the Pali plotline.
The Jujaka character allowed tujok monks to make a wide variety of points,
centering on greed, jealousy, desire, and impermanence. Most monks noted the
obvious point that Jujaka is greedy and never satisfied; even when he has bags
of gold he wants more, and his unabashed greed ultimately leads to his death
from overeating. One monk said Jujaka also demonstrates the importance of
having children to take care of elderly parents since he was an old man without
extended family to take care of him. One monk praised Jujaka for being in-
dustrious and thrifty and for having a responsible plan for the future (Prakong
1983, 54). Because of his thrift, he was able to get a young, beautiful wife. Alter-
natively, wanting a young, beautiful wife led to his downfall. Other monks say
that Jujaka illustrates the Buddhist principle of impermanence because his
money did not last, his happiness with his wife was short-lived, and he ultimately
died (Prakong 1983, 54–59). Similarly, monks discuss the four pillars of Jujaka’s
wiggly, unstable house as being impermanent and made of the elements of air,
earth, water, and fire (Prakong 1983, 64). The village women demonstrate the
problems of jealousy. The thirty-two dogs are used to represent components of
our bodies such as the heart, lungs, kidney, and saliva, which are our enemies
since they get old (Prakong 1983, 66). It is even possible to say that Jujaka died
happy, his dreams of beautiful women and unlimited food having been met!
Thus, unlike other tellings that focused on Vessantara or Matsi, the northern
Thai versions placed a particular emphasis on Jujaka. Indeed, one tujok monk
explained to me that Jujaka was the key to understanding the jataka, saying, “In
the end I will say we have to understand the meaning of the brahmin, we have
to crack this shell. He is a form of the problem of desire. If we have much kilesa
[inappropriate mental attachments leading to greed, hatred, delusion, and the
like] we must keep being reborn in suffering, like the brahmin.”57

Village Morality in Everyday Life

The previous two sections have shown the importance of Jujaka in the perform-
ance of the Vessantara Jataka in the northern region. In contrast to analyses
that have emphasized the role of the Vessantara Jataka as a royalist panegyric,
an analysis of the northern performance that foregrounds Jujaka over Vessantara
suggests its importance as an engagement with the problems in everyday village
 156 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

life. In contradistinction to anthropologists who have suggested the jataka was

important to villagers for secular purposes such as rain-making, its more impor-
tant purpose seems to have been teaching the dharma through humor. Luang
Poh Bunthong’s humor drew upon a profound knowledge of village life, with
an earthiness and an overlay of a nostalgia for a life that was fading away. As
this section will show, primary emphasis is on the challenges facing villagers in
everyday life, particularly in three sets of social relationships that were important
historically—namely, those between husband and wife, parents and children,
and monks and novices.

Non-Royalist Egalitarian Ethos

The humor in the northern recensions draws upon everyday village life. As
Prakong finds in her textual analysis, the Lanna versions incorporate numerous
elements of local cultural practices (1983, 14). The delight villagers evidence in
their enjoyment of Jujaka’s adventures is in large part due to their recognition
of shared experiences. The Jujaka chapter itself provides opportunities for
references to village foods, village dress, everyday activities such as washing
clothes and fetching well water, and the foibles of villagers (e.g., the jealousy of
the village women toward Amitataa; Manee 1976, 319–20; Prakong 1983, 17–18).
Prakong suggests that northern texts are more interested in actions—who is
doing what, when, where, and with whom—than in poetic descriptions of
nature. For example, she notes that the description of nature that is twelve
lines long in the central Thai version of the Mahaphon chapter is only two lines
long in the Lanna versions (Prakong 1983, 74; see also Nidhi [1982] 2005, 13).58
The central Thai version, written by members of the court with the king
and other royalty and court officials as the intended audience, contains con-
siderable elegantly poetic words and a vocabulary associated with the language
of the royal court. Thai has a very complex system of pronouns, which become
even more intricate in royal court language. When addressing or referring to
the king, court language involved lengthy honorifics. Thus the word for “I”
becomes “the dust under the soles of your royal feet” (tai faa laohng thulii phra
baat). By contrast, the Lanna versions were written by commoners and monks
to preach to villagers and other commoners; the language in the northern
versions is simple, non-reverential, and easy to understand. In the northern
versions, the word for king is kept simple and may even be a single word (e.g.,
kasat). Villagers refer to themselves and each other as kuu and myyng, vocabulary
that is commonplace but viewed by non-northerners as vulgar. When he is
talking with Matsi, Vessantara calls himself simply husband (kuu phii ), using a
term that would seem shockingly colloquial in a court context (Prakong 1983,
 Northern Thailand • 157

76). Similarly, the northern references to Vessantara’s royal elephant are straight-
forward, whereas in the central Thai version the elephant becomes “the elephant
decorated with jewels sending shimmering rays for all to behold” (Prakong
1983, 73; for detailed comparisons of sample central and Lanna passages, see
Prakong 1983, 72–73).
Members of the royalty are not elevated but portrayed in no less earthy
terms than villagers. When Luang Poh Bunthong was describing Phusadi’s ten
wishes, which included her desire not to have breasts that sagged after her
pregnancies, he told several stories about the usefulness of sagging breasts,
which could be interpreted as even a critique of Phusadi’s wish for ever-perky
breasts. He prefaced his stories by apologizing to all the gods and goddesses and
everyone else listening to him, but adding, “It is in the text, so I’m in trouble if
I talk about this and I’m in trouble if I don’t.”59 Asking the audience, “Why did
she want this?” Luang Poh Bunthong continued:
You know the saying,

Phoh hang ko kaeo Stare at the figure, it’s perfect

Phoh aeo ko krom Stare at the waist, it’s round.
Pyyt phoh _____ [hua nom] But lift up _____ [the blouse]
Myyn thung yaa kae. [The breasts] are like medicine sacks.

Herbal doctors used to carry their medicines around in old sacks tied to
their waists. I was once preaching in a miang forest. An old lady came up to me
and said, “It’s just fine if they [breasts] hang. Why? Because if you are in the
forest gathering miang leaves and it starts raining and thundering, I can just stick
my cigarettes and matches under them and they’ll stay dry. Otherwise they’d
get wet. In there is like a little cupboard.” Everything has its own advantages and
disadvantages. They may not be beautiful to look at, but they are useful.
There was a mother pounding chili paste and her children were crying for
milk. She didn’t want her kids to come in front of her because she was afraid the
chilies might get in their eyes. But she could feed them from the back. Sort of like
plugging in an electric cord; it was a long cord too. They could just suck away.60

Similarly, Luang Poh Bunthong did not hesitate to compare Vessantara’s

premature birth by the roadside with a bowel movement:

Some people think it is not appropriate for royalty to deliver on the side of the
road. But labor is not something one can control; if the baby wants to be born,
that’s just the way it is. There are some things one just cannot control. Death is
one. You can’t tell someone, “Stop dying.” You can maybe prolong the death
 158 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

with oxygen or whatever, but that’s it. You can’t stop the death. Going to the
bathroom is another, particularly shitting. It’s impossible to stop it, no matter
who you are. Can even be dangerous. As they say,

Kin gaeng banam Eat squash stew

Jep thohng oi oi Get a small stomachache
Kin gaeng manoi Eat manoi stew
Mae man, mii nai kapfai? Wife, where are the matches?! [i.e., matches to go
outside to the toilet in the dark].

Even I’m the same way. There I am walking with my legs crossed, I have to
go so badly. Even my hair stands on end. When I can finally go, it just explodes.
I’m so happy. Take a few steps, whoops, have to go again. This is just not
something one can forbid.61

Husband-Wife Relations
Luang Poh Bunthong spent considerable time discussing problems in the rela-
tions between husbands and wives. Expanding on the jealousy of the men when
they saw how well Amitataa treated Jujaka, he commented in earthy terms:
“You know the saying, ‘Holding shit is better than holding a fart [kam khii dii
kwaa kam tot].’ You should praise your own wife, not someone else’s. Shit you
can smear on your face; you can’t do anything with a fart. If you complain
about your own wife and praise someone’s else, they will be upset. If you just
want to complain about something, that’s one thing, but don’t bring someone
else’s wife into the picture.”62
Even the scenes involving royalty are used as opportunities to discuss village
matters. In the scene where Matsi expressed her desire to accompany Vessantara
into the forest, Luang Poh Bunthong embarked on a lengthy digression about
relations between husbands and wives:

Are we like Phra Wetsandorn and Nang Matsi? Do we love each other and are
we willing to eat dirt and sand [kin din kin saaj, an expression referring to
enduring poverty and other hardships] together until we die? . . . At first people
swear they are willing to eat dirt and sand until they die, but after a few years
they are ready to eat kindling and pound brooms [kin lua dam yuu; i.e., throw
things at each other]. As the saying goes:

Yam mya hak nam som pen waan When in love, sour is sweet
Yam bocheeibaan, namtaan ko waa som. When miserable, sugar is sour.

Just like the old people say, “When in love, smiles all over.” Even though
there may be hundreds of people around, they only have eyes for one person. . . .
 Northern Thailand • 159

Youths . . . will happily take the girl wherever she wants to go. Or they will
walk their motorcycles alongside their girl. They walk her up to the front of her
home. But they don’t dare to go in; the old tiger [sya thao—i.e., the father]
might be waiting. They just hang around, until the girl has showered, gone to
bed, and turned out all the lights. Only then do they finally go home. As long as
the houselights are still on, they just stand there guarding the gate. “I was
worried whether you were all right.” As he goes home, he is thinking of her the
whole way back.
Once they are married, the wife can’t even get her husband to accompany
her to the kitchen to soak the rice overnight.63 Before he’d escort her wherever
she went. “Husband, please, I beg you. Will you go with me to the back of the
house?” “What, are you afraid of dying? Do you think some ghost is going to
strangle you on the way?” As they say, “Ton rak, dohk sok (soksaw)—the stem of
love, the flowers of misery.” At first they say, “I love you like the sky.” He might
even have it written on the back of his shirt. At first the boy is thephabutr [god];
the girl is thepthidaa [ goddess]. “Your skin smells so sweet. In this world there
is only you. I can’t live without you. If you die, I die.”
Then they get married and pretty soon the thephabutr is a monkey [i.e., a
deceitful bastard] and the thepthidaa is a dog [i.e., a bitch]. “Sya wohk thao, old
monkey. When will you meet with a fatal accident?”
There was once a woman who liked to drink. Her husband came home
drunk. “What, drunk again, old man [ puu thao],” she says angrily. He’s in a
good mood. He just says sweetly, “I brought a little home for you. Would you
like some?” “Of course,” she snarls.
If you curse at your husband and call him a monkey, how can you be a
thepthidaa? Since when did goddesses marry monkeys? Have you ever heard
them announce at the temple Mr. Monkey and Mrs. Goddess donate 20 baht?
If you call your husband a monkey, then you must be a monkey too. How could
it be otherwise? It must mean at night you are sleeping with a monkey. Your
children, whose children are they? That monkey’s!
The husband calls his wife a dog. Before she was a goddess, but now’s she
an old dog. And what are you if you call your wife a dog? Are you a god? You’re
a dog right along with your wife. Who steams your rice and makes your chili
paste? That dog! You’re eating your food together with a dog. The rice that dog
steamed is being offered to the monks. The monk doesn’t know anything about
your private affairs. So he’s not a dog. Why would he want to be a dog with
everyone else? So that’s what happens over time. At first they were all angels;
suddenly they are monkeys and dogs living together. . .
Everyone needs to be supported, both men and women. There are some
men who , when their wives make them dinner , have nothing good to say,
they
 160 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

complain that it is too spicy, too bland, too salty, too sweet. It doesn’t have to
be exactly to your liking. Then the wife is unhappy.
The same with men. When they come home, bring them cool water and a
cool towel to refresh themselves; then you can get whatever you want from
them. There are drunk husbands who stubbornly refuse to go home. Five, six
men can’t drag him through the door. But if his wife speaks sweetly and strokes
him gently, “Husband, come inside.” She has two fingers in his pantloops. It
doesn’t take much. She can just guide him into the house like one guides
chickens into the coop. But if you get mad at him out there, he’s likely to get
violent. Wait until he’s inside.64

Luang Poh Bunthong returned to this theme of husband-wife relations,

using the occasion of Matsi reassuring Vessantara when he was afraid of the
approaching army to encourage couples to be supportive of each other:
Mothers and fathers [ poh ohk mae ohk], learn from this. If one of you has a
problem, the other should reassure them. If the husband is sick, the wife should
take care of him. If the wife is sick, the husband should take care of her. Don’t
abandon each other when there are problems. . . .
Some couples are too much. The husband loses 100 baht, and two years
later the wife is still bringing it up. And another water pot is broken. “I said not
to bring it up.” There goes the water pot. There goes the water dipper. Let it
rest after it is over. No need to go over it again and again.
“The knife is chipped.” “Never mind. There are lots of people who can
repair it.” The next morning the husband finds the knife with the chip, “Hey,
who used my knife?” “But I told you about it last night.” “Well, I didn’t know
you meant the blade side.” And that’s how trouble starts. Be kind and considerate
of each other. Just like Phra Wessandorn and Nang Matsi.65

Parent and Child Relations

Luang Poh Bunthong also included stories about the problems between parents
and their children, particularly when the parents are elderly. One example is
about a son and his short-tempered father.

The story is as follows. If the father got mad with his son, he wouldn’t speak to
him for days at a time, sometimes seven to eight days at a stretch. Now, listeners,
this isn’t right. Parents and elders, all of you who have children, you must
remember that kids are still just kids and don’t know as much. If you get angry
with your kids and stop talking to them, then who will talk to them? As mothers
 Northern Thailand • 161

and fathers, you should be teaching your children. If they do something wrong,
then be democratic and have compassion. If you get angry, just be angry for a
short time. You are the adults and you should understand their feelings too. If
you stop talking, misunderstandings are likely to result. So this is the story of a
father who goes overboard, when he got angry he wouldn’t talk to his son for
weeks, even a month at a stretch.
One day the father wasn’t talking to his son because he was angry with
him. He and his son were sitting there, eating breakfast. [Laughs.] They were
eating breakfast together, but there was no conversation because the father
refused to talk to his son. The father was wearing his farmer pants [deo chador]
and squat-sitting on his haunches. But his pants had a rip, right in the crotch.
He was just sitting there eating, with all on display. The son didn’t know what
to do. He couldn’t say anything to his father, because his father wasn’t speaking
to him. He was afraid of his father’s reaction, because his father might get even
angrier with him. A good deed might not meet with a good ending.
But the son couldn’t concentrate, since every time he looked, there were his
father’s genitals in full view. What to do? He grabbed a stick and began talking
to it, saying, “Father, I’d like to poke it [ ji ].” The father didn’t respond; he just
kept on eating. The son repeated to the stick, “Boy, oh boy, I’d sure like to poke
it.” The father thought the son wanted to poke at some of the food. Finally he
couldn’t stand it and told his son, “So good ahead and poke it.” [Pause.] They
obviously were thinking about very different things. [Laughs.]
“You say you want to poke it, but you don’t. It’s not going anywhere.” The son
goes out to the kitchen and grabs a stick with roasted chilies on it. In those days
they ate on khandok [a raised tray]. The son put his stick under the khandok tray
and began poking, each time poking the stick further and further under the tray.
All of a sudden the father let out a scream, and fell backward. His legs
knocked over the tray and the food went flying. He stormed over to the water
pot, exclaiming, “See what kids are like these days.” He was really angry now.
So please remember, whoever is right or wrong, please talk it through. If you
don’t talk to your children, terrible things can happen.66

In Thailand, elderly parents remain in the care of their children, most

typically their youngest daughter. Very often there is tension. In the segment
depicting Jujaka’s efforts to be reborn, Luang Poh Bunthong described “people
who don’t think that there is anything about themselves they need to change,”
adding that “Puu Phraam was like this, so no one wanted to help him be reborn.”
He takes the moment to characterize old people who are always complaining
about the younger generation:
 162 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Not that I am criticizing old people around here; I’m talking about old people
far away. The old guy hasn’t even gotten out of bed and he is already grumbling,
baem baem baem. In the cold season, the kids are all sleeping peacefully, but he
calls them to wake up. When they don’t wake up, he’s angry, lamenting, “This
is so terrible. I just want to die [kuu khaj daai, yangnii lamlya].”

Kuu khaj daai I wish I were dead

Pen nok pen nuu To be a bird or mouse
Pai jap khing mai duu phoh suu To climb on a tree branch to watch
Suu ca luk myadai. To see when you will finally wake up.

But if he actually became a bird or mouse, the kids would probably shoot
him with their slingshots! Wherever they are, they complain. If they are
downstairs, they complain that it’s too dirty so they can’t sleep. All night they
grumble. So then someone helps them upstairs. They complain again that it’s
too dirty and they can’t sleep. They are tucked into their mosquito net in the
bedroom. The fan is turned on. And they still complain that they feel itchy.
Other people can sleep just fine. [Laughs.]67

In another scene, Luang Poh Bunthong does a riff on unidentified people

who are turning old people into fertilizer:
I’ve heard that old people have been made into fertilizer. So I’ve been told.
Depends on the season. In the rainy season and hot season, they don’t hunt
them. But during the cold season it is easy to hunt them. It’s hard to find them
in the hot and rainy season, but in the cold season they are all either sitting by
fires keeping warm or out sunning themselves to stay warm. So they catch them
and take them to the fertilizer factory. Once there, they have the old men go off
to the right and the old women off to the left. They use the old man fertilizer
for the slow growing trees, like lamyai, mango, linchee, durian, rangsat. The
old woman fertilizer is used for the fast growing annual crops like cabbage and
phak kaat [ greens]; that way they grow really fast. They [the crops] are tired of
hearing all the complaints and so they grow fast. They called it pui laeng, rapid
growth fertilizer, that’s all from the old lady fertilizer. From early morning,
they hear baem baem baem baem, complaining.68

Monk-Novice Relations
There is a wide repertoire of stories making fun of the relationships between
monks and novices. In the past many villagers ordained their sons as novices in
the village temple to ensure their education. The northern villagers’ respect for
 Northern Thailand • 163

the monastic order was reflected in the fact that monks who disrobed and
returned to village life carried the title Naan as part of their village name; villagers
who had once been novices were called Noi. With the rise of secular education
this tradition is fading away. Nonetheless, most villagers can still recall the
time when temples were full of novices, a time described to me by one former
novice when there were so many novices trying to eat at the same time that
they had to reach their arms in sideways. Inevitably the tensions between abbots
and novices created opportunities for comic descriptions. Most children were
sent to the temples to get an education, but problem children were sent to the
temple in the hope that the abbot could reform them. Luang Poh Bunthong
also made jokes about temple life, using the invented scenario of Jujaka being
an impossible child as the excuse for the diversion:

What is it about being a monk? We never get the good kids. The kids with
high IQ and lots of knowledge, the parents keep to raise themselves, paying
school fees, etc. The bad ones get sent to the temple. You’ve all heard parents
saying, “If you are this lazy, why don’t you go to the temple?” It’s like I’m supposed
to be the head of a party of the lazy. I don’t like to talk about this, because it’s
very personal. [Laughter.] . . .
Some parents scold their children, “Go to the temple if you just want to
sit around [sabaai yang tu].” But who says monks live well? They think just
because we don’t have to buy a home to live in or food to eat that monks live
well. I don’t disagree that this is true; I accept it like a man [luuk phuuchaai].
I don’t have a problem with rice; I have a problem with the other dishes.
Whatever the season, that is what we get. When it is phak la season, we eat
phak la the whole time. When it is bamboo season, we eat bamboo the whole
time. It’s not that it isn’t good, but it gets to be too much. The nutritionists say
that bamboo has no nutritional value; it’s mainly good roughage to get the
bowels moving. As I see it, bamboo shoots have no hormones. You can tell
from me, for example. I’ve eaten lots of bamboo shoots and I just get balder and
balder.69 In phak kaat season, it is nothing but phak kaat. Nowadays, ever since
we started having local agricultural officers [kaset tambon], we get phak kaat all
year. They call it Green Siam [khiaw Sayam]. Today it was khiaw sayam sai muu
hippii [ greens with hippy pork]. If you are wondering what hippy pork is, it is
pork with pigskin that they never finished removing all the hairs from. The
long hairs are still hanging there.
There was once a central Thai monk. . . . The village headman decided he
wanted to get rid of the monk. But he didn’t want to be too obvious about it.
What to do? He went around to all the villagers and told them, “This monk is
 164 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

like the others. He loves phak kaat joh [a classic village dish, greens boiled with
tamarind seeds]. If everyone makes him phak kaat joh, he will stay with us a
long time.” So all seventy households made phak kaat joh to send to the temple,
seventy platefuls, thirty-five for breakfast, thirty-five for lunch. The next day
another seventy, the day after another seventy.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He had the novices form a barrier in front of
the temple. Each held a large stick. . . . Pretty soon a grandmother arrived, having
specially made phak kaat joh to send to the temple. “Stop! (Like in the boxing
shows). What dish have you prepared?” She got nervous. She had never seen
the novices holding clubs and had never been asked what dish she had made.
She put the phak kaat joh on the ground and wailed, replying, “Buu khiew hang
dohk [flowering phak kaat].” The monk thought she must mean chicken khiew
hang dok, the kind of chicken with the white tail feathers. So he thought, “Ah,
this must be chicken. . . .” The grandmother delivered her dish and scurried off
home. The monk was all excited, he could finally eat chicken. He opened the
lid. It was phak kaat joh again. . . .
There are people who are just good at making things sound good. There
was a grandmother who felt sorry for the monks who were always having to eat
phak kaat. One day she was heading to temple and she passed two children also
on their way to temple. She asked them what they were bringing. The one said
“phak kaat joh” and the other said “kaeng phak kaat [boiled greens].” “Oh dear,
the poor monk. You’re both bringing phak kaat. Why don’t you think of
bringing something else?” So they asked her what she was bringing. She replied,
“Nam phrik nam phak! ” [Laughter.] In other words, just another form of phak
kaat. If you ask what it is made from, it is phak kaat, just condensed so the
flavor is even more intense. [Laughter.]
So that’s what they mean when they say, “Living the easy life of a monk
[sabaai yang tu].” You don’t have to buy rice or find a place to live. But just try
it. Come and live like a monk. The abbot has nothing to give you, beyond just
teaching you reading and writing. The monk teaches, k kha ka kha nga [northern
alphabet]. The student copies him, k kha kapka nga. [Laughter at the mistake.]
As they say:

Yuu kap tu kap phra If you live with monks and novices
Dai kin im kin taem You can eat until you’re full
Kin kaeng ho kap khao yen You can eat kaeng ho with cold rice
Bo chai khaa uu en I’m not bragging
Tot dang bang bang. With loud farts, bang, bang.
[in a singing chant]70
 Northern Thailand • 165

At another point, Luang Poh Bunthong told another story about a village
abbot’s efforts to teach some village boys a lesson:
There was a group of children who kept gambling in the temple. The abbot
told them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen. So finally the abbot asked one of
the temple boys to put bakhang [ plant seeds known as a laxative] into a water
pot [nam ton] and give it to the boys to drink. When it hit them, the group of
children scattered, all looking for the bathroom. One bold boy was angry. He
pointed his finger at the abbot and said, “You’re evil.” The abbot remained
calm and said, “Why do you say I’m evil? Don’t just stand there pointing your
finger at me. Come over and sit down and let’s talk it over calmly.” The boy
came over. But as he began to squat, he cried, “Oh no, I have to go again.”71

Hidden Transcripts: Hints of Politics

Inverting the focus from Vessantara to Jujaka enables a very different reading
of the Vessantara Jataka, resulting not in an idealized panegyric to virtuous
royalty but a realistic engagement with villagers facing moral challenges in
everyday village life. At this point in our analysis, we have learned of significant
variations in the interpretations of the Vessantara Jataka in each of the three
regions. We have traced Jujaka from his least comic role in the central region to
his most fully elaborated role in the northern region. We can see humor gained
from wordplay, from incongruous references to pop culture, and from bawdy,
scatological, and sexual references.
While there is considerable humor to be found in these quotidian tensions,
it is difficult to understand why the Bangkok court would have been upset by
monks using humorous parables to teach moral principles. The northern ver-
sions are bawdy, but why would the court be so concerned? Had the Bangkok
court developed Victorian prudishness to the degree that peasant humor
shocked them? If the court was worried about European audiences, then why
bother about bawdy humor in remote upcountry villages, spoken in dialects
that few Europeans understood? The analysis of northern humor described in
this chapter begins to provide some flesh to Charles Keyes’s summary of the
Vessantara Jataka as providing “moral models for the most important social
relationships: those of father and child, husband and wife, mother and child,
ruler and subject, world-renouncers and people who remain in the world”
(1987, 181). But we have not considered one of these social relationships: the
relationship between ruler and subjects. The politics is still missing.
Given the long-standing sensitivity of discussing politics, be it in the earlier
times of absolute monarchy or in the more modern periods of military rule, it is
 166 • Part I: Diversity in Humor

Table 1. A regional comparison of the Vessantara Jataka

Central Northeast North

Frequency Declining Annual Rare

Calendar During Lent; Not during Lent; Not during Lent;

often Wan Sart, always Bun Pha Wet often Dyan Yii Paeng
or Wan Thewo. (northeastern month 4). (northern month 2).
July–October circa March circa November

Duration of recitation Several days/weeks Within 24 hours Within 24 hours

Number of monks 1–10 (average) 40–50 13

Individual chapter Novice ordination No Funerals

recitations (former times) Housewarmings

Lay sponsors Reservations/Lots Reservations/Lots Birth years

Processions Yes, in the past; Yes; Upakut, Vessantara, No, except tujok;
chapter offerings thousand balls of rice, kan lon but developing now

Key symbols Boat Scroll Maze

Sea of suffering Trip from forest Trip to forest

Key chapters Multiple, Nakornkan Jujaka

especially Kumarn

Portrayal of Jujaka Not humorous; Ambivalent; Very humorous;

frightening, though vaudevillian humor beloved trickster
sometimes deified

perhaps not surprising that we find less explicit engagement with the subject of
peasant-court relations in either their ideal or actual forms. If discussions of
royalty were salient but politically sensitive, we need to consider the extent to
which performances were “hidden transcripts” (Scott 1990). Phrased in sim-
plest terms, was the village reading non-royalist, pro-royalist or anti-royalist?
To fully explore the possibility of implied resonances of the Vessantara Jataka
for not merely a non-royalist interpretation but an anti-royalist reading, we
need to consider more of the historical sociocultural context in which villagers
listened to the jataka. As the next chapter will suggest, the court may have been
concerned less with the scatological humor and more with the resonances of
the ex-novice Jujaka with the trickster humor of the ex-novice Siang Miang.
 Part II

The Politics of
Diversity
 4

Jujaka as Tr ickster
The Peasant Imaginaire

When the portrayals in central, northeastern, and northern Thailand are

compared, Jujaka’s importance as a comedic character emerges most clearly in
the northern Thai performances of the Vessantara Jataka. The robust humor in
these northern performances makes informed speculation about its historical
political sensitivity possible. The northern portrayal of Jujaka bears much in
common with the trickster, a well-known figure in Thai folklore. Mocking
peasants, monks, and monarchs, the figure of the trickster opens up new possi-
bilities for insight into the peasant imaginaire, into the political consciousness
of villagers.1 Although the court was unlikely to be upset if peasants mocked
their own failings or those of local monks, it was likely to be worried about
anti-royalist humor. Some scholars have portrayed the Vessantara Jataka as a
pro-royalist text, but if we focus on the figure of Jujaka, the northern textual
versions and performances emerge as potential vehicles for the covert expres-
sion of anti-royalist sentiments. Recognizing Jujaka as a type of trickster, under-
standing the peasantry’s traditionally negative views toward the court, realizing
the ever-present threat of revolt, and comprehending the widespread belief in
the Maitreya Buddha—all help to explain why the court sought to suppress
comedic recitations of the Vessantara Jataka.2
I divide this chapter into four sections. The first section draws parallels be-
tween Jujaka and other trickster figures and notes the cross-regional popularity
of tricksters in Thailand. The second section describes the highly negative atti-
tude villagers had toward ruling lords and officials. The third section high-
lights the importance of beliefs in Maitreya and the frequency of millenarian
revolts in mainland Southeast Asia. The fourth section considers the evidence
of the northern performances as “hidden transcripts” expressing anti-royalist

169
 170 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Figure 13. Jujaka in tree surrounded by Jetabutr’s dogs. Temple mural scene of Chulaphon chapter,
showing Jujaka up in the tree. Painted by Pramote Sriphrom in 2006. Wat Niramit, Amphur Dansai,
Loei Province, July 2009. Photo by author.

sentiments (Scott 1992). When performances of the Vessantara Jataka are under-
stood as implied critiques of earthly kings rather than homages, the court’s desire
to suppress comedic recitations becomes understandable. The court’s reaction
can be seen not merely as a show of deference to bourgeois morality but also as
a response to perceived threats to its political security.

Tr icksters as Moral Distance

Although tricksters are characterized in a variety of ways, the American Folklore
website provides a good summary of the key elements. As can be seen, Jujaka
shares these major characteristics: “A Trickster is a mischievous or roguish figure
in myth or folklore who typically makes up for physical weakness with cunning
and subversive humor. The Trickster alternates between cleverness and stupid-
ity, kindness and cruelty, deceiver and deceived, breaker of taboos and creator
of culture.”3
 Jujaka as Trickster • 171

Across all three regions, Jujaka is portrayed as old and ugly. While in central
Thailand his ugliness is intended to evoke revulsion, in northern Thailand his
homeliness is so exaggerated as to evoke a comic reaction. As Henri Bergson
notes, while humor always depends on the comic figure having some resem-
blance to human characteristics, it also involves distancing in the form of
physical caricaturing. Remarking that “laughter has no greater foe than emo-
tion,” Bergson suggests the comic is dependent on an “an absence of feeling”
(2005, 2). As he explains: “I do not mean that we could not laugh at a person
who inspires us with pity, for instance, or even with affection, but in such a case
we must, for the moment, put our affection out of court and impose silence
upon our pity. . . . To produce the whole of its effect, then, the comic demands
something like a momentary anesthesia of the heart. Its appeal is to intelligence,
pure and simple” ([1911] 2005, 2–3). Like other comic figures, Jujaka “is generally
comic in proportion to his ignorance of himself. The comic person is uncon-
scious. As though wearing the ring of Gyges with reverse effect, he becomes
invisible to himself while remaining visible to all the world” (Bergson [1911]
2005, 8). However, despite comedy’s focus on the physical, “it is the moral side
that is concerned” (Bergson [1911] 2005, 25). This distancing made possible by
the descriptions of Jujaka’s physical form allows the audience to laugh at Jujaka’s
exploits, even while recognizing a common humanity in their shared desires for
wealth and happiness.
Paul Radin describes the trickster as “an inchoate being of undetermined
proportions” who mixes laughter with irony such that “it is difficult to say
whether the audience is laughing at him, at the tricks he plays on others, or at
the implications his behaviour and activities have for them” ([1956] 1972, xxiv).
Similarly, Bergson suggests, “Laughter ‘corrects men’s manners.’ It makes us at
once endeavour to appear what we ought to be” ([1911] 2005, 9). By following
Jujaka in his quest for wealth and happiness, the audience can contemplate the
consequences of unfettered desires. As Bergson explains: “Look closely: you
will find that the art of the comic poet consists in making us so well acquainted
with the particular vice, in introducing us, the spectators, to such a degree of
intimacy with it, that in the end we get hold of some of the strings of the mario-
nette with which he is playing, and actually work them ourselves” ([1911] 2005, 8).
However, not only is Jujaka teaching the audience through his unconscious
and uncontrolled greed; he is also making Vessantara’s path to Buddhahood
and the salvation of humanity possible. In this manner, the anthropological
literature on the figure of the trickster provides helpful insights into the role
Jujaka plays in the Vessantara Jataka. As Radin explains, “Trickster is at one
 172 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

and the same time creator and destroyer, giver and negator, he who dupes others
and who is always duped himself. He wills nothing consciously. At all times he
is constrained to behave as he does from impulses over which he has no control.
He knows neither good nor evil yet he is responsible for both. He possesses no
values, moral or social, is at the mercy of his passions and appetites, yet through
his actions all values come into being” ([1956] 1972, xxiii).
In his discussion of tricksters, Lewis Hyde notes that “all tricksters are ‘on
the road.’” Similarly, through many of the chapters in the Vessantara Jataka,
Jujaka is on the road, traveling through villages, towns, forests, and, finally, the
palace. But he belongs in none of them. As Hyde explains:
Tricksters are the lords of in-between. A trickster does not live near the hearth;
he does not live in the halls of justice, the soldier’s tent, the shaman’s hut, the
monastery. He passes through each of these when there is a moment of silence,
and he enlivens each with mischief, but he is not their guiding spirit. . . . The
road that trickster travels is a spirit road as well as a road in fact. He is the
adept who can move between heaven and earth, and between the living and
the dead. . . .
In short, trickster is a boundary-crosser. Every group has its edge, its sense
of in and out, and trickster is always there, at the gates of the city and the gates
of life, making sure there is commerce. . . . Trickster is the mythic embodi-
ment of ambiguity and ambivalence, doubleness and duplicity, contradiction
and paradox. (1998, 6–7)

Hyde also notes that “tricksters are ridden by lust, but their hyperactive
sexuality almost never results in any offspring, the implication being that the
stories are above non-procreative creativity” (1998, 8). This is certainly true of
Jujaka: he is ridden by lust for his beautiful young wife, but their marriage is
childless. Yet in his quest to satisfy his wife, Jujaka enables Vessantara to com-
plete his quest to reach enlightenment. As Hyde explains, “in spite of all their
disruptive behavior, tricksters are regularly honored as the creators of culture”
(1998, 8). The trickster is amoral, not immoral, and represents “the paradoxical
category of sacred amorality” (Hyde 1998, 10). It is easy to see the parallels
between Jujaka and Hyde’s explanation of the role of Coyote in Navajo stories.
Not only do both figures make people laugh, but “they teach people how to
behave.” In the vicarious pleasure people have in watching Coyote break rules
lies also “a potentially fruitful fantasizing, too, for listeners are invited, if only
in imagination, to scout the territory that lies beyond the local constraints”
(Hyde 1998, 12).
 Jujaka as Trickster • 173

Like other tricksters, Jujaka is not a normal person; he violates normal

cultural expectations. He is a contradiction as both a beggar and a Brahmin.
He is a poor beggar who has been able to acquire considerable wealth. He is an
ugly old man, but he nonetheless is able to gain a beautiful young wife. Like
other tricksters who are “on the road,” Jujaka is a wandering beggar. To the
extent he has a home, he has no living kin beyond Amitataa. His house with its
four stilts and pillows made from chicken droppings is impoverished to the
point of absurdity. In the course of his venture into the sacred forest, he is able
to outwit two royal guardians and find his way to where Vessantara and his
family are residing under the watchful eye of the god Indra. Jujaka’s long
journey ultimately leads him from his village home to the splendor of life
within the palace walls, an area to which no villagers—let alone beggars—
would normally gain access.
Like other tricksters, Jujaka is amoral rather than immoral. His desires for
money, a beautiful wife, and delicious foods are human and understandable;
however boundless his desires may be, they are not motivated by any malicious
intent. To keep his one bond with a fellow human—his wife, Amitataa—he is
willing to do all her domestic chores. His desire for Vessantara’s two children is
not for his own sake but in response to his wife’s difficulties. Jujaka is at once
clever and stupid. He is stupid enough to leave his gold with another person,
yet clever enough to gain a young wife. He outwits royal guardians on his way
into the forest. He even outwits Vessantara into giving him the children before
Matsi returns, but he is too oblivious to know the angels are caring for the two
children and too befuddled to find his way home, a hapless victim of divine
intervention.
Jujaka provides a bridge between the village and the palace, between the
earthly and heavenly worlds. The human village realm is ruled by desire, greed,
jealousy, and anger; the sacred forest realm is characterized by self-restraint,
generosity, and detachment. Jujaka bridges these two stylized extremes in a
way that no normal person ever could. A normal person who is old and poor
would not be likely to marry at all, let alone acquire a dutiful young wife; a
normal person would not seek a prince’s children to be his servants; a normal
person would not be able to trick royal guardians, survive an attack by wild
dogs, or gain entrance into the palace. A normal person would also not die from
overeating. Jujaka’s desire to please his young wife leads to his destruction; yet
from his desire for Vessantara’s children, all mankind gains the possibility of
salvation. In the course of his journey, he teaches us all that the moderation of
the Middle Path should guide us through our lives.
 174 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Tricksters as Anti-Monarchical Folk Heroes

Mainland Southeast Asian folklore is rife with trickster tales. Among the best-
known tricksters are the so-called Siang Miang (also transliterated as Xieng
Mieng) tales in northeastern and northern Thailand and the Sri Thanonchai
stories in central Thailand.4 In these sets of folktales, the primary tension lies
in the relations between the trickster and a king, representing in a distanced
form the relations between the peasantry and the court. Siang Miang is a peasant
folk hero who conquers officialdom through wit, guile, and deceit; he thereby
enables villagers to become “vicarious victors over their rulers” (Klausner 1993,
90). As William Klausner explains:
The Siang Miang tales provide psychological release for the frustrations
and antagonisms of a peasantry subject to the arbitrary power of the ruling
aristocracy. Not only does Siang Miang challenge and ridicule authority, he
emerges victorious in the battle of wits with the ruling establishment. He also
proves to be indispensable to the rulers who must rely on his peasant cunning
and genius to solve problems of state e.g. in administering outlying regions.
Unable even to challenge their rulers, the villagers seek an understandable
release in the accomplishments of the bold and artful Siang Miang. (1993,
90–91)

Trickster Tales in Northern and Northeastern Thailand

A few examples from the tales of Siang Miang will help to elucidate the manner
in which the trickster figure provides vicarious pleasure and psychological
release through humor. The trickster’s name derives from the Lao word for a
former novice, namely siang, and miang (mieng), a type of fermented tea par-
ticularly popular in northern Thailand. Although some storytellers begin before
his earthly birth, others often begin with his escapades as a mischievous young
novice. One day the novice tricks some merchants out of their stash of miang.
When the king hears of these antics, he tells the novice that he must disrobe
and gives him his new nickname, Siang Miang. Of course, his pranks only
continue. As we have seen in both the northern and northeastern embellish-
ments to the Vessantara Jataka, Jujaka is given a fabricated history as a novice
who creates so many problems that the abbot expels him from the temple.
In one typical story, the king wished to gain revenge for all the tricks played
on him by Siang Miang. So the king passed wind several times into a bamboo
container and sealed it tightly shut. He ordered one of his officials to take the
container to Siang Miang and have him unseal the gift and smell it. The king
 Jujaka as Trickster • 175

gave detailed instructions how to reach Siang Miang’s home. After traveling
for some time, the official approached Siang Miang’s village and asked a villager,
who happened to be Siang Miang himself, where he could find Siang Miang.
Siang Miang asked the official why he was looking for this villager. The official
replied that the king had passed wind into the bamboo container he held and
that Siang Miang was going to be tricked into opening and smelling it. Siang
Miang shook his head and remarked that the official had come a long way and
surely the wind in the bamboo had evaporated and the smell was gone. The
official worriedly opened the container and sniffed the full fragrance of his
master’s wind (Klausner 1993, 93).
In another story, the king and Siang Miang went for a picnic by a pond in
the forest. After lunch, the king decided to issue a challenge to Siang Miang,
saying that if Siang Miang could trick him into going into the pond, Siang
Miang could ride his horse back. Siang Miang replied, “Your Majesty, you are
much cleverer than I. You know that I cannot trick you into going into the
pond. . . . But, Your Majesty, if you go into the pond I can trick you into getting
out of the pond.” The king accepted the challenge and walked into the pond.
Siang Miang sat down by the pond. After eating all the mangoes, he took a nap:
“Xieng Mieng! I am in the pond! Now trick me into coming out of the
pond!”
Xieng Mieng woke from his sleep. He yawned and stretched.
“It is getting late, Your Majesty. I must go back now. I cannot trick you to
come out of the pond. Since you will be staying in the pond, you will not have
any need for your horse. So I know it won’t be a problem if I ride it back.”
Xieng Mieng mounted the king’s beautiful white horse.
“Wait! You tricked me again! Wait!” said the king as he watched a laughing
Xieng Mieng go galloping away. (Epstein 1995, 61–63)

In another story, titled “Siang Miang’s Revenge,” the king again seeks
retribution. This story appears to have been particularly popular because it is
painted on a temple mural at Wat Pathumwanaram, in Bangkok.5 In this story,
the king has invited Siang Miang to the palace. Complimenting Siang Miang
on his cleverness, the king says to him, “I have invited you to the palace for a
special dinner to celebrate your triumph. I have asked the royal cooks to prepare
a special curry in your honor.” The king’s servants bring out the tray of food
and Siang Miang eats away. The next morning Siang Miang returns to the
palace. The king asks him how he enjoyed the meal and has him guess what
the ingredients in the curry were. Laughing at his trick, he informs Siang
Miang that he has just eaten vulture.
 176 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

A few weeks later the populace was invited to the palace to discuss plans for
civic improvement. There was a large blackboard in the front of the room:
The king picked up a piece of chalk to draw on the blackboard.
But, for some reason, the chalk would not write.
“Lick the chalk, Your Majesty,” suggested Xieng Mieng, “then the chalk
will write.”
The king licked the chalk. He tried writing on the blackboard but it still
did not write.
“Lick it again, Your Majesty,” said Xieng Mieng.
The king licked the chalk again and tried to write on the blackboard but
still it would not write.
Xieng Mieng picked up the piece of chalk and examined it closely.
“Oh, Your Majesty, there has been a terrible mistake. This is not chalk.
This is a vulture dropping. Your Majesty, how did it taste?” (Epstein 1995, 53–56)

Trickster Tales in Central Thailand

Like the Siang Miang trickster stories that were widely known in northeastern
and northern Thailand, the same genre of stories was told in central Thailand,
with Sri Thanonchai as the trickster. Sri Thanonchai, believed to date from the
Ayutthayan period (1350–1767), is the peasant-born trickster hero who employs
guile, wordplay, and wit to best everyone he encounters, including the king. In
addition to “a keen Thai appreciation of the ridiculous and absurd,” Mechai
Thongthep suggests that “common folk derived considerable vicarious pleasure
from the ways the impudent hero irreverently challenged and bested officialdom,
rich fools and foreigners with native intelligence, bluff and deception” (1991, 9).
Sri Thanonchai was a prime example of someone neither cowed nor awed by
authority or by seemingly towering intellect. Moreover, such anecdotes demon-
strated how it was possible, employing lively wit, to talk oneself out of almost
any threatening, oppressive, or inherently disadvantageous situation. As Mechai
explains, in a society where heavy-handed authority was not uncommon, “failure
to obey commands guaranteed, at least, subsequent rebuke, perhaps even physi-
cal abuse. On a personal level, little could be more immediately gratifying than
literally obeying commands to the visible detriment of authorities issuing
them” (1991, 11).
Like the Siang Miang tales, the Sri Thanonchai stories begin with the
trickster’s childhood. Following his parents’ instructions to keep his brother
clean, Sri Thanonchai kills his younger brother while cleaning him inside and
out. He then ordains as a novice, has further misadventures, and is eventually
 Jujaka as Trickster • 177

expelled from the temple. After further escapades, he eventually becomes a

courtier. A story from the Sri Thanonchai series will help to elucidate the
parallels with the Siang Miang trickster tales. Shortly after Sri Thanonchai is
presented to the court, he is able to build a house out of gold wood (thong lang).
He begins to neglect his court duties. The king dispatches royal guards to bring
him to court. Sri Thanonchai dons his courtly attire and goes to the palace:
The King berated him, “Luang Sri, you’ve been absent for several days.”
“If it please Your Majesty, I did not miss work through laziness. I have just
built myself a house of gold. I needed to guard it against thieves.”
The king was skeptical and said if he was lying, he would be beheaded. The
king and his retinue arrive at Sri Thanonchai’s house and saw no trace of gold.
The king angrily exclaimed, “That’s nothing but a house made from Thong
Lang wood [wood from a goldwood tree].”

On uttering those words, the king realized he had been tricked. When the
king returned to the palace, he immediately summoned the court ladies. He
told them to go to Luang Sri’s new house and befoul it with excrement to repay
his impudence:

The ladies immediately departed to Sri Thanonchai’s ‘golden’ house. There Sri
Thanonchai endured a symphony of sounds and stenches as the women squatted
everywhere to defecate, fart, and urinate at will. The dwelling smelled foul, yet
Sri Thanonchai dared not obstruct or oppose them, for they obeyed the King’s
orders.
Unless . . .
Suddenly, it seemed Sri Thanonchai had gone mad. He beat the squatting
women, chasing them outside until they fled screaming, clothing in disarray,
from his house back to the palace.
The King immediately had guards fetch Sri Thanonchai.
“How dare you, Luang Sri? We ordered these ladies to soil your house as
punishment. Yet you dare inflict injury upon them without taking heed of our
orders!”
“Your Majesty, I acted because they disobeyed you.”
“What? Explain!”
“They defecated, sire.”
“As they were ordered,” [the king replied] testily.
“And urinated. And farted. And befouled the air. Such disobedience could
not go unpunished, no matter how minor or trivial the offence might seem.”
The King listened with a sinking heart.
 178 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

“Otherwise, people would take such disobedience as an example. Your

Majesty’s words would no longer be law.”
The King gritted his teeth and relented. “You are right. The ladies exceeded
their instructions. You may go.” (Mechai 1991, 36–38)

Like both Siang Miang and Sri Thanonchai, northern tujok monks invented
adventures for Jujaka as a child and as a novice that appear to have drawn on
these trickster stories. We saw echoes of this early life history in the northeastern
portrayals of Jujaka as well. Kicked out of the temple, Jujaka sets off on his
journey as a beggar, tricking royal guardians and ultimately being feted in
grand style in the palace.

Histor ical Northern Village Attitudes toward Royalty

To understand the emotional resonance of these trickster tales among Thai vil-
lagers on a historical level, some background on the nineteenth- and twentieth-
century political economy and peasant political consciousness is needed. If
the nineteenth century saw isolated peasant revolts, the twentieth century saw
the rise of a sustained, armed guerilla struggle led by the Communist Party of
Thailand, which reached its peak in the 1960s and 1970s. Village surveys during
this period revealed significant problems of debt, poverty, and landlessness. A
1968 survey of the National Statistical Office reported that 4 million out of
5 million farming families were in debt (Morell and Samudavanija 1981, 209).
Figures from a 1971–73 survey provided by the National Statistical Office
showed that 34.9 percent of rural households in the central plains; 45.2 per-
cent of households in the south; 63.6 percent of households in the north; and
74.7 percent of households in the northeast were living below the poverty level,
earning less than $300 per year (Turton 1978, 108). According to figures from
the Land Development Department, 48 percent of Thailand’s 5.5 million agri-
cultural households owned 16 percent of the cultivated land (Turton 1978, 111).
In the village where I lived, of a total of some 400 households surveyed in the
1970s, 40 percent were completely landless and worked as wage laborers.6

Of Poverty and Beggars

Peasant poverty has been a long-standing problem throughout Thailand. Carle
Zimmerman undertook the first formal survey of rural landholdings in 1930;
his survey found that 36 percent of villagers in the central plain were landless,
27 percent of villagers in the north, 18 percent in the northeast, and 14 percent
in the south (1931, 18; see also Andrews 1935). Newspaper, consular, and
 Jujaka as Trickster • 179

missionary accounts for the northern region in the early twentieth century
contain frequent reports of widespread famine. A report in 1907 indicates,
“The scarcity of paddy would, at present, however, appear to be general in the
North of Siam” (BTWM, September 18, 1907). In 1910 there are again reports
of “a great deal of suffering throughout the country on account of the scarcity
of rice” (BTWM, October 16, 1910). In Chiang Rai, a correspondent notes
“misfortune in several recent harvests” and writes that “famine has become a
reality,” explaining, “[the people] do not have food to enable them to carry on
till the harvest. Many were living on roots and green herbs, and others were
going heavily into debt to provide food” (BTWM, November 7, 1910).7 Poor
harvest “estimated at one seventh of a good harvest” was reported again in
Lampang in 1912, with a longtime resident noting that Lampang had been in a
“semi-famine condition year after year” (BTWM, August 18, 1912; BTWM,
September 17, 1912).8 Also in Phrae, a reporter notes the “almost famine-like
condition of the past two years due to lack of water” (BTWM, February 13,
1913). By April 1914, famine was widespread in Lampang; as the Laos News
reports, “The famine in Lakawn [Lampang] this year is most distressing. . . .
The people in many places are living only on roots, which they obtain in the
forest. In their weakened condition they are victims of fever and many die”
(quoted in BTWM, July 2, 1914).
Although the Chiang Mai Valley generally produced sufficient rice, the
1911 crop there was described as “a 66 per cent crop,” and British Vice Consul
Gorton notes “great scarcity” in Maehongsorn, Lampang, Phrae, and Nan as
well (BTWM, October 2, 1912). A report from Lamphun in 1913 notes that “for
several years past, the local rainfall has been exceedingly scanty, and the plain
east of the city which is dependent upon that gives little prospect of a crop.
Much of it has absolutely no water” (BTWM, September 4, 1913). In October
1915, east of Lamphun city “all the rice that is dependent on local rains is in bad
shape. Much of it has not even been planted, and the same is true of some parts
of the Me Ta valley” (BTWM, October 30, 1915). A subsequent account in
September 1918 suggests continuing hardships in Lamphun, the correspondent
having met a family en route to Chiang Rai “as there was not enough water
down there to permit the ploughing of the fields” (BTWM, September 3, 1918).9
Accounts of the nineteenth-century rural economy are harder to find, but
Hugh Taylor, a missionary working in Lampang, provides a moving account of
1892, when famine was widespread. The shortage of food was so severe that
villagers were even begging for coconut husks to chop up and mix with whatever
rice they had in order to fill their stomachs. As a stunning index of desperation,
the price of coconut husks—in normal times used as kindling—rose to the
 180 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

price of four pounds of rice in ordinary times (Taylor Mss, 114). Hugh Taylor,
who had organized some relief work, said, “We had to post a guard to keep the
people from crowding in on us too hard . . . sifting the starving from the merely
hungry” (Taylor Mss, 113). Taylor continues: “Yes, they were starving. More
than three score starved to death in the next village down the river from us. . . .
The Elders and Evangelists who were sent out to follow up those who had
received help reported finding dead bodies in deserted houses. They set fire to
the houses and cremated the bodies. They found village wells filled with starved
bodies that the neighbors were too weak to bury” (Taylor Mss, 114).10
While famines of this severity were perhaps not the norm, evidence for the
general extent of agrarian poverty is provided by oral histories. In the course of
my interviews in 1984–86, I routinely asked elderly villagers throughout the
Chiang Mai Valley if people in their villages had fallen short of rice in the past,
and if so, for how many months out of the year. Of a total of 273 villages about
which I have information, 96.7 percent of villages had at least some households
who fell short of rice for at least two or three months each year. In nearly half
(48.7 percent) of the villages, the majority of households fell short of rice at least
two or three months each year. The significance of these figures is heightened
when one considers the fact that relative to other regions of Thailand, the
Chiang Mai Valley is one of the most fertile rice-producing areas in the country.
Repeated in numerous interviews was a sense of relentless poverty forcing
villagers to unceasing industry. Villagers often traveled long distances to find
work or food. Of life in the past, villagers often commented, “Bo dai yuu, bo dai
yang,” “Couldn’t rest, couldn’t stop.” As one woman (age seventy-nine in 1985)
explained, “In the past no matter how tired or lazy one felt, one had no choice
but to work.” She continued, citing an old saying:

Bo ook baan, ko bo dai kin If one didn’t leave the house, one didn’t eat.
Bo soo, ko bo dai kin If one didn’t search, one didn’t eat.
Bo luk, thong ko hong If one didn’t get up, the stomach would soon
cry out.11

In the context of village life, beggars are sympathetic figures. As I have

noted elsewhere, in all my years in the countryside, I never heard a villager say
anything derogatory about a rural beggar (see Bowie 1998). As one villager
explained to Konrad Kingshill, “One priest told us that the Lord Buddha taught
that we should present gifts to all living creatures, not only to priests, but also
to other people who are in need, or even to animals. Thus merit can be made by
 Jujaka as Trickster • 181

giving gifts to anyone” (1976, 192). Whenever a beggar came to homes in the
village where I lived, whoever was home would immediately get a bowl of un-
milled rice from the kitchen. Before pouring rice into the beggar’s bag, the
villagers first removed their shoes. They then held the bowl above their heads
briefly and then poured it into the beggar’s bag, paralleling the way villagers
make offerings to monks. Indeed, the word bhikkhu, a formal term for monks,
is often translated as “beggar.”

Of Northern Lords
In contrast with village sympathy for beggars, village attitudes toward lords
were overwhelmingly negative. In the over five hundred interviews I conducted
during the 1980s in northern Thailand, I did not encounter a single informant
who spoke positively of the nineteenth-century ruling northern lords (chao). In
response to my general question “What was life like in the old days, in the days
of the lords?” villagers often responded with a narrative. The story usually was
prefaced by the remark “In those days the lords had absolute power.” The most
frequently told stories generally centered on a fairly limited range of topics, all
with a similar theme. These narratives, divided by theme, included the following:
water dipper stories, the shooting oxen stories, confiscation stories, portering
stories, and concubine stories.
WATER DIPPER STORIES
Many villagers told a variation on what I gloss as “the water dipper story.”12
Although the story varied, the basic structure of the story was as follows: There
are two water dippers, a large one and a small one, placed next to a water jar at
the edge of the lord’s compound (clay water pots with coconut-shell water
dippers are traditionally placed at the entryway to yards and homes as a gesture
of hospitality to passing travelers or visiting guests). A villager passes by and
helps himself to some water. The lord is sitting in his house, watching and
waiting. If the villager takes water with the large dipper, drinks a mouthful,
and throws the rest away, the lord punishes him. If, on the other hand, the
villager takes the small dipper, drinks all the water and then helps himself to
another dipperful, the lord also punishes him, since the villager should have
used the large dipper!
The main variations in the story have to do with the form of punishment
used. In most accounts the lord is sitting in wait with a slingshot; other accounts
substitute a whip, and in one account the lord is described as using the second
dipper to hit the thirsty villager over the head. Although I invariably pressed
 182 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

informants on the subject of whether they or anyone they knew had experienced
such punishment, in no case did an informant give a specific example of someone
to whom this actually happened. Unlike the other recurrent themes in village
recollections of the “days of the lords,” in which some villagers could cite specific
incidents that actually occurred, the “water dipper story” appears to have oper-
ated at the level of myth.
SHOOTING OXEN STORIES
Another common story that villagers told me involved accounts of lords or
underlings of the lords shooting villagers’ oxen or water buffaloes.13 According
to these accounts, the lord or his men had shotguns and rode on elephants
through the countryside. In those days, villagers let their oxen and buffaloes
graze freely in the paddy fields during the dry season. If a lord wanted to shoot
an ox to eat, he did so, hoisting the carcass onto his elephant and riding off. If
the owner saw his ox being shot or carried off, he could ask for compensation,
but typically he would only be given a small token amount. If the owner found
out too late, he was simply out of luck and received nothing. In some versions,
villagers did not even ask for compensation because they were too afraid of the
lords; instead villagers tried to avoid the problem in the first place by hiding
their buffaloes and oxen at home or keeping constant watch over them in the
fields.
When I pressed villagers as to whether they knew anyone whose ox or
buffalo had been shot and carried off in this manner, they generally gave vague
answers. However, one informant and his brother were adamant that this had
happened in their village to three members of their community. The two broth-
ers made a point about saying that these three individuals were among the village
elite, that they were educated and the sort of people able to talk with chaos and
other important people (khon ithiphon, bo klua phai, khon mii lakthaan, khon bak
dai, uu dai). When one of the lord’s underlings shot one of their oxen, they met
up to go after him. The underling told the chao, and the chao sent a message
written on palm leaf, summoning them to see him. They went, and when they
arrived at the lord’s home, he had them whipped until the flesh on their backs
was a bloody pulp (nya tua byyii). They were sick for about a month afterward,
but fortunately they did not die (S-163).
CONFISCATION STORIES
Lords and their underlings also confiscated a range of other goods; these
confiscated items included everything from fermented tea leaves (miang) to
fermented fish sauce (nam ha), betel, serivine, coconuts, various fruits, chickens,
 182 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

informants on the subject of whether they or anyone they knew had experienced
such punishment, in no case did an informant give a specific example of someone
to whom this actually happened. Unlike the other recurrent themes in village
recollections of the “days of the lords,” in which some villagers could cite specific
incidents that actually occurred, the “water dipper story” appears to have oper-
ated at the level of myth.
SHOOTING OXEN STORIES
Another common story that villagers told me involved accounts of lords or
underlings of the lords shooting villagers’ oxen or water buffaloes.13 According
to these accounts, the lord or his men had shotguns and rode on elephants
through the countryside. In those days, villagers let their oxen and buffaloes
graze freely in the paddy fields during the dry season. If a lord wanted to shoot
an ox to eat, he did so, hoisting the carcass onto his elephant and riding off. If
the owner saw his ox being shot or carried off, he could ask for compensation,
but typically he would only be given a small token amount. If the owner found
out too late, he was simply out of luck and received nothing. In some versions,
villagers did not even ask for compensation because they were too afraid of the
lords; instead villagers tried to avoid the problem in the first place by hiding
their buffaloes and oxen at home or keeping constant watch over them in the
fields.
When I pressed villagers as to whether they knew anyone whose ox or
buffalo had been shot and carried off in this manner, they generally gave vague
answers. However, one informant and his brother were adamant that this had
happened in their village to three members of their community. The two broth-
ers made a point about saying that these three individuals were among the village
elite, that they were educated and the sort of people able to talk with chaos and
other important people (khon ithiphon, bo klua phai, khon mii lakthaan, khon bak
dai, uu dai). When one of the lord’s underlings shot one of their oxen, they met
up to go after him. The underling told the chao, and the chao sent a message
written on palm leaf, summoning them to see him. They went, and when they
arrived at the lord’s home, he had them whipped until the flesh on their backs
was a bloody pulp (nya tua byyii). They were sick for about a month afterward,
but fortunately they did not die (S-163).
CONFISCATION STORIES
Lords and their underlings also confiscated a range of other goods; these
confiscated items included everything from fermented tea leaves (miang) to
fermented fish sauce (nam ha), betel, serivine, coconuts, various fruits, chickens,
 Jujaka as Trickster • 183

ducks, and piglets. The predominant item taken was chickens. The second
most commonly mentioned item was coconuts. In these accounts the lord or
his underling is passing through the village and just helps himself to whatever
he wants, with or without permission (hyy ko ow, bo hyy, ko ow): thus if the lord
wanted coconuts, his underlings would pick enough to fill an elephant-howdah
and ride off. The stories have an overtone of arbitrary greed, as in the case of
the lord who wanted serivine leaf to chew with his betel: rather than just picking
the ripe leaves, the lord slashed the entire vine and then picked the leaves he
wanted.
One villager described her village’s partial solution to royal demands for
food. It seems that a lord’s son was serving for a time as abbot in their temple.
Whenever he got the urge, he would go into people’s homes and demand that
they prepare him a meal. So whenever they saw him coming, they would flee
their houses: that way there was nobody home to receive his demands. When I
asked whether there was any recourse to royal requisitions, most villagers replied
that in those days royalty had “absolute power” (atyaa chao).
On this same theme, several villagers told me an amusing story about pig
merchants who were passing by on the Ping River with a raft full of piglets.
One of them saw the lord sitting by the river and asked if he wanted any pig-
lets. The lord said, “Of course!” and took all the piglets the merchants had on
their raft. Well, the merchants sat around all day waiting for the lord to return
with their money. Finally one of them went to the lord and asked to be paid.
The lord replied, “But you asked me if I wanted them!” (MR-382).
This quixotic story is much like the water dipper stories; the listener cannot
help but think the pig merchant or passing thirsty villager is stupid to have any
relations with the lords because he is in effect inviting trouble upon himself.
The implied message is clear: all but the most stupid of villagers knew that they
should not attempt to have normal dealings with lords. Even as basic an aspect
of village life as petty trading or drinking plain water was risky if lords were
involved.
CONCUBINE STORIES
Scores of villagers, when asked what they remembered about the days of the
lords, volunteered some aspect of villagers’ fears about their daughters being
taken by the lord as “play-wives” (mia len), minor wives (mia noi), or concubines
(sanom), as it was variously phrased.14 Generally the theme of these “concubine”
stories was that villagers hid their beautiful daughters away from the sight of
the lords, lest the lord demand these daughters be given to him as mistresses. I
quote from some of the interviews to give a sense of the range of these stories:
 184 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

In those days the lords had absolute powers and were above the law. They could
take anyone’s life they wanted to. They could take someone’s daughter to be a
concubine [nang sanom]. So at the times of big festivals like Boi Luangs [a
temple festival], villagers kept their beautiful daughters at home, lest they be
seen and carried off by the lords” (HD-8; also S-174).

Those were the days of rule by the lords [atyaa chao]. In those days, when the
royal boats were passing along the Ping River, anyone who had a beautiful
daughter kept her hidden out of sight. Otherwise the lord might see her and
demand her for a wife. If the parents refused, they would be punished, a
wooden collar would be put around their necks and they would be whipped.
(S-168)

In these accounts, village daughters are not safe, even from lords who are
passing by in boats or who briefly attend temple festivals. Villagers who lived
near the river commented that village girls had to be careful while they were
catching fish in the rivers lest the lord see them (MR-398). In an effort to assess
the extent to which these concubine stories were “real” as opposed to “mytho-
logical,” I pressed for actual examples of village women who had had to flee the
lords or who had become royal concubines. A surprising number of villagers
responded with examples of women in their villages.15 No less well-known a
personage in Thailand than Kraisri Nimmanhaeminda told me about the ex-
perience of his own grandmother. She was apparently very beautiful, and one
of the ruling lords wanted her for a wife; consequently, her father, who was
Chinese, had her dressed in Chinese white robes of mourning to save her from
the lord’s requests.16
The tone of the stories varied. Some of the stories were funny—generally
those of a more “mythological” character. One villager said that in those days,
village girls, to make sure the lord would not find them attractive, covered
themselves with rotted fish paste (nam ha) so that they would smell terrible!
Several villagers commented that when the lord came courting village girls,
he chased the village suitors out of the girls’ houses. Some villagers portrayed
funny scenes of village youths fleeing in all directions as soon as they heard the
lord was coming courting; some village youths scattered so fast that they even
fell into wells! Some youths fled because they were afraid the lord might hit
them (klua ton bup) and others because they were afraid the lord would make
them sing, dance, play musical instruments, or otherwise be in attendance
throughout the night.
Other accounts were tragic and full of pathos. Generally the more tragic
incidents were those involving specific village women known to the interviewees.
The following are two examples:
 Jujaka as Trickster • 185

Chao R. would take pretty girls that he saw to become dancers [chang fon] in
the city, and eventually take them as his wives. One girl in this village was taken
off to be one of his court dancing girls. There was nothing the girl’s father
could do because he was one of the lord’s tenants. Only once in a long time
would she be allowed to return to the village to visit her family. In time, she fell
in love with one of the royal goldsmiths, and took him as her husband. The
lord was furious, and had her whipped across her back. Right after that, the
couple fled, stopping first in the village to give the young girl time to recuperate.
(S-126, circa 1908).

In those days, lords just took wives at will. A village girl named Mae Kaew W.
caught the eye of Chao S. He made her his play-wife [mia len]. He only slept
with her once or twice, and thereafter essentially abandoned her. Once she had
become a royal mistress, no one else dared to court her. By the time Chao S.
died, she was also old and past the stage of such physical desires. Other than
going into town on a few occasions and the 14 rai of land Chao S. gave her, she
lived alone and without children until she died. (SS-478)

Specific examples fell into two broad patterns. In one pattern the village
girl was able to escape the lord’s demand. In a few cases the parents were of
sufficient social standing, as in the case of Ajarn Kraisri, to allow them to cir-
cumvent a royal request. Yet other villagers had to resort to the more disruptive
alternative of flight, the girl generally unable to return to her natal village. In
the remaining accounts, she indeed became a royal mistress, against the wishes
of both herself and her family. In cases in which the lord succeeded in forcing a
village girl to marry him, the general pattern was that after a short time, he lost
interest and abandoned the girl. Sometimes the mistress was given land or
some form of compensation. In some cases there were children, some of whom
became members of the royal household, providing both mother and child
with some social security. In other cases, both mother and child were aban-
doned.17 Once the lord had lost interest in a village girl, in some cases she was
able to remarry and in other cases fellow villagers were reportedly afraid to
become involved. The women were often, but not necessarily, slaves working
in the royal household or the daughters of tenants.
To protect their daughters, villagers resorted to a variety of strategies and
subterfuges. In addition to flight and avoidance in various forms, village re-
sponses ranged from the humorous to the violent. One villager (age 91 when I
interviewed him in 1985) told of his village headman’s response when the lord
sent word to all the village headmen to bring two of their village’s most beautiful
girls to court to choose among for attendants. The headman, Puu Chan, picked
the two homeliest girls, one who was cross-eyed and the other whose eyes
 186 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

bulged (although this story sounded to me like the beginning of a village folk-
tale [ jia], the villager assured me that he had personally seen both of these
girls, but when they were already old ladies). They walked all the way to the
court in Chiang Mai and then sat waiting all day at the royal residence. In this
case it seems that Puu Chan’s potentially risky maneuver went unnoticed as the
lord failed to show up that day, and even the prettiest girls walked back home
without event! (MR-422)
In another account, villagers took their revenge more violently. A lord who
lived in their village was notorious for “using people” (chai khon) at will: “He
was especially oppressive with his house slaves, even taking the woman who
was his cook and forcing her to become his wife. In time however he got his
just reward. A band of Shans [Ngio] plundered his home and murdered him”
(SS-462). When I pressed this and other informants as to why the Shans had
attacked him, they responded that the house servants had made arrangements
with the Shans to help them into the compound. (The killing took place about
1915.)
PORTERING STORIES
Another common narrative centered on lords demanding that villagers carry
them wherever they wanted to go, in some cases on litters and in other cases
literally on their backs (khii khoh).18 Several villagers mentioned the specific
name of a lord who had corvéed a villager in this way or a villager who had been
corvéed in this way; one villager had himself carried a lord by litter (MR-389).
According to these accounts, villagers fled when they heard the lord was coming,
lest they be forced to carry the lord from place to place. The lord might want to
be carried to see his lands, or to be taken courting, or to be taken home. Not
only were villagers forced to carry the lord, but villagers had to make sure the
ride was smooth or they would again be punished. According to another story
told in various versions, the lord had conscripted four Karen to serve as his
carriers. However, the four Karen were not all the same height. One of the
four was much taller and as a result the lord was having a lop-sided and bumpy
ride. He became irritated and angry. He demanded the carriers stop and ordered
the tall fellow’s leg be cut off. The tall Karen begged and cried for mercy,
promising that he would stoop while carrying the lord the rest of the way to
make sure that the lord experienced a smooth ride.19
It is interesting to note that the lords were often described as being carried
piggy-back style.20 It is hard to imagine that being carried in this manner was
particularly comfortable to the lord, let alone the villager. In a certain sense the
style of transportation itself communicates an arbitrariness of the peasant view
 Jujaka as Trickster • 187

of lordly power. One villager who had himself carried his landlord’s daughter
(a chao) on numerous occasions with a chair litter explicitly commented that
he found the demand to carry her degrading. He found it particularly offensive
since she was female and he was male (women are supposed to keep their heads
below those of men). He commented that she did that just to show her power
(wang amnaat). Yet another villager was also conscripted to carry a lord piggy-
back style. He was known to be pretty wild (hai). When the lord summoned
him, he bent over so the lord could climb on his shoulders. Then, instead of
getting up straight, he pushed the chao forward straight into the dirt!21
ABUSE OF POWER
Thus through a range of stories, from the seemingly absurd “water dipper
stories” to the “portering stories” describing the petty demands for piggy-back
style rides, villagers demonstrated an overwhelmingly negative assessment of
the northern Thai lords. The reality of village life mixed into their stories,
some describing actual events and others reflecting their folklore. From ironic
humor to tragic narratives, the accounts all indicate village resentment toward
the abuse of power by the lords. I was amazed at the number of times I heard
the “water dipper story,” which initially seemed to me too trivial to be taken
seriously. In retrospect I now see how its very triviality captures the essential
attitude of villagers toward that period: the absolute and thoroughgoing exercise
of arbitrary power over villagers’ lives, even to the most commonplace and petty
aspects of village life. Lords could not even be expected to extend a simple
gesture of common courtesy such as providing drinking water for travelers
without flaunting their power.
Villagers gave various anecdotes that in effect illustrated the all-pervasive
and petty interference of lords in even the most insignificant aspects of village
life. The following provide some of the flavor of the accounts:

All power used to lie with the chaos. If a chao was dissatisfied with someone, he
would call that person over and have him whistle until he was bored [ jon kai ].
Whatever the chaos wanted was done. (DS-320)

In those days chaos had complete power. They even had people who would
have to fan them all the time, and if that person fell asleep, the chao would
splash water in their face to wake them up, so they would keep fanning. (S-177)

A villager once had the audacity to send a message for the chao to come and
visit him sometime. When the chao heard of this impertinence, he was furious.
And visit he did—to give him a good whipping. (DS-354)
 188 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Villagers, in trying to summarize the difference between the past and the
present, would explain that in the past atyaa chao, or “law by chao,” was used.
By atyaa (also ai-yaa) was meant the absolute power of the lord.22 They ex-
plained that the lords were above the law (nya kotmai), that whatever the lord
said was the final word (chao waa laew, laew han). Villagers contrasted the past
in which lords were above the law with the modern period, in which everyone
is under the law (tai kotmai ); villagers described lords following “the law of
taking” (kotmai ow)—in effect, the lords being the law unto themselves and
taking whatever they wanted at will.23 Villagers also would criticize the behavior
of fellow villagers, both in the past and today, as “acting like a lord” (ia ayang
pen chao) or “behaving like a lord, like a master” (ia pen chao pen nai ). Generally
this criticism was intended for someone who was being arrogant, putting on
airs, or ordering people around.
Another phrase frequently used in discussions of the character of royal
power was kham khon, “to oppress or exploit people.”24 This phrase is the
northern Thai equivalent of the central Thai words khumhaeng, kotkhii, ow rat
ow priab. Another interesting phrase that was used frequently to characterize
village relations with lords was chai khon, “to use people.”25 Even today the
word in Thai for servant is khonchai, “a person to use.” The negative connotations
of this phrase can be seen in the following usages:

The chaos owned a lot of land in the past in this area, but they have since gone
to wrack and ruin [chiiphai]. How could they not have gone to wrack and ruin
when they used people [chai khon]? (S-160)

In those days people were afraid of the chaos, and the chaos could do whatever
they wanted. They could use villagers for whatever work they wanted [chao ow
bai chai ngaan dai lyyii ]. (S-126)

To a remarkable extent the language villagers used to describe their feelings

toward the lords was based on fear and avoidance. Repeatedly informants would
use the phrase “to be afraid of the lords” (klua chao).26 Villagers also described
fellow villagers as “so honest they were stupid” (syy jon sy). In a story that echoes
one told by Luang Poh Bunthong, one villager went on to tell a story as an
illustration: “It seems that once the chao called a meeting and all the villagers
were summoned into town. At the end of the meeting, the lord announced,
‘Whoever stole the elephant ropes, stay put’ [ai tua lak chyak chang yaa pai nai
na]. Everyone fled the scene, except one fellow. The lord’s underlings rushed
up to the poor soul and clamped a wooden yoke about his neck [khyy khaa], and
beat him to death” (S-163). I asked the informant if the villager in question was
 Jujaka as Trickster • 189

guilty. The informant replied that he may have been. However, as he explained,
“villagers in those days were afraid of authority, honest and stupid. So maybe he
did it and thought the lord already knew he was guilty.” “Or maybe he was deaf,”
he added in a kind of whimsical way so characteristic of village humor (S-163).

War Captives and Slavery

These negative attitudes are also rooted in the long-standing practice of cap-
turing slaves. One of the earliest mentions of war captives can be found in the
famous thirteenth-century inscription of King Ramkhamhaeng in which the
filial king records, “If I went to attack a village or a city and collected some
elephants and ivory, men and women, silver and gold, I gave them to my father”
(Benda and Larkin 1967, 40–41). Early chronicles record thousands of captives
being taken at a time. For example, in 1462 King Tilok of Chiang Mai is reported
to have conquered eleven Shan principalities and carried off 12,328 people, who
were relocated in three towns and several frontier posts “where their descendants
have lived until our days” (Notton 1926–32, 3:135, quoted in Turton 1980, 255).
Dr. Richardson, in his diary of his journeys to Chiang Mai in the 1830s, noted
that three-quarters of the northern kingdom’s population were war captives
(Richardson Mss, 143). William McLeod wrote of his trip to Chiang Mai in
1837 that war captives from regions north of Chiang Mai and Peguans (Talaings
from southern Burma) “comprise more than two-thirds of the population of
the country” (Grabowsky and Turton 2003, 304). John Freeman estimated that
about half of the population of Lamphun province were descendants of war
captives (1910, 100). Thus there is a remarkable consensus among several inde-
pendent nineteenth-century observers that at least half of the northern popula-
tion were war captives, with the lords “the principal slave-holders” (Hallett 1890,
202–3; Freeman 1910, 101).27 Oral histories I collected confirm the presence of
significant numbers of both war captives and slaves (Bowie 1988, 1996).
The famous quote “put vegetables into baskets and put slaves into king-
doms” (kep phak sai saa, kep khaa sai muang) has been used to characterize
northern Thai kingdoms, but it holds true for all regions in Thailand as well
(Kraisri 1965). In northeastern Thailand today at least 95 percent of the popu-
lation are of Lao origin and have more in common with the inhabitants of
Laos than the “Siamese” (Keyes 1967, 2). Many are descendants of Lao war
captives relocated to the region in the wake of Bangkok’s attack on Vientiane
in 1778–79 and again in the wake of Chao Anu’s unsuccessful revolt against
Bangkok in 1828.
Although the topic is seldom discussed, in central Thailand war captives and
debt slaves historically also comprised a significant portion of the population.
 190 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Figure 14. Villagers being taken as war captives. Temple mural at Wat Phrathat Duang Diaw,
Amphur Lii, Lamphun, July 2011. Photo by author.

Writing of late seventeenth-century Ayutthaya, Simon de la Loubère observed

that the Siamese “busie themselves only in making slaves” (1969, 90). H. G.
Quaritch Wales described war expeditions as “the regular occupation of the dry
season” (1934, 64). John Crawfurd observed, “The Siamese equally carry off the
peasantry of the open country of both sexes” (Turton 1980, 255). Francis Garnier
mentioned that after an uprising in Cambodia, the Siamese removed a large
number of Annamite prisoners (1873, 147). John Bowring estimated that during
the reign of Rama III (1824–51), there were 46,000 war slaves; he lists some
5,000 Malays, 10,000 Cochin Chinese, 10,000 Peguans, and 1,000 Burmese, in
addition to 20,000 Laos ([1857] 1969, 190). The captured slaves became the
property of the king, who either kept them or distributed them as rewards to
favored underlings (Colquhoun 1885, 54; Hallett 1890, 203; Turton 1980, 256).
Bowring suggests that “distinctly much more than a third of Siamese . . . are
slaves” ([1857] 1969, 191; see also Colquhoun 1885, 189). Holt Hallett, citing
Mr. Alabaster, a confidential adviser to the king, noted that “nine-tenths of the
non-Chinese inhabitants of Bangkok were slaves” (1890, 447). Thus, describing
central Thailand as a “heterogeneous melting pot,” Barend Terweil concludes
that “during the first fifty years of the nineteenth century, tens of thousands of
 Jujaka as Trickster • 191

Mons and Laotians, and thousands of Khmers, Vietnamese, Malays and

Burmese were distributed throughout the provinces” (1989, 253–54).
Evidence suggests that slaves were not well treated. Visiting Bangkok in
1822, Crawfurd writes, “At the Siamese capital we daily saw great numbers of
these unfortunate persons [war captives] employed in sowing, ditching, and
other severe labour” (Turton 1980, 256). Elsewhere I have described the trauma
of war captives as they were force-marched to their new homes (Bowie 1996).
Oral histories provide further evidence of hardships, the separation of family
members, whippings, and other abuses of power (see Bowie 1988; see also Turton
1980, 256). One cannot but wonder how these war captives felt when they saw a
slave being offered to a monk as part of the Vessantara Jataka performance, or
heard that Vessantara gave away seven hundred male slaves and seven hundred
female slaves.

Maitreya and Millenar ianism

Eschatological belief in the future coming of the Maitreya Buddha was wide-
spread throughout Thailand, and indeed throughout mainland Southeast Asia.
As we have seen, in both northern and northeastern Thailand, the recitation of
the Vessantara Jataka occurs in tandem with the recitation of the Phra Malai
Sutra. In the northeast, the sutra is an important component of the scroll the
villagers carry in a procession during Bun Pha Wet. The Phra Malai Sutra is
the story of the monk named Phra Malai who travels to the various hells and
heavens. As noted in the introduction, when in the Tusita heaven, Phra Malai
meets Maitreya, who informs Phra Malai to tell people to listen to the Vessantara
Jataka “in one night and one day” if they wish to be reborn during Maitreya’s
era (Brereton 1995, 64). Accordingly, villagers in the north and northeastern
regions emphasize the importance of completing the recitation of the jataka
within twenty-four hours. The admonition for the laity to listen to the Vessantara
Jataka is given further impetus by the belief that Buddhism will fall into decline
and that the Vessantara Jataka will be lost. The connection between Maitreya
and the Vessantara Jataka is made clear in an early nineteenth-century northern
Thai text of the Phra Malai Sutra: “When the teachings of the Buddha are
destroyed at the time that the religion comes to an end, the Ten Jataka will
disappear in reverse order; the Vessantara Jataka will disappear first. This is the
reason that Metteyya Bodhisatta [Maitreya] exhorted the people to listen to
the Vessantara Jataka” (Brereton 1995, 72).
Stories about the Maitreya Buddha were popularized by monks and trouba-
dours whose sermons and ballads describe in apocalyptic terms the deterioration
 192 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

of Buddhism, the decrease in life expectancy, and the decline of social order
prior to Maitreya’s utopian reign (Brereton 1995, 10–11). But, as Bonnie Brereton
notes, it was “primarily through the medium of the Phra Malai story that the
common belief and hope in the coming of the future Buddha Metteyaa was
disseminated in Thailand” (1995, 2). Intended to teach “the principles of right
and wrong, merit and demerit, and reward and punishment,” Maitreya is asso-
ciated with generosity (dana), such as giving alms to beggars (Brereton 1995, 2,
10–11). Given a political economy characterized by considerable poverty and
oppressive rule, it is not surprising that these messianic beliefs fueled millenar-
ian movements throughout mainland Southeast Asia.28

Millennialism in Northern Thailand

Evidence of widespread belief in the Maitreya Buddha and the presence of
millenarian leaders in northern Thailand is provided in archeological records,
palm-leaf manuscripts, missionary accounts, and oral histories. As early as 1426
an inscription written by a king from Nan (now a province in northern Thailand)
states that “he devoutly wishes to behold the Lord Sri Ariya [Maitreya]”
(Griswold and Prasert 1969, 105). Brereton notes that “similar expressions of
this belief frequently occur in dedicatory inscriptions on the bases of Buddha
images and in the colophons of manuscripts presented to monasteries as acts of
merit” (1995, 64; see also Hundius 1990). Hundreds of palm-leaf copies of the
Phra Malai Sutra text exist in temples throughout northern Thailand, the
oldest dating to 1516 (Brereton 1995, 17).29 In 1728 in Lampang, Thep Singh
proclaimed himself a saint or precursor of Maitreya (tonbun) and led a peasant
revolt against repressive Burmese rule (Anan 1984, 40–41).
Belief in the Maitreya Buddha remained in northern Thailand throughout
the nineteenth century. William Dodd, a Presbyterian missionary who lived in
northern Thailand from 1886 to 1919, noted the presence of “many prophecies”
that “cluster around The Coming One, Ariya Metteya” (1923, 334). According
to these prophecies, forerunners of the Buddhist Messiah “shall level every
mountain, exalt every valley, make crooked places straight, and rough places
smooth” and “appear on the banks of the Meping” (Dodd 1923, 334). Another
missionary in northern Thailand, Hugh Taylor, notes that “the devout Buddhist,
when he bows before Buddha’s image, prays the prayer, ‘Oh, that I may live to
see the face of Pra Allenyamathai [Ariya Maitreya] the Savior’” (Taylor Mss,
121). Taylor points to northern prophesies such as “In that day two men clothed
in white raiment shall come from the West bringing a Sacred Book” and “In
that day the slave will ride horseback down the street ahead of his master”
(Taylor Mss, 121).
 Jujaka as Trickster • 193

One old man was perplexed by a bread loaf on Taylor’s breakfast table.
When Taylor explained, “It is our rice,” the man “humbly crawled to the table,
keeping his head below the bread, and with his right hand supported at the
wrist by the left hand, took the loaf from the plate and, holding it high above
his head, reverently exclaimed, ‘Great Buddha! Thy slave’s eyes have seen it!’”
Taylor continues, “He then told me one of the signs of Pra Allenyamathai’s
coming was that a grain of rice should be as large as a coconut” (Taylor Mss,
134–35). Ironically, several early Christian converts “worshipped Jesus under the
name of their promised Buddha Metraya” (McGilvary 1912, 171; see also Dodd
1923, 334; Taylor Mss, 122–24, 132, 134).
As late as the 1980s, villagers in Chiang Mai still spoke to me in secretive,
hushed tones about a hidden messianic text. As one elderly villager explained, in
the past the government had forbidden people to discuss this subject. Although
none of them had seen the text, they recalled predictions such as “there will be
roads, but no one will walk on them”; “there will be rice, but no one will pound
it”; “a red dust [ fun daeng] will enter everyone’s homes”; and “fire will burn . . .
roofs, and . . . the religion will decline.” In addition, one villager recalled, “if
war comes from the easterly direction, there will be no way to stop it; the fighting
will come up through Ayutthaya, Lampang, Lamphun, Chiang Mai and Fang
and come down via Doi Kham to the area near the Chiang Mai airport. Then
Phrayar Tham [Maitreya] will come” (HD-38).30
Subsequent dissertation research by Betty Nguyen has uncovered many of
these texts, which she has called “calamity cosmologies” (2014). As Nguyen
describes this genre of northern texts, “the Buddha or Indra prepare man for
the catastrophic end of the world by relating the future events” (2011). She
continues, “According to these texts, the future breakdown of the cosmo-social
order will entail kings oppressing the populace, rampant unrestrained warfare,
crop failure, natural disasters, famine, and the unleashing of evil spirits”
(Nguyen 2011). These texts emphasize the importance of “the practice of giving
of dana, keeping the moral precepts, listening to dhamma sermons, having
loving-kindness (metta), and meditation ( phavana)” to protect oneself from
impending misfortunes. She notes that the authors exhort people to “to heed
the prophecy and remain faithful for only the pure will be saved” (Nguyen
2011). According to one text:

Beginning in the year Sanga, there is a great natural disaster. It is called ‘chatue ’
in the Ho language and in our Thai language ‘earthquake.’ Mountains will
crumble, rain will fall in torrents, the sky will thunder. In the year met, countless
numbers of people will die. So it will come to pass. In the year san, there will be
 194 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

powerful storms causing flooding everywhere. . . . In the year sed, there will
ominous events (ubat): tigers, not roaring, will come to live in the middle of the
city, creating a troublesome situation. So it will be. In the year of kay, the city
will be flooded. In the year of cay, chaos erupts (kolahon) causing enemies to
arise. In the villages and cities, people stab one another to death. People will flee
from the villages and cities. In the year kot, a cao tonbun [savior] will be born.
(Tamnan Ho 1895 AD; translation by Nguyen 2011)

Gotama, the Cheating Buddha

Most scholarly attention has focused on the Gotama Buddha, with the assump-
tion that he is universally respected by Buddhists. Remarkably, in northern
Thailand I have come across various references to Gotama as the cheating
Buddha and Maitreya as the legitimate Buddha. I was rather taken aback when
during the course of an interview a villager asked me whether I knew which
one was the older brother, Gotama or Ariya Maitreya, and how the poses of their
respective Buddha images differed. Since I did not, he told me the following
story:
The god Phrayar Indra told both Gotama and Ariya to plant lotuses. Whose
ever lotus flowered first would be the first to be born on earth. Ariya’s lotus
opened first, but Gotama stole it and showed it to Indra. Consequently Gotama
was born first. The people here on earth thought that Ariya was born, and so
they made Buddha figures in his image, with both palms together. But when
they realized this Buddha was not Ariya, they hid their images in the forest
and caves. And that is why the Gotama image is in the incomplete meditation
position; he is afraid of being caught out for his theft of the lotus. (HD-38)

Subsequently I learned that this remarkable story was familiar to other elderly
villagers. This villager then explained to me that Gotama images are those with
an incomplete meditation position—namely, one hand in the lap and the other
resting on the knee; the Ariya Maitreya images are those with both hands
folded on the lap, palms up, one hand on top of the other.31
Not only did this story about Maitreya and the cheating Gotama Buddha
circulate in the Chiang Mai region, but I also came across it in an account by
the missionary Hugh Taylor, who resided in Lampang. Evidently this subversive
story was represented iconographically in lotus imagery as well as Buddha
images. Taylor was told the story by a trader who sold him a lotus made in silver,
gold, and rubies: “When lifted from its stand, it opens out into a full-blown
lily. Placed back on the stand, it closes again to a bud” (Taylor Mss, 120). The
trader’s “legend of the lotus lily” was as follows:
 Jujaka as Trickster • 195

Two brothers, Gotama and Allenyamathai (Al-e-nga-ma-thai [Ariya

Maitreya]), learned that the one who had in his possession a certain lotus lily
when it bloomed would become the next Buddha. Up to that time, there had
been only three Buddhas. Allenyamathai found the lily; but Gotama his brother
stole it from him. While the lily was in Gotama’s possession, it bloomed, and
Gotama became the Buddha. In compensation to Allenyamathai for his loss, it
was decreed that he should be the next Buddha, and more than just a Buddha,
he should be a real Savior from the penalties of sin. Buddha has taught how to
save one’s self. Pra Allenyamathai was to rescue the people from their fate.
(Taylor Mss, 120–21; see also Landon 1939, 186)32

The story was also popular among the Karen followers of Khruubaa Khao
Pi, who explained that because of Gotama’s jealousy and deceit, society fell
into moral decline and chaos (Kwanchewan 1998, 118; Cohen 2001, 232). Hallett
notes that the wooden implements in several important temples were “for the
use of expectant Buddhas” (1890, 322). This belief in the Maitreya Buddha fueled
various millenarian movements. Elsewhere I have argued that such millenarian
beliefs underlay the popular movement in support of the famous northern
monk Khruubaa Srivichai, frequently called “the saint of Lanna” (tonbun haeng
laanaa). Khruubaa Khao Pi was himself a disciple of Khruubaa Srivichai; both
were considered by many to have been precursors of Maitreya (see Bowie
2014a, 2014b).

Millenarianism across Regions

As in the north, in the northeastern region belief in Maitreya was strong.
Charles Keyes has documented the circulation of millenarian texts in north-
eastern Thailand in the late nineteenth century; these texts depict the dhammik
“as a savior-ruler figure who will arrive to save the good and pure from the
social chaos wrought in large part by the corruption and moral excesses of those
in power” (1977, 295; see also Hansen 2007, 60). Northeastern Thailand has a
long history of revolts led by “holy men.” In 1820 a monk claiming such super-
natural powers as the ability to “call up fire to burn towns, human beings and
animals all over the world” led an uprising of more than six thousand people to
attack the town of Champasak; a local chronicle records, “Our prince has now
been born, our sufferings will be no more” (Chatthip 1984, 114–15). In 1850 a
“shaman” fomented an uprising in Sisakhet (Gunn 1990, 110). An 1895 revolt in
Khon Kaen province involved rituals to render its participants invulnerable
(Chatthip 1984, 116). The most famous of the northeastern revolts are the “Holy
Men Revolts” of 1901–2, led by Ong Man; his followers observed Buddhist
precepts and dressed in white clothing (Chatthip 1984; see also Tej 1967;
 196 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Murdoch 1974; Keyes 1977; Gunn 1990, 112–14). In 1902 in Sakon Nakon
province, a former monk reordained and declared himself to be an incarnation
of Vishnu; he only ate one meal a day, “only ate vegetables, no meat; and he
dressed in white” (Chatthip 1984, 118; see also Keyes 1977, 297–98). In 1924 three
monks and a novice in Loei province predicted the birth of Maitreya in their
village; villagers were asked to observe the precepts, pray constantly, give alms,
respect their parents, and eat only fruit, sesame, beans, and rice (Chatthip 1984,
119). In 1936 and as late as 1959, revolts occurred based on the imminent arrival
of Maitreya in Mahasarakham, Kalasin, and Ubon Ratchathani (Chatthip
1984, 120–21; for accounts in the 1970s, see Keyes 1977, 290).
Belief in Maitreya and associated messianic movements in central Thailand
can be traced back to the late eighteenth century. After the fall of Ayutthaya in
1767, dissident monks, wearing reddish-brown robes symbolically associated
with Maitreya, seized political power in Sawangburi and Uttaradit (Tambiah
1976, 184). Shortly after acceding to the throne in 1782, Rama I issued a decree
against instigators of revolt who claimed to have supernatural powers (Tambiah
1976, 185).33 Nonetheless, holy men still emerged in the central region; as late as
1909 a newspaper reports that a phuu viset monk was arrested in Petchaburi for
providing invulnerability tattoos (BTWM, March 16, 1909).34 The promise of
the 1933 National Economic Policy plan to be “in fulfillment of the Buddhist
prophecy to be found in the story of the religion of Araya Mettaya” indicates
the widespread familiarity of the population with this utopian trope (Landon
1939, 292–93). Keyes notes that as recently as 1973 he came across several
pamphlets describing a Maitreya cult in the Bangkok region (1977, 290).
Thus the Bangkok court had reason to be concerned with both the belief
in Maitreya and its associated millenarian revolts. Indeed, these uprisings are
explicitly mentioned as part of the justification for the Military Conscription
Act of 1905. Although it is unclear if the court deliberately held recitations of
the Vessantara Jataka during Buddhist Lent and without adhering necessarily
to the twenty-four-hour rule as part of its efforts to undermine popular belief
in the Maitreya Buddha, King Chulalongkorn did decree that monks should
not begin the sermon with the prediction that Buddhism will disappear five
thousand years after the Buddha’s enlightenment. The court’s concern about
beliefs about Maitreya is suggested in an account of King Chulalongkorn’s visit
to Wat Mani Cholakhan in Phrommat subdistrict in Lopburi province in 1883,
an area where evidently belief in the Maitreya Buddha was strong:

Knowing that the king was coming to visit, they placed a statue upon the altar.
When the king arrived he offered robes to the ten monks who held honorific
 Jujaka as Trickster • 197

titles. After the monks put on the new robes and the king turned to the altar to
light candles, he saw that the only image present was that of Maitreya.
The king immediately ordered an image of the Buddha to be brought to
the altar so that he could perform his prostrations before the monks began
chanting their blessing. According to the Record, the king said to the monks,
“People should not take refuge in Metteyya. Metteyya is not part of the Triple
Gem: The Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. The king donated money to restore
this Metteyya statue and came to celebrate the festival with local people, but
not because he shares their foolish belief in the coming of Metteyya.” . . . The
king turned to Phra Yanrakkhit, the monk with the highest title, and asked
him, “So you prostrate yourself before the Metteyya image?” The Dhammayut
[Thammayut] monk replied, “No, I do not.” (Kamala 2003, 299)

The Tr ickster and the “Hidden Transcr ipt”

Thus far in this chapter we have considered how the presence of irreverent
trickster narratives, the political economy of villagers, and the prevalence of
millenarianism linked to the Maitreya Buddha may have shaped the peasant
imaginaire. We are now ready to explore whether following Jujaka into northern
Thailand provides evidence of a more Bakhtinian reading, in which a “boundless
world of humorous forms and manifestations opposed the official and serious
tone of medieval ecclesiastical and feudal culture” (Bakhtin [1965] 1984, 4). We
should not expect anti-royalist expressions to be overt, and certainly not in
written texts or recordings taped for a wider public. As James C. Scott has
argued, since public transcripts are shaped by prudence and fear, they are unlikely
to reveal “the whole story about power relations”; indeed, “the more menacing
the power, the thicker the mask” (1990, 2–3). Because, as Scott points out, “the
theatrical imperatives that normally prevail in situations of domination produce
a public transcript in close conformity with how the dominant group would
wish to have things appear,” we must search instead for the “hidden transcripts”
(1990, 4).
Today charges of republicanism are tantamount to treason, with the courts
handing down sentences of as long as sixty years for lèse majesté.35 Lèse majesté,
the crime of defaming, insulting, or threatening the king, queen, heir-apparent
or regent, has been formally prohibited under Thai law since 1908; each charge
can lead to imprisonment of three to fifteen years, with charges being cumula-
tive.36 At the time Luang Poh Bunthong was recording his performances of
the Vessantara Jataka during the 1970s, Thailand had experienced decades of
almost uninterrupted military dictatorships and was facing a growing internal
 198 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

communist guerrilla movement. Its neighboring countries of Laos, Cambodia,

and Vietnam were battling insurgencies, now glossed as “the Vietnam War,”
which led to regime changes in each of these countries. The mantra of “King,
Nation and Religion” was being brandished with ever-growing intensity. As
the reach of the state expanded in the course of the 1960s and 1970s and as the
government’s anti-communist counterinsurgency campaigns to “win hearts
and minds” grew, unfettered discussions of politics became increasingly fraught
(on this period, see Thak 1979; Chai-anan and Morell 1981; Bowie 1997).
In such a sensitive political context, we would expect both written texts and
tape-recorded performances to be highly circumspect in their engagements of
the topic of ruler-subject relations. Luang Poh Bunthong suggests that the main
points of the Vessantara Jataka are sevenfold: to believe in yourself, to be moral,
to know shame (khwaam la-ai nai jai), to know respect (kraengklua), to treasure
knowledge, to be generous, and to be wise. When Luang Poh Bunthong’s taped
version of the Vessantara Jataka of the 1970s is compared with the performance
Charles Keyes attended in the 1960s, in which the tujok monk was replicating
the sounds of passing gas, one can already notice a certain degree of censor-
ship. Thus we would expect that the explicit political message in Luang Poh
Bunthong’s taped version of the Vessantara Jataka, which has underlain much
of this book, was to be fairly neutral and even apparently conservative. Albeit in
bawdy fashion, Luang Poh Bunthong encouraged listeners not to listen to
rumors and to focus on their own responsibilities. At the moment in the story
when Vessantara was reluctant to leave his ascetic forest life to return to the
palace, Luang Poh Bunthong explained, “We all have our work to do and we
should just focus on doing that well.” He went on to repeat a well-known adage
with bawdy undertones:

Mii suan ia suan hia. If you have gardens, work your gardens.
Mii naa ia naa hia If you have paddy, work your paddy fields.
Mii mia . . . ko liang duu hia.37 If you have a wife, take care of her.
Mii luuk ko liang duu luuk. If you have children, take care of them.

Nonetheless, traces of hidden transcripts emerge. The more egalitarian

underpinnings of Bunthong’s interpretation can be found in his encouragement
for people to treat each other with humanity. As he explained in his tape in a
rare serious moment:

It’s like the crickets. Once there are enough on the stick, they get roasted on the
fire. And then they are made into chili sauce [nam phrik]. The same with us.
 Jujaka as Trickster • 199

When we stop breathing we are sent to the fire as well, just like the crickets.
Even though the crickets are all on the stick, they still try to crawl over each
other. They jump around and bang into each other. Why do they do that?
They’re all going to be made into nam phrik anyway. We all will die. So while
we are alive, why do we get in each other’s way, or try to take advantage of each
other? We should love each other and help each other.38

In his various stories, one can see echoes of the stories that I have described
earlier in this chapter. For example, using the scene in which the king asks if
Jujaka has any surviving heirs, Luang Poh Bunthong comments about the
honesty of people in the past, saying:
Can you imagine what would happen today? Nowadays, even before the parents
have died, the children are wanting to get their inheritance. . . . People were
honest in the old days.
Let me tell you a story. There was a novice who wanted to take a shit. He
told a layperson that if anyone came, he should tell them. A grandmother came
by and the layperson told her, “The novice is taking a shit.” People were so
honest they were stupid.
There was another fellow who stole a water buffalo and killed it and ate it.
The headman called a village meeting and discussed various topics. As the
meeting ended, the headman said, “Everyone can leave now, but will the person
who stole the water buffalo please remain seated.” Everyone left but this fellow
remained seated. The headman asked him, “Did you steal the water buffalo?”
“Yes, sir.” Because he admitted his guilt, the headman set his punishment at
repairing fifteen yards of road. “Excuse me, sir, does the fifteen yards also cover
the buffalo I stole before?” [Laughter.] And so he was sentenced to repairing
thirty yards. This is true honesty.39

A story Luang Poh Bunthong told about a government official has hints of
the broader genre of political trickster stories, albeit in a modernized form, in
which the outwitted king has been replaced with an outwitted government
official. Luang Poh Bunthong sets it up by explaining that his next story is
about getting in over one’s head, about getting involved in matters about which
one has insufficient knowledge. Whether it is gambling or another endeavor,
he advises, “one should get informed first.” He gives this example:

A long time ago there was a man who loved to gamble, so the story goes. Seems
he was really good at it as well. In addition to gambling, he also drove a car.
One time a nai amphur [district officer] advertised upcountry that he was inviting
 200 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

applications for a driver. So this man applied and ended up getting the job. So
he drove the nai amphur around.
After about a month or so, the nai amphur had to attend a meeting in
another province. This man drove the nai amphur. Once there the nai amphur
booked a room in a swank, first-class hotel, so he decided to do the same and
booked a room in the same hotel. He didn’t want to have any less than the nai
amphur. [Laughs.] In the morning the nai amphur ordered a fancy breakfast at
this hotel, so the driver did the same.
The nai amphur began to worry. How was his driver going to be able to
afford all of this since his salary was less than 2,000 baht per month? Sleeping
in the same kind of hotel and eating the same kind of food, he was clearly going
to be in over his head. So he called the driver over so he could explain matters to
him. The nai amphur explained that you [thyy; familiar you] only earn a small
salary and it is not possible for you to live the same lifestyle as if you were a nai
amphur.
The driver replied to the nai amphur, “You don’t have to be worried about
me. There are some months that I might actually earn more money than
you.” The nai amphur was perplexed. “How can that be? You earn less than
2,000 baht per month even with a special travel per diem.” “Oh no, sir, that is not
my only income. I also gamble.” The nai amphur explained that gambling was
not a certain source of income, sometimes one won, but sometimes one lost.
The driver reassured the nai amphur that he always won. Since the nai
amphur was skeptical, the driver asked if the nai amphur would like to place a
bet with him. Two hundred baht said he would have a bump on his forehead by
9:00 a.m. in the morning. The nai amphur said no way, he had never had a
bump on his forehead and would not by the next morning. The driver assured
him he would and asked him if he would he like to make a wager. So they did.
Two hundred baht said the nai amphur would have a bump; 200 baht said he
would not.
The next morning the nai amphur felt all over his head, worried that there
might be a bump and he would have to pay 200 baht. But everywhere he felt,
there was no bump. Relieved, he summoned the driver and told him there was
no bump. The driver said, “Really, that’s not possible. There must be a bump.”
“No, there’s no bump.” “Yes, there is.” Annoyed, the nai amphur said, “No,
there is not. Check for yourself.” The driver felt all over the nai amphur’s head,
rubbing his hands this way and that way for what seemed to be forever [ given
status hierarchy, a daring thing to do]. Sure enough there was no bump. “How
about that, I must have made a mistake,” the driver said, “so I owe you 200
baht.” But the nai amphur felt bad taking the driver’s money, so he said, “Never
 Jujaka as Trickster • 201

mind, take your money back. I don’t want your 200 baht.” But the driver insisted,
“No, no, you keep it. I’m a good sport. And besides, I made more money than
you did.” “How can that be?” the nai amphur asked.
The driver explained that after he had left the nai amphur the night before,
he had made a bet with people in the hotel that by 9:00 a.m. the next morning
the nai amphur would summon him to feel his head. They hadn’t believed
him. How would it be possible that a lowly driver would ever be able to touch a
nai amphur’s head? Impossible. So they all eagerly took the bet. Four people,
100 baht per person for a total of 400 baht.
So in fact the driver was just splitting his bet with the nai amphur, 200
for the nai amphur and 200 baht for himself. After all, he had been able to
touch the nai amphur’s head. But he was someone who knew what he was
doing. But not everyone knows what is going on. If you don’t know what is
going on, don’t get involved. You will only lose. Always make sure you know
what is happening, no matter what it is, if it is gambling, or business. If you
don’t understand the business, don’t invest all your money at once. You will
only lose it. [Laughter.]40

Eschatological Hope in Scatological Humor

If today the comedy appears to center primarily on scatological humor and
everyday tensions, placing the Vessantara Jataka’s portrayal of peasant-court
relations becomes far more edgy in the broader historical context of poverty,
oppression, and millenarian hopes. The contradiction that emerges from village
recollections—between the image of the utopian moral ruler and the image of
the oppressive earthly lords—could not be more dramatic. The northern Thai
ruling lords were hardly viewed as generous, however generous individual lords
may have been to individual followers on specific occasions. Instead they were
glossed as “takers” rather than as “givers.” Thus any given recitation of the
Vessantara Jataka in northern Thailand may have been understood just as easily
as an implicit indictment of the earthly administration of their ruling lords as
an homage to their superior spiritual power.
To the extent that the Vessantara Jataka’s emphasis is on Vessantara’s relent-
less generosity, one could argue that the text was a “weapon of the weak,” an
implicit critique of human kings who were unlikely to be generous. Unlike the
earthly kings in the peasant imaginaire, Vessantara gave away everything to any-
one who asked for assistance, from the drought-ridden villagers of a neighboring
kingdom to the beggar who asked for his children as servants. The “ten duties
of a righteous ruler” were a further admonition to earthly kings. Ideal kings
were to have the following characteristics:
 202 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

1. Dana: Liberality, generosity, charity, concern with the welfare of the people
2. Sila: High moral character, observing at least the Five Precepts
3. Pariccaga: Willingness to sacrifice everything for the people—comfort, fame,
even one’s own life
4. Ajjava: Honesty and integrity, not fearing some or favoring others
5. Maddava: Kindness and gentleness
6. Tapa: Austerity, contentment with the simple life
7. Akkodha: Freedom from hatred, ill-will, and anger
8. Avihimsa: Non-violence, a commitment to peace
9. Khanti: Patience, tolerance, and the ability to understand others’ perspectives
10. Avirodha: Non-obstruction, ruling in harmony with the will of the people and
in their best interests.41

Read against the background of village attitudes toward ruling authorities

and the robust folk literature on tricksters, villagers were far more likely to
identify with Jujaka, the beggar, rather than Vessantara, the future king. As a
trickster-beggar, Jujaka crosses the thresholds between village and court, tricking
royal guardians, tricking Vessantara to obtain royal children as his servants, and
ultimately finding himself being feted by a grateful king. He represents human
desires that exist in each of us and that wisdom must help us overcome. Other
passages open up a discussion of kingship more directly, raising questions as
to whether Vessantara had the right to give away the rain-making elephant,
whether the benefits of helping drought-stricken citizens in a neighboring
kingdom outweigh the loss of the elephant, or whether the king made the right
decision in banishing his son Vessantara. Other passages encourage a debate
about whether Vessantara had the right to give away his children, whether he
was right to deliberately misinterpret his wife’s dream, or whether he was being
compassionate when he falsely accused Matsi of infidelity. If Vessantara is
supposed to be a model of the ideal ruler, how could he misinterpret the arrival
of the royal army; it is his wife who recognizes that the army is that of his own
parents (Cone and Gombrich 1977, 87). I have no doubt that villagers in the past
held similar debates to those held today. Indeed, I would suggest that the debate
over whether the good of society should come before the good of one’s own
family is a central tension that has given the Vessantara Jataka its relevance
over the centuries. As noted in the introduction, some monks such as Phra
Thepwethi even suggest that the Vessantara Jataka provides an argument in
support of peasant demonstrations.
A few moments in Luang Poh Bunthong’s taped version provide hints of
the jataka’s potential for deeper political resonances. When Phusadi is about to
 Jujaka as Trickster • 203

be reborn on earth, attention often focuses on her request that her breasts not
sag after breastfeeding, but her last request was to be able to free prisoners. In a
society in which a significant portion of the population were debt slaves or war
captives, the issue of the children’s ransom may have been particularly significant
to members of the earlier audiences. In Luang Poh Bunthong’s interpretation
of the jataka, he addresses Vessantara’s decision to give his children to Jujaka,
portraying it as an act of generosity motivated by his concern for the poor:
The enemies of Phra Wesandorn were still around and were ready to criticize
him. “Look at that, we send him into exile and he still gives away his children.
No good person would do that.”
But Chalii said to his grandfather, “My father is a good person. He wanted
Puu Phraam [Grandfather Brahmin, i.e. Jujaka] to live well because he saw that
he was poor. He said that whoever redeemed us would make it possible for Puu
Phraam to become wealthy and live well.”42

The most explicit political moment occurs when Jujaka succeeds in tricking
Jetabutr by portraying himself as a royal messenger. In Luang Poh Bunthong’s
version, one can still get a sense of how fraught peasant-court relations were in
the past. His account is as follows:

“Don’t shoot. If you shoot me, you’ll be sorry. I’m the ambassador of
Phrayar Sonchai, the father of Phra Wesandorn. Phrayar Sonchai and Mae
Phusadi have asked me to find their son to ask him to disrobe and return to
their kingdom. They are crying every day because they are missing him.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Do you have any evidence?”
Listeners, this is very important, having evidence. So he asked, “What
evidence do you have that you’re a royal servant?” Puu Phraam didn’t know what
to do. He absent-mindedly felt around in his bag and came across his bamboo
salt container. This is what we call quick thinking. So he grabbed the container
and said, “The royal letter is in here. Go ahead and open it if you don’t believe me.”
But who would dare to open a royal letter? Those were the days of absolute
monarchy; you could be executed for something like that. Even nowadays, if
you open an ordinary letter with a regular stamp, you can be fined 500 baht and
imprisoned for two months. It’s a secret. See, I even know the postal laws.
Phraam Jetabutr saw the container and thought it was a royal missive. He
was afraid he might go to jail or worse. So he put down the slingshot and bowed
to Puu Phraam, twenty, thirty times, trembling.
 204 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

“May I please invite you to descend from the tree? I will feed you well and
make sure you want for nothing.”
“I am happy to come down. I wanted to come down since this morning.
But tie the dogs up.”
So he forced Jetabutr to tie up the dogs. After all, it was a royal order. He
called all thirty-two dogs. He couldn’t tie them all up at the same place because
they might get into fights with each other. He had to tie each of them up in a
different place.43

Edginess of Humor
As the political satire of Bill Maher, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and their
younger successors reminds us, humor is often on the edge of the socially accept-
able and the socially outrageous. Similarly, tujok monks all had a consciousness
of their humor as somehow “edgy.” When I asked tujok monks how recitations
of the Vessantara Jataka had changed over the decades and why, they all indicated
that they had “toned down” their comedy in response to concerns about audience
reactions. In the 1940s when a former tujok monk (now in his nineties) per-
formed Jujaka, he explained that he was aware that there were some monks
who felt comedy was inappropriate and they were afraid of incurring criticism
(bo klaa). Proud of his ability to develop comic riffs, he added wryly, “And they
lacked the ability.” One can certainly imagine the shock of central Thai urbanites
used to formal styles of chanting and a very different understanding of Jujaka
upon hearing northern monks and laity enjoying bawdy tales.44
The tapes of Luang Poh Bunthong reveal his concern with how his audience
would react to the bawdier moments. After his introductory remarks in which
he prepares his modern audience to accept the legitimacy of using humor to
teach the dharma, he begins by explaining his view of the role of monks in
general. He remarks that many people associate preaching with criticism of
their lifestyles and jokes about all the men who complain about the preaching
their wives give them after they come home from a night of drinking or gambling
(mia haa thaet haem laeo). He explained that in preaching the dharma his goal is
“to take what is hard to understand and make it easy.” He said that a monk is
like a doctor administering medicine, but the doctor cannot force anyone to
take the medicine. He explained that the goal is moderation—not outright
prohibition, but an admonition to avoid harmful acts. He then launched into
the first of several humorous examples of excess, beginning with the story of
the three drunken old men lying by the ditch who could not even recognize the
moon when they saw it:
 Jujaka as Trickster • 205

These three men were all drunk and came from different provinces.45 It was a
full moon. The first fellow lies there and asks his companions, “Do you think
that’s the moon or is it the sun?”
The second man replies drunkenly, “I say it’s the sun.”
The first fellow is not convinced: “But how can the sun be out at night?”
The two drunks lay there arguing: “It’s the moon.” “It’s the sun.”
Finally the third companion tired of the arguing and asked, “What are you
two arguing about?”
The first fellow said, “Up there, I say it’s the moon. He says it’s the sun.
What do you think? Is it the sun or the moon?”
“How would I know? I’m not from this region [bo chai chaobaan nii ro].”

Luang Poh Bunthong concluded this story with the remark “They couldn’t
even recognize the moon because they couldn’t teach themselves.”46
I did not ask Luang Poh Bunthong about his political views directly, but I
did ask him if he thought comedic performances violated the monastic rules,
given that one of the ten precepts states that monks and novices are to refrain
from singing, dancing, playing music, or attending entertainment programs
(Precept 7).47 Luang Poh Bunthong was aware that he had come under criticism,
but he took the criticism in stride, saying, “Yes, because they don’t understand.
Usually people criticize what they don’t understand.” He believed the good
that came of reaching new audiences outweighed the negatives, adding with a
chuckle that he was willing to accept any karmic retribution. He also noted that
he had toned down his performances: he did not wear a tujok costume and no
longer included many of the songs he had before. Luang Poh Bunthong ex-
plained his willingness to court criticism as follows:

When I was a novice, there were already local regional differences. Some things
were in violation of the monastic rules: to perform to earn money, to draw
attention to oneself as a better performer than someone else. Criticizing Puu
Phraam ( Jujaka) as ugly is also against the vinaya. So Buddhism, if practiced in
accord with local customs, can be considered against the monastic rules.
But people aren’t all the same. It’s like the four lotus blossoms. One is a bud
above the water and when the sun shines on it, it blossoms. Doesn’t take much.
Another is just below the surface, but once it reaches the surface it will bloom.
And another is deeper and will take longer. The fourth is still in the mud, like
the drug addicts and others. It may or may not reach the top and blossom. . . .
People are like lotuses at different stages. We have to find a way to reach
them. It’s against the vinaya, but not a major violation. There are different
 206 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

degrees of severity. This is not one that would get one arrested, more like
probation! . . .
Preaching [thaet] so people have fun and laugh, all wrong. Who knows
which hell I will end up in. [Laughs.] To entice people to be entranced in
earthly carnal matters [thaet hyy chakchuan khon hyy long laai nai kamalom]. The
five sensual pleasures [kammakhun] are form, sound, aroma, taste, and touch.
So one uses all these to draw people in. So if there really is a hell, I’ll be there
since Jujaka involves all of these elements—joking, laughing. It violates Rule 7
that says that dancing, music, and other forms of entertainment are to be
avoided. . . . So many things invite people into the sensual world. We have to
find a way to remind people that life is suffering and death; nothing stays
permanently. . . . Isn’t it better to teach others than reach salvation alone? . . .
People need a source of refuge [thii phyng]. They don’t bow [wai] to their own
parents, but bow to monks giving lottery numbers.48

A Weapon of the Weak

Our journey toward understanding the court’s concern with comic perform-
ances of the Vessantara Jataka is nearing its end. The robust humor in the
northern portrayal of Jujaka, the widespread familiarity of the trickster narratives
across regions, the frequency of millenarian movements catalyzed by agrarian
suffering, and the belief in the Maitreya Buddha all provide support for a
political reading of the jataka that is more a critique of earthly royalty than a
panegyric. Royalist interpretations have suggested that the narrative provided
an opportunity for kings to present themselves as incipient Vessantaras and
incipient Buddhas, their grand displays of offerings to the monks portrayed as
physical evidence of royal generosity. The royalist interpretations of the Vessan-
tara Jataka are based upon two questionable assumptions: (1) that villagers
knew about or saw royal ceremonials at the court, and (2) that villagers were
inclined to a positive view of their rulers. However much they may have respected
kings who ruled in accordance with Buddhist morality (dharmaraja), the peas-
antry was more likely to have feared kings as one of the five evils.49 Given the
high percentage of war captives, the peasantry may not have viewed Vessantara’s
offerings of the seven hundred slave men and seven hundred slave women as a
glorious gift. Given the high percentage of poor, villagers may also have found
it easier to identify with Jujaka than Vessantara. Placing an emphasis on generos-
ity may have been a “weapon of the weak,” through which the poor sought to
admonish the rich to be generous and perhaps to constrain the rapaciousness of
representatives of the court.
 Jujaka as Trickster • 207

Recognizing the potential role of the Vessantara Jataka in the peasant

imaginaire helps to explain why the court sought to suppress its comedic recita-
tions. To the extent that Jujaka can be read as a trickster, the Vessantara Jataka
can be read as anti-royalist. One question remains: if the court sought to suppress
the trickster Jujaka, why did he survive so robustly in the northern region, but
not in the central or northeastern regions?
 5

Jujaka as Threat
Consolidating Control

We have now reached the point in our journey where we have found the po-
litical Jujaka, a trickster figure who bridges not only the mythical village and the
palace, but also the present earthly realm and the future Maitreyan utopia in
the northern peasant imaginaire. Given that comic recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka were once widespread across regions and given that the trickster motif
was widely known, the evidence from northern Thailand suggests that Jujaka
may have once been conceived as a trickster in other regions as well. To the
extent that Jujaka was seen as a trickster, the Vessantara Jataka would have reso-
nated more with its audiences across all three regions as an anti-royalist cri-
tique than as a pro-royalist panegyric. Furthermore, peasant discontent and
Maitreyan millenarian movements were hardly limited to northern Thailand.
The fact that the Phra Malai Sutra was closely associated with the Vessantara
Jataka reinforces the performance’s political resonances. Understanding these
political resonances helps to explain the objections of the Bangkok court to
comedic recitations.
But objections alone do not explain differences in the court’s ability to
shape Jujaka’s escapades across these three regions. In the early twentieth
century, Jujaka remained a beloved trickster in the northern region but had
increasingly become a terrifying ghoul in the central region and a vaudevillian
comic (and sometimes ghoul) in the northeastern region. If Jujaka as trickster
was seen as a threat to state control, gaining control over the popular interpreta-
tion of the Vessantara Jataka would have been good politics. Wise rulers, even if
they came to power through military force, also seek to establish legitimacy
through cultural means.1 Since monks were the primary performers of the
Vessantara Jataka in Thailand, suppressing its humor would not be possible

208
 Jujaka as Threat • 209

Figure 15. Jujaka surrounded at court. Jujaka (center) brings the royal grandchildren to court. Temple
mural at Wat Suwannaram, Bangkok, July 2009. Photo by author.

without gaining control over the Buddhist monastic hierarchy (sangha). Depen-
dent to varying degrees upon both royalty and commoners for support, the
sangha provided a bridge between court and village. Given the historical pattern
of ordination by village elites, most local leaders were either monks or former
monks. Furthermore, given the frequency with which revolts were led by monks
or former monks in the name of the future Buddha, gaining royal control of the
sangha would have been an important strategy to establish political stability.
But why was the Bangkok court able to rein in Jujaka in the central and
northeastern regions but not in the north? As this chapter will show, the degree
of humor displayed in Vessantara Jataka performances in different regions
inversely parallels the degree of control the court exercised over each respective
region: the Bangkok court had the most control over the central region, a
modicum of control over the northeastern region, and the least control over the
northern region. The first two sections of this chapter describe how the growth
of the Thammayut reform movement enabled the court to gain increasing
control over the sangha in the central and northeastern regions, respectively.
 210 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

As described in the third section, the Thammayut movement gained entry into
northern Thailand much later than in either the central or northeastern region.
The fourth section seeks to resolve an apparent paradox: that despite the rela-
tively greater political independence of the north, Vessantara Jataka recitations
have declined there, even as they have continued in the northeast.

Centralization of State Control

over the Central Thai Sangha
Recognizing the origins of much of the population as war captives or as debt
slaves sheds light on the challenges the Bangkok court faced in establishing its
legitimacy and administrative control. At the time the Bangkok court came to
power (in the wake of the fall of Ayutthaya, the former capital, to the Burmese
in 1767), the region of central Thailand was in disarray. Authorship of the
“standard” central Thai text of the Vessantara Jataka, with its frightening Jujaka
character, was well underway in the early Bangkok period, but the available
evidence suggests that comedic performances continued to be held among the
populace at large. So how did the sober court version, with its emphasis on the
Kumarn chapter and ghoulish portrayal of Jujaka, come to hold sway? The pro-
cess involved in large measure royal patronage of monks and temples. This
section describes the steps taken by the Bangkok kings to gain control over the
sangha in the central Thai region, both through its secular administrative au-
thority and through the rise of the royally supported Thammayut sect.

Early Efforts
Evidence from European travelers indicates that the Vessantara Jataka was well
known among the Ayutthayan populace, presumably in both its bawdy and
stately forms (e.g., Gervaise [1688] 1989, 129, 140–41; Tachard [1688] 1981, 291–
92). Due to the paucity of historical records, it is difficult to know how the
earlier Ayutthayan sangha was structured, but the sangha’s political importance
is intimated as Taksin (1734–82) sought to found his new capital at Thonburi in
1767. Facing at least two millenarian revolts, he moved quickly to establish
control over the monkhood (Reynolds 1972, 31). In 1769 Taksin invited a monk
from Nakhon Sithammarat to be supreme patriarch in his new capital at
Thonburi. At the same time, he transported an edition of the Tripitaka from
Nakhon Sithammarat to Bangkok, where it was copied (Reynolds 1972, 34;
Heinze 1977, 20).2 In the wake of the Phra Fang revolt, Taksin sent monks
north to the Uttaradit-Phitsanulok region “to perform proper ordinations and
to teach Dhamma” (Reynolds 1972, 35).3 In 1777 the supreme patriarch and
 Jujaka as Threat • 211

other high-ranking monks presented him with Pali texts on meditation. In 1778
he commissioned a revision of the important cosmological text Traiphum
(“Three Worlds”) (Reynolds 1972, 35; for translation, see Reynolds and Reynolds
1982). After Vientiane was overpowered in 1778, Taksin relocated the Emerald
Buddha from Vientiane to Thonburi. Although Taksin sought to consolidate
court control over the sangha, the end of his reign was marked by intense divi-
sion. The supreme patriarch was replaced and the highest-ranking monks were
demoted; more than five hundred monks were flogged and sentenced to menial
labor at Wat Hong, the monastery of the new supreme patriarch (Reynolds 1972,
33). Increasingly viewed as insane, Taksin was deposed in a coup and executed.
Taksin’s general, Chaophraya Chakri, ascended to the throne in 1782 as
King Rama I. The founder of the current royal Chakri dynasty, Rama I (r. 1782–
1809), decided to move the capital across the river to Bangkok (this event was
celebrated in the state recitation of the Vessantara Jataka described in chapter
1). Characterized as a “subtle revolution,” Rama I implemented a series of reli-
gious reforms to help establish his legitimacy (Wyatt 1994, 131). Shortly after
assuming the throne, Rama I reinstated the former supreme patriarch and the
other high-ranking monks who had refused to pay homage to Taksin (Reynolds
1972, 46). Although it would not be finished until nineteen years later, in 1783
he commissioned a new edition of the Traiphum (Reynolds 1972, 57; Reynolds
and Reynolds 1982; Wyatt 1994, 150–54). He undertook the construction of
several Buddhist temples, including Wat Phra Kaew. Upon its completion, he
relocated the Emerald Buddha from Thonburi to the newly built Wat Phra
Kaew, holding the consecration ceremony in 1784. Other important temples he
built were Wat Suthat and Wat Pho, where fragments from the Buddha images
from Ayutthaya’s Wat Si Sanaphet, which had been destroyed by Burmese,
were preserved.4
Rama I moved quickly to consolidate his control over the sangha, issuing
seven sangha laws in his first two years on the throne (Reynolds 1972, 38).5 In
April 1783 two ex-monks from Nakhon Nayok instigated a revolt by claiming
the power to make themselves invisible. A group of nobles and a number of
palace women joined the ex-monks who succeeded in penetrating the Front
Palace (Reynolds 1972, 42). As his introductory remarks to one of his first
sangha laws reveal, Rama I was very concerned about the political threat from
monks who claimed supernatural powers and sought to attract a mass following:
“They travel about alone or in two’s and three’s hiding behind the pretense of
keeping the precepts through meditation. . . . Clothing themselves in the reddish
brown robes of Buddhism, they induce each other to scheme and deceive, extol-
ling supernatural power to take the throne” (Reynolds 1972, 41).6
 212 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Decree 3, promulgated on May 8, 1783, was intended to limit the spread of

revolts by identifying each monk with a specific monastery and a preceptor
who would supervise his conduct. Each monk was required to obtain a certificate
in khom script bearing his Pali name, his monastery of residence, his preceptor,
his seniority in the sangha, and a seal of the ranking sangha officials in the
principality where the monastery was located. When traveling outside their
monasteries, monks had to carry their identifying certificates with them. Ac-
cording to the decree, no monk arriving at a monastery from another district
was to be permitted to stay until his documents had been examined. Further-
more, all abbots had to forward a register of monks under their supervision for
mobilization and control of manpower (Ishii 1986, 65; Taylor 1993, 24; see also
Dhani Nivat 1955, 26; Reynolds 1972, 42–43; Tambiah 1976, 185; Heinze 1977, 22).
In Decree 6 he denounced monks who made a living by serving as masseurs,
medicine sellers, and astrologers. Emphasizing scriptural scholarship and textual
study, Rama I condemned monks who “had failed to maintain their discipline
and their studies, and wandered about in the shops and markets, visited musical
and dramatic performances, played chess and gambled and, in short, behaved
like laypeople” (Wyatt 1994, 147–49). Decree 7 addressed the continuing factional
disputes that were occurring in the sangha, decreeing that “all Mon and Lao
[monks] heed the instructions of the Supreme Patriarch alone” and involve the
king only as a last resort (Reynolds 1972, 46).7 Seeking to end the disputes, the
king demoted some monks, disrobed others, and even sentenced one to execu-
tion.8 With his tenth edict, he expelled 128 monks who had been “guilty of all
kinds of ignoble behavior, namely drinking, wandering about at night, rubbing
shoulders with women, using improper language, [and] buying silly things
from Chinese junks” (Wenk 1968, 39).
In addition to seeking to control the sangha itself, Rama I appeared to
emphasize the primacy of a more philosophical form of Buddhism. In 1782,
although allowing for the propitiation of various spirits, he ordered that his
subjects revere no beliefs higher than Buddhism. He stated that he found no
support for phallic worship in the Tripitaka and was concerned that foreign
visitors found it offensive. He went so far as to forbid “the keeping of lingas,
and ordered officials to gather and destroy them, on penalty of death” (Wyatt
1994, 157). Three years later, he required that officials participating in the annual
oath-of-allegiance ceremony pay respect “to the Triple Gems of Buddhism,
the Emerald Buddha and Buddhist relics before paying their respects to the
guardian and tutelary deities or to the statues of previous rulers” (Wyatt 1994,
157). In 1788 Rama I donated large sums for copying the Tripitaka text and dis-
tributing it to all royal monasteries (Reynolds 1972, 50). Known as the Grand
 Jujaka as Threat • 213

Gilt Edition, these revisions were completed in April 1789 (Reynolds 1972, 53;
Thiphakorawong 1978; Veidlinger 2006, 146–49).
Rama 1 died in 1809 and was succeeded by his son, who became Rama II
(r. 1809–24). Another of Rama I’s sons was Prince Paramanuchit. Also known
for his literary skills, he was the author of five chapters of the “standard” version
of the Vessantara Jataka and later became supreme patriarch (see the discussion
in chapter 2). King Rama II was also known as a fine poet, and his reign was
notably peaceful. Some of his contributions were reviving the celebrations of
Visakha Bucha, revising the Buddhist Tripitaka by translating prayers from
Pali into Thai so they would be comprehensible to those who were reciting
them, and building and restoring Buddhist temples. He also sent a mission of
monks to Sri Lanka to study Buddhism in that country; upon their return,
these monks brought six bo sprigs to be planted at six temples (Reynolds 1972,
92).9 John Crawfurd, who visited Bangkok in 1822, near the end of Rama II’s
reign, testified to the significant extent to which sangha affairs in the central
region had been stabilized by that time. Remarking on the court’s tight regula-
tion of the sangha, Crawfurd notes, “religion was completely identified with
the government” ([1828] 1987, 368). He continues: “The Sovereign himself is
the real head of the religion of the country. The Talapoins depend upon him
for subsistence and promotion. They have neither rank nor endowments inde-
pendent of his will. They are not hereditary; they have no civil employments;
and no tie which unites their interests with those of the people. They may there-
fore be considered as a kind of standing force, ready at all times with spiritual
arms to enforce obedience to the will of the Sovereign, and to strengthen and
aggravate his despotic authority” ([1828] 1967, 372).
While strengthening state control over the sangha, the court continued to
promote an understanding of Buddhism that included the jatakas. In his edition
of the Buddha’s life, completed in 1845, Prince Paramanuchit still concluded
with Buddhaghosa’s famous prediction from the fifth century that Buddhism
was destined to disappear in five thousand years.

The Rise of the Thammayut Order

If the reigns of Rama I and Rama II had made significant strides in unifying
the sangha, the reign of King Rama III saw the expansion of the court adminis-
trative hierarchy and the emergence of a major division in the sangha. Rama III
was known for his piety and lavish patronage of the sangha (Reynolds 1972, 158).
Born in 1787 of a royal wife who came from a southern Muslim noble family,
Rama III distinguished himself in his earlier position as minister of trade and
foreign affairs. Trade flourished during his reign, the revenue enabling him to
 214 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

serve as a generous patron (Vella 1957, 19). Under Rama III the number of reno-
vations and constructions of royal monastic complexes rose from fifteen in the
first reign to forty (Worrasit 2006, 137). He also encouraged Chinese merchants
and noblemen to build temples affiliated with the court (Worrasit 2006, 185).
During this reign, royal support for Buddhist education increased signifi-
cantly. Examinations were standardized and held every three years, with rewards
given to monks who passed. Elites and noblemen followed the king’s example
by hiring teachers to prepare monks throughout Bangkok for the Pali examina-
tion. Relatives of monks who passed their examination were exempted from
royal obligations (Reynolds 1972, 160). Ex-monks with Pali knowledge were en-
couraged to enter the bureaucracy. These measures encouraged both commoners
and noblemen to enter the monkhood and to continue studying in the hopes of
receiving royal titles. Study of the Buddhist canon and Pali became a means of
mobility in Thai society, while the social role of royal temples was strengthened
when they became both educational centers and a point of entry into the bureauc-
racy (Worrasit 2006, 130–31).
However, his reign also saw the rise of a new order of monks called
Thammayut. The older order came to be known as the Mahanikai, and this
division “profoundly affected Sangha history in the second half of the 19th
century” (Reynolds 1972, 125). The new order was founded by Rama III’s younger
half brother, Prince Mongkut, who ordained as a monk in 1824. During his
twenty-seven years in the monkhood, Mongkut introduced a series of changes.
Mongkut had the advantage of high royal birth as the son of King Rama II, his
status as a legitimate heir to the throne, and the support of King Rama III
(Reynolds 1972, 69). Put simply, “Without royal patronage the Thammayut nikai
would not have survived” (Kamala 1997, 6). Because of its close connections with
the court, it became highly influential.
Mongkut was impressed with Mon adherence to the vinaya, the monastic
disciplinary code of conduct. Accordingly, he developed a small coterie of five
to six other monks, including the future supreme patriarch Prince Pawaret.10
In order to make monastic discipline stricter, Mongkut “insisted that laypeople
ought to perform such necessary tasks as distributing monks’ food, cleaning
their living quarters, washing their robes, and caring for their communal
property” (Kamala 1997, 6; see also Reynolds 1972, 90). The new sect was
distinguished by “a new style of wearing robes (covering both shoulders, a Mon
practice), new ordination rituals, a new pronunciation of the Pali scriptural
language, new routines (including daily chanting), and new religious days to
observe” (Kamala 1997, 6; see also Reynolds 1972, 90–91). The Thammayut
order emphasized the life of the historical Buddha over the jatakas. As Kamala
 Jujaka as Threat • 215

explains: “Mongkut also placed greater emphasis on the study of the Pali canon
and commentaries than on the practice of meditation, which he considered
mystical. He was convinced that true religion was a matter of rational doctrine
and belief. Mongkut disdained all traditions in which folk stories and parables
were used to teach the dharma and local culture was integrated with Buddhism.
From his perspective, local stories full of demons, gods, miracles, magic, rituals,
and exorcism were folklore; they had nothing to do with Buddhism” (1997,
6–7).
In 1837 Rama III invited Mongkut to serve as abbot at Wat Bowonniwet.
This position brought Mongkut physically closer to Rama III while at the
same time freeing him to introduce a number of innovations in monastic practice
and legitimizing his following (Reynolds 1972, 87). Mongkut remained as abbot
until he acceded to the throne in 1851 as Rama IV. By 1851, between 130 and
150 monks were spending the Lenten season at Wat Bowonniwet. Many of
them “were princes and sons of nobles and all . . . were followers of Mongkut”
(Reynolds 1972, 87; see also Bastian 1867, 95). At least three other branch chapters
were established at other temples.11 Because monks from his temple excelled in
the examinations, Rama III put Mongkut in charge of all ecclesiastical examina-
tions in the capital (Reynolds 1972, 89). Mongkut also sought new means of
disseminating Buddhist teachings, setting up a printing press (Vella 1957, 42).
Although the Thammayut sect was small, its influence was considerable. As
founder of a new sect, Mongkut was treading a fine line. As Craig Reynolds
notes, for some the new order was seen as rooted in an authentic tradition, but
to others it had “the appearance of absolutism and arrogance” (1972, 97).
The growing strength of the Thammayut order was reflected in changes in
the administrative structure of the sangha. The Siamese monastic order was
previously comprised of three major regional patriarchs, each in charge of the
northern, the southern, and the forest monasteries, respectively. The supreme
patriarch was usually the head of the northern region and was seated at Wat
Mahathat. Rama III revised this structure to four major regional groups: the
northern, the southern, the forest, and the central monasteries (Heinze 1977,
24). He put his uncle, Prince Paramanuchit Chinorot at Wat Pho, in charge of
all the monasteries of Bangkok and the central region. Wat Pho became the
center of the administration of local Bangkok monasteries while Wat Mahathat
remained the larger center encompassing the entire monastic order. The temples
of the new Thammayut order were placed under the central control of Wat
Pho. Rama III’s appointment could be seen as shifting Wat Pho into the real
center of the monastic order, thereby allowing the Thammayut order political
space to expand (Worrasit 2006, 176).
 216 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Upon the death of Rama III in 1851, Mongkut became king. Seeking to
balance his patronage between both orders, Mongkut appointed Prince Paramanu-
chit as supreme patriarch, marking the first time in Siamese history a member
of the royal family was charged with the leadership of all monks in the kingdom
(Reynolds 1972, 115). Since Prince Paramanuchit was at once a member of the
Mahanikai order and the royal family, this deft appointment served to balance
both Mahanikai and Thammayut interests. Safely under the authority of the
royal supreme patriarch, the Thammayut order was able to develop. Mongkut
appointed Prince Pawaret as abbot of Wat Bowonniwet and head of the
Thammayut temples (Reynolds 1972, 120). Concerned that there might be a
flood of candidates seeking to curry favor with the king, Prince Pawaret gener-
ally restricted ordinations to members of the royal family (Reynolds 1972, 106).
Some senior Thammayut monks established chapters in other Mahanikai
temples. In 1856 a Thammayut monk from Wat Samorai was made abbot of a
new temple called Wat Samanatsawihan. In 1864 Mongkut built the first temple
exclusively for his order (Wat Makutkasat); receiving considerable support
from palace women, its first abbot was Sa, a monk from Wat Bowonniwet who
later became supreme patriarch (Reynolds 1972, 107). As Craig Reynolds de-
scribes the expansion of the Thammayut, “Many young princes were ordained
in the Thammayuttika during Mongkut’s reign and an increasing number of
monasteries, headed by Mongkut’s followers, looked to Wat Bowonniwet and
Wat Samanatsawihan for spiritual and administrative guidance. This growth
had profound consequences for the Sangha, for the strength of Mongkut’s
nikai in terms of the talent it attracted” (Reynolds 1972, 114).
The Thammayut order provided a “new standard of orthodoxy” (Reynolds
1972, 125). There were growing numbers of educated Thai who were interested
in science and believed “rain fell not because the rain-making deities dared to
emerge from their abode or because a great serpent thrashed its tail, but be-
cause of winds which suck water out of the clouds” (Reynolds 1972, 130; see also
Alabaster 1870, 7–11). This growing rationalism is reflected in this criticism of
Thai literature by Chaophraya Thiphakorawong (Kham Bunnag): “Our Siamese
literature is not only scanty but nonsensical, full of stories of genii stealing
women, and men fighting with genii, and extraordinary persons who could fly
through the air, and bring dead people to life” (Alabaster 1870, 7). In his book
Kitchanukit, Thiphakorawong challenges the mythical explanations of diseases,
earthquakes, comets, eclipses, and other such natural events, providing scientific
explanations in their place. Instead of stories from previous lives, he draws upon
incidents from the Buddha’s life. During his visit, Bastian records Thiphakora-
wong describing “the new Buddhist sect that the king was trying to found in an
 Jujaka as Threat • 217

attempt to reform the religion, banning all that was fantastic and improbable
from the Pali scriptures, and retaining only their moral essence” ([1867] 2005,
58). The influence of the Thammayut order expanded beyond its own temples
since “Mahanikai monasteries also experimented with Thammayuttika practice”
and these new perspectives were shared “by increasing numbers of Mahanikai
monks as well” (Reynolds 1972, 111,137). Nonetheless, the tight organization
and discipline enabled the Thammayut to become “an elite corps which trans-
mitted the energy of Mongkut’s reform to the entire sangha” (Reynolds 1972,
137).

Centralizing Administrative Control

After King Mongkut’s death, his son Chulalongkorn developed a national
system of administration in which the sangha came to play an important role (see
Tej 1977). Chulalongkorn appointed Prince Pawaret head of the sangha in
January 1874; his appointment showed “the degree to which the Thammayut
had been absorbed into the Sangha” (Reynolds 1972, 121).12 In 1882 a half brother
of Chulalongkorn, Prince Vajiranana (Wachirayan), was appointed as deputy
head of the Thammayut order. With two princes holding formal status in the
monastic hierarchy, the Thammayut order was becoming increasingly influen-
tial (Reynolds 1972, 123). When Prince Pawaret died in 1892, Prince Vajiranana
assumed the position of abbot of Wat Bowonniwet and was made head of the
Thammayut order. Later, when Rama VI came into power in 1910, Prince
Vajiranana was appointed the supreme patriarch of the Thai monkhood.
During Rama V’s reign three major developments are of significance for
our understanding of the Vessantara Jataka: (1) the establishment of religious
academic institutions, (2) the institution of public education, and (3) the enact-
ment of the Sangha Act of 1902. Under Prince Vajiranana the Thammayut
order became closely integrated with the newly centralizing bureaucracy.13
Shortly after becoming abbot, Prince Vajiranana proceeded to establish the
Thammayut’s Mahamakut Buddhist University at Wat Bowonniwet in 1893.
Named in commemoration of his father’s death, Mahamakut was the first
formal Buddhist college for monks and novices. To counterbalance the Tham-
mayut university, King Chulalongkorn also established Mahachulalongkorn
University at the Mahanikai temple of Wat Mahathat in 1896 (see Reynolds
1972, 169–93). The graduates of these universities were to play an important
role in the development of public education through the country’s temple
schools.
Called “the first modern law pertaining to the sangha,” the purpose of
the 1902 Sangha Act was to integrate the country’s sangha under a single
 218 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

administrative organization. The act was initially implemented in fourteen of

the seventeen monthons (Ishii 1986, 71).14 The 1902 Sangha Act created a
national administrative hierarchy that paralleled the provincial administrative
hierarchy established by Prince Damrong in the 1897 Local Administration
Act. The sangha was to be ruled by a Council of Elders, under which came the
heads of monthons, muangs, khwaengs, and individual temples, respectively (for
a diagram, see Ishii 1986, 71). The Council of Elders was comprised of eight
members, two from each of the four major divisions: the Thammayut, northern
region, southern region, and central region. The act also described three major
types of temples: royal temples, commoner temples, and monastic residences.15
Although the act stated that Mahanikai monks could govern Thammayut
monks, in practice Mahanikai monks were invariably governed by Thammayut
monks. As Peter Jackson notes, “the 1902 Act provided a legal framework for,
and legitimised, the Thammayut Order’s administrative control of the entire
Thai sangha” (1989, 69).
The implementation of the 1902 Sangha Act also led to the establishment
of a “centrally controlled doctrinal orthodoxy with regard to the interpretation
of Buddhist teachings” ( Jackson 1989, 69). Prince Vajiranana wrote almost all
the textbooks used in the new national monastic education system based on
his interpretation of Pali canonical works, commentaries, and vinaya texts
(Kamala 1997, 8–9; Jory 2000). As Kamala explains, the act created a monastic
system, still in use today, that rested on degrees, examinations, and ranks in the
sangha hierarchy and defined “the ideal Buddhist monk as one who observes
strict monastic rules, has mastered Vajiranana’s texts, teaches in Bangkok Thai,
carries out administrative duties, observes holy days, and performs religious
ceremonies based on Bangkok customs” (1997, 8–9). “With the act’s passage, a
modern nation-state with a centralized, urban-based bureaucracy began to
control local communities distinguished by diverse ethnic traditions. Formerly
autonomous Buddhist monks belonging to diverse lineages became part of the
Siamese religious hierarchy with its standard texts and practices, whereas
previously no single tradition had predominated” (Kamala 1997, 8–9).
Thus, over the course of the nineteenth century, the court was able to insert
itself into a religio-educational system with ever-expanding influence. In
contrast to the Ayutthayan period, when only four sons of kings made the
monkhood their careers over the course of four hundred years, six royal sons
became influential monks in the nineteenth century (Reynolds 1972, 66).16
The number of royal temples supported by the king grew. The king acquired
many royal monasteries from pious noblemen who made merit by building a
monastery and then made additional merit by presenting it to the king. In the
 Jujaka as Threat • 219

mid-nineteenth century there were some fifty-four royal monasteries with some
eight thousand monks of the total ten thousand monks in the city (Pallegoix
1854, 312, cited in Reynolds 1972, 21). By 1914 there were seventy-two royal
temples in Bangkok and thirty-eight in the nearby countryside (Reynolds 1972,
21). As Reynolds notes, “The Sangha was acutely aware of its dependency on
the crown, especially when social and economic conditions limited the flow of
support from the laity” (1972, 24).
Court control over the sangha was reinforced through its establishment of
a separate secular government department, called the Krom Thammakan, or
Department of Religious Affairs. Dating back to at least the reign of King
Rama I, this department “managed finances, supervised monastery construction
and restoration, and recommended appointments to the king” (Reynolds 1972,
16). Initially, only royal temples fell under the supervision of the Krom Tham-
makan; these were primarily located in Bangkok. In 1888–89 the krom became
part of the new Ministry of Public Instruction (Reynolds 1972, 21). In 1893 the
department comprised four subdivisions: royal ceremonies, monastic registers,
monasteries (overseeing monastic lands and rents), and a subdivision to inves-
tigate legal cases (Reynolds 1972, 22–23). Today, under the Ministry of Culture,
its jurisdiction has expanded such that it now oversees temples throughout
Thailand.
Thus, over the course of the nineteenth century, the court was increasingly
in a position to shape performances of the Vessantara Jataka in central Thailand.
Although its influence initially would have been limited to royal temples, the
court came to exert greater control over the sangha with the rise of the Tham-
mayut order, the promulgation of various laws, and the existence of a Depart-
ment of Religious Affairs. How did the court succeed in gaining access to
monks in northeastern Thailand?

Bangkok Expansion into the Northeast

Although Thai control over northeastern Thailand had been minimal during
the Ayutthayan period, it became tighter over the course of the nineteenth
century. From its inception, the Chakri dynasty was more concerned to establish
its direct jurisdiction over the northeastern and southern regions of Thailand
than the north. As Constance Wilson explains the geopolitical position, “Con-
trol of the northeast by another state would be more of a threat to central
Thailand than control of any other area. An army coming down from Nakhon
Ratchasima could descend more quickly on the capital than one from either
the north or the south” (1970, 120–23). While other regions were characterized
 220 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

by “fairly compact areas of settlement in clearly defined geographic regions,”

the northeast is “an extensive interior plateau which does not contain many
natural internal regional units” (Wilson 1970, 120). She explains the resulting
problem: “In the nineteenth century, the Korat Plateau contained a number of
muang [city-states] which appear to have been of approximately equal size and
status. No single muang in the area was dominant. Instead of a relatively stable
hierarchy of muang and huamuang similar to that found in the south . . . the
huamuang of the northeast were almost constantly at each other’s throats. . . .
The Chao Muang of the northeast, unable to settle their own internal conflicts,
were forever seeking outside help” (Wilson 1970, 120–23).
Adding to the volatility of the northeastern region was the existence of
competing kingdoms to the east. With the demise of the Lao kingdom of
Lan Chang after the death of its king in 1695, the region had split into three
kingdoms of Luang Prabang, Vientiane, and Champasak.17 As Wilson explains:
“The Korat Plateau was an area of competition between the Thai and the
Lao. This meant that one family faction could look to the Thai for help, while
another turned toward the Lao kingdoms. The presence of three external cen-
ters of power encouraged internal dissension in the Korat Plateau” (1970,
120–23).
Thus the process of establishing control over the northeast was continually
fraught. In 1804 Chao Anu was appointed ruler of Vientiane by Bangkok. In
1827, following the death of Bangkok’s King Rama II, Chao Anu and his son
launched a military attack on Bangkok. Although ultimately the attack failed,
the Bangkok court responded by destroying Vientiane and forcibly relocating
the population into the region known today as northeastern Thailand (see
Wyatt 1994, 185–209). As Wilson summarizes, “Few family groups survived the
events of 1826–1827 intact” (1970, 128). Furthermore, the population continued
to be disrupted by Thai demands on the northeast to supply officials, conscripts,
and provisions for Thai attacks on Vietnam in 1833–34, 1840–41, and 1845
(Wilson 1970, 128).
Bangkok took measures to ensure that local power in the northeast remained
dispersed. As Wilson explains, “Instead of permitting a huamuang to exercise
jurisdiction over a large number of lesser muangs, the Thai sought to make
lesser muangs direct dependencies of Bangkok” (1970, 125). Between 1767 and
1882, in the Lao areas 145 huamuang were created, of which about 95–100 were
located on the Khorat plateau (Keyes 1967, 15). These huamuang were later
consolidated to 42 major huamuang.
Concerned with growing colonial expansion by the British in Burma and
the French in Indochina, the Thai government instituted a system of royal
 Jujaka as Threat • 221

commissioners for the Lao areas. In 1882 a royal commissioner in charge of the
Lao huamuang was stationed at Champasak (Vella 1955, 344; Keyes 1967, 16).
In 1890 the Lao huamuang were grouped into four monthons, each with its
own royal commissioner (Keyes 1967, 16). The purpose of these monthons was
“to tighten central control over the provinces by sending out a Royal Commis-
sioner to coordinate the administration of several provinces and report directly
to the Ministry of Interior” (Vickery 1970, 875). With the establishment of the
new Ministry of the Interior in 1892, the monthons were administered by
ministry officials (see Tej 1977, 101). Gradually the major huamuang became
districts (amphur) and the chao muang became “governors” whose salaries
came from the central government rather than from tribute money, as had
been the case before. As Keyes explains: “As a cao muang passed away in one of
the northeastern or other ‘outer provinces,’ he was replaced not in accordance
with the traditional method whereby provincial officials chose the new ruler
(usually from among the close relatives of the old ruler), but instead through an
appointment made by the Ministry of Interior” (1967, 17).
As Michael Vickery’s review of eleven provinces or districts of northeastern
Thailand shows, “the elites of the Northeast are conspicuous by their apparently
total exclusion from high office under the reformed system” (1970, 878). None
of the northeastern elites was appointed a monthon royal commissioner; a
few of the old hereditary governors were maintained in office for a certain
number of years after the introduction of the reformed administrative system;
and many others were either given lower-level posts or virtually demoted to the
status of district officers or unsalaried positions called krom kan phiset (Vickery
1970; Tambiah 1976, 196).18
The Bangkok court had good reason to be worried about the growing
French presence. In 1893 Bangkok was forced to cede all the Lao area on the
left bank of the Mekong River; in addition, two areas on the right bank,
Sayaboury and Champasak, passed to French control in 1904 (Keyes 1967, 12).19
That Bangkok chose not to appoint local hereditary rulers to administrative
positions indicates (1) its considerable concern over the administration of this
region, and (2) its misgivings regarding the “loyalty of the northeastern regions
precisely because of their strong Laotian connections and their linguistic and
cultural variations from central Thai” (Tambiah 1976, 197). Central Thai ad-
ministration of the northeast was based on a semi-feudal principle whereby
villagers were subject to indigenous elites and the elites were in turn subject to
Bangkok (Keyes 1967, 15). As Vickery remarks, “the system encouraged local
particularism and the attachment of the population to local leaders rather than
to the capital” (1970, 873).
 222 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Thammayut Expansion into the Northeast

The challenge facing the Bangkok court in domesticating northeastern religious
practices is quickly made visible by their ever-prevalent lingas. As I have de-
scribed in chapter 2, anyone traveling to villages in northeastern Thailand can
see ample evidence of the continuing use of phalluses, not only during the
Rocket Festival but even on the elephant that Vessantara and Matsi ride in the
village processions. As noted earlier in this chapter, the court’s efforts to de-
stroy all lingas and reform local practices began as early as 1782 under Rama I,
but they have clearly met with only a modicum of success.
Given the long-standing tradition of monks traveling from temple to temple
in the past, it is likely that northeastern monks would have traveled to Bangkok
and familiarized themselves with the developing trends in Bangkok-based
practices of Buddhism. Since Rama I had led military campaigns in Vientiane
and Champasak, it is entirely possible that he developed a network of personal
contacts through which to begin to influence the sangha hierarchy throughout
the northeastern region.20 Certainly by the time of Rama III, there is clear
evidence of Bangkok’s growing interest in establishing a presence in the north-
eastern sangha. While Rama IV was still a monk, he had sent Ajarn Sui to
become head of the early Thammayut sect in Ubon; Ajarn Sui is credited with
introducing formal Pali and Thai studies in Ubon, which he had learned at
Wat Saket in Bangkok (Taylor 1993, 36, 46). Ajarn Sui initially resided at Wat
Paa Noi in Ubon, a Mahanikai temple. Ubon temples were considered to be in
the Vientiane or Lao tradition; Ajarn Sui’s disciples became known as the
“Thai order.”
In 1851 the Bangkok-supported Chao Muang of Ubon asked two monks,
Than Phanthulo “Dii” and his disciple Than Thewathammii “Maao,” to set up
the first Thammayut temple. Called Wat Supat, this temple was affiliated with
Wat Bowonniwet in Bangkok; Dii became its first abbot. According to the
official history of Wat Supat, Mongkut himself ordered the construction of
Wat Supat in Ubon in 1850, personally contributing 800 baht for its construction
and giving a stipend of 8 baht per month to the abbot. The temple was also
allocated sixty corvée laborers to help with its upkeep. Phra Ubalii, the fourth
abbot of Wat Bowonniwet in Bangkok, became the fourth abbot of Wat Supat
(Taylor 1993, 35, 48; for more on Ubalii, see Anake 2007).
Ubon’s local uparaat (viceroy) subsequently established Wat Sii Thong
(now Wat Sii Ubon) in 1855, with Maao as its first abbot (he died in 1890)
(Taylor 1993, 46). The Thammayut monks in Ubon became known as the Mon
order. Thereafter, a number of reform monasteries were established within a
 Jujaka as Threat • 223

short time of each other both in Ubon and in two muang that were vassals of
Ubon (see Taylor 1993, 46, for list). Each of these monasteries was supported
by the local aristocratic rulers (the Chao Muang, Uparaat, Ratchawong, and
Ratchabut) (see Taylor 1993, 48). As Taylor notes, “Dii could not have succeeded
in promoting the Thammayut Khana had it not been for the enthusiasm of
Mongkut, then king, and the support of local-based elites, especially the local
lord ( Jao Meuang) of Ubon” (1993, 46). Mongkut knew both Dii and Maao
personally (Taylor 1993, 46).
Another monk who illustrates the growing connections between Bangkok
and the northeast was Phra Ariyakawii Orn, who was appointed chaokhana yai
(sangha governor) for the Thammayut of the northeastern region’s Monthon
Isan. He was born in Ubon in 1845 and ordained in the Thammayut order
under Maao when he was twenty-one. In 1869 he was sent to Bangkok to pursue
Pali studies. For a time he was an abbot of a temple in Nonthaburi.21 He then
returned to Ubon, residing at the Thammayut Wat Supat. In addition to teach-
ing, Orn was responsible for sending many northeastern pupils to Bangkok for
advanced Pali studies and established a number of provincial pariyat schools
(Taylor 1993, 51). Orn worked closely with King Chulalongkorn’s younger half
brother, Krom Luang Phichit Priichaakorn, the khaaluang thaen phra-ong
(special envoy) in Ubon.22 Phichit gave one baht of his own allowance for each
Thammayut monk in Ubon toward food (Taylor 1993, 51).23 As ecclesiastical
head in Ubon, Orn enforced strict standards of behavior with monks under his
control, “such as forbidding participation in indigenous rituals such as the
‘rocket festival’ (bun bangfai ), boat-racing, drum-beating competitions, and
horse raising” (Taylor 1993, 51–52). His prohibitions likely included bawdy
performances of the Vessantara Jataka.
Phra Ubalii (1856–1932) succeeded Orn as sangha governor in Ubon.24 One
of the most famous monks of the northeast, Ubalii was born in a village outside
Ubon; he was a childhood friend of a famous forest monk, Ajarn Man. He
went to Wat Sii Thong in Ubon to study as a novice. He had to disrobe in 1874
to help his family farm, but he re-ordained in 1877 with Maao as his preceptor;
he resided at Wat Chaiyamongkhon, a Thammayut temple in Ubon. For a
time he studied with Maao but then went to further his education in Bangkok.
In 1885 he and seven or eight other northeastern monks and novices returned
to Ubon with the intention of establishing their own temple for meditation.
In 1888, when the Chao Muang of Champasak heard of Ubalii’s abilities, he
invited Ubalii to establish the first Thammayut temple in Champasak. After
coming into conflict with a local monk in Champasak, Ubalii moved to Bangkok
(to Wat Pichaiyaattikaraam in Thonburi), bringing many pupils with him. In
 224 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

1890 he was promoted to sangha governor of Champasak and returned to

Champasak to establish a school for Pali and Thai studies. In 1893, after
Champasak was ceded to France, Ubalii returned to Ubon where he stayed at
Wat Supat. In 1894 he went to Bangkok, again bringing promising pariyat
students with him. Ubalii was appointed to the committee of Mahamakut
Buddhist University at Wat Bowonniwet. He continued to alternate teaching
in Bangkok and in the northeast, returning to Ubon again in 1896. In 1898
Prince Vajiranana asked him to become one of the monthon education directors
of Monthon Isan. In 1903 Ubalii replaced Orn as preceptor for the Thammayut
sect in Ubon. At that point he had traveled back and forth from the northeast
to Bangkok ten times. In 1904 he was appointed abbot at Wat Bowonniwet in
Bangkok. He received several subsequent promotions and in 1910 became
Chaokhana Monthon Hua Muang Krungthep.25
In addition to strong links between Ubon and Bangkok, Thammayut links
also expanded to other regions in the northeast. A monk named Saeng, who
had ordained with Maao at Wat Sii Thong in Ubon, established a Thammayut
temple in Udon called Wat Mahachai. At the request of the Chao Muang in
Udon, he became the head of Wat Mahachai and later the chaokhana khwaeng.
Wat Mahachai was a branch of Wat Somanat in Bangkok and became an im-
portant center for the dissemination of Thammayut ideas in Udon (Taylor
1993, 50). As Taylor explains, “From its successful missionary ventures in Udorn,
the Thammayut spreads to Khorn Kaen, then to the more distant provinces of
Nakhorn Phanom and Loei” (1993, 62).
Ajarn Man Phurithatto, a childhood friend of Ubalii, became an even more
famous Thammayut monk. Widely believed to have reached arahantship while
meditating in the mountains in Chiang Mai province, Man is considered to be
the founder of the modern Thammayut forest meditation tradition. He was
born in 1870 in a village in Ubon and first ordained at age fifteen in his home
village. After having disrobed, he was re-ordained as a monk in 1892 at Wat Sii
Thong in Ubon; his preceptor was Orn (Taylor 1993, 75–77).
The Thammayut temples were always significantly fewer in number than
the Mahanikai temples, but their links to the court in Bangkok and the elite—
both Siamese administrators and local aristocrats—in their local regions gave
them significant influence.26 Indeed, Taylor suggests that “in fact the efforts of
the Thammayut’s missionary scholar-monks would not have been possible,
given local resentment, without the backing of the Bangkok-appointed civil
officials in northeastern monthon” (1993, 66).27 Local Mahanikai monks “were
understandably upset by this inequitable situation.” Taylor describes hostilities
between monks in Ubon at Wat Supat and those of Mahanikai’s Wat Paa Noi:
 Jujaka as Threat • 225

“When the two lines of monks passed each other on morning alms, after the
front senior monks had passed, the rest of the line consisting of junior monks
and novices would sometimes brawl” (1993, 69).
However, another factor facilitating the growth of Thammayut influence
was the fact that many of the monks were themselves northeasterners. Taylor
summarizes the process this way: “Because educational and administrative
reforms involved both the Thammayut and the civil administrators, reform
monks were seen as part of the same hegemonic process of domestication over
Lao-speaking lands. Yet these particular reform monks, in contrast to the new
civil administrators, were themselves northeasterners, educated in the Siamese
capital. . . . For the ambitious provincial boys, the sangha was the most acces-
sible means to attain social mobility in the new Siamese bureaucracy” (1993,
67).
Although the northeastern Thammayut monks do not seem to have partici-
pated in recitations of the Vessantara Jataka, they do not seem to have been
necessarily hostile to the tradition. Thus, Ubalii, in his report for Monthon
Isan, finds that the preferred popular religious practices did not conform to
doctrinal traditions, explicitly noting that villagers still preferred to spend their
time listening to the Mahachat. Nonetheless, Ajarn Man evidently considered
that the Vessantara Jataka supported basic human ideals worthy of emulation—
namely, giving, maintaining precepts, and developing the mind (Taylor 1993,
74). Although Man appears to have shared the Thammayut disdain for many
indigenous religious practices, it is interesting that his sparse biography does
mention that in his youth, Man enjoyed the verbal repartee of morlam. Appar-
ently, Ubalii even came to Man’s rescue when he was losing a verbal exchange
with a local girl. As Taylor explains, “Morlam is a context in improvised rhyming,
frequently enacting male-female conflicts in which a battle of wits can become
quite febrile and excitable. In Morlam much use is made of word play, riddles,
puns, innuendoes, and the use of metaphors” (1993, 76). The rhetorical style
that Man developed in morlam apparently carried over to his mode of teaching.
As Taylor writes, Man “would often instruct his pupils in extemporaneous
puns and rhymes, an old Thai-Lao discursive style rarely heard today and indica-
tive of a sharp and subtle mind” (1993, 76).

Expansion of Provincial Education

Although plans for public education can be traced to 1875 (Wyatt 1969,
116), the Ministry of Education was first formed in 1887 (Wyatt 1969, 114).
Prince Damrong, then minister of education, sought to establish government-
supported schools, but there was little initial interest beyond Bangkok. Upon
 226 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

his return from Europe in 1897, Chulalongkorn was intent on developing public
education. He was extremely frustrated with the slow pace of the Education
Department (Wyatt 1969, 205–15). Of the 30,000 boys of school age in Bangkok
alone, only 3,468 were enrolled in the modernized government and religious
schools of Prince Vajiranana (Wyatt 1969, 209). Outside of Bangkok, out of a
male school age population of some 450,000 boys, 28,000 boys were receiving a
traditional-style education in the monasteries and only 1,364 were attending
modern-style schools (Wyatt 1969, 210–11). The government faced dual chal-
lenges: a lack of financial resources and a lack of trained teachers. The latter
problem could be solved by encouraging monks to be the teachers of the vil-
lages in the outer provinces. At the instigation of King Chulalongkorn, Prince
Damrong and Prince Vajiranana presented a proposal to “get rid of the idea
that monasteries have only a religious function, and consider all monasteries as
schools” (Wyatt 1969, 221).
The decree on the organization of provincial education was promulgated
in 1898. Prince Damrong, who was then minister of the interior, and Prince
Vajiranana, then abbot of Wat Bowonniwet and head of the Thammayut sect,
worked together to expand public education in the provinces by setting up
schools in the some 12,000 monasteries that existed throughout the kingdom
(Wyatt 1969, 233–35). Although all monasteries were to be made places of
study, at least one school supported by government funds would be established
in every province (Wyatt 1969, 237). Local monks who were interested would
be sent to Mahamakut Academy in Bangkok for further training (Wyatt 1969,
237). Funds were to be provided to Mahamakut Academy for the compilation
and publication of textbooks, for the training of teacher-monks, and for adminis-
trative expenses. Furthermore, a corps of high-ranking monks was established
whose duties were to serve as education and religion directors ( phuuamnuaikaan)
in each monthon; they were to travel each dry season in their provinces and meet
annually in Bangkok (Wyatt 1969, 237).
Recognizing that much of the success of this plan would depend on the
quality of these educational directors, Prince Vajiranana sought to nominate
monks with local knowledge and family connections in the provinces to which
they were sent. Wyatt describes their instructions as follows:

The directors were enjoined to travel in their provinces with local ecclesiastical
dignitaries, where these had been appointed, so as not to appear to be ignoring
established hierarchical relationships. They were to inspect all monasteries for
consideration as sites for government schools, assessing the strength and
weaknesses of each in terms of its location, relative popularity, and availability
to draw upon local support, and the availability of monks teaching or capable
of
 Jujaka as Threat • 227

teaching to modern standards. . . . To monks and monasteries they were to

distribute the Rapid Readers and religious books. . . . Finally, the provincial
directors were to select young monks in the provinces for training as teachers in
Bangkok, so that they might “become teachers who will work to follow the
plans which have been made to support the extension of religion in the provinces
in the future.” (1967, 239)

These directors left Bangkok in January 1899, surveying eleven monthons in

the central region (Wyatt 1967, 242–43). Their efforts resulted in the establish-
ment of 177 new schools in provincial temples by the end of the first year, having
successfully persuaded 177 provincial abbots to agree to “using government
textbooks and submitting to regular examinations and inspection by the director
and his designated local subordinates” (Wyatt 1967, 246).
The next year (1899–1900) it was decided to send education directors to
four additional monthons. In addition to Phuket in the south, the other three
monthons were in the northeast, namely, Isan (Ubon), Nakhon Ratchasima
(Khorat), and Burapha (western Cambodia) (Wyatt 1967, 249). The Monthon
Isan director (Ubalii) had already established a flourishing Pali school in Ubon
in 1897 with two Pali teachers and three Thai teachers that had attracted 205
students in its first year; consequently, in 1899 Ubon was designated as a special
center for Pali and religious studies (Wyatt 1967, 248). In 1899/1900 the annual
Mahamakut Academy examination was held in four central provinces and
taken by 988 students; examinations were taken by an additional seventy-one
students in Ubon (Wyatt 1967, 254).28 The directors also chose thirty-eight
provincial monks and novices who were sent to Bangkok for teacher training,
four of whom came from Monthon Isan and the remainder of whom were
from the central region (Wyatt 1967, 253).29 Some sense of this overall impact
can be gained from the rapid explosion in the number of students attending
these new schools. In 1898 there were 790 students; by 1900/1901 there were
12,062.
The effort to establish provincial education was facilitated by the 1902
Sangha Act. As David Wyatt noted, the 1898 educational reform was a “double-
edged revolutionary sword,” one “bringing the monkhood under government
control along with the schools in which they taught” (1969, 238). The 1902
Sangha law required that the abbot of every monastery be responsible for making
certain that all boys committed to his charge be instructed. Furthermore, it
specified that it was the duty of the ecclesiastical hierarchy at each level “to
inspect and support religious and secular instruction in the monasteries under
his jurisdiction” (Wyatt 1967, 304, 330). However, this educational initiative
did not include the northern Monthon Phayab or the northeastern Monthon
 228 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Udon, “where special problems of language and ecclesiastical control prevented

rapid action” (Wyatt 1967, 249, 305). The Sangha law was not applied to
Monthon Udon until 1908 and to the north until 1924 (Wyatt 1967, 329).

Bangkok’s Efforts to Penetrate the North

The Bangkok court was able to exert growing control over the sangha and the
populace in the central and northeastern regions, both through the growth of
the Thammayut order and by the establishment of public schooling within

Figure 16. Statue of Khruubaa Srivichai. Wat Huarin, Tambon Tungsatok, Amphur Sanpatong,
Chiang Mai, July, 2011. Photo by author.
 Jujaka as Threat • 229

temples. But unlike in the central and northeastern regions, the Thammayut
order had little initial influence in the north. Consequently, northern monks
maintained their own Buddhist practices longer. In this section, I will provide
evidence suggesting that the northern sangha maintained a much greater degree
of independence from the Lanna courts, being oriented more toward the
peasantry than toward the ruling elites. Although the Bangkok court sought to
establish a presence in the northern sangha in the early twentieth century, its
efforts failed, instead provoking a strong northern irredentist movement cen-
tered on Khruubaa Srivichai.

The Practice of Northern Thai Buddhism

Unlike northeastern Thailand, the Lanna kingdoms of northern Thailand were
classified as self-governing tributaries of the Bangkok court and maintained
much of their independence until the late nineteenth century. The history of
the Lanna kingdoms was more closely entwined with kingdoms in Burma than
those of Siam. With brief exceptions, from 1558, when Chiang Mai was first
conquered by King Bayinnaung (1551–81), to the final revolt in 1774, the Lanna
kingdoms came primarily under Burmese rule.30 Very little has been written
speculating on Burmese influence on Lanna practices of Buddhism; however,
Colquhoun writes of his visit to Chiang Mai, “Their religion is the Buddhism
of Ava, and almost all the zedi, or pagodas, both in and out of the town, were
erected by the Burmese while they held the place” (1885, 138). For whatever
reasons, Buddhism appeared to be flourishing in the northern region during
the nineteenth century. As Colquhoun writes, the city “is a perfect nest of
poongyees, or Buddhist monks: I should think there must be at least five hundred
of them inhabiting the seventy-five monasteries in the town” (1885, 138).
In addition to its own sangharaja (supreme patriarch), the Lanna sangha
appears to have had a senior council of monks. Certainly by the later nineteenth
century, the Chiang Mai sangha was governed by a Council of Seven, comprised
of seven senior monks and headed by a sangharaja (Pranii [1964] 1995, 180).
Senior monastic officials in the court cities likely had strong links to monks in
the countryside. Many ceremonies involved the participation of monks from
more than one temple, as is evidenced in the Chiang Mai Chronicle (Wyatt and
Aroonrut 1995) and in the practice that continued into the twentieth century of
village networks working together for large ceremonial occasions such as boi
luang. Also, literacy was high and temples were the primary source of education.
As Dr. Richardson writes of the Lanna population in the early nineteenth
century, “they can nearly all read and write” (Farrington 2004, 43; see also Bock
[1884] 1986, 187; Colquhoun 1885, 232). The longtime missionary Daniel
 230 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

McGilvary clearly held northern monks and former monks in high regard,
describing them as “among the best educated men in the country” (1912, 414).
Evidence suggests that the Lanna sangha maintained a certain degree of
independence from secular power. Whereas in Siam the selection of the sangha-
raja appears to have been primarily at the discretion of the king, in the Lanna
kingdoms the sangha itself appears to have determined the choice. Richardson
writes of his visit in 1834 that the sangharaja “has been raised by the votes of
his priests for his piety and strict observance of the precepts of the Boodh”
(Farrington 2004, 75). The balance of power between court and sangha in the
Lanna kingdoms was made explicit during the investiture of the sangharaja.
Richardson provides a description of the investiture of the sangharaja in 1834:
“The Chow before investing him with the high office asks him if he will obey
his lawful orders, which being answered in the affirmative, he makes over to
him all authority over all ranks of the priesthood. The high priest then asks the
Tsoboa if he will listen to his intercession in favor of criminals condemned to
death when it shall appear to him the punishment is too severe for the offence,
to which he assents” (Farrington 2004, 75; see also Colquhoun 1885, 151–52).
The right to intervene on behalf of the population does not seem to have
been limited to the sangharaja alone but was a right utilized by all monks.
Various villagers that I talked to in northern Thailand had heard of the custom
of binthabatr chiwit, the request to spare a person’s life phrased as a form of
almsgiving. Although I and many others whom I have asked have never heard
of this monastic right to intervene in executions in Siam, the practice was evi-
dently known in Burma (Spiro 1970, 380; for related examples in Chieng Tung
and Monay, see Grabowsky and Turton 2003, 401, 506–7).31 Relevant for our
consideration of the Vessantara Jataka, Lanna tamnan tell of great rewards for
properly performed donations; they also tell of tragedy and death befalling
kings who disobeyed monks. As Angela Chiu concludes from her analysis,
these texts were important ways that monks were able to assert their power and
control their relationship to the monarchy and to Buddhism (Chiu 2012).

Beholden to Populace
Rather than the court controlling the sangha, in the Lanna region it was the
monks who exercised their moral authority to assert their influence on the
court. The region’s political independence went so far that monks were leading
revolts and deposing kings. The Chiang Mai Chronicle suggests the role of sev-
eral monks in resisting the Burmese (e.g., Wyatt and Aroonrut 1995, 132–39).
McCarthy even mentioned a man in Muang Fang who was starting a new
religion, “the chief tenet of which was that the people should not respect the
 Jujaka as Threat • 231

princes” (1900, 127). Also contributing to the independence of the Lanna

monkhood from state authority was the widespread practice that parents “select
the monk by whom they wish their son to be taught” (Hallett 1890, 304; see
also Bock [1884] 1986, 204).32 The separation between state and monastic order
is also reflected in the fact that monks and novices could not be conscripted to
perform corvée labor or serve in the military, an issue that would take on growing
importance when Bangkok tried to introduce military conscription in the north
(Bowie 2014a).
The central Thai court gained its foothold into the Lanna kingdoms when
King Taksin provided military assistance to the Lanna rulers in their effort to
oust the Burmese. From the perspective of Bangkok, the Lanna leaders were
rulers of tributary states; however, the Lanna rulers regarded themselves as
independent. Geographically the northern regions were relatively inaccessible
to Bangkok, the trip between Chiang Mai and Bangkok by boat or elephant
taking anywhere from six weeks to three months (Schomburgk 1863, 387;
McGilvary 1912, 63, 71, 77). Well into the twentieth century the prevailing
currency of northern Thailand was not the Thai baht but the rupee, reflecting
the region’s close relations with Burma. Linguistic barriers further impeded
communication: the northern Thai kingdoms had their own distinctive dialect
and written script (e.g., Schomburgk 1863, 392).
Over the course of the nineteenth century, following the British victories in
Burma, Bangkok felt increasing pressure to bring the Lanna region under direct
control. With conflicts over teak concessions mounting, Bangkok negotiated
a treaty with the British in 1873 setting up an international court in Chiang
Mai. Siam then appointed a royal commissioner, together with about seventy
soldiers, clerks, lawyers, and interpreters, to oversee the court. However, rela-
tions between the Siamese commissioners and the Lanna rulers remained
fraught. During Inthawarorot’s reign (r. 1901–9), Bangkok began the process
of undermining the independent power base of the northern rulers, putting
them on salary and implementing increasingly direct administrative control
(Sarassawadee 2005, 142). The central Thai initiative to gain control of the
northern sangha took two intertwined forms: one was to establish a Thammayut
presence and the second was to gain control of the Lanna monastic hierarchy.
Neither effort went smoothly.

Chiang Mai:
Khruubaa Sophaa versus Tu Ping
Bangkok’s first steps toward gaining control over the Lanna sangha met
with near disaster. In 1884 Prince Phichit Prichakorn, while serving as Siamese
 232 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

commissioner to Chiang Mai, sent a young novice to study at Wat Bowonniwet,

the Thammayut temple in Bangkok, under the tutelage of Prince Vajiranana.
The novice, later known as Tu Ping, was born in Tambon Luang Nya in Doi
Saket district and had been studying as a novice at Wat Hua Khuang in Chiang
Mai. Supported by Phichit Prichakorn, Ping excelled at his studies and passed
the Parien 5 level; he was given his formal title Phra Naphisiphisanukhun. He
returned to the north circa 1895, with the assignment to organize the Lanna
sangha.33 Upon his return, he resided at Wat Jedi Luang (also called Wat Hoh
Tham), a very important temple in the center of Chiang Mai, under the patron-
age of Chiang Mai’s aristocracy.34 As William Dodd notes, “the Siamese officials
through him attempted to institute a reform in Chiengmai” (1923, 319).
However, Tu Ping met with considerable resistance, led by Chiang
Mai’s sangharaja. The sangharaja at the time was the abbot of Wat Fai Hin in
Chiang Mai, Khruubaa Sophaa (1832–1915). Sophaa was widely respected for
his preaching abilities and was also believed to be able to predict the future; he
was often consulted by the ruling lords of Chiang Mai for advice (Pranii [1964]
1995, 182). He became sangharaja circa 1895.35 According to Pranii Sirithorn na
Pathalung’s account, the conflict was less about doctrine than it was about
etiquette. It seems that Tu Ping never bothered to visit Sophaa; he was similarly
disrespectful of the other senior monks in the Council of Seven, each of whom
had large followings among both monks and laity. Wanting to convene a
meeting of senior monks to invite them to join the Thammayut order, Tu Ping
summoned them to his temple. This action was seen as arrogant, and none of
the senior monks attended. As one monk I interviewed summarized the story,
the king in Bangkok invited all the temples to convert to Thammayut, but
while monks in Ubon and Udon agreed, Sophaa and all the other northern
monks refused (SKP-231).
Tu Ping’s possible breach of etiquette aside, the question remains what
underlying issue aroused such opposition in the northern sangha. It may have
been that Sophaa was concerned less about the specifics of Thammayut practice
and more about Bangkok’s encroachment on the political independence of the
northern sangha. By all accounts, Sophaa was extremely resistant to Siamese
pressure. Sophaa refused to preach in central Thai and viewed becoming
Thammayut as submitting to the authority of Bangkok. As Khruubaa Laa
phrased it, “Why become their slaves?” (ben khaa khao thammai ) (SKP-231;
see also Pranii [1964] 1995; Ratanaporn 2010). Sophaa’s name came up often
among villagers I interviewed in the 1980s. He was known for being strict in his
practice of Buddhism and for not being afraid to stand up to secular authorities.
 Jujaka as Threat • 233

He was particularly remembered for his stance on military conscription. As one

villager, himself a former monk, in San Sai explained, “If one wanted to avoid
the draft, one became a novice and fled to be with the abbot of Wat Fai Hin.
He wouldn’t let his novices be drafted. He would accuse the draft officials of
having no respect for the religion. Monks had more freedom and more power
then. They were more respected” (SS-521). Sophaa’s outrage at Siamese ef-
forts to draft monks and novices into the military was manifested in a famous
vignette in which he stormed over to the residence of the Siamese commis-
sioner and, in a booming voice, did not hesitate to voice his anger (for details,
see Pranii [1964] 1995, 187; Bowie 2014b).36 A similar Thammayut reform initia-
tive was no more successful in Chiang Rai (see Dodd 1923, 318).
A consideration of the sheer number of monks and novices in the north
compared to the northeast helps to shed light on the difference in the amount
of control Bangkok was able to exercise in the northeast versus the north at the
turn of the twentieth century. Of the 13,164 temples listed in Thailand in 1908,
Udon had 1,322 and Isan (Ubon) had 2,630 under ever-closer Bangkok control;
by contrast, Phayab had 2,614 temples that remained relatively independent of
Bangkok control (Wyatt 1967, 335). Of Thailand’s total population of 94,854
monks listed in 1908, Isan had 13,668 monks and Udon had 5,311 monks who
were under ever-closer control; by contrast Phayab had 12,039 monks who
remained relatively independent. Of a combined total of 155,726 novices and
temple boys listed in 1908, by far the greatest number were to be found in
Monthon Phayab, 32,445. By comparison, Isan had 19,706. Monthon Phayab
had an average of approximately 4.61 monks per temple and 12.41 novices and
temple boys. Monthon Isan had approximately 5.20 monks per temple and 7.49
novices and temple boys. The national average was 7.21 monks per temple and
11 novices and temple boys per temple. Bangkok had 14.46 monks per temple
and 17.88 novices or temple boys per temple. Thus Phayab had a significantly
larger number of novices per monk, which might further explain the importance
of using humor as a way to teach the novices and temple boys (and the many
funny stories about problems in the relationships between monks and novices).
Unlike today, individual temples would not have had much difficulty in finding
enough monks and novices to recite texts. However, Bangkok would have had
little influence on the 12,039 monks and the 32,445 novices and temple boys in
Monthon Phayab, whereas it would have been in a position to influence the
monks, novices, and temple boys in Monthon Isan (Ubon), and after 1908, also
in Monthon Udon (see Wyatt 1967, 335, for table; see also Tambiah 1976 for
figures for 1968).
 234 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Increasing Control
Although the Bangkok court failed to change Lanna sangha practices, these
early efforts did succeed in gaining a modicum of increased administrative
control. After his failed overture in Chiang Mai, Tu Ping wrote a letter to
Prince Vajiranana in Bangkok, complaining that Sophaa was obstructing his
efforts. As a result, in 1905 Sophaa was summoned to Bangkok. Although this
news caused great consternation throughout Chiang Mai, Sophaa decided to
make the trip. Traveling by boat with his entourage, he stayed at Wat Pho in
Bangkok after his arrival. Chao Dara, the daughter of Chiang Mai’s ruler and
one of King Chulalongkorn’s senior wives, visited Sophaa there and learned of
Tu Ping’s disrespectful behavior. The king and the head of the Siamese sangha,
Prince Vajiranana, were informed of the problems. Sophaa and the Lanna
monks met with both the king and Prince Vajiranana. King Chulalongkorn
expressed his pleasure at being able to meet Sophaa, even holding Sophaa’s
hand as he escorted him to his seat (Pranii [1964] 1995, 186). At this meeting,
King Chulalongkorn asked Sophaa for his assistance in developing the country.
Sophaa was promoted to a new title of Phra Aphaisaratha Sangkhapamok,
head of the Chiang Mai provincial sangha (chaokhana cangwat). The crisis was
averted, but it succeeded in bringing the existing Lanna monastic order nomi-
nally under Bangkok’s jurisdiction by issuing, in effect, dual titles.
In consultation with Sophaa, Prince Vajiranana decided to send Phra
Thamworodom (Chai; he later became Phra Wanarat), the abbot of Wat
Benchamabophit, to help organize the Lanna sangha. In 1924 the 1902 Sangha
Act went into effect in the north, thereby formally bringing the northern
sangha into the national sangha hierarchy (Wyatt 1969, 329). In 1928 another
attempt to establish a Thammayut presence took place when Phra Ubalii was
sent to become the abbot of Wat Jedi Luang (Taylor 1993, 85). Phra Ubalii then
invited the famous northeastern Thammayut meditation monk, Ajarn Man, to
come to Chiang Mai “to teach meditation and monastic discipline to Chiang
Mai monks” (Taylor 1993, 86). However, this initiative also met with little
success. In 1932 Ubalii became ill and returned to Wat Bowonniwet (he died
shortly after his return). Ajarn Man then became abbot of Wat Jedi Luang,
with the prince of Chiang Mai as his official patron (Taylor 1993, 86). How-
ever, Ajarn Man’s preference for wandering and his dislike for administrative
duties led to a very short tenure as abbot (Taylor 1993, 87). Although Ajarn
Man remained in northern Thailand for a total of eleven years from 1929 to
1940, he had little impact. He was described contemptuously as “the old ‘vaga-
bond’ monk” (Taylor 1993, 87). He ordained one monk at Wat Jedi Luang,
 Jujaka as Threat • 235

who was “far from impressive” (mai dai ryang) (Taylor 1993, 107n13).37 No more
successful was an initiative in Lamphun where a former abbot had apparently
been impressed by the wandering Thammayut monks and invited Thet
Thetsarangsii, a one-time disciple of Man, to serve as abbot. But Thet only
remained for one Lent and then returned to the northeast. To this day, the
Thammayut order has only a minimal presence in the north. However, the
reality was more complex.
Bangkok imposed two major policy changes that had serious consequences
for the everyday lives of villagers: the capitation tax and military conscription.38
Whereas villagers in the past had owed tribute and corvée labor to the ruling
northern lords, the Capitation Act stipulated that adult males between the ages
of eighteen and sixty were to pay 4 baht annually. Instituted after 1900, the
capitation tax provided dramatic increases in revenue for the central Thai
court.39 This revenue enabled the central Thai administration to place members
of the northern ruling families on monthly retainers, thereby deftly depriving
them of their former powers (BTWM, May 10, 1902; Sarassawadee 2005, 228).
Each village headman was “to keep a correct list of all males in his district”
(BTWM, January 28, 1902). Monks, novices, village headmen, government
officials, and “all of royal descent” were among those who were exempt
(BTWM, January 28, 1902). Villagers who were unable to pay the annual head
tax were expected to contribute labor for state projects for up to one month.40
The imposition of the head tax provoked profound resentment among
villagers, and this in turn contributed to the Shan uprising in 1902 (BTWM,
October 14, 1902). Men who failed to pay their taxes or perform state labor
were subject to arrest. Newspaper accounts in Bangkok report police making
“hundreds of arrests” in a single day (BTWM, August 2, 1911; also August 5,
1911; August 3, 1912; August 7, 1912). The impact of this policy in northern
Thailand was likely even more dramatic because Monthon Phayab “had more
people conscripted for public works than any other monthon in Siam” (Saras-
sawadee 2005, 230). Elderly villagers I interviewed in the 1980s regularly
mentioned being arrested and ordered to perform public labor, many of them
working on road construction and the train tunnel near Lampang. Although
the head tax was supposed to replace the former corvée labor and tribute paid
to the northern lords, in many cases it was simply an addition. Labor in lieu of
the head tax, traditional corvée labor, and “voluntary” labor for the benefit of
the community were easily conflated. Thus a district officer in Phrae is reported
as “pursuing the rather ancient custom of requiring of the people labour, timber,
thatch, rattan, rice, etc., without remuneration” (BTWM, August 24, 1918).41
Noting that such labor was a “great source of discontent” in the north, an
 236 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

editorial adds, “the actual work is the unpaid labour of people who have already
done more than the amount of Government work required by Siamese law”
(BTWM, May 10, 1902). One account of a “cleaning bee” in Chiang Rai in 1917
describes “an average of 400 to 500 workmen” who were “working daily on
streets, ditches, culverts, etc.” (BTWM, September 25, 1917). The extraction of
labor would likely have intensified over the decade as officials sought to press
the “development” of their jurisdictions with the construction of various new
government buildings and roads.
Rather than bring the Lanna sangha and populace under Siamese control,
Siamese efforts had the opposite effect, generating intense resistance. Not only
did the Lanna sangha resist the incursions of the Siamese Thammayut order; it
resisted the encroachments of the secular state. The widespread resentment
being catalyzed by Siamese administrative changes became centered on a monk
called Khruubaa Srivichai (1878–1939). Known today as a “Buddhist saint,” he
remains the most famous monk in northern Thailand, but during his lifetime,
Srivichai provoked tremendous controversy.42 He was detained under multiple
protracted temple arrests in Lamphun, Chiang Mai, and Bangkok; forced to
surrender his administrative positions as abbot and subdistrict head; and sent
under police guard to Bangkok for investigation in 1920 and 1935–36.
Elsewhere I have argued that Srivichai’s conflict originated with secular
authorities as a result of the implementation of two new interrelated regulations,
namely the Ordination Act of 1913 and the Military Conscription Act of 1905,
which went into effect in Monthon Phayab in April 1914.43 The Ordination
Act increased state supervision of not only who could conduct ordinations but
also who could be ordained. The Military Conscription Act affected the exemp-
tions of the monastic community. Each act increased state control over the
monastic community and therefore over access to manpower, thus marking a
dramatic shift in the former balance between state, sangha, and laity in northern
Thailand. In his refusal to recognize secular authority to conscript monks and
otherwise regulate the sangha, Srivichai was simultaneously defending the tradi-
tional independence of the northern sangha and de facto protecting the right
of the population to ordain. Srivichai generated impassioned support among
the populace. A 1920 newspaper correspondent avowed that Srivichai had the
support of “80 per cent of the people” (BTWM, June 7, 1920). The Bangkok
ecclesiastical officials assigned to investigate the charges against Srivichai basi-
cally absolved Srivichai of further punishment, even finding in his favor on
some of the charges.44 Upon his return to the north, Srivichai went on to build or
restore well over one hundred temples throughout the region, developing a
wide network of followers among the monks and laity alike.
 Jujaka as Threat • 237

However, for reasons that remain unclear, Srivichai again came into conflict
with Siamese authorities and was again summoned for investigation in Bangkok.
By the time of his second trip to Bangkok in November 1935, conflicts in the
north had become so intense that “the independent monks of the north had
openly severed connections with their ecclesiastical superiors and declared
Phra Sri Vijaya to be their leader” (Thompson [1941] 1967, 642). Pressured by
fear over Srivichai’s safety, over four hundred monks and novices residing in
some sixty northern temples left the order, some disrobing “voluntarily” in
protest and some forced to disrobe by police (e.g., Sangaa 1956, 260–82; Faa
1976–77; Sommai 2002, 40). The overt crisis was resolved in May 1936 when
Srivichai signed an agreement to abide by the national sangha regulations.
Only then was he allowed to return to the north, where a crowd of “more than
eight thousand people” welcomed him back (Thompson [1941] 1967, 643).
In the context of the earlier northern sangha, which had a history of political
and economic independence from court control, it is not surprising that monks
were primarily oriented toward the peasantry who provided its foundation of
support. Considering the negative attitudes villagers had toward the lords (as
discussed in chapter 4), it is also not surprising that village monks would have
shared many of the attitudes of their fellow villagers and lived in the relative
freedom that village temples would have provided them. However, the moment
when Srivichai signed this statement marks the end of the independence of the
northern sangha.

The Demise of the Vessantara Jataka

in Northern Thailand
The later half of the twentieth century appears to have seen major changes in
the frequency of recitations of the Vessantara Jataka, with major declines in
both the central and northern regions. In chapter 1, I suggested that the decline
in the central region was likely due to two major factors: the decline of humor
and the impact of 1932, when many members of the aristocracy found themselves
in exile or otherwise facing financial difficulties. Humor survived most intact in
the north, but performances today are rare. According to Manee Phayomyong
(1986, 2, 26–27), some fifty years ago the Tang Tham Luang was the most
important ceremony among the northern Thai. Davis suggests that as late as
the 1960s every temple performed the Vessantara Jataka in the course of the Full
Moon Festival (Dyan Yii Paeng) in November (Davis 1984, 218); his view is
supported by Konrad Kingshill (1976, 274). However, John Ferguson and
Shalardchai Ramitanondh suggest that the full Tang Tham Luang recitations
 238 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

of the Vessantara Jataka “reached the peak of its popularity before the last
World War” (1976, 131). Sommai Premchit and Amphay Dore also note its
decline, writing “the tang tham luang in Northern Thailand as performed today
is not as popular as in the past” (1992, 85).45 Bonnie Brereton also notes, “The
importance of this festival in the north has declined dramatically in the past
three decades. The recitation of the Maha Chat at the Tang Tham Luang festi-
val now is held at only a handful of wats in the north” (1995, 83; see also Swearer
1978, 3). Interviews I conducted confirmed this pattern.
If the independence of the northern sangha allowed the trickster Jujaka to
continue his comic escapades well into the twentieth century, why then did
recitations decline in the north but remain vibrant in the northeast? Northern
Thai monks and villagers pointed to four main issues in explaining the overall
decline of Vessantara Jataka recitations in their region: the financial expenses
involved, the labor commitment, the impact of secular education, and competi-
tion from the secular world. However, I do not find these arguments particularly
compelling since the same arguments can be made for the northeast.
Although monetary costs related to these recitations vary, some insight can
be gained from a look at the budget of a northern tambon council in 2009. The
council members anticipated expenses totaling 100,000 baht, which included
20,000 baht for offerings of 1,000 baht per monk to recite a total of twenty
chapters; 8,000 baht for the khao wongkot maze; 25,000 baht for five meals for
an anticipated audience of five hundred people; 10,000 for sound system rental;
and 10,000 baht for the rental of a wooden elephant and other parade expenses.
The remainder was budgeted for decorating the temple (22,000 baht) and
advertising (5,000 baht). The development of a parade in which members of
the royal family ride on either actual or wooden elephants is a new addition
that appears likely to have been copied from northeastern Thailand (monks
and villagers had no recollections of such parades in earlier decades). The wood
or bamboo for the mazes now must be bought. The parade, sound system, and
advertising expenses are new. However, expenses in the northeast are similar,
historically raised by contributions from individual households.
The labor involved in preparations for a Tang Tham Luang were significant.
Historically the wood or bamboo for the maze had to be collected from the
forest, but today designing and building the maze remains time-consuming.
Also particularly time-consuming is the production of myriad lengths of string,
particularly given that the string is supposed to be hand spun. Nowadays with
so many villagers no longer farming but instead working in construction, fac-
tories, the service sector, and also a range of other jobs, it is difficult to find
people with free time on their hands. Already so many of the village festivals
 Jujaka as Threat • 239

are finding hosts hiring caterers to provide food that in the past would have
been prepared by villagers themselves. However, the preparations in the north-
east are similarly time-consuming.
A third factor northerners mentioned is the radical impact of secular edu-
cation on the monastic community. In the past, village youth were educated in
the temples.46 Today, nearly all children receive a secular education in public
schools. With fewer youth spending their childhoods in the temples, the
wonderful stories of the foibles of monks and novices no longer resonate with
most of the population. Furthermore, with fewer northern boys entering the
monastery for an education, there are fewer monks and novices to learn, let alone
perform, the traditional texts such as the Vessantara Jataka. In the past, monks
and novices were educated in the northern Thai script, but the central Thai
government banned the script’s use. Consequently very few monks and novices
can read text written in the northern Thai script. Recent years have seen a re-
surgence of interest in learning the Lanna script, but that is not the same as
wanting to apprentice to a tujok monk to learn how to perform the key chap-
ters of the Vessantara Jataka. The northern dialect has undergone significant
changes with the growing influence of central Thai, which is taught in schools
and spoken on television. Many of the northern Thai words have become archaic
and many in the younger generation can no longer understand their meanings.
Monks involved in the Vessantara Jataka recitations would frequently substitute
modern words into the original text, but the rhyming patterns suffered. The
original texts came to be viewed as increasingly archaic. Fewer and fewer people
understood the words; the text became increasingly less funny.47 The fourth
factor is that with television, movie theaters, malls, and the Internet increasingly
occupying leisure time, fewer young people are seeking to spend time in the
temples listening to monks. However, each of these reasons also holds for
northeastern Thailand.
Two more compelling factors are the growing official condemnation of
humor and the devastating impact of the forced disrobings of hundreds of
monks and novices in 1936. Both Luang Poh Bunthong and Manee pointed to
the role of the central sangha administration and its condemnation of humor.
As Manee explained, “the National Ecclesiastical Council (Mahatherasama-
khom) in Bangkok forbad this practice all over the country, in about BE 2480
[1937], when they issued various monastic reforms. They felt monks should be
well behaved [riaprooj ] and that it was not appropriate for monks to be per-
forming comedic roles.”48 In 1937 the Ecclesiastical Council issued a regulation
that specifically forbad additions and humor in recitations of the Vessantara
Jataka:
 240 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Lately the thet maha chat has become a comic affair because the reciter brings in
new material which is not part of the original text, and changes the thamnorng
into a racy tune (lot phon). Sometimes the reciter only starts with a little of the
text from the maha chat and then just sings various kinds of lae. The reciter
behaves comically which is damaging to monastic dignity. . . . The monastic
council therefore unanimously decrees that reciting lae outside the maha chat
which are raucous (samrak), obscene ( yap lon), and which have a racy tune, as
well as comic behaviour which is damaging to monastic dignity, is forbidden.
( Jory 1996, 40)

The mass disrobings of hundreds of northern monks must have also been
very traumatic. Although Srivichai himself was not known for reciting the
Vessantara Jataka, many of the monks in his network were known for their skill
in various chapters.49 After Khruubaa Srivichai signed the statement in 1936
agreeing to abide by the regulations of the national sangha, northern monks
either had to agree to submit to the national sangha or be forcibly disrobed.
When the 1937 ruling condemning humor in performances of the Vessantara
Jataka was issued, the remaining monks in the northern sangha were likely
dispirited and disinclined to go against the national sangha.50
In contrast to the demoralized northern sangha, the northeastern sangha
appears to have reached a detente with Bangkok much earlier, at least with
regard to the Jujaka chapter. Northeasterners, given their shared experience as
migrant workers, came to place more emphasis on the family reunion theme of
the Nakornkan rather than the trickster comedy of the northern Jujaka chapter.
As resistance to Bangkok was collapsing in the north, the communist guerrilla
movement, facilitated by the strength of the Free Thai movement during
World War II, was growing in the northeast.51 Furthermore, northeasterners
had a sense of greater ethnic cohesion than villagers in the northern region,
who were more likely to have been war captives from different regions or from
different ethnic groups (e.g., Keyes 1967, 12). Even when northeasterners were
relocated, they appear to have maintained their own cultural traditions as a
matter of ethnic pride or as political resistance. Lao war captives, relocated to a
village in the Tron district of Uttaradit province, even named a street after
Matsi and another after Jujaka. They named their temple Wat Kalingkaraat;
they have also named a nearby mountain Matsi and another Khao Wongkot in
the neighboring Thongsaenkhan District.52 Thus it seems the northeast, be it
out of defiance or pride in tradition, maintained its annual custom of Bun
Phrawet. Frustrations with Bangkok were strong in each region, but the ability
of northerners to organize resistance had been significantly weakened by the
forcible disrobings of the northern sangha.
 Jujaka as Threat • 241

Further contributing to the decline of comedic jataka performances in the

north was the growth of an urban middle class and a growing number of non-
northerners in the region. Modern audiences evidently find the traditional
humor too bawdy and risqué. Temples today are increasingly considered as
serious sacred spaces and no longer as spaces where the sacral comic is engaged.
As one tujok commented, “Chiang Mai has many non-locals from other
provinces and foreigners. When they hear the Lanna monks, they may mis-
understand us, dismissing us by saying, ‘Oh the Lanna monks just sing joi joi
soh soh, but they are not really preaching.’ Since they may criticize [tamni ] it, I
have changed my preaching style. Outsiders don’t understand the northern
style. They might think Lanna monks are crazy [ phii baa].”53 This tujok monk
stopped using the joi joi soh soh format over twenty years ago after he had en-
countered criticism from someone who had heard him performing. Even though
many enjoyed the comic style exemplified in this witty courtship repartee, he
felt that if one or two listeners had a bad reaction, he should reflect on this and
change his style. As this tujok monk explained, “the point of this form is to
reach listeners, not turn them off.” A few years ago, he was invited to Bangkok
to “chant in the northern style.” He included some of the humorous verses he
and other tujok recited about Jujaka’s exploits but cut out the joi and soh of
Jujaka’s wedding to Amitataa for fear listeners from the other three regions
would misunderstand. He explained, “One has to be careful when one does
Chuchok; it is like a double-edged sword. Some words, if misunderstood, could
result in criticism.”54
The jataka still emerges in passing comments by older villagers. A villager
who wants to criticize a boy’s uncouth eating habits might say, “He eats like
the brahmin” (Ai nii kin yang phraam) or point out that a protruding stomach
“is just like the brahmin’s” (khiipum phraam tae, pum laam myan phraam thao).
Someone who is greedy might be accused of acting like the old Brahmin
(khiilop myan puu phraam), referring to Jujaka. Alternatively, villagers might
refer to someone as being “as kind-hearted or generous as Prince Vessantara”
( jaidii myan Phrayaa Wesantara) (Manee 1976, 251; see also Prakong 1983, 5).55
However beloved tujok recitations may have been among previous genera-
tions of northerners, few among the younger generation have firsthand knowl-
edge of the jataka or the tujok. When a close friend of mine died in November
2014, I offered to host a tujok performance at his funeral, both because this friend
had taken me to meet the first tujok monk I ever interviewed and because his
oldest brother had himself been a tujok monk. The lay leader of the temple, a
man in his seventies, had heard of tujok but did not know how to contact one.
With my assistance, he was able to arrange for a tujok to come. However, even
before beginning to perform , the tujok offered an extended apology if the
idea
 242 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

of a monk telling jokes offended anyone in the audience. He explained that he

was doing this performance in response to a request from a foreign university
professor.56
The rise of secular education, the growing presence of central Thais
throughout the country, and a growing acceptance of Thammayut interpreta-
tions among the urban populations have contributed to a more formal practice
of Buddhism. However, the changes may go even beyond disdain for the
bawdy sexual and scatological humor. The political context has undergone a
significant transformation following the establishment of a constitutional
monarchy in 1932. As the Lanna aristocracy and the Siamese court were re-
placed by elected members of parliament and an ever-growing bureaucracy of
government officials, the targets of political satire would have become more
dissipated. Somehow a story mocking a district officer does not have the same
edginess as one mocking a king. Increasingly over the course of the twentieth
century, the political rhetoric—the dramatic surge in lèse majesté charges
notwithstanding—shifted from one of serving the king to serving the people
(see Bowie 2008b for an overview of changes in local administrative law). This
radical political shift raises the question of whether the Vessantara Jataka is
losing its relevance for the twenty-first century. Will Jujaka survive the transi-
tion from the era of feudalism to the era of global capitalism?
 6

Jujaka as Deity
Rebirths under Global Capitalism

With its bawdy humor disdained and its political resonances buried, is the
Vessantara Jataka doomed to fade into Thailand’s feudal history, as evidently
occurred in India, its country of origin? As this book has shown, performances
have been declining in the central and northern regions. Even in northeastern
villages, its performances have been abridged. However, lest we be overcome
with nostalgia for feudal phantasmagoria, there are signs of its contemporary
rebirths. Instead of receding onto temple walls as a passive backdrop for modern
life, Jujaka is now becoming a growing presence in urban shops, temples, and
homes—now not as ghoul, comedian, or trickster but as a money-making deity
who can help the middle classes with the serious business of getting rich. The
meaning of Jujaka is transmogrifying from the beggar embedded in a feudal
story about generosity to a patron saint of capitalist acquisitiveness, from cruel
villain to compassionate hero, from reviled ghost to revered deity, from devil to
future Buddha. He is even following the routes taken by Thais and other
Theravada Buddhists as they travel globally. Thus the twenty-first century is
witnessing yet another series of Jujaka rebirths, with capitalism and the global
political economy serving as midwives.1 These transformations lend further
substance to how in the context of a growing capitalist economy and proliferat-
ing mass media, “the processes of deification, mediation and commodification
run riot, constantly creating new forms of religious practice” (Pattana 2012, 149).
In this chapter, divided into four sections, I summarize the ongoing patterns
of change in performances and interpretations of the Vessantara Jataka. In the
first three sections, I discuss the transformation of the story from its former
roles (promoting dharma instruction, temple construction, village cooperation,
and even national unity) into its new roles (serving the promotion of personal

243
 244 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

wealth, tourism, and cultural heritage, both locally and globally). In the final
section, I will reflect on the jataka’s appeal for women because they have long
been its primary audience. Because the jataka’s future may well lie with women,
their responses to it warrant particular attention. With this discussion of female
reception, I complete the alliterations with which I began this book, adding
mothers to the list of the jataka’s essential audiences: monarchs, monks, and
masses.

Promotion of Personal Wealth

One sign of the Vessantara Jataka’s modern resurrection is the growing popu-
larity of Jujaka worship, in the form of amulets, yantra cloths, and statues. The
worship of Jujaka is particularly popular among people hoping to get rich, be it
through business or the lottery. Amulets have long been hugely popular in
Thailand. Although many amulets are intended for protection, others are be-
lieved to hold special powers. Arthid Sheravanichkul notes, “[the] popularity

Figure 17. Jujaka statues. Some of the more than four thousand figures of Jujaka at Jujaka House in
Bangkok, July 2013. Photo by author.
 Jujaka as Deity • 245

of Jujaka amulets was phenomenal in Thailand in 2009–10” (2012b). Indeed, I

first stumbled across these Jujaka amulets at the cattle market held weekly in
Sanpatong district in Chiang Mai province in 2009. The vendors explained
that because Jujaka was able to gain the Buddha’s own children, a beautiful
young wife, and everything else he wanted, his power would encourage money
to flow toward the owner of this amulet. I acquired two, one about one inch in
height made from dark wood (mai duu dam, which the vendor assured me was
a scarce type of wood) for 400 baht and a bronze version for 100 baht.2 My
friends with shops in the district town told me that these amulets were not
common among ordinary northern villagers but were becoming very popular
with store owners who bought them to help with their businesses. Some men I
talked with at a temple in Lampang in 2009 were also familiar with Jujaka
amulets, even naming Wat Mai Pinkriaw, a central Thai temple in Nakhon
Pathom, as a place that produces them. I also found them for sale together
with magical penises ( palat khik) in a religious store in Khon Kaen in north-
eastern Thailand and in the amulet stalls in Thaprachan market, adjoining
Thammasat University in Bangkok.

Jujaka Amulets
The Jujaka amulet cult appears to have its origins and be most widespread in
the central region. Although the nineteenth-century court text portrayed Jujaka
as a frightening and evil figure, this cult provides evidence of popular counter-
narratives in the region that portrayed Jujaka as a beneficent and even kind-
hearted deity. Contributing to the argument that the worship of Jujaka is long-
standing in the central region is the discovery of “old” wooden images of Jujaka
and Amitataa at Wat Songtham, a Mon Temple in Phra Pradaeng district,
Samutprakarn (Arthid 2012a). It is hard to date the origin of Jujaka amulet
production. According to an amulet seller Tambiah interviewed, “since the old
brahman was an evil person, monks will never sacralize his amulet by chanting.
This is left to a lay expert” (1984, 226). However, other sources indicate that
central Thai monks have long been involved in the sacralization of Jujaka
amulets.
According to knowledgeable amulet dealers, the first monk believed to
produce Jujaka amulets was Luang Puu Roht from Samut Sakorn, a province
in central Thailand.3 Of Mon heritage, he lived from 1863 to 1945. Believed to
have mystical powers evidenced ultimately in his alleged ability to predict the
day of his death, his Jujaka amulets sell for over 100,000 baht. His amulets
were made using wood from the jackfruit tree; the Thai word for jackfruit is
mai khanun, nun meaning “supportive.” Jujaka amulets attributed to him include
 246 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

at least one carved wooden version portraying Jujaka and the two children.
Luang Puu Thim Isariko (1879–1975) is another monk famous for his Jujaka
amulets.4 Thim resided at Wat Lahaanrai, Amphur Baan Khaai, in the central
Thai province of Rayong. Thim was known for his invulnerability magic; many
other central Thai monks establish their credentials by publicizing their links
to him.5 Ceremonies sacralizing the amulets today are drawing large crowds
(see photos in Thosaphol 2010).
Advertised variously as helping with making money in business, winning
the lottery, enjoying success at gambling, protecting travelers, or attracting
romantic partners, Jujaka amulets are also marketed in the ever-popular amulet
magazines and online. The credentials of the amulets are established either by
advertising the lineage of the monk or by attesting to the “ancient” way the
amulet was made. Magazines I viewed were selling amulets ranging from a
few hundred baht to several thousand baht. Remarkably, these amulets are
marketed not only in Thailand but also globally on English-language websites.
Most amulets are simply representations of an old man, bare-chested and
hunched over, walking with a cane and a bag. Made variously of wood or metal,
some are encased in transparent plastic cases so they can be worn around their
owners’ necks. One surprising amulet shows Jujaka copulating with a female
deity. Described as being made from red magical powders ground from the
bones of ninety-nine ghosts, the payawan dokthong flower (which only blooms
once a year), kumarn (a fetus), earth from seven cemeteries, and seven giant
termite nests, this amulet is advertised as “a wondrous thing, for indeed, even
though Choo Chok [ Jujaka] is Ugly, he can still ask for a pretty wife and get
one when he asks.” This amulet is also considered useful as a love charm and
for gambling.6 In addition to amulets, there are also Jujaka yantra cloths (cloths
typically with a painting of Jujaka surrounded by magical formulas) of varying
sizes and cloth money bags bearing yantras with Jujaka’s image that have been
sacralized in ceremonies performed by monks. One store’s website includes a
link to a YouTube video of monks chanting the mantra called “Choo Chok for
Riches,” with the moderator explaining that Jujaka is a “symbol of successful
attainment of all possessions which one attempts.”
The logic tying Jujaka to riches varies. One English-language advertisement
explains that Jujaka is the “deity for accumulating Riches and good business
sales” who can be worshiped at work or home, or “even folded in your pocket
for travelling salesmen.” Jujaka “functions as a bridge” to Vessantara: “Through
Choo Chok we can call upon Prince Vessantara for his generosity and ask for
things.” The ad goes on to explain that the “lucky aura of Choo Chok enabled
 Jujaka as Deity • 247

him to be able to ask for and obtain anything he wanted, even able to convince
others to give away their own children. So Choo Chok can even ask to sit on
the Throne of a King if he wants.”7 Other ads suggest that Jujaka became rich
because he “looked after [the Buddha’s] children for him.”8 Excerpts from the
$126 Jujaka with Nine Wishes will serve as an illustration of the basic pattern:
Choo Chok is a wealth attractor for both Businessmen, Merchants and especially
good for travelling salesmen. . . . The fact that Choo Chok was able to even ask
for somebody’s children and get them, shows the immense attraction and
power of Metta Mahaniyom [ great compassion] which the beggar Choo Chok
possesses. This is the reason why the Choo Chok Deity is such a powerful
attractor of riches, because Choo Chok has a special Baramee [charisma] that
allows even the least likely gifts to be given with the greatest of ease. Sales are
made so easily with Choo Chok to help.9

In addition to Jujaka amulets, there are also amulets of Vessantara’s two

children, Kanhaa and Chalii. As Tambiah describes them, “these figures are
joined together and are shown in a kneeling position showing obedience to
their father. The implication is that the amulet owner will have control over
servants and young subordinates” (1984, 226). These amulets are not as well
known and are much harder to find, but they are believed to have power similar
to that of Jujaka’s as charms and good luck tokens. Because the two children
helped their father become the Buddha in his next life, they can help with
anything. According to one amulet dealer, the Kanhaa-Chalii amulet is be-
lieved to be stronger than the Jujaka amulets, and the two types cannot be kept
together. If, for example, someone places a Jujaka amulet on the table with a
Kanhaa-Chalii, the next morning Jujaka will have fallen from the table. Simi-
larly, if both amulets are placed in the same bag, the Jujaka amulet will disappear.
The most famous Kanhaa-Chalii amulets are from Wat Bangkhrai Nok in
Nonthaburi; made by its abbot, Luang Poh Kloi, they date back to 1948.10

Jujaka House and Coyote Dancing

Another intriguing recent development is Jujaka House in Bangkok, widely
known through media accounts as a place where coyote dancers perform erotic
dance routines for several thousand Jujaka figures. Jujaka House is owned and
run by a woman named Kemika na Songkla, now in her midforties. It began
circa 2002, when Kemika was suffering from advanced kidney failure and was
on dialysis. No longer able to walk and on death’s doorstep, Kemika recalled a
tiny figure of Jujaka (one centimeter tall) her maternal grandmother had given
 248 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

her when she was a child. Her grandmother had told her that if she ever had
any problems, she should pray to Jujaka. So Kemika prayed to Jujaka for the
impossible: a kidney transplant. She promised him that if he found her a donor,
she would make him so famous he would end up in the Guinness Book of
World Records. Out of the blue, her long-lost brother called her asking for a
loan. When he learned how ill she was, he offered her one of his kidneys. After
some six months on dialysis, she was able to have the much-needed operation.
Kemika views Jujaka as a father figure who takes care of her. Interestingly,
she has nicknamed him “Jujaka with Large Testicles.” Kemika is a former
model whose primary business occupation is a type of massage to enhance
women’s breast size. She subsequently performed various additional tests of
her amulet’s power, asking him to help her attract more customers and win the
lottery. All of her wishes came true. When Kemika won 50 million baht in the
lottery, she gave Jujaka a million baht Rolex watch. When she had his image
tattooed on the base of her neck, her neck pains disappeared. When she won
the lottery again, she had her amulet carried in a procession through the streets
from her house all the way to the National Lottery Office. She began acquiring
more and more Jujaka amulets and figurines. She now has a collection of over
four thousand Jujaka figurines, some coming from temples all over Thailand
and others that she has commissioned. She has Jujaka statues representing days
of the week, countries around the world, television and newspaper outlets that
have visited her, and the like.
Word of her good fortune spread among her clientele. Coyote dancing for
Jujaka came about after a customer won the lottery five times in a row. Typically
when requesting a favor from a deity, many will make a vow of a return favor if
their wish is granted (kae bon) (e.g., see Grow 1991). To repay Jujaka for making
her wishes come true, and believing Jujaka to be an old man who likes young
women, the customer had promised to arrange for some coyote dancers to
perform for the old Brahmin. Based on the movie Coyote Ugly, which is in turn
based upon a restaurant in New York called the Coyote Ugly Saloon, coyote
dancing is a provocative dance with sexually explicit moves.11 According to the
rumors, when the dancers were first performing, a camera recorded the eyes of
one of the Jujaka images widening. Coyote dancing has now become a regular
feature. Kemika herself does not perform coyote dancing but instead takes Jujaka
with her when she goes to make merit at Buddhist temples. When I visited
Jujaka House, attendants told me that coyote dancers performed at least twice
a month to this day; the attendants there keep several photo albums full of
pictures of these various performances.
 Jujaka as Deity • 249

Figure 18. Coyote dancers at Jujaka House. Coyote dancers pay their respects to Jujaka before their
performance. From photo album at Jujaka House in Bangkok, July 2013. Photo by author.

Jujaka Statuaries
Paralleling the growing popularity of Jujaka amulets is the increase in large
statues of Jujaka in temples, often with placards providing the Pali words to be
recited by his worshippers. In northern Thailand, the Mae Rim temple of
Luang Poh Bunthong has nearly life-size statues of Jujaka holding Amitataa’s
hand, but the practice seems more common in the central region. Located in
the central Thai province of Angthong, Wat Muang advertises itself as home
not only to the reportedly tallest Buddha image in Thailand but also a series
of colorful scenes of hell and a series of events in Jujaka’s journey. Made out
of concrete and painted in bright colors, the scenes include Jujaka holding
Amitataa’s hand, Jujaka stuck up a tree surrounded by barking dogs with Jetabutr
ready to shoot his arrow, and Jujaka asking directions from Ajuta (Thosaphol
2010, 10–12). In Bangkok, a statue of Jujaka is worshipped at Wat Laksi.12
Images are also found at Wat Bangphra (Nakhonchaisri district) in Nakhon
Pathom, Wat Phanomyong in Ayutthaya, and Wat Amphawan (Bang Yai
district) of Nonthaburi province (see Thosaphol 2010).
 250 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

The most famous image of Jujaka is likely the life-size wood figure at Wat
Mai Pinkriaw (in the city of Nakhon Pathom), now covered with gold leaf and
garlands of flowers from its throngs of worshippers. The temple, founded over
150 years ago, appears to have a long-standing reputation for occult practices
since it is reputed to have twin kumarnthongs (corpses of fetuses) that protect
the temple and the abbot.13 The image, called “Grandfather Jujaka Who In-
creases Wealth” (Poh Puu Chuchok Phyymphuun Sap), is on the Buddha’s left.
Next to the large Jujaka figure is a sign explaining how to worship Jujaka; it
says worshippers should light five sticks of incense and repeat the following
Pali mantra five times: “ithi sukhato chanaasupho Chuchako sukhato iti.”
The temple’s abbot, Luang Poh Somphong Thirathammo, deputy head of
the provincial sangha, is now probably the most famous of the monks currently
sacralizing Jujaka amulets and yantra; his name came up repeatedly in inter-
views I conducted in the north and the northeast when I asked about Jujaka
amulets. As part of the temple’s modern publicity efforts, the abbot’s grandson
has produced a YouTube video describing the abbot and the temple’s history,
announcing the bank to which contributions should be sent and including an
interview with the temple’s abbot. As the video explains, Somphong was born in
1936 in Chainat province. Even as a child he was interested in magical formulas
(khaathaa). Today he is known as a monk who is knowledgeable in Pali (having
passed level 3 of the Pali examinations), in meditation, in astrology, and in
magic formulas. In his interview, Somphong explains that he had a vision in
which he saw Jujaka floating in the sky. Jujaka was beckoning with his hand
(kwak myy) and then said to Somphong, “Tell me [kuu] what you want. Just
give me three lengths of khaolaam [slightly sweet sticky rice steamed in bamboo,
a specialty of Nakhon Pathom] and some liquor.” Shortly thereafter a north-
easterner passed by the temple with a carving of Jujaka that he believed was
carved from the jackfruit tree (mai khanun).
The abbot then had the large carving of Jujaka made in wood with black
lacquer. Thereafter Somphong began making Jujaka figurines, beginning about
1993. Initially there was little interest. When another temple in the province
was having a sema stone consecration ceremony (luuk nimit) in 2004 during
Chinese New Year, Somphong had his Jujaka carving carried to the festivities.
On the second night of the nine-day ceremony, Jujaka appeared to Somphong
in a dream, informing him that he was hungry, asking that he be given tradi-
tional offerings, including various fruits, desserts, sugarcane, and honey; he
particularly wanted khaolaam because it is good for traveling. When the laity
brought the offerings Jujaka had requested, they found their various wishes
coming true.
 Jujaka as Deity • 251

As word spread, more and more people began coming to his temple.
Nowadays on the weekends and holidays hundreds of people come, making
offerings to Jujaka, seeking to be blessed by Somphong, and purchasing Jujaka
figurines, amulets, and yantra cloths at the temple store. In the past Somphong
would sacralize the amulets in a ceremony with other monks, but now he is
unable to travel and so sacralizes them himself. Somphong’s Jujaka amulets are
believed to help creditors retrieve their outstanding debts, to help business
owners succeed in their businesses, to help travelers reach their destinations,
and to help in a range of other similar worldly desires. Described as being “like
gold hidden in rags” ( phaa khiiriaw hoh thohng), Jujaka is considered particularly
appropriate for people who are, like Jujaka, mild-mannered, calm in speech,
calm in temperament, and thrifty. In his blessing to his listeners, Somphong
informs his audience that Jujaka poses no danger to people but only seeks to
protect them from harm. Jujaka is compassionate. When he walks in the forests,
animals always follow him. In response to my question about whether Jujaka
was an incarnation of Devadatta, the Buddha’s enemy, Somphong agreed he
was. However, he explained that Jujaka was destined to become a Pacceka
Buddha of the future.14

Promotion of Tour ism

The Vessantara Jataka lives on in contemporary culture, not only in Jujaka
worship for private gain but also in performances for the promotion of tourism.
Tourism plays a major role in the Thai economy and is promoted globally
through the Tourism Authority of Thailand. Since the jataka is performed with
the greatest regularity in the northeast, these efforts are primarily concentrated
in that region’s provincial capitals.15 The general trend in recent decades has
been toward a decline in the number of recitations at many northeastern urban
temples; this development parallels the lack of interest nationwide in these
performances among the urban middle classes. Growing numbers of north-
eastern villages have also been deciding not to hold their own recitations each
year but instead to join in celebrations held at neighboring villages. Even village
recitations have shifted to the abbreviated Hok Kasat form. Nevertheless, the
performance has maintained its overall importance as an occasion for family
members to return home, much like Thanksgiving in the United States. The
possibilities emerging through tourism are encouraging more provincial capitals
to promote full recitations. Further supporting their revival is the development
of a Preaching Institute in Khon Kaen. This institute is seeking to standardize
the text and also the manner in which the text is performed, to ensure that
 252 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

future generations of monks will be able to maintain this operatic religious art
form.16
As part of tourism promotion, organizers in provincial capitals are expanding
the procession celebrating Vessantara and Matsi’s return to the court. This pro-
cession is already a major component of the northeastern village celebration. In
addition to growing retinues of gaily clad royal attendants, the processions are
increasingly incorporating the bawdy phiitaakhon. The religious logic of their
incorporation is that there is so much rejoicing at Vessantara’s return that it
arouses these spirits and they follow in the procession. However, several monks
stated an explicit practical logic—namely, that they are a way to promote public
interest and attract larger crowds to their celebration. At present, two provinces
have developed their processions into significant national tourist attractions:
Roi Et and Loei. Phiitaakhon have recently been added to processions in the
cities of Ubon and Korat.
Roi Et’s effort to garner national attention for its parade dates back to 1991.
The annual event is now being promoted as part of the “Amazing Thailand”
campaign of the Tourism Authority of Thailand, advertising local hotels and
other businesses in Roi Et. The festival is called the Rice Noodle Bun Phrawet
(Kin Khao Pun Bun Phawet) and features food, including free rice noodles
(khao pun) for participants. Arranged by various public and private organizations,
the event includes a procession for Upakut, a huge parade comprised of thirteen
floats corresponding to the number of chapters in the story, and theatrical
performances recounting the story, in addition to the actual recitation by the
monks. In March 2011 the Roi Et parade included two live elephants, hundreds
of beautifully clad dancers, and scores of phiitaakhon, represented by men
wearing raggedy burlap costumes with eyes painted in white on their masks.17
The phiitaakhon received far more notice than Jujaka.
In Loei, the bacchanalian phiitaakhon festival described in chapter 2 has
long been a major component of the Bun Pha Wet in Dansai district. However,
it was in decline until recently. According to the abbot I interviewed at Wat
Phonchai, the phiitaakhon festival was once much more widespread, celebrated
by at least ten villages in addition to the amphur town. However, more and
more of the younger generation were working and it was getting hard for them
to find the time to contribute their time for the common good (suan ruam);
participation had dwindled to four other villages.18 But at Dansai itself, the
custom survived with government support, garnering increasing media attention
and turning this otherwise sleepy remote mountain town in northeastern
Thailand into a major tourist attraction each year. The parade is growing, adding
 Jujaka as Deity • 253

to its procession of monks, semi-naked wild men and phiitaakhon, people

dressed in royal costumes representing Vessantara, Matsi and the two royal
children; the royal family walks in the procession with umbrellas held over
them and are followed by beautifully dressed attendants (see photos in Jetjaras
2009).
At Wat Phonchai, where the procession concludes and the jataka is recited,
a permanent, year-round museum with a small gift shop exhibits some of the
costumes. In the past the phiitaakhon masks and costumes were supposed to be
thrown into the river; nowadays only the ancestral figures are thrown into the
river. The other masks are saved and used as decorations in local guesthouses
and stores. Stores along the main street in the town now sell T-shirts, CDs of
songs newly created for the parade, phiitaakhon masks, figurines, and other
knick-knacks. The production of phiitaakhon masks has become a government-
supported OTOP handicraft industry.19 Even the nearby hilltop temple, Wat
Niramit Vipassana—which does not perform the jataka—has a recently com-
missioned set of mural paintings of the Vessantara Jataka on its walls. The last
scene, showing the return of the royal family to the palace, not only has the
usual royal retinue but also includes the phiitaakhon and, perhaps even more
anachronistically, the ghost of Jujaka.20
Another variation on this mix of tourism and cultural preservation comprises
the efforts to preserve public knowledge of the jataka in museums. In addition
to the museum in Dansai, Loei province, Roi Et’s Provincial Administrative
Organization invested over 28 million baht to build a Vessantara Jataka Park
(located at Ban Noi Hua Fai, Tambon Rohb Muang subdistrict) in 2002 “to
encourage interest in Thai folklore” and support economic development; the
park presents a drive-through variation where the jataka chapters are staged
with the help of large white figures placed along the roadside.21 In 2006 the
Siam Cultural Park in Ratburi province opened the Jujaka Light and Sound
Cave, “reflecting Thai culture and ways of life from the past until the present
for the next generations to learn about the uniqueness of Thai culture.” Various
dioramas tell the story of Vessantara, with Jujaka featured prominently. The
park is intended as a destination for educational tourism. Supaporn Siripornlert,
the park’s managing director, explains, “Our target groups are youngsters or
anyone who wants to understand Thai values and customs.” According to
Supaporn, she chose to show this particular story because it teaches us to be
self-content and rid ourselves of all worldly attachments.22 In this interpretation,
the earlier theme of generosity for others appears to have been altered to self-
contentment for the individual.
 254 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Promotion of Cultural Her itage

With growing national interest in preserving cultural heritage (e.g., Baker
2013), the Vessantara Jataka is increasingly being resurrected in the central and
northern regions through varying combinations of royal, state, and local support.
The performances receiving these forms of governmental and community
support are generally more formal than the ones intended to appeal to tourists,
and they may or may not involve processions.
As we saw in chapter 1, members of the royal family continue to support
performances of the jataka. In addition to their attendance at Wat Phra Kaew
on the occasion of the changing of the Emerald Buddha’s robes, members of
the royal family, most notably Princess Sirindhorn, have played an important
role in re-energizing annual recitations at Phutthamonthon. Other formal reci-
tations are held in the name of members of the royal family. The recitation held
in July 2011 to raise funds for Siriraj Hospital was sponsored in honor of the
king’s eighty-fourth birthday and the queen’s seventy-ninth birthday; the king
was staying at the hospital at the time. The staging was stunningly beautiful,
but very formal. At the front of the hall where each monk sat as he recited his
respective chapter a pavilion had been built, surrounded with pond lily stalks,
bunches of bananas, mounds of coconuts, flowers, and various kinds of
greenery—all there to reconstruct the forest exile. Around the hall were gor-
geous floral arrangements and money trees. Outside the hall were flat-screen
TVs broadcasting the chanting monks to those outside the main hall. The
audience at the time I was there was overwhelmingly female. Even though the
monk was chanting the Maharaat chapter at the time, which included a variety
of operatic special effects and comic moments as Jujaka stuffed himself, no one
in the audience even smiled. That same year, the National Buddhist Youth
Society also held a Vessantara Jataka recitation (on July 31), also in honor of the
king’s eighty-fourth (seventh cycle) birthday. Other recitations are increasingly
being held to mark other important royal life-cycle events.23

State Support
A concerted effort to preserve recitations of the Vessantara Jataka also appears
to be emerging within the state-supported sangha. Monks at some of the royal
temples in the Mahanikai lineage such as Wat Mahathat, Wat Suthat, Wat
Chetuphon (Wat Pho), and Wat Laksi have long been involved in recitations,
be they at their own temples or at other ones (as noted earlier in this chapter,
Wat Laksi houses a popular large wooden carving of Jujaka). These also tend
to be formal recitations.
 Jujaka as Deity • 255

In July 2013 I visited Wat Samien Nari and saw that they were about to host
a Vessantara Jataka recitation, on the weekend just before the beginning of
Buddhist Lent. Upon making further inquiries, a monk informed me that this
performance was the first in a long time and was being held in response to a
special request from Bangkok’s monastic head. Concerned that future genera-
tions would not know the story, the Bangkok monastic head asked the heads of
each monastic subdivision (chaokhana khet) in Bangkok to hold a performance
at their temple. The recitation was being held over a three-day period, with the
first five chapters to be performed on Friday, three on Saturday, and the final
five on Sunday.24 Two monks were invited on each of the three days, with one
monk coming twice. The monks on Friday came from Wat Chetuphon and
Wat Laksi; on Saturday they came from Wat Saam Phrayaa and Wat Laksi;
and on Sunday they came from Wat Saam Phrayaa, Wat Laksi, and Wat Samien
Nari.
I attended the Friday performance since I was particularly interested in
hearing the Jujaka chapter. Once again the staging was stunningly beautiful.
Two raised pulpits, each inlaid with mother-of-pearl, were set up for the two
monks to sit on, at the base of which were flowers and fruits. In the front was a
huge metal bowl with sacral water, surrounded by pineapples, coconuts, and
other fruits. In the back were two large, artificial waterfalls about five feet high,
banana tree fronds, candles, money trees, and colored flags. A variety of fruits
were placed at the bases of the pillars of the open-air temple pavilion. Once
again, the audience was overwhelmingly female, with the exception of rows of
school children in uniform sitting in the back. Even though one of the monks
was nationally known for his comic performance of Jujaka, and he was doing a
wonderful job, the schoolchildren were inattentive and the adults were remark-
ably stony-faced. Surrounding the seated area were numerous venues for making
monetary donations to the temple.
A jataka performance in Lampang in December 2008 provides another
example. Wat Bunyawat in Lampang had not held recitations for years, but has
just revived the tradition in the past decade. The revival is part of a project of the
Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University of Wat Mahathat, in Bangkok, which
has a branch at this Lampang temple. Their purpose was twofold: to preserve
Lanna cultural traditions and to bring in money for the university. Promoting
its goal of educational outreach, the recitation was preceded by a lengthy parade
involving hundreds of students and laity who walked through the city of
Lampang en route to the temple. Different area schools and villages (not orga-
nized by birth years) served as the sponsors of the thirteen chapters of the jataka,
the Phra Malai Sutra, and the Khathaphan. Each subgroup of the parade carried
 256 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

a placard announcing the chapter they were sponsoring and the name of their
school or village. There were also school bands playing and groups playing
traditional instruments, such as flutes, gongs, and cymbals. Some carried flags
representing Thailand, the Buddhist sangha, or their respective schools; others
carried traditional long decorative woven banners. Other participants carried
offerings ranging from brooms and dishes to betel, candles, flowers, and other
ceremonial items. Several men carried a large lacquer box borne on a litter,
presumably containing the sacred texts. Schoolchildren wore their school or
scout uniforms; the representatives of the various village housewives’ groups
also wore matching traditional dress. Spearheading the Matsi chapter was a
young woman dressed in white. One of the banners announced that the cere-
mony was for the “communal preservation of our customs” (ruam syybsaan
phraphaenii ).
In support of its fund-raising goal, the temple had various stalls set up inside
where participants could make additional donations. Some stalls had 108 small
begging bowls into which donors could deposit coins; one stall had seven poses
of the Buddha, one for each day of the week (donors could deposit money ac-
cording to the day of the week on which they or family members were born);
another stall allowed participants to test their luck to win a small gift; and still
another featured a set of money trees, one for each of the chapters, with small
tags noting the number of verses in each chapter and the associated birth year.
Unlike the donations made to the monks directly at the end of each recitation,
these temple stalls raised money for the use of the hosting temple.
Viewing the VCD of the 2008 recitation reveals a very formal recitation,
with high-ranking government officials and spouses occupying seats of honor
in the front rows. Hanging on the ceiling was a grid of strings to transport the
sacral flow from the monk’s recitations to the heads of audience members. Also
hanging from the ceiling were fruits such as oranges and vegetables such as
chilis, long green beans, carrots, and the like. By the pulpit were banana trees
and coconuts, as well as other plants and flowers. In one corner was a bowl of
sacral water with small candles burning, one for each of the verses in each chap-
ter. There was little in the audience reaction to suggest they were paying much
attention to the monks at all. The audience seemed more dutiful than rapt.25

Local Council Funds

With increasing local control over tambon (subdistrict) and municipal council
funds resulting from national decentralization policies begun in earnest after
the Thai Rak Thai government took office in 2001, local communities had
more say in how their local budgets would be used. Tambons and municipalities
 Jujaka as Deity • 257

Figure 19. “Grandfather” Jujaka at parade. Now supported with local municipal council funds, this
tradition was begun circa the mid-twentieth century by local abbot Luang Poh Pii (1902–74) and
woodcarver Lung Loi Duangkaew (1911–92) to encourage involvement by the younger generation.
Masks are considered sacred and kept at the local temple. Photo courtesy of Daan Laan Hoi
Municipal Council, Amphur Daan Laan Hoi, Sukhothai, January 2006.

throughout the country began allocating a portion of their local budgets for
such activities as repairing the archaeological remains of deserted temples or
creating local museums. Some local councils are beginning to sponsor Vessantara
Jataka recitations. Thus in a northern district with fifteen tambons in Chiang
Mai province, three have organized full Tang Tham Luang in the past decade.
In 2008 one tambon administrative organization decided to hold annual recita-
tions, rotating the host temple through the thirteen villages in the tambon each
year. Even though not previously considered a typical part of northern recita-
tions, the villagers decided to include a real elephant “in order to draw greater
interest.” Some one thousand people attended the 2008 recitation, drawing
primarily from all thirteen villages in the tambon as well as from elsewhere.
This local level interest in promoting cultural heritage is leading some villages
to become specialized in ritual paraphernalia. Thus one village in this district is
 258 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

becoming known as the source for actors and wooden elephants for hire for the
Vessantara procession. An abbot in another village has hired seamstresses to
sew costumes and stores them for rental for various processions.
Fund-raising is a frequent motivation for sponsoring contemporary Vessan-
tara Jataka recitations. I observed one such recitation held in Hang Dong in
2009 to raise money to build a temple.26 However, if in the past recitations
were a way to encourage village unification, today the decision is often highly
contentious. In one subdistrict, a village abbot proposed using tambon develop-
ment funds to underwrite the costs of a Vessantara Jataka recitation at his temple.
However, the abbot was widely disliked in the village since he had ordained
after a questionable lay life of drinking, drugs, and criminal behavior. Even
though these funds were initially approved, the villagers refused to cooperate
with the abbot because they felt such a large gathering of monks and laity from
outside their village would serve to enhance his reputation. Guised in language
suggesting that everyone was too busy, the funds were reallocated.
In another village, controversy arose following a recitation. An abbot from
a neighboring village temple had offered to organize a Vessantara Jataka reci-
tation in order to raise money to build a temple in this village. Villagers were
pleased to accept the offer, but problems arose in generating support outside
the village. This abbot was also widely disliked because of his reputation for
promiscuity as well as corruption in handling temple funds at his own temple.
Villagers in the abbot’s own village and elsewhere refused to cooperate because
they did not want to do anything to expand the abbot’s reputation; they felt
that the abbot’s offer was motivated by a desire to become more influential.
The recitation was held nonetheless, but it apparently lost money. The villagers
were then upset both because of the loss and because of a controversy over the
accounting; the abbot would not reveal the actual amounts of money donated
during the recitation, and many believed that he had siphoned off monies. The
village is still without its own temple.

Global Nostalgia
Performances of the Vessantara Jataka are now occurring on a global stage. With
ties between Thailand and the United States growing, more and more Thais
have relocated to America to seek educational and economic opportunities.27
In the wake of the Vietnam War, refugees from Laos and Cambodia were
resettled around the world, particularly in the United States, Canada, Austra-
lia, France, Germany, the United Kingdom, and Japan. Theravada Buddhist
temples are now springing up in all of these countries.28 In addition, large
numbers of Thai women, particularly from northeastern villages, have married
 Jujaka as Deity • 259

European men and settled in Europe (Patcharin 2013). Monks who were
known for their preaching abilities are now making recordings to send over-
seas. Today, recitations are available for sale on DVD and performances are
being posted on the Internet, thereby allowing a global audience to access in-
country sermons and merit-makings.
In addition, Theravada Buddhist temples are increasingly beginning to
hold recitations of the Vessantara Jataka globally, motivated by a combination
of nostalgia, heritage preservation, and fund-raising. Advertised as teaching
“the ability to give and to forgive in all circumstances,” the Thai Buddhapa-
dipa Temple in London, England, held a recitation inviting thirteen monks
and included a version in English in September 2013. Bodhikaram Temple, in
Ottawa, Canada, posted a YouTube video of a Khmer monk reading the ja-
taka.29 Wat Phrayortkeo Dhammayanaram, a Lao Buddhist Temple in Sydney,
Australia, also holds recitations. Wat Lao Samakhitham, in Castle Creek, New
York, has posted highlights of its Bun Pha Wet set poignantly to the song
“Heart of a Lion,” by Tommy C; the festival was held in June 2012, replete with
scrolls and money trees laden with dollars.30 YouTube videos are posted of
the Bun Pha Wet at Wat Lao Buddharam at Elgin, Illinois, in 2011 and of a
Lao temple in north Philadelphia on June 2013. The Lao Temple at Vipassana
Center in Forest Lake, Minnesota, held its first Bun Pha Wet ceremony in June
2013.31 In some cases, monks are flown in from Thailand, Laos, or Cambodia;
one of the monks I interviewed in Ubon travels regularly in June to the Thai
wat in Switzerland, where there are many northeastern women married to
Swiss men. Increasingly these temples have their own resident monks who are
conducting the recitations. Thus Kamala describes the efforts of Luang Ta
Chi, abbot of Wat Thai, in Washington, DC, to hold a Vessantara Jataka reci-
tation; he held his first recitation in March 2005, inviting monks from Arizona
and Texas, and was able to raise significant funds for the construction of a new
building (2009, 27). Although some full recitations are held, most are in the
abridged form.
Although recitations of the Vessantara Jataka are being revivified in Thai-
land and are even expanding globally, the recitations are drawing audiences
with different motivations. The frustrations leading to the desire to be reborn
in the days of the Maitreya Buddha are no longer primary factors. As the social
and political context shifts, the recitations are becoming more formal and their
former comic elements are gradually disappearing. The trickster Jujaka is being
absorbed into the cults of his amulets and lost in the processions of villagers
beautifully attired in “traditional” dress and riding rented elephants. Northern
Thailand still has tujok monks, most of whom were students of (or were
 260 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

influenced by) Luang Poh Bunthong, but they are increasingly less risqué.32
Chapters are still being recited at northern funerals, albeit with less frequency
than in the 1970s, and increasingly the Matsi rather than the Jujaka chapter is
chosen. In sum, today recitations are taking new forms as they are appropriated
for the promotion of tourism, the preservation of cultural heritage, the expres-
sion of nostalgia for the past, and fund-raising.

The Future: Of Mothers and Other Women

Given the major transformations in its meanings already underway, how likely
is the Vessantara Jataka to remain relevant in the future? Any consideration of the
jataka’s future prospects must include the attitudes of its female audiences. In
all the jataka performances I have observed in central, northeastern, and northern
Thailand, women comprise the majority of the listening audience.33 That this
pattern is long-standing is suggested by Tachard’s remark of seventeenth-
century Ayutthaya: “The Women are the most solicitous to go to those meetings
of Piety” ([1688] 1981, 306–7). However, the contemporary feminist interpreta-
tion of the jataka as a plot to subordinate women does not bode well for the
jataka’s survival into the future. Kornvipa Boonsue roundly denounces the
Vessantara Jataka for its portrayal of women as only good for “two things—
procreation and cooking,” with Matsi collecting roots and fruits for the family
to eat so that Vessantara had more time to meditate (1989, 36–38). In this inter-
pretation, if women accept Matsi as their ideal image, they then accept an image
of themselves “as being the passive victims of patriarchal power” (Kornvipa
1989, 38). As Kornvipa writes:
Maddi played a big role in Vessantara’s achievement but she did not receive any
credit for her contribution. All appreciation and honour was given to Vessantara,
even for what he achieved via Maddi’s painful sacrifices, faithfulness, and virtue,
as well as the physical and mental pain inflicted on his children. . . .
From a feminist perspective, how could one consider this kind of merit
accumulation as the ultimate step? It is in fact very inhumane and the way in
which Vessantara wanted to prove his detachment from worldly things is very
selfish. He thought only of himself and of the benefit to himself alone. (1989,
37–38)

The Burmese feminist Khin Thitsa has made a similar argument, writing
that the story of Vessantara and Matsi is a paradigmatic example of the jatakas
where the wise, pure male is “assisted in following his spiritual goal by the ser-
vices of a devoted female, usually mother or wife. The other portrayal of woman
 Jujaka as Deity • 261

is again as seductive and avaricious, an evil force which is duly chastised” (1980,
20; see also the discussion in Gabaude 2016). Clearly feminists with this perspec-
tive would happily see the jataka’s demise.
Given the jataka’s seemingly misogynist perspective, it is surprising that
so little attention has been given to why women comprise the majority of its
audience. Some scholars have tried to justify Vessantara’s gift of his wife and
children as merely representing the cultural values of Indian society millennia
ago. Thus, Cone and Gombrich suggested ancient India was “a rigid patriarchy,”
“a world where it is the man’s unquestioned right to dispose of his family as he
thinks fit,” a world in which widows have no legal rights and “sons are the only
security in old age” (1977, xxii). Some Thai monks also offer this explanation.
The implication of this argument is that Vessantara would not make such a
decision today—hardly a strong justification for the jataka’s relevance in the
modern era. After all, jataka performances largely died out in South Asia.
Perhaps such appeals to ancient patriarchy are intended to encourage
Southeast Asian women to feel grateful that their generation was born under
better circumstances. Indeed, in comparison with this portrayal of ancient
South Asia, women in mainland Southeast Asia hold a stronger position. As
noted in the introduction, in Theravada Buddhist mainland Southeast Asia,
women have long been recognized as influential in all aspects of village life
(e.g., Bowie 2008a). Villagers have historically practiced primarily uxorilocal
post-marriage residence patterns. Furthermore, because daughters were more
likely to take care of parents in their old age, village life in Thailand has a
tendency toward female ultimogeniture. Gascoigne’s summary of the condition
of Burmese women holds elsewhere on the mainland: “The Burmese are all
‘new women,’ and take a very forward and active part in all matters pertaining
to business. Few husbands would dare to enter into any mercantile arrangements
without the aid or advice of their wives; at least the probability is that should
any poor deluded man be so unwise he would hear a good deal more about the
matter than he quite desired” (1896, 43).
The primary female characters are Phusadi, Matsi, Amitataa, and Kanhaa.
Phusadi and Matsi are invariably described in positive terms. In their previous
lives, Phusadi and her sister made merit to a previous Buddha; her sister re-
quested to reach enlightenment, but Phusadi requested, “May I in the future
become the mother of a Buddha!” (Cone and Gombrich 1977, 5). She is reborn
as the queen of the god Indra. When her time in the heavens has lapsed, she
requests that she be granted the boon of giving birth to “a son who will be
open-handed in granting requests, and without avarice, who will have fame
and good repute, and be honoured by rival kings” (Cone and Gombrich 1977,
 262 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

7). In addition to her desire for breasts that remain firm, she also requests to be
able to “have the condemned set free,” suggesting she is compassionate in her
own right. She is born to the chief queen of the king of the Maddas and at age
sixteen is married to King Sonchai. The god Indra notes that all her wishes
have been granted except one. So he goes to the future Buddha and tells him
that it is time for him to be reborn on earth as the son of Phusadi. From the
time of her conception, she gives alms. She requests that six almshouses be
built and that 600,000 gold coins be given away. When Vessantara is born, he
wants to give gifts, and Phusadi places “a purse of one thousand gold coins in
his outstretched hands” (Cone and Gombrich 1977, 9). Thus Phusadi can be
interpreted as a strong, virtuous woman who makes Vessantara’s earthly birth
possible. In the performance I observed in northeast Thailand, Phusadi’s grief
at the loss of not only her son but also her grandchildren served to heighten the
emotions leading up to the eventual joy at the family’s reunification. One can
easily imagine women sharing not only Phusadi’s dream of unchanging physical
perfection but also her pain as her earthly family goes into exile.
Portrayals of Matsi are more diverse, ranging from conservative to pro-
gressive interpretations. The conservative interpretation portrays Matsi as duti-
ful, supporting her husband no matter what her personal hardship might be,
even to the extent of being willing to be given away to a stranger. The progres-
sive interpretation highlights Matsi as an equal and even wiser partner. In this
reading, Matsi chose to leave her life of comfort in the palace and have the
children accompany them. When King Sonchai and Queen Phusadi come to
the forest, Vessantara is afraid an enemy army is approaching; it is Matsi who
reassures him that in fact the army belongs to his own parents. Although some
monks viewed Matsi as submitting out of wifely duty to Vessantara’s decision
to give her away, other monks insisted that Matsi was fully aware that humanity
would only be saved through her sacrifice as well.34
Similarly, opinions differed as to whether the children were vulnerable,
obedient victims forced to go with Jujaka or whether the children made con-
scious decisions to go with Jujaka because they agreed with their father’s mission.
Part of the debate centers on whether one sees Vessantara’s goal as personal
enlightenment or as a quest for enlightenment in order to be able to save hu-
manity. If Vessantara had a personal goal, then his children are more likely to
be seen as victims. However, if Vessantara’s quest was to help humanity, the
children can be portrayed as having understood its importance. Many people
I interviewed noted that Chalii was born as the Buddha’s son in his next life,
but that Kanhaa was angry with her father. As a consequence, Kanhaa was
 Jujaka as Deity • 263

not reborn as the Buddha’s daughter but instead as the nun Uppalavanna
(Ubonwanna), one of the two most eminent female apostles of Gautama. As
Gerini explains, “upon being given over to Jujaka she conceived a moral hatred
of her father and solemnly swore that she would never again be reborn a child
to such an inhuman parent” ([1892] 1976, 31). Uppalavanna was born as the
beautiful daughter of a wealthy merchant. Accounts differ as to whether or not
she married, but they converge again about her decision to become a bhikkhuni.
Upon reaching enlightenment, the Buddha declared her to be the foremost in
supernormal powers among the nuns and she was able to withstand an assault
by the devil Mara. In some accounts, Uppalavanna was raped. One monk I
interviewed in Hua Hin said that because Kanhaa was upset with her father, she
was reborn as “Ubonwanna, a bhikkhuni who was raped and then swallowed
up by the earth.”35 Interestingly, in the Pali version no mention is made of
Kanhaa’s special anger, and in fact, Vessantara sets her ransom higher than
Chalii’s, evidently to ensure that she will only be ransomed by royalty. Yet
another version has the brother and sister marrying each other. A villager in
Uttaradit province told me that in the past his village would parade Chalii and
Kanhaa to the village temple, replete with the ceremonial khan maak, and stage
the wedding at the temple.36
As we have seen in the course of this book, the portrayal of Amitataa varied.
The Pali text tells us that Amitataa was reborn as the wicked nun Ciñcam¯ana-
vik¯a. Monks who were aware of the Pali text coda tended to view Amitataa in a
negative light. Ciñcam¯anavik¯a tried to destroy the Buddha’s reputation by
claiming that the Buddha had impregnated her. At a public hearing, a snake
came along and bit the string holding up her fake belly and the truth became
known.37 And at that moment, the earth opened and swallowed her up. De-
spite this Pali coda, the majority of monks and villagers I interviewed portrayed
Amitataa in a positive light, emphasizing her role as the perfect daughter (with
Matsi exemplifying the perfect wife).
All versions presented Amitataa as a young girl, but interpretations varied
as to whether Amitataa was a victim or a shrew. In central Thailand, Amitataa
appeared to be a tragic victim: her impoverished parents had no choice but to
give their beloved daughter to Jujaka. This version buttressed a portrayal of
Jujaka as horrible, uncaring, and selfish. In other versions, also compatible with
negative portrayals of Jujaka, she is a heroic daughter who volunteers herself to
help her parents protect their honor. In a version found in southern Thailand,
Jujaka essentially forces himself on Amitataa in an act of rape; in other versions
he is said to have loved magic such that Amitataa willingly surrenders herself.
 264 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

Yet another interpretation, seemingly more common in the north, portrays

Amitataa as no less conniving than Jujaka. In this portrayal, Amitataa sees that
the old man has been able to accumulate a considerable amount of gold and
probably has an enormous amount of gold and property squirreled away. Since
he is not likely to live long and since she is still young, she is likely to inherit
everything Jujaka has and lead a comfortable life. So she decides to marry
Jujaka.38 An overwhelming majority of monks and laity in all regions of Thai-
land that I interviewed told me that Amitataa was basically a good daughter
and a good wife; however, in her previous life she had made a mistake in her
offerings to monks. Instead of offering beautiful flowers, she had placed an old
wilted flower on the tray; consequently, when she was born as Amitataa she got
a wrinkled old man as her husband. While some may see Amitataa’s misfortunes
as caused by her actions in a previous life, the role of the cruel, jealous village
women can also be blamed.
The emotional resonances the jataka had for its female audiences would
have varied according to its interpretation. Observers have noted that audiences
were often in tears during recitations of the Kumarn and Matsi chapters. Perhaps
the Kumarn chapter encourages audience members to relive the hardships of
their own lives, particularly if they had ever found themselves in any form of ser-
vitude. That the Matsi chapter has been chosen to be recited at many northern
funerals parallels the pain impermanence causes. Matsi coming to peace with
the loss of her children must have resonated profoundly with earlier generations,
who would have lost children in childbirth or to childhood diseases. Vessantara’s
convoluted and awkward handling of his wife’s grief provides listeners with an
avenue to work through their mixed feelings toward the death or departure of a
loved one. To minimize the agony of these chapters is to ignore much of the
jataka’s emotional power in the face of life’s sufferings.
Furthermore, the jataka allows an exploration of problems in daily life, as
we have particularly seen in the northern interpretation. Amitataa’s problems
with the villagers would resonate with anyone familiar with the gossiping and
petty jealousies that can emerge in village life. Given how many village girls
from northern and northeastern Thailand found themselves working as domes-
tic servants in Bangkok in the 1940s and 1950s, as prostitutes during the 1960s
and 1970s, and as factory workers up to the present day, one can imagine that
many identified with Amitataa’s plight at being separated from her family and
thrown into unfriendly environments. Men in the audience may well have
vicariously enjoyed Jujaka’s good fortune in acquiring such a wonderful young
wife. But after witnessing Jujaka’s difficult quest to make his wife happy, they
 Jujaka as Deity • 265

may then have come to see the matter in a different light. Giving the story a
modern twist, some people laughed as they pointed out that nowadays many
younger village women are marrying older foreign men in the hope that these
men have money and will give them comfortable lives.
Both Matsi and Amitataa allow explorations into husband-wife relations.
As we have seen, audiences debate Vessantara’s decisions. As Julia Gengen-
bach notes, Vessantara was not a perfect husband: after all, he lied to his wife
about the meaning of her dream because he knew that if she were present when
Jujaka asked for the children, he would not be able to give them away (2009;
see also Collins 1998, 528). However, for villagers, Vessantara’s actions are also
a topic of debate; on the one hand he was lying, and on the other hand he was
being compassionate and trying to find a way to allow Matsi to come to terms
with her loss. For many listeners the overwrought account of Vessantara’s ex-
treme decision may have helped ease them back into the reality of their daily
lives. No matter how impossible their spouses might be, they were hopefully
not as bad as Vessantara. No matter how difficult the situations they con-
fronted, hopefully they were not as bad as Matsi’s fate, living in the forest with-
out the support of an extended family network. I can imagine many a village
woman going home to her family, grateful she still had her children, a husband
who was not as extreme as Vessantara, and an extended village community.
If some modern feminists denounce the conservatism of the Vessantara
Jataka, other feminists suggest a more positive feminist reading. Suwanna Satha-
anand has written an essay titled “Madsi: A Female Bodhisattva Denied?” in
which she suggests that Matsi should also be considered a bodhisattva. Arguing
that Matsi was a life partner of Vessantara who made her own decisions, Su-
wanna argues, “It is time we opened up the possibility of giving credit to Madsi
and to women in general” (1997, 251). She concludes, “It is about time we intro-
duced new elements into our classical heritage, so that it belongs to the people
and becomes more relevant” (1997, 251).39 Northern Thai monks such as Luang
Poh Bunthong were already encouraging a positive reading, noting that Matsi’s
knowledge even surpassed that of Vessantara’s at certain moments. A similar
argument can easily be made for Phusadi; she had the opportunity to reach
enlightenment with her sister in her previous life but relinquished it to give
birth to a Buddha and save humanity.
If the Vessantara Jataka is to survive into the future, it must continue to
resonate emotionally with its audiences. With women comprising the majority
of its listeners, their interpretations will be important. That changes in the in-
terpretations of the appropriate role of women in Theravada Buddhism are
 266 • Part II: The Politics of Diversity

occurring can be seen in the growing number of representations of Chao Mae

Kuan Im in temples, the growing number of women involved in lay meditation
movements, and the growing number of women ordaining both as mae chii and
as bhikkhuni. Without positive readings of its major female figures, the future
of the jataka will increasingly be in jeopardy.
 Conclusion
The Journey’s End

Poised at the edge of new vistas, our journey has come to an end. We have
followed Jujaka on his travels over the course of nearly two centuries as he
disappeared behind the glitter of formal state ceremonials of Bangkok, as he
pursued Amitataa alongside the scrolls escorting the royal family in the proces-
sions through the villages of the northeast, and as he found his way through
the mazes of northern Thailand. We followed Jujaka because we were curious
as to why the Thai kings of the nineteenth century supported sober recitations
but sought to suppress comic performances of the Vessantara Jataka. When we
reached northern Thailand, we encountered the anti-authoritarian trickster
Jujaka, who in his connection with the utopian Maitreya Buddha and the as-
sociated millenarian uprisings gave us a plausible reason for royal concern.
Assuming comic performances were once widespread, we have watched as the
state brought the trickster under control in each of the three regions over the
course of the twentieth century. Ironically, the politics of the absolute monarchy
shaped both the humor of the jataka in the nineteenth century and its demise
over the course of the twentieth century.
This book has focused on Thailand, but I hope that it gives further impetus
to a newly emerging awareness of vernacular variations across time and space
(e.g., Collins 2016). The humor of the northern trickster provides insight not
only into a peasant critique of the social order but also into the prevailing
paradigm of scholarship. In revealing the extent of variation in three regions of
Thailand, this book helps to illuminate six interrelated biases. First, the prevail-
ing paradigm has prioritized texts over performances. Second, the approach
has prioritized the Pali recension over vernacular recensions, viewing the Pali
version as the most “authentic.” Third, it is decontextualized, collapsing

267
 268 • Conclusion

Figure 20. Temple mural of Nakornkan chapter. Scene of the final chapter, showing the royal
family returning to the palace with royal guards, phiitaakhon, ghosts of the dead, and Jujaka in the
royal procession. Painted by Pramote Sriphrom in 2006. Wat Niramit, Amphur Dan Sai, Loei
Province, July 2009. Photo by author.

significant cultural differences across Asia. Fourth, it has denied the importance
of local variation. Fifth, it is ahistorical, ignoring the importance of considering
social changes over some two millennia of history. And last, it is apolitical,
denying the creative agency of its myriad participants.
In his inquiry into historiography, Paul Ricoeur suggests that historical
theory should be linked to a theory of action—in other words, “that history
articulates the plot of action by coordinating intentions, causes and accidents”
(1994, 22). As he explains, “history has for its subject people like you and me,
who act and suffer within circumstances that they themselves did not create,
and with results both desired and undesired” (1994, 22). As one reflects on the
 Conclusion • 269

three main social groupings in nineteenth-century Thailand—monarchs,

monks, and masses—one can see how their respective interests converged in
the ambiguity of the Vessantara Jataka. Monarchs could hope to gain legitimacy
for their rule. Monks could hope to vouchsafe generous alms for themselves
and offerings of youth for the well-being of the order. The masses could hope
to convince their rulers of the importance of generosity and affirm a vision of
social justice symbolized by the coming Maitreya Buddha, while also gaining
immediate practical benefits such as good rains, good health, and a moral village
economy. The jataka served pro-royalist, non-royalist, and anti-royalist agendas
simultaneously. As this book has shown, the regional differences in the Vessan-
tara Jataka emerged from the interplay of the varying interests and actions
within each regional context.
Charles Hallisey, in his review of the current state of Theravada Buddhist
studies, notes that “texts fade in their significance as social change occurs.” He
suggests that once we ask what conditions are necessary for the preservation of
a text, “a range of other historical questions immediately opens out” (1995, 51).
In addition to an understanding of “the technology, practices and institutions
which made their survival possible,” he writes, “discovering answers to such
questions will require investigations about the extent to which the production
and survival of a text is both dependent and independent of the audiences which
receive it” (1995, 51). Monarchs, monks, and the masses have all undergone
significant transformations in the Theravada Buddhist countries of Southeast
Asia. Thailand is no longer an absolute monarchy, having become a constitu-
tional monarchy after 1932. With the expansion of the secular public education
system, monks no longer provide the primary avenue for educational advance-
ment and village prestige. New technologies in agriculture and medicine have
contributed to the immediate economic and physical health of village com-
munities. With recourse to electoral politics, mass demonstrations, and social
media, villagers no longer need to wait for Maitreya for redress of their political
and economic grievances. Thus the context in which the Vessantara Jataka once
flourished has changed dramatically, and it is now possible to imagine the jataka
fading into obscurity. After all, the story originated in India but is no longer
celebrated in its birthplace.
The jataka’s future remains uncertain. Although evidence suggests that
emotional comic performances were once widespread, our travels have made it
clear that these are giving way to emotionless formal recitations. The beloved
trickster of villagers in the past has transmogrified to become the revered god of
sectors of the urban middle classes, a Jujaka who helps provide not the intangible
benefits of laughter in the face of feudal authority but the tangible benefits of
 270 • Conclusion

money in the face of global capitalism. Unlike the earlier Jujaka, who made our
baser desires laughable, the capitalist era Jujaka now appears to celebrate them.
Increasingly, the jataka no longer champions charity but glorifies gain, and the
earlier village story about giving is being inverted into an urban story about
getting. Even among those for whom the jataka is not about the personal accu-
mulation of wealth, the jataka is transforming from a reminder of the importance
of generosity in a moral economy into a symbol promoting cultural heritage,
local tourism, and diasporic nostalgia in a global economy. That an increasing
number of women, historically the jataka’s primary audience, view the text as
misogynistic does not bode well for its future. Furthermore, without the laughter
and tears that were an integral part of recitations in the past, these performances
are becoming increasingly devoid of the emotional content that constituted an
important part of their meaning for their audiences.
Nonetheless, the Vessantara Jataka has shown itself to be remarkable both
in its malleability and its resiliency. I find it disconcerting to realize that a story
I had once found appalling and best relegated to the dustbin of history has now
beguiled me. Since I began working on this book, there have been many times
that I have found the sacro-magical world of the jataka infiltrating the earthly
reality of my own everyday life. As a mother, I have thought of Vessantara giving
up his children at various moments in recent years, such as when my sons drove
the car without me for the first time, each time they flew off to college, and
now as they face life journeys along paths beyond my control. After all, my sons
do not have the god Indra watching out to ensure they reach the palaces in
their dreams. Thinking of Vessantara’s agony at giving up his wife and children
is making it easier for me to part with earthly valuables through monetary
contributions to charities and gifts of treasured heirlooms to family and friends.
The story was particularly helpful when I had to return my mother’s cat to her
after she moved into a retirement community that allowed pets.
Charity and gift-giving comprise the foundation of moral economies across
societies as an integral mechanism to counter the forces of primitive accumula-
tion.1 Many in the Christian tradition are familiar with the moment when
Jesus told the rich man that if he wanted to gain eternal life, he should sell his
possessions and give the proceeds to the poor, for “it is easier for a camel to go
through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom
of God” (Matthew 19:24). Max Mueller was a founding figure in the study of
comparative religions. Critiquing the “absurd wealth” and the “hideous, hope-
less penury” of England in the late nineteenth century, Mueller presents the
Buddha’s more radical remedy:
 Conclusion • 271

He turned to the rich and said, “Give! Give not only one tithe: give not only
what you do not want; but give all that is wanted to feed the hungry, to clothe
the naked, to teach the ignorant, to nurse the sick, to save the sinner. Give,
because nothing belongs to you, nothing can belong to you, neither land nor
treasure, not even your own body. Give, because life is a fleeting shadow, which
will soon pass away from you with that you now call your own. Give, because
what you leave to your own children, and not to all, is more often a curse than a
blessing to them.” (1885, 235–36)

While many modern readers may sympathize with the virtue of generosity
as they reflect on the growing class divides around the globe, many are shocked
by Vessantara’s decision to sacrifice his family for the greater good of enlighten-
ment. I also continue to grapple with this decision. Yet, although the Vessantara
Jataka may seem bizarre or extreme, one can find the theme of giving up one’s
family for a greater cause throughout world history. Indeed, in the very same
chapter in which Jesus exhorted the rich to give up their possessions we find
another, commonly overlooked passage in which Jesus assures his disciples:
“And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or
wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and
will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:29).2
If one reviews the biographies of many of the world’s great leaders whose
lives have shaped their societies for the better, one reads about the personal
sacrifices their decisions entailed. If one looks at the family lives of Nelson
Mandela, Aung San Suu Kyi, or any other number of major political leaders,
one sees immense costs to their spouses and children. I have interviewed many
Thais who were involved in the pro-democracy movements of the 1960s and
1970s; their political activism often entailed personal sacrifices and often came
at the expense of their families, even in cases when they had their families’ full
support. The same can be said of the modern generation of activists working
for social justice.
Understood as the story of someone seeking to help the suffering, the
Vessantara Jataka becomes an inspirational tale about the personal sacrifices one
makes in the struggle for social justice for all. In such a telling, Matsi and her
children can be seen not as victims but as willing participants who contributed no
less than Vessantara to the cause of easing humanity’s suffering; Phusadi gave
birth not only to Vessantara but to a discussion of the ideals of modern society.
The Vessantara Jataka appears to have flourished in the days of absolute
monarchy, messaging both overt royal quests for legitimacy and covert peasant
 272 • Conclusion

resistance. However, the jataka can resonate even when kings have been dis-
placed. Thus, although Burma no longer has a monarchy, Aung San Suu Kyi
(1991) still finds value in the Vessantara Jataka as political critique. She high-
lights Buddhism’s compatibility with democracy by echoing the Aggana Sutra,
suggesting that the agreement by which the first monarch undertakes to rule
righteously in return for a portion of the rice crop represents the Buddhist
version of government by social contract (see also Tambiah 1976, 9–18). Further-
more, the Ten Duties of rulers are “liberality, morality, self-sacrifice, integrity,
kindness, austerity, non-anger, non-violence, forbearance and non-opposition
(to the will of the people)”; these, she points out, “could be applied just as well
to modern government as to the first monarch of the world” (Aung San 1991,
170). Suggesting that Vessantara was exiled for giving away the white elephant
without the consent of the people, Aung San argues, “the legitimacy of govern-
ment is founded on the consent of the people, who may withdraw their mandate
at any time if they lose confidence in the ability of the ruler to serve their best
interests” (1991, 173).
If the Vessantara Jataka and other stories have long been a way of teaching
Buddhist values, Charles Hallisey and Anne Hansen raise the question, “What
did Buddhists learn from their stories?” (1996, 310). As they point out, the
“story literature” has often been denigrated as not representative of “real”
Buddhist thought but a means “to communicate doctrines that the Buddhist
lumpen could not otherwise understand” (1996, 309). Gananath Obeyesekere
has commented on the contradiction behind the fact that these stories have
been “relegated as unimportant folktales that have little to do with the pro-
foundly philosophical corpus” even though they were “how we learned to be
Buddhists” (1991, 231; see also R. Obeyesekere 1991, x). In considering how
stories might prefigure, configure, and refigure moral life, Hallisey and Hansen
suggest that the mythical realms of the jatakas “enable us to appreciate the
ethical significance of our coexistence with other humans, even as they portray
a world that is quite dissimilar to our ordinary experience” (1996, 312). Through
the jataka, when “we leave aside our own social location . . . and enter imagina-
tively into the experience of a character in a narrative, we cultivate capabilities
that are necessary to all moral agency” (Hallisey and Hansen 1996, 314). We are
then “better able to perceive universal obligations and rights in a world charac-
terized by social diversity” and develop sympathy for others. Similarly, the
Vessantara Jataka becomes provocative because the story can be told in ways
that one can develop sympathy for the complex positions of each of the charac-
ters. From rulers’ quests for political legitimacy to peasant critiques of political
 Conclusion • 273

injustice, the jataka can serve as an imaginative moral exercise for both rich and
poor.
At its heart, politics is always about the dynamics of ever-shifting moral
tensions. Increasingly over the course of the twentieth century, the political
rhetoric shifted from one of subjects serving their rulers to one of governments
serving their citizenry (e.g., Bowie 2008b). As I write this conclusion, Thailand
is in the midst of political uncertainty. I for one may still find humor in the
everyday foibles of human life, but I cannot find any humor in the modern
challenges the country is facing. But then I am no political satirist with the
skills of John Winyu, Note Udom, or other Thai avatars of a modern Jujaka.3
In this book, I have sought to show that the Vessantara Jataka, like the
Ramayana and other major folk stories, also has had “many tellings.” The
prevailing academic text-based narrative that has portrayed the jataka as a
pro-royalist panegyric is at once ahistorical and misleading. In a region in which
military conquests led to war captives and slavery, it beggars belief to think that
the relocated war captives would have associated Vessantara with their imme-
diate captors. Following Jujaka into northern Thailand has opened new avenues
for interpretation, providing insight into non-royalist and anti-royalist readings
of the jataka. Exploring the politics of humor helps shed light on the historical
vicissitudes of the Vessantara Jataka in Thailand. Whether Jujaka survives his
millennia-long journey into the next century remains in the hands of Indra and
charitable humans.
 Notes

Introdution

1. The class was on Buddhism and taught by Frank Reynolds, then at Stanford
University on sabbatical from the University of Chicago.
2. The jataka stories are found in the Suttapitaka, the tenth book of the Khudda-
kanikaya in the Tripitaka or Buddhist Canon. The theme of generosity runs through
many jataka (see Shaw 2006, xxxii). Vessantara’s name may have come from the street
where he was born—namely, the street where the vessas, or merchants, live, and not the
palace. Cone and Gombrich believe the name has no significance (1977, xxxiii, 9).
3. Of the 547 jataka included in the Theravada Buddhist canon, emphasis is placed
on the final ten jatakas in which the future Buddha perfects the virtues of renunciation,
courage, loving-kindness, resolution, wisdom, perseverance, forbearance, equanimity,
truthfulness, and generosity, respectively (Wray, Rosenfield, and Bailey 1972, 16). They
are collectively called dasajati in Pali or thotsachaat in Thai. The future Buddha is not
always virtuous (e.g., Appleton 2010). Indeed, Collins suggests that some jataka may
even be “meant to be offensive” (1998, 46, 498).
4. As Sarah Shaw points out, “Jatakas are unique: they are the only collection of
stories in the world in which the development of one central character is tested not just
through the events of one lifetime but of hundreds” (2006, xx). Considered by many
scholars to have been precursors of Aesop’s fables, the famous Pali scholar T. W. Rhys
Davids suggests that the jatakas are “the oldest, most complete and most important
collection of folklore extant” ([1880] 1925, iii–iv). Jataka are found in the eighth-century
Persian stories of Kalilag and Damnag, in Aesop’s fables, in Christian folklore through
the adventures of Barlaam and Josaphat (i.e., boddhisatva), and later in the works of
Giovanni Boccaccio, Poggio Bracciolini, Jean de La Fontaine, Geoffrey Chaucer, and
William Shakespeare (Rhys Davids [1880] 2000, xxix–l; Shaw 2006, lv).
5. The earliest known carving of the story, discovered at Bharhut in Madhya
Pradesh, India, dates back to the second century bce. Carvings and paintings of the
jataka have also been found across the continent of Asia, in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan,
Tibet, China, and Indonesia (e.g., Cunningham 1962; Marshall and Foucher 1982;
Schlingloff 1988; Dehejia 1990; Murray 1995). Jataka are particularly important in the
Theravada Buddhist tradition but can also be found in Chinese, Khotanese, Sogdian,
Tibetan, and Tocharian traditions (Shaw 2006, lv; see also Cone and Gombrich 1977,
109–11). Christoph Emmrich (2016) describes a variant in Nepal.

275
 276 • Notes to Pages 5–14

6. This performance was by Bruce Gaston.

7. Swearer notes that preaching was “gradually dying out” (1978, 3). Baker and
Pasuk suggest that “royal patronage of the Mahachat ceased in the Fifth Reign, and the
importance of the recitation festival declined steeply after the centralizing reform of the
Sangha in 1902” (Nidhi [1982] 2005, 200; see also Pattaratorn 2009, 33).
8. On its growing popularity in temple murals, see Ferguson and Johannsen 1976.
A special Vessantara stamp edition was issued in Thailand in 1998, in Laos in 2001, and
in Sri Lanka in 1973 and in 2006 in honor of the 2,550th anniversary of the Buddha’s
enlightenment (Deegalle 2012, 127–46; see also Stamp Wench 2015).
9. In the nineteenth century it sparked a vigorous debate between Buddhists and
Christian missionaries in Sri Lanka (see Deegalle 2012, 141–44).
10. Not only were women crying, but Forbes records, “[Matsi’s] agonised appeals
are beautiful in their simple pathos, and I have seen men moved to tears by a good
representation of this play” (1878, 150).
11. E.g., Weiner 1976; S. H. Potter 1977; Van Esterik 1982; Gailey 1987; Atkinson
and Errington 1990; Linnekin 1990; Lepowsky 1993; Ong and Peletz 1995; Peletz 1996;
Carsten 1997; Brenner 1998; Andaya 2000, 2006; Blackwood 2000; Bowie 2008a, 2010;
Hadler 2008; Jacobsen 2008.
12. The senator was Rabiabrat Pongpanich. For further discussion, see Bowie 2011.
13. One of my village friends said that as a child she first thought the word “tujok”
denoted a monk who liked to grab people ( jok pyan) since the monks often chased children.
14. The gift of the seven hundreds is often mentioned when the Buddha reaches
enlightenment, rather than his other significant gifts as Vessantara, for example the
rain-making elephants, his children, or his wife (Cone and Gombrich 1977, xix).
15. The Pali version merely states that “Jujaka ate too much and could not digest it,
so he died on the spot. The king arranged for his funeral” (Cowell [1895] 1957, 299).
Ferguson and Johannsen comment that Brahmins are typically portrayed as “reluctant
converts or even protagonists” (1976, 656). Gombrich suggests the possibility that the
jataka is “a satire on brahminical greed” (1985, 436; see also Pierce 1969, 247–48).
16. All the chapters in a northeastern temple mural of the jataka had sponsors, with
the exception of the Jujaka chapter. When Thomas Kaiser asked why this was so, the
monk laughingly replied that no one wanted to sponsor that panel, so the artist had to
paint it for free—after all, it was part of the story! Thomas Kaiser, personal communica-
tion, July 13, 2015.
17. Sarah Shaw writes, “It is remarkable how little Jatakas changed over a long
period. There are certainly differences between details described in the verses, the early
layer of the text, and the narrative, an indicator of some sort of evolution, but given the
centuries involved in their development these are surprisingly minimal” (2006, lii).
18. The Buddha’s former life as Vessantara is mentioned in consecration rituals for
new Buddha images in northern Thailand. The northern text appears to highlight not
Vessantara’s gifts of the seven hundreds but rather “the generous sacrifice of my wife
and children” (Swearer 1995, 277).
 Notes to Pages 14–24 • 277

19. This earlier generation of Pali scholars merely focused on these discrepancies in
order to establish which version was likely to be the oldest and therefore the most
“authentic.” Thus M. Winternitz does not suggest that an exploration of these differences
might provide insight into different social processes. Winternitz also mentions a new
edition of the jataka in Siamese issued by their Majesties Queen Aunt and Queen
Suddhasinninath in 1925 (1928, 4).
20. Harald Hundius suggests there are more than 230 non-canonical jatakas (1995,
46). The non-canonical jatakas include the Padipadana Jataka, which speaks of a time
when Gotama was female ( Jaini 1989, 27–28). Pali recensions of these stories have been
found in Burma, Cambodia, Laos, and Siam, but while each consists of fifty stories, not
all the stories were identical (see Feer [1865] 1963; Terral 1956; Prakong 1983, 6; Horner
and Jaini 1985; Jaini 1989; McDaniel 2000; Skilling 2006; Veidlinger 2006, 186; see
Finot 1917 on Laos).
21. Not all traditions agree on when enlightenment took place. In Burmese
Buddhist tradition, it was May 13, 544 BCE; in Thailand, it was March 11, 545 BCE. For
further details, see Eade 1995, 15, 140.
22. Griswold and Prasert note that the 1357 inscription reverses the order of the
second and third disappearances as listed by Buddhaghosa, which begins with the
Abhidharma “continuing retrogressively with the other six, then the Vinaya, then
the Suttas, and finally even the Jatakas will be forgotten.” During the fourth one
thousand years, “the monks will forget the proper way to carry the almsbowl or wear
the yellow robe,” and during the final one thousand years the relics will no longer be
honored (1973, 98–99).
23. These prophecies have their own historical trajectories. Thus Steven Collins
notes that in early post-canonical texts Maitreya (Mettreya) is only mentioned once but
becomes more frequent in later literature (1998, 355–56).
24. Lillian Handlin’s work on the Vessantara Jataka in Burma reveals “the story’s
transmutations over the centuries” (2016, 180). Catherine Raymond notes differences in
Burmese emphases, with Vessantara even struggling with the urge to attack Jujaka
(2012, 133, 141; see also Green 2012). Common sense suggests that the political upheavals
in Cambodia, Laos, and Sri Lanka also impacted the story’s tellings in these countries,
but this research awaits. As Rajini Obeyesekere suggests in the case of Sri Lanka, “The
rich ritual dramas of the peasant tradition have become moribund in most parts of the
nation today” (1991, 234). In a Cambodian variation, Kanhaa and Chalii marry (Roveda
and Sothon 2010, 108).
25. Spiro goes on to suggest that “the monastery is a perfect institutionalized solution
for the personality whose narcissistic needs permit—perhaps motivate—abandonment
of wife and children” (1970, 346, 348).
26. Village definitions of merit-making include charity to beggars and a broader
range of generosity than simply offerings to monks. See Bowie 1998.
27. Nidhi’s translators also suggest that with the “shift to a stricter, canonical inter-
pretation of Buddhism in the court, royal patronage of the Mahachat ceased in the Fifth
 278 • Notes to Pages 26–42

Reign, and the importance of their recitation festival declined steeply after the central-
izing reform of the Sangha in 1902” ([1982] 2005, 200).
28. Jory recognizes the contradiction in his argument but suggests that the reason
for Mongkut’s continued involvement was because “Mongkut’s political enemies, the
conservative faction at the court (the so-called ‘old Siam’ party), were still influential
enough to insist that such royal ceremonial as the thet maha chat . . . be retained” (1996,
117).
29. Gerini’s text is based on the Bangkok Recorder, vol. 1, no. 18 (November 18, 1865).
Anne Hansen notes that a Khmer biography of Mongkut records Mongkut’s view that
preaching the Mahachat as “verse-lakhon with musical accompaniment” was contrary
to the Dhamma-vinay (the Khmer term for Tripitaka) (2007, 90).
30. Even as late as 1886, when King Chulalongkorn traveled to Chanthaburi incog-
nito, he expressed shock upon realizing that local sermons were primarily jataka stories
( Jory 2002a, 910).
31. On Korean humor, see Chun Shin-Yong 1977; on Tamil humor, see Eichinger
Ferro-Luzzi 1992; on middle-class humor, see Gay 1999; on Russian humor, see Milne
2004; on humor in the Spanish Netherlands, see Verberckmoes 1999; on American
cowboy humor, see West 1990; on religious humor, see Hyers 1969; on women’s humor,
see Sheppard 1986; Pailer 2009; see also Wickberg 1998.
32. In addition to their well-known popularity in the north and northeast, Kamala
notes that the Phra Malai texts could be found in practically every wat in central and
southern Siam (2003, 305).
33. Similarly, Paritta Chalermpow-Koanantakool, who noted that southern puppet
performances often included comments on local and national issues, observes that in
these performances some part of the clown’s body, usually his forefinger, “is cut out in the
shape of the male sexual organ figure,” and that “their jokes play on sex, both implicitly
and explicitly” (1989, 43,46).
34. For discussion of my use of “peasant imaginaire,” see chapter 4, note 1.
35. Manee does include excerpts from southern recensions in his analysis (1976).
36. My thanks to Justin McDaniel for giving me a Thai cartoon version.

Chapter 1. Central Thailand

1. In the northern and northeastern regions, performances are typically not held
during Buddhist Lent. The difference between the performance by lay officials as opposed
to monks is marked linguistically in the difference between suat (to chant) and thet (to
preach). I thank Arthid Sheravanichkul for bringing these formal lay recitations to my
attention.
2. According to Khun Somchai, historically the Vessantara Jataka was chanted
three times each year for a total of nine days during Lent: (1) beginning of Lent for three
days (14–15 kham and wan raem 1 kham dyan 8); (2) middle of Lent for three days (13–14
kham dyan 9 and wan khyn 1 kham dyan 10); (3) end of Lent for three days (wan khyn
 Notes to Pages 42–46 • 279

13–14 kham and wan raem 1 kham of dyan 11). See also Gerini (1891) 1976, 23; Notton
1933.
3. My thanks to Ajarn Arthid Sheravanichkul for facilitating this interview. Khun
Somchai was ordained at age seventeen in Kanchanburi. When he disrobed, he became an
official in the Religious Affairs Department (Krom Kaan Saasanaa). Taught by Ajarn
Prayong Sornwong, Somchai has been chanting for over thirty years now. According to
Khun Somchai, in the Ayutthayan period, there were four people chanting at a time in
three groups for a total of twelve people; the king was in attendance for all nine days.
However, Rama IV felt it wasted officials’ time, and today only four people chant. For
further details, see Nidhi 1982, 203–6.
4. For an account of the image’s earlier history, see Notton 1933.
5. See “History of the Emerald Buddha,” Bangkok Magazine, http://www.bangkok
mag.infothai.com/emeraldhistory.htm, accessed August 22, 2016.
6. Phone interview with Lung Kriangkrai, March 3, 2010.
7. Phone interview with Phra Racha Thammawaathii, Wat Prayoon, Bangkok,
March 3, 2010.
8. For details, see “The Second Lineage of Rajineekul Sai Chao Khun Nual,”
Bunnag Lineage Club, http://www.bunnag.in.th/english/history_12.html, accessed
August 22, 2016.
9. For more on the Chulasakarat calendar, see Eade 1995, 17.
10. The location was the Busabok Mala Maha Chakraphaddi Phiman throne hall.
The three head monks were Phra Phimonlatham, Phra Thamma-warodom (Udom),
and Phra Phutta Khosachan. Wenk mentions that Phra Phimonlatham was in charge
of one of the four committees to revise the Tripitaka (1968, 41).
11. Mary Cort provides additional descriptions of krajaat, writing that the king
“commands the princes of the royal family to make the large baskets for him, and they
must buy useful things to furnish them and make them more beautiful” (1886, 61). A
schoolboy provided her with the following description: “One was made in the shape of a
cart, with two buffaloes, which were covered with tobacco instead of hair, to draw it,
and the eyes of the buffaloes were made of brass dippers that were painted black and
white. The owner had put many useful things in the cart. Also, there was the figure of a
man that was covered with dried peppers, and wore spectacles on his nose, sitting in
front of the cart” (1886, 61). Another krajaat was a tree with lamps, augers, saws, knives,
handkerchiefs, cigars and matches hanging from its branches. Another had birds that
had “silver and copper coins instead of feathers” (Cort 1886, 61).
Cort said these royal krajaat ceremonies were an annual occurrence. The recitation
lasted for seven days. Near the end of the week the king invited monks to come and cast
lots for the baskets. She mentions one that began on August 15, 1883, as being especially
interesting since they marked “precisely the number of years, months, and days” that the
king had reigned as long as his grandfather. Thirty baskets, eight feet wide and more
than sixteen feet long, were prepared. Five hundred monks participated on one day and
thirty sermons were read. She adds that the “Krachat [krajaat] festival is usually held in
 280 • Notes to Pages 46–48

the seventh Siamese month, and the people observe it in a much more simple way than
obtains within the palace walls” (1886, 63). (For further details, see Cort 1886, 60–63.)
12. The eldest son, Prince Isara Sunthon, was then front palace vice king (wang
naa) and later became Rama II. The second son was Prince Senanurak, later appointed
as front palace vice king by Rama II.
13. See Gerini (1892) 1976, 37, for further details.
14. Prince Vajiranana (the future sangharaja) mentions that he met with Rama V
in 1881 and learned that the king had planned “that I would preach from the Vessantara
Jataka, the very same chapter that he had offered as merit for our father” in the ceremonies
for the Bangkok centennial (Reynolds 1979, 53). The Bangkok Centennial mentions
Buddhistic religious ceremonies as part of the celebrations, but is not explicit about
which texts were recited. I believe Vajiranana likely chanted Sakabap.
15. Several monks noted the role of Princess Sirindhorn in reviving this royal tradi-
tion, one monk adding how the palace and the temples (wat and wang) were inter-
twined in the past. An official at Phutthamonthon I interviewed in August 2013 said
they had been holding Mahachat recitations for twenty-four years. In 2012 Princess
Sirindhorn sponsored the Matsi chapter for a recitation held to raise money for Chitrlada
School. The event took place in the palace in honor of her mother’s eightieth birthday
and the sixtieth birthday of her brother, the crown prince (my thanks to Sujittra Chantha-
kawanich for this information). Recently Princess Chulabhorn has been coming and
has hosted the Jujaka chapter, chanted by Dr. Manop. Prathep has hosted the Kumarn
and often the Maharaat chapters (interview with Dr. Manop, August 4, 2013).
16. Despite my repeated inquiries in northern and northeastern Thailand, I have
found no evidence that novice recitation was practiced outside of the central region. In
central Thailand, the occasions in which the Vessantara Jataka was performed outside a
temple setting and in a private home were primarily for novice ordinations and second-
arily for private recitations by wealthy families (e.g., in Hua Hin; see also Pattaratorn
2009, 32). Conversely, central Thais were not familiar with the northern custom of per-
forming chapters at funerals. That this custom may have been more widespread in the
central region is suggested by Kamala’s interview with Phrakhruu Wanna at Wat Lak
Hok in Ratburi province. Phrakhruu Wanna recalled, “During a wake monks used to
deliver long chants or recite a story in verse that lasted until late at night. People were
afraid of ghosts, and they liked to have the monks around for company. By the time the
monks paddled back to their monastery, it might be close to midnight. Today laypeople
don’t want the monks to deliver long chants at a funeral. They prefer short chants so
they can play cards or gamble after the monks leave” (Kamala 2003, 240). Claus-
Bachmann mentions performances of the jataka at funerals “or other sad occasions” in
Sri Lanka (2002, 115, 118).
17. Fournereau provides a description and photographs of the Thet Maha Xat
(Mahachat) he attended in 1891, noting that “it had not been celebrated for a quarter of
a century” and adding that “this ceremony only takes place at the occasion of the novitiate
 Notes to Pages 49–57 • 281

of the king or the crown prince in a Buddhist temple” ([1894] 1998, 123). Lyons suggests
that paintings of the jataka were borrowed from the novice’s temple to illustrate his
recitation (1960, 168).
18. A monk I interviewed in the city of Hua Hin had never heard of novice recita-
tions, but he said rich lay people often invite monks to recite all thirteen chapters at
their homes. A wealthy family near his temple hosts a recitation every year.
19. Mongkut was a novice at Wat Mahathat. Crown Princes Chulalongkorn and
Vajirunhis were both novices at Wat Bowonniwet (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35–36).
20. Crown Prince Maha Vajirunhis (1878–95) was the eldest son of King Chula-
longkorn and Queen Savang Vadhana. After the death of the last vice king, King Chula-
longkorn chose not to appoint a new vice king, but instead, on January 14, 1886, appointed
Vajirunhis as crown prince. Upon Vajirunhis’s tragic death from typhoid in 1895, Prince
Vajiravudh was named crown prince. Both Vajiravudh (Rama VI) and his younger
brother (Rama VII) were sent to England for schooling. Although both ordained as
monks upon their returns, neither were novices. For photos of Vajirunhis’s “great sermon
recitation,” see “Siam: Days of Glory,” Bangkok 101, December 2010, 44–53, http://issuu
.com/talismanmedia/docs/bangkok-101---december-2010, accessed August 22, 2016.
21. Sulak suggested that the custom has died out because few novices today ordain
long enough to study any of the chapters.
22. According to a monk I interviewed, Wat Raatbamrung, a Thammayut temple
located in Nong Khaem, Bangkok, does perform the jataka.
23. David Wyatt describes Chaophraya Phrakhlang (Hon) as “a lavish patron of
the literature, with a taste for translations from Chinese and the foreign languages,
and . . . an accomplished poet himself ” (1969, 24).
24. Prince Paramanuchit (1790–1853), abbot of Wat Pho, was appointed supreme
patriarch in 1851. Other versions of various chapters were written by other members of
the court or high-ranking monks (including from Wat Prayoon). See Gerini (1892)
1976, 54; Manee 1976, 24; Nidhi (1982) 2005, 211–14.
25. In the Lanna version, the text is short, paralleling the Pali (see Prakong 1983,
82). With the exception of the Kumarn chapter, Nidhi suggests that the changes made
to other central Thai chapters were minor. Nidhi notes that unlike Prince Para-
manuchit, “who attempted to preserve older literary traditions,” Phrakhlang Hon was
an innovator ([1982] 2005, 216, 218). For more on boat imagery in Pali literature, see
Shaw 2012.
26. A donjon is the keep, or fortified main tower, of a castle.
27. A figure of Vessantara with his two children at his feet is also kept at Wat
Yannawa but is accessible to the public only on special occasions.
28. When Crown Princess Sirindhorn sponsored the Kumarn chapter in 1972, she
also used boat replicas for her offerings. (For this information I thank Dr. Manop, Wat
Pho.)
29. Interview with Ajarn Sulak Sivaraksa, Bangkok, March 3, 2010.
 Notes to Pages 49–57 • 281

of the king or the crown prince in a Buddhist temple” ([1894] 1998, 123). Lyons suggests
that paintings of the jataka were borrowed from the novice’s temple to illustrate his
recitation (1960, 168).
18. A monk I interviewed in the city of Hua Hin had never heard of novice recita-
tions, but he said rich lay people often invite monks to recite all thirteen chapters at
their homes. A wealthy family near his temple hosts a recitation every year.
19. Mongkut was a novice at Wat Mahathat. Crown Princes Chulalongkorn and
Vajirunhis were both novices at Wat Bowonniwet (Gerini [1892] 1976, 35–36).
20. Crown Prince Maha Vajirunhis (1878–95) was the eldest son of King Chula-
longkorn and Queen Savang Vadhana. After the death of the last vice king, King Chula-
longkorn chose not to appoint a new vice king, but instead, on January 14, 1886, appointed
Vajirunhis as crown prince. Upon Vajirunhis’s tragic death from typhoid in 1895, Prince
Vajiravudh was named crown prince. Both Vajiravudh (Rama VI) and his younger
brother (Rama VII) were sent to England for schooling. Although both ordained as
monks upon their returns, neither were novices. For photos of Vajirunhis’s “great sermon
recitation,” see “Siam: Days of Glory,” Bangkok 101, December 2010, 44–53, http://issuu
.com/talismanmedia/docs/bangkok-101---december-2010, accessed August 22, 2016.
21. Sulak suggested that the custom has died out because few novices today ordain
long enough to study any of the chapters.
22. According to a monk I interviewed, Wat Raatbamrung, a Thammayut temple
located in Nong Khaem, Bangkok, does perform the jataka.
23. David Wyatt describes Chaophraya Phrakhlang (Hon) as “a lavish patron of
the literature, with a taste for translations from Chinese and the foreign languages,
and . . . an accomplished poet himself ” (1969, 24).
24. Prince Paramanuchit (1790–1853), abbot of Wat Pho, was appointed supreme
patriarch in 1851. Other versions of various chapters were written by other members of
the court or high-ranking monks (including from Wat Prayoon). See Gerini (1892)
1976, 54; Manee 1976, 24; Nidhi (1982) 2005, 211–14.
25. In the Lanna version, the text is short, paralleling the Pali (see Prakong 1983,
82). With the exception of the Kumarn chapter, Nidhi suggests that the changes made
to other central Thai chapters were minor. Nidhi notes that unlike Prince Para-
manuchit, “who attempted to preserve older literary traditions,” Phrakhlang Hon was
an innovator ([1982] 2005, 216, 218). For more on boat imagery in Pali literature, see
Shaw 2012.
26. A donjon is the keep, or fortified main tower, of a castle.
27. A figure of Vessantara with his two children at his feet is also kept at Wat
Yannawa but is accessible to the public only on special occasions.
28. When Crown Princess Sirindhorn sponsored the Kumarn chapter in 1972, she
also used boat replicas for her offerings. (For this information I thank Dr. Manop, Wat
Pho.)
29. Interview with Ajarn Sulak Sivaraksa, Bangkok, March 3, 2010.
 282 • Notes to Pages 58–69

30. Waen (Khamwaen) was the daughter of the King of Vientiane and the Princess
of Nongbualamphuu, and the sister of Chao Anuwong. I thank Prakirati Satasut and
Sujittra (Nion) Chanthakawanich for help with this research.
31. Rama I’s chief queen was Queen Amarindra (1737–1826). The daughter of a
wealthy Mon from Bang Chang, Samut Songkhram province, she bore three sons and
seven daughters. Her sister was married to the founder of the Bunnag family. After the
fight with Rama I, she fled to live with her daughter, a consort of the former King Taksin.
Although she and Rama I never reconciled, her son became Rama II.
32. A piiphaat is a musical ensemble with wind and percussion instruments. It is
associated with sacred and “high-class” compositions of the Thai classical repertoire.
See Wong 2001, 109, 263–65.
33. But the central Thai amulets I discuss in chapter 6 suggest court control was
not complete.
34. Nidhi makes a very interesting argument that Ayutthayan court literature was
sexually “absolutely explicit,” and only during the Bangkok period did court literature
begin to incorporate the robust metaphors from folk literature ([1982] 2005, 29–32).
35. Scenes portraying ordinary people are called phap kak, or “the dregs,” and are
typically located at the bottom of the temple murals. In response to Boisselier’s remarks
that Thai art and literature only bring up issues dealing with sexuality in a most discreet
manner, Napat and Gordon drolly comment, “We wonder where he has been looking”
(1999, 11; see also Boisselier 1976, 66–67,114).
36. Also called “Day of the Ghosts” (wan ching pret). Wan Sart is also celebrated in
Nakhon Sri Thammarat and elsewhere in the southern region.
37. Wan Thewo parallels the Thadingyut Festival in Burma.
38. Wat Pho holds their recitation on khyyn 8 kham, dyan 11.
39. Interview with Phra Racha Vijitphatiphaan, Deputy Abbot, Wat Suthat
Thepwaraaraam, Bangkok, January 15, 2008.
40. Gerini was aware of the belief that the jataka “was to be delivered in a single
day” ([1892] 1976, 25). Furthermore, Kamala has observed that the Phra Malai texts
“could be found in practically every wat in central and southern Siam” (2003, 305; see
also 301–16; see also Priyawat 1995). King Chulalongkorn expressed dismay when he
traveled to Lopburi and found people worshipped Maitreya (Kamala 2003, 299). It is
thus possible that the shift in timing represented court influence in the central region.
41. He added that monks used to practice their recitations underwater or under
rain jars in order to get a fuller sound.
42. One person in Samut Sakorn said that the temple was decorated to look like
heaven, not a forest.
43. My thanks to Ajarn Paritta Chalermpow Koanantakool for taking me to see a
wai khruu ceremony in Ayutthaya province. For more on pigs’ heads at wai khruu cere-
monies, see Paritta 1980; Grow 1991, 169; Wong 2001, 22. Northern friends have assured
me they have never seen this in the northern performances. Leedom Lefferts confirms
 Notes to Pages 70–76 • 283

that he has never seen a pig’s head as part of any of the numerous jataka recitations he
has observed in the northeast (personal communication, 2013).
44. Brahmins were also involved in the Giant Swing Ceremony, until it was dis-
continued in 1935.
45. Specialized food offerings for Jujaka appear to have been expanding more
recently. At Wat Mai Pinkriaw, Jujaka is said to like khaw laam, a dessert specialty of
Nakhon Pathom, where the temple is located. For more, see chapter 6.
46. Many villages in the northeast and north will have jars with fish and lily pads to
represent this pond.
47. Interview with Phra Racha Vijitphatiphaan, Deputy Abbot, Wat Suthat
Thepwaraaraam, Bangkok, January 15, 2008.
48. Wat Chaichanasongkram is a temple of Mon heritage. To maintain their
heritage they perform a special reading of the Wanaprawet chapter in Mon.
49. Phone interview with Phra Racha Thammawaathii, Wat Prayoon, Bangkok,
March 3, 2010.
50. Interview with Phrakhruu Winaithorn Dr. Manop Paalaphan, Deputy Abbot
at Wat Pho (also called Wat Chetuphon), March 4, 2010.
51. Maha Fai was so named because his skin was white like cotton and he wanted
to be a farang. He later moved to the Wat Thai in North Hollywood and eventually
died.
52. He told the story of the smart city crow. Crows are considered to be thieving
birds because they fly from the nest in the morning and steal food all day (hence the
phrase khayan yang ka, to be industrious like a crow). The village crow saw the China-
man in the boat selling lots of food from his boat; he tried to swoop down to steal the
food but was caught and turned into food by the Chinaman. But the city crow landed
on the Chinaman’s hat unnoticed and was able to steal the food.
53. He uses the Himaphan chapter (2) to talk about Vessantara and being a good
husband.
54. A taxi driver from Chachoengsao thought Amitataa was not a good person; she
was envious of others and wanted servants. He said that Amitataa in her previous life
had offered wilted old flowers and so in the next life ended up with an old man. He
went on to talk about Thai women who married foreign men but were not happy over-
seas because the food and customs were so different from what they had grown up with
in Thailand. Sombat (1981) suggests that she was an exemplar of a bad wife since she
forced Jujaka to undertake the journey that eventually killed him.
55. The total may have been more since people were continuing to donate when I
was there. Reflecting a somewhat similar pattern were the sums for another perform-
ance in honor of the king’s birthday at Wat Yannawa in 2009, in which the Maharaat
chapter brought in 1,244,058 baht, followed by Himaphan at 391,900 baht; bringing in
over 300,000 baht each were, in order, Thotsaphon, Thanakan, Chohkasat, Wanapra-
wet, and Matsi. Jujaka brought in 252,780 baht, followed by Mahaphon, Kumarn, and
 284 • Notes to Pages 76–81

Chulaphon, each of which brought in over 200,000 baht. Sakabap brought in 85,500
baht and Nakornkan raised only 69,430 baht.
56. Frank Vincent also mentions theatrical entertainment, which he described as
“gross and obscene throughout” ([1873] 1988, 127).
57. State ritual performances themselves underwent change; thus Gerini notes that
“the custom of the uparaja or viceroy going to collect lotus flowers from the people has
long become a mere reminiscence” ([1892] 1976, 37).
58. Sharp and Hanks suggest that Vessantara’s generosity parallels the act of parents
“giving their sons to the temple” (1978, 143). Ironically, their footnote describes a conflict
over an ordination that caused a rift in a family.
59. Based primarily on his fieldwork conducted in 1967, Terweil has several mentions
of Phra Malai ([1975] 2012, 210, 238, 251, 259–60). Interestingly, he adds that in the past,
monks chanted the story, drinking alcohol and dancing through the night at the home
of a person who had recently died, “practices that are now forbidden” (251, 259–60).
60. Nonetheless, she provides translations of excerpts of the Vessantara Jataka in
her discussion of village folklore (1967, 527–34). Kingkeo does mention that Loi Krathong
is not celebrated in Napa but that Napa villagers may join in the celebrations held in the
municipality of Cholburi (1967, 71).
61. Anuman is not wholly reliable since he presents a composite description with-
out consideration of the geographical variation (e.g., including the maze as if that were
a universal element). However, he would have been a firsthand witness to changes in
Bangkok and the central region. He continues, “Many of the younger generation whose
attitude of mind tends to subordinate the traditional to the novel, view the performance
of the Thet Maha Chat unappreciatively. Certainly, they are right in a sense. To hear
such recitations takes too long a time and the droning sounds are too monotonous for
them to appreciate.” He notes that “in order to save this old tradition from being lost
altogether, a novel way is introduced in Bangkok today when a theatrical performance
of each episode of the story is given just before the recitation takes place of each kan”
(1988, 196).

Chapter 2. Northeastern Thailand

1. Some villages celebrate the Bun Pha Wet less often and some perform the recita-
tion “in association with other major wat rites—e.g., the consecration of a Buddha
image and Songkhran, the Thai-Lao New Year” (Cate and Lefferts 2012, 168).
2. Calendrical cycles differ. For the northern cycle, see Sommai and Dore 1992,
42–43; for the central Thai cycle, see Wales (1931) 1992; Wells 1939; Terweil (1975)
2012, 215.
3. Among the Phu Thai, Bun Pha Wet and Bun Bangfai, intended for rain, are
celebrated simultaneously (Kirsch 1967, 298, 300).
4. While 83 percent ranked Bun Pha Wet within the top three annual rituals, only
6.5 percent ranked New Year’s (Songkran) among the top three (Hayashi 2003, 121). In
 Notes to Pages 82–94 • 285

northern Thailand, Songkran would undoubtedly rank among the most important. I
cannot imagine any northern or central Thai villager today even mentioning the Vessan-
tara Jataka in response to Hayashi’s question.
5. Phu Thai live primarily in Sakon Nakhon, Kalasin, and Nakhon Phanom.
6. My thanks to Leedom Lefferts for facilitating this meeting.
7. My thanks to Sandra Cate for drawing my attention to this festival.
8. The celebration can also draw outsiders seeking to make local connections. At
the recitation I attended, a hospital administrator came who was interested in buying
land in the area.
9. Hayashi does note that the monks should have “a melodious voice” and are
expected to “have mastered the art of speaking” (2003, 134).
10. No northeasterner I interviewed had heard of the northern pattern of chapter
sponsorship by birth year.
11. At the Bun Pha Wet I observed, the extra offering arrived after the Hok Kasat
monks had already departed; the additional money was given to the local abbot and
temple committee.
12. Tambiah does not mention the Vessantara procession but does discuss the
invitation of Upakut (1970, 161–62). Klausner mentions a flower and elephant parade,
but not Upakut; instead he notes a novice or monk ordination ([1981] 1993, 46–48).
Nonetheless, based on interviews with various monks and laity, and with Leedom
Lefferts, processions of the Upakut, Vessantara, and the thousand balls of rice are quite
typical.
13. According to Tambiah, Upakut is not invited for any other northeastern
ceremony (1970, 170; see also Sommai and Dore 1992, 93–94). However, Lefferts has
observed Upakut in other northeastern ceremonies (personal communication, June 1,
2013).
14. Tambiah suggests these items represent Buddha’s victorious battle with Mara
(1970, 163). See Tambiah 1970 for text of the rite of invitation.
15. Sommai and Dore observed a ceremony at about 4:00 a.m. (1992, 94). Manee
observed an invitation to Phra Upakut at 3:00 p.m. followed by the invitation to Vessan-
tara and Matsi to enter the city at about 4:00 p.m. Led by spirit-ghosts ( phii khon),
Vessantara and Matsi rode in on elephants. The procession, a raucous group with
drums, cymbals, and firecrackers, danced through the streets, going from house to
house. Home owners were expected to offer liquor and food, in exchange for which they
received blessings. There was a drumming competition at night, replete with drinking,
dancing, and general merriment (Manee 1976, 51–53).
16. Some villages hang the scroll without a procession. Neither Klausner nor
Tambiah mentions a scroll procession, but Klausner refers to the scroll hanging in the
temple (1993, 47), and Tambiah’s photograph shows it hanging there (1970, 160; see also
Cate and Lefferts 2012, 168). Scrolls are fairly expensive by village standards. I saw a
scroll for sale at a Buddhist bookstore in Khon Kaen for 3,900 baht in 2010. For further
discussion of scrolls, see Lefferts 2006/7; Lefferts and Cate 2012.
 286 • Notes to Pages 95–114

17. Before only the scroll was processed, but the procession was expanded a few
years ago to appeal more to the younger generation (Lefferts, personal communication,
March 2010).
18. In contrast to the Upakut procession, in this case no specific space in the temple
was designated for Vessantara and Matsi once the procession arrived.
19. My thanks to Leedom Lefferts for this insight (personal communication, June
8, 2013).
20. Tambiah’s account mentions four such flag poles and suggests that these may
represent kalpavrksa trees, associated with the coming of Maitreya (1970, 165).
21. In Tambiah’s account, this procession took place at 2:30 a.m. when the village
fair was in full swing. Instead of a big display, the rice balls were carried in bowls (1970,
165).
22. After the Siamese capture of Vientiane in 1826, some six thousand families
were removed to Thailand (Turton 1980, 255).
23. Red Shirts are aware of the Forbes article on the royal family’s wealth. Tatiana
Serafin Cristina von Zeppelin, “In Pictures: The World’s Richest Royals,” July 7, 2010,
http://www.forbes.com/2010/07/07/richest-royals-wealth-monarch-wedding-divorce-
billionaire_slide_2.html.
24. Lefferts and Cate note a 1995 scroll depicting an array of policemen, soldiers,
merchants, and citizens “in near-contemporary dress” (2012, 92).
25. Interview with Phra Uthai, Petchabun, March 7, 2010.
26. Brereton and Somroay suggest that northeastern “villains and demons are not
entirely intimidating,” but instead are presented as “symbols of craving and desire to be
pitied rather than feared” (2010, 21). Thus the emotional tone Jujaka evoked among
northeasterners may have reflected a modicum of compassion or pity rather than sheer
horror or terror.
27. None of the northeastern monks or laity had ever heard of individual chapters
being performed for funerals, ordinations, housewarmings, or any other occasion.
28. A version of the Buddha’s life by Supreme Patriarch Somdet Phra Ariyawong-
sakhatayana (Sa) (1813–99) omits many mythological episodes included in earlier versions
and does not conclude with Buddhaghosa’s prediction, instead emphasizing the Buddha’s
teachings as motivation for behavior in this world rather than fear of its disappearance
(Reynolds 1973, 136; Swearer 1996, 325).
29. Akin notes how the festival came to be a factor in vote-getting in local elections,
becoming “an instrument which serves the political ambitions of the business group”
and providing “an opportunity for the relatively poor urbanites to gain access to public
funds and support from private businesses” (1992, 22–23).
30. “Loei, Thailand,” http://www.triposo.com/loc/Loei/sightseeing/background,
accessed August 22, 2016.
31. Manee suggests that the northeastern processions typically include “phii khon”
(1976, 52). Processions in Roi Et have phiitaakhon, and Ubon has recently added them.
32. See further discussion in chapter 6.
 Notes to Pages 114–118 • 287

33. Such ancestral figures are reminiscent of Puu Sae Yaa Sae, celebrated in the
New Year’s festival in Luang Prabang and elsewhere in Laos. See Archaimbault 1971.
34. The actual date is chosen by spirit mediums. The timing corresponds more
with the Rocket Festival, which occurs typically at the beginning of the rainy season
circa June.
35. Although Thailand has white-robed nuns (mae chii), it does not provide formal
recognition for fully ordained nuns (bhikkhuni ). For more on this controversy, see
Chartsumarn 1991; Falk 2008; Koret 2012.
36. In Daan Laan Hoi in Sukhothai province, a woodcarver named Lung Loi
Duangkaew (1911–92) and the local abbot, Luang Poh Pii (1902–74), began holding
processions to gain the interest of the younger generation. Lung Loi carved scary masks
of Jujaka. The masks are considered sacred and kept at the local temple. I thank Davisakd
Puaksom for helping me with this series of interviews.
37. When Amitataa returns home crying after being teased, Jujaka asks her why. In
the northeastern versions, Amitataa does not say much more than that the village
women were mean and she will no longer go there to fetch water for him.
38. In fact, nineteenth-century central Thai paintings also show village women
mooning Amitataa. See McGill 2009, 61, 157,169. My thanks to Forrest McGill for
drawing my attention to these images.
39. Upakut is known in northern Thailand but is not given particular emphasis in
the recitations of the Vessantara Jataka. Monks and laity I interviewed in Chiang Mai
and Lampang did not mention any special invitation of Upakut (see also Manee 1976,
91). Upakut is mentioned in association with Dyan Yii Paeng (Davis 1984, 223–30,
illustration plate 17–18; see Davis for translation of an 1808 text titled “Dhamma Maha
Upagrutta.” See also Rhum 1994, 149–50). To the extent that northern Thailand per-
formed Vessantara Jataka recitations in association with Dyan Yii Paeng, it is possible
that Upakut and Vessantara Jataka were once linked in northern Thailand as well. On
the other hand, Nan may have incorporated more practices similar to the Lao of Laos or
northeastern Thailand due to its proximity to them.
John Strong has conducted an extensive study of Upakut. He concludes that the
belief in Upakut was strong in the Shan States regions of Burma, northern Thailand,
northeastern Thailand, and Laos (1992, 14). He differentiates between an iconic tradition
centered in Burma, in which Upakut is depicted as a monk, and an aniconic tradition
centered between the Menam and Mekong Rivers, in which Upakut is represented in
the form of stone taken from a riverbed or a swamp (1992, 171–72). Unlike in northeastern
Thailand, where Upakut is particularly associated with Bun Pha Wet, in the north,
“Upakut is not necessarily connected with the Vessantara tradition; he can be invited
anytime for any festival at all” (Strong 1992, 17). Interestingly Strong notes that in a
Shan monastery in Mae Hong Son he saw four images of Upakut in storage. These “are
used once a year in a rite called Khao Wong Kot,” which “involves proceeding through a
large and elaborate labyrinth. . . . Devotees try to get to the Buddha by finding their way
through the maze; when they fail, they must make a donation to the monastery by
 288 • Notes to Pages 118–121

paying a helper who will assist them on their way. The four Upakut images are installed
on four smaller platforms at the four corners of the labyrinth, where they appear to play
a guardian role” (Strong 1992, 243–44, 341n38). Upakut is mentioned in various sources
on Burma (e.g., Forbes 1878, 194–95; Shway Yoe [1882] 1963, 228; Ferrars and Ferrars
1900, 185–87; Htin Aung 1962, 132).
40. McDaniel has noted significant cultural connections between the Lao and
Lanna regions manifest in religious texts (2008). Dhawat also remarks on similarities in
northern and northeastern literature and suggests that central Thai literature was more
oriented toward extolling the monarchy than either northern or northeastern literatures
(1995, 256, 260).
41. In the central and southern versions, Jujaka has Jetabutr bow down to his case,
which he says contains the royal letter; this scenario is not in the northern or northeastern
versions. In the southern version, Jujaka shows off his status as a powerful ambassador,
claiming that if he is killed, the king will come after Jetabutr and punish him. At first
Jetabutr does not believe Jujaka and sees how old he is; a royal messenger should be
young and strong. But Jujaka replies that the young people were the ones who chased
Vessantara out of the city, so the king only put his faith in him since he was old and a
trusted adviser (ammaat) (Manee 1976, 233).
42. Manee suggests that both the northern and northeastern versions are making
fun of monks who do not know how to perform the religious chants; these monks might
have become ordained only to flee the military, to escape suffering, or to have fun with
friends (buat nii tahaan, buat phon ayasuk, buat sanuk taam phyan) (Manee 1976, 261). In
northern versions, the monk is typically a phra chiidok, someone who has been ordained
for a long time but has gained no knowledge; the monk is described as having miang
(fermented tea leaves, a favorite northern delicacy) still in his mouth and a cigarette
burnt to ashes in his hand. The monk stands by the funeral pyre but does not know
what to say, hits a pile of wood, chants nonsensical Pali words, and tells Jujaka’s spirit to
go to hell instead of heaven, as he should. In some northern versions Jujaka is told to go
to the hell where Devathat is. Manee is critical of this passage because Devathat was not
yet born (1976, 261–62).
43. On the other hand, Cate and Lefferts note that Thai monarchs attempted to
suppress the messianic readings of the Vessantara Jataka that were taking place in the
late 1800s and early 1900s. Cate and Lefferts, drawing upon Jory’s argument, suggest
that these attempts to displace the centrality of the Vessantara Jataka were intended in
part to mute direct associations of the monarchy with the future Maitreya Buddha and
keep attitudes toward state authority centralized upon the King rather than local rulers
(2012, 179).

Chapter 3. Northern Thailand

An earlier version of this chapter was published as “J¯ujaka as Trickster: The Comedic
Monks of Northern Thailand,” in Readings of the “Vessantara J¯ataka,” edited by Steven
 Notes to Pages 123–126 • 289

Collins, copyright © 2016 Columbia University Press, reprinted with permission of the
publisher.
1. A Pali version in Lampang dates to 1714 (Veidlinger 2006, 138). Manee provides
a list of some sixty-one Lanna versions (1976, 45, 75–77; see also Brereton 1995, 62).
2. This monk was almost certainly Luang Poh Bunthong.
3. Interview with Ajarn Manee Phayomyong, Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1,
2005.
4. Indeed, a former tujok monk I interviewed founded a well-known traveling
theatrical troupe (likay) after he disrobed.
5. Luang Poh Bunthong is known variously as Tu Lung Thong, Phrakhruu
Bunthong Suwanno, and Phrakhruu Soponbunyaporn. Bunthong was born in Baan
Dong Makhoi, Tambon Sanphiisya, A. Muang. The family later moved to Mae Rim.
Over time, they were able to buy three rai of land, but the land has since been sold.
Bunthong had not planned to spend his life as a monk. His brother had ordained at the
same temple. After feeding the water buffaloes there was not much to do, so his mother
had Bunthong bring food to his brother at night. Bunthong became a novice in 1945 and
ordained as a monk in 1954. Because he had studied naktham and there were few monks
who were able to teach it, he became a naktham teacher. More and more children began
attending his classes. His age-mates were disrobing, but his mother told him not to.
Her view was that of her six children, he was her best hope ( phyng baramii luuk khon
diaw). As Bunthong explained, “Whenever she died, she said I could disrobe. When my
mother died I was over forty, and what could I do? I didn’t have any worldly knowledge.
I became the abbot and was being invited to thaet more and more places. Pretty soon
there was no time left to think about disrobing.” Wat Sophanaram (also called Wat
Pa Tyng) has a website with a link to a recording of his Jujaka chapter (http://www
.watsopanaram.com/?page_id=165, accessed February 1, 2016). The temple also continues
to sell tapes and CDs of his recordings.
6. Sources in English are Keyes 1975; Kingshill 1976, 152–53; Davis 1984; and
Sommai and Dore 1991.
7. Manee was a respected Pali scholar, having passed the level six examinations; he
ordained as a novice in 1943 and disrobed from the monkhood in 1962. In his interview
with me, Manee explained that while he was a monk, he decided to make a radical
change in preaching style to respond to the growing inability of modern audiences to
understand the Vessantara Jataka and their growing time constraints. He decided to tell
an abridged version of the story, combining chanted excerpts from the northern Thai
and Pali texts, but explaining them in a normal voice to his audiences so they could
understand (thaet, then banyai ). His abridged version took approximately three hours.
Manee dated the change to about 2500 BE, or about 1957. He first tried this format in
Lampang (in Hang Chat) and found it to be very successful. As he commented to me,
“I had a bigger audience than the likay performance. Every one was amazed that a monk
could beat out a likay performance. It was something new” (interview with Ajarn Manee
Phayomyong, Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1, 2005). For details on his life, see
 290 • Notes to Pages 126–129

“Honorary Professor Dr. Manee Phayomyong,” Northern Thai Information Center,

http://library.cmu.ac.th/ntic/en_lannatradition/expertdetail.php?id=12, accessed August
24, 2016.
Although Manee was not known as a tujok, Luang Poh Bunthong was influenced
by Manee’s innovations. Bunthong and Manee agreed their styles were very different:
Manee’s was more based in his knowledge of Pali while Bunthong’s was based more in
his knowledge of village folklore. Bunthong had always enjoyed the Jujaka chapter. As
he explained, “Chuchok [ Jujaka] has always been funny and I always enjoyed it in
particular. So I took Chuchok as a technique to help teach people. Manee didn’t thaet
Chuchok; he would speak ( phuut bai ) and include certain parts which were humorous.
But he was an important scholar. He studied Pali. I didn’t study Pali. But I studied
psychology to see what people were interested in. I never studied it formally. I just read
books about it.”
Bunthong studied with Ajarn Manee and Ajarn Insom at Doi Saket District (Baan
San Pong, Tambon Samranraat). Poh Naan Insom had been a monk but later disrobed;
when later the temple needed an abbot, he re-ordained and remained a monk until his
death. Insom did not perform the Jujaka chapter but was famous for his performance of
the Nakornkan chapter. Bunthong commented, “Just getting the namo thasa . . . right
took three days. It’s like learning a song; one had to learn the melody. Now there are
tapes one can practice with, but before one had to learn directly from the teacher. Just
learning the Nakornkan chapter took easily a month. [He demonstrates a section.] One
did a whole section in one breath, not like I just did now, with breaths in between”
(interview with Luang Poh [Phrakhruu] Bunthong Suwanno, Wat Sothannaraam,
Tambon Don Kaew, Amphur Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1, 2005).
8. This recitation was somewhat anomalous because it was an out-of-season fund-
raiser sponsored by a central Thai.
9. Although the famous thirteenth-century Ramkhamhaeng inscription does not
mention the jataka explicitly, it does mention the importance of generosity, noting that
“the inhabitants of this city of Sukhothai are fond of almsgiving, charity and the main-
tenance of the precepts” (Benda and Larkin 1967, 42).
10. Wray 1972, 116–17; Brereton 1976; Gosling 1984; Pattaratorn 2008, 38; Skilling
2008.
11. Harold Hundius suggests that there are more than 230 non-canonical jatakas in
the Lanna region (1995, 46).
12. They are sometimes called the apocryphal or extra-canonical jatakas. See also
Feer (1865) 1963; Finot 1917; Terral 1956; Prakong 1983, 6; McDaniel 2000; Veidlinger
2006, 63, 186.
13. Chapter titles in central and northern Thai differ, with Kumarn becoming
Kumaarabaan, Matsi becoming Matthi, and Chohkasat becoming Sakkhati (Manee
1976, 47).
14. Bangkok authorities subsequently banned these raised pulpit booths, evidently
hoping “to put an end to this kind of dramatic preaching” (Kamala 1997, 32). Raised
 Notes to Pages 130–135 • 291

about a meter and a half above the floor, the Lanna pulpit had “walls of carved wood on
three sides, while the fourth was left wide open for entry by means of a ladder” (Kamala
1997, 32). Monks now recite while seated on an open preaching chair, chanting behind
fans.
15. Famous tujok included Tu Luang Som at Wat Long Than in Tambon Baan
Klang, Sanpatong district, Chiang Mai province (who brought dogs along); Luang Poh
Bonsong at Wat Chang Taem (in Lampang city); Luang Poh Laan at Wat Pangtru,
Tambon Baan Kho, Amphur Chae Hom, Lampang (who wore the brown robes of a
forest monk [aranyawasi]); and Phrakhruu Danuphol at Wat Mae Suk in Amphur
Chae Hom, who apparently had apprenticed under Luang Poh Bunthong in Mae Rim.
16. Interview with Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno, Wat Sothan-
naraam, Tambon Don Kaew, Amphur Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1, 2005.
17. Mazes are not constructed in northeast or central Thailand (Anuman mentions
mazes, but I believe this is because his account is a composite). I asked at least a dozen
people in the central region if they had ever heard of mazes, and they had not. Although
neither Richard Davis nor Kingshill notes the presence of mazes, mazes are mentioned
by Swearer (2009, 36), and Kenneth Wells mentions that during the Loi Krathong
celebrations of November 17–19, 1937, in Chiang Mai “temple yards are adorned with
paper flags, Chinese lanterns, and sometimes with scenery representing the mountain
which figures in the tale of Vessantara” (1939, 104). Mazes (wingaba) are found in
Burma (e.g., Bird 1897, 260; Ferrars and Ferrars 1900, 186).
18. For further details on the decorations, see Sommai and Dore 1991, 35–36; 1992,
79; see also Manee 1976, 50; “Yipeng Festival,” Northern Thai Information Center,
http://library.cmu.ac.th/ntic/en_lannatradition/yeepeng-thongtom.php, accessed
August 24, 2016. Some suggest that it is the ransom for the daughter even more than for
the son. The Pali version reads, “None but a king can give all things by the hundred;
therefore if your sister would be free let her pay the brahmin a hundred male and a
hundred female slaves, with elephants, horses, bulls, and gold pieces, all a hundred
each.” The son’s ransom was a thousand pieces of gold (Cowell [1895] 1957, 283).
19. Prakong says it was performed in Lanna during months 7–8 (i.e., in April and
May; 1983, 4); Manee states that it was performed during months 5–6 (February–March;
1976, 50).
20. His temple recited the chapter that corresponded to his personal birth year.
21. I consistently asked monks and laity in northeastern and central Thailand if
they had ever heard of Vessantara Jataka chapters being recited at funerals. None had.
22. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005.
23. Today many northern temples have not hosted a Tang Tham Luang in decades.
In the past it appears to have been held as often as every two to three years (Manee 1976,
48–49).
24. The Anisong (blessings) and the Khaiwibaak (hardship) of Vessantara describe
the merit to be gained from listening to the story and the previous lives of the main
 292 • Notes to Pages 135–138

characters. One translation of a northern Anisong is: “It is said that any person having
listened to the sermon of Maha Vessandon Jataka will become a ruler of the human
realm and will receive a high and noble rank and possess an abundance of elephants and
horses as well as sweet musical playing of all kinds of drums and lyres whether in his
sleep or awake. He will be surrounded by servants to accommodate him in whichever
way he wishes. He will continually acquire great wealth of clothing, silver, gold, as well
as precious stones. His storage houses will be filled with rice and grain to the point of
overflowing. Whatever he wishes will be granted. He will be prosperous. In the time of
the incarnation of Ariyamettai [Maitreya] or the next Buddha, he will have the chance
to hear and appreciate his wisdom and be granted with the great opportunity of meeting
him in person and, because of his merit gained from listening to the recitation of the
Vessandon Jataka sermon, to be presented hereby, he will surely attain the most desir-
able nirvana.” See “Yipeng Festival,” Northern Thai Information Center, http://library
.cmu.ac.th/ntic/en_lannatradition/yeepeng-thongtom.php, accessed August 24, 2016.
25. The belief that the recitation must be completed within twenty-four hours in
order to meet Ariya Maitreya in next life is widely known and was often articulated to
me in interviews. Interestingly Manee also notes offerings being made to the forty-nine
Buddhas “like those Nang Suchada gave to Buddha before his enlightenment.” He adds
that many villagers also brought Buddha images with them to be consecrated (buat
prachao), replete with cooked rice, bananas, sugarcane, betel, and sweets (Manee 1976, 49).
26. According to Kingshill, one donates the chapter bearing the same number as
one’s month of birth, except for the seventh month, “which requires the donation of both
chapters 7 and 13” (2000, 20). I have not found this pattern corroborated elsewhere.
27. The Lanna twelve-year cycle differs slightly from the Chinese cycle—e.g., ele-
phant versus pig and great and little serpent versus dragon and snake.
28. In addition to the offerings made to each of the thirteen monks, one will usually
find twelve money trees arranged according to one’s animal birth year; these money
trees are offerings made in support of the host temple. The money tree is usually made
from tamarind (makkham) tree because it has many branches. (A common element in
many village ceremonies, the trees are often dedicated in memory of someone who has
died, so even though monks have no hair, they may include combs, mirrors, and face
powder.)
29. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005.
30. Although the specifics vary, throughout Thailand, Jujaka is widely described as
having eighteen characteristics. A sample list includes: (1) big, deformed feet; (2) stubby
finger and toes; (3) huge calves on his legs; (4) his upper lip is longer than his lower lip;
(5) dribbles saliva; (6) cuspid teeth sticking out of his mouth as long as a pig’s; (7) broken
nose, curling like an elephant’s trunk; (8) belly is round like a pot; (9) humped back;
(10) squinty eyes; (11) red beard; (12) thin hair; (13) visible tendons; (14) flecks all over his
skin; (15) eyes as yellow as a cat’s; (16) both foot are split; (17) crooked neck, bended
back; (18) body hair coarse like a pig’s. In the northern text, Jujaka’s mouth has a harelip
 Notes to Pages 139–146 • 293

and sucked-in cheeks; he has no teeth, his jaw is long, and he has a protruding belly. I
thank Chaiyaporn Singdee for his assistance with this list.
31. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
32. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
33. This addition is also found in northeastern versions. Thus one scroll records,
“There [in Benares] was a vile Brahmin. His house was burnt down because of his bad
deeds. So he fled to live in Kalingarat city” (Lefferts and Cate 2012, 118).
34. On courtship poetry in northeastern Thailand, see Compton 1979.
35. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
36. Villagers believe the “soul” or life-force has thirty-two aspects. If a villager has
an accident or meets with other misfortune, villagers will often hold a ceremony to “call”
(hong) back the soul’s thirty-two aspects.
37. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005. See Prakong
1983, 60, for two other similar variations.
38. Mai bao is apparently used as an herbal medicine for pregnant women and as a
cure for wrinkles. I thank Narong Mahakhom for this information.
39. In the Pali version, when Jujaka asks why Amitataa is crying after she returns
home, Amitataa merely says, “I cannot fetch the water home, the women mock me so:
Because my husband is so old they mock me when I go” (Cowell [1895] 1957, 271). In
central Thai versions, which are only slightly longer than the Pali version, she says, “Old
brahmin, I will no longer go to the pier [thaa nam], I will no longer collect plants, I will
no longer touch any cooking pots, no longer pound rice, I won’t fetch water, I won’t
steam rice or roast fish, I won’t fetch firewood” (Prakong 1983, 17).
40. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005.
41. I remember the shocked silence of some younger villagers when an elderly
village woman who had known me for many years once called me “Ii Kat.” There was a
sigh of relief when I smiled.
42. Kulawaa is an Indian or other foreigner.
43. Jujaka also lists normal men’s chores that he does not know how to perform,
such as making coconut ladles, water dippers, cooking pots, knives, and fingernail
clippers—or raising cattle or water buffaloes. Some northern versions mention he did
not know how to sign checks, do the sword dance, or engage in other such activities that
would not be expected of village men either (Prakong 1983, 21, 46).
44. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005. One of my
village friends recalls that she and others in her family also used to defecate through a
hole in the floor. In the morning they would cover it with dirt and eventually move the
mound elsewhere.
45. In the Pali version, the dogs are only mentioned. One northern version has
seven dogs, each of a different nationality, namely a Thai, Burmese, Hot, Yuan, Shan,
 294 • Notes to Pages 147–157

farang (Kullawa), and Thai Lyy dog (see the text included in Prakong 1983, 38). Other
Lanna versions have twenty-two dogs, twenty-four dogs, forty-two dogs, and one even
has eighty-two dogs. However, the most common number seems to be thirty-two,
which allows for linkage with the thirty-two khwan (soul-substances) or thirty-two
elements of our bodies (e.g., heart, lungs, kidney, saliva, etc.; see Prakong 1983, 65–66).
46. Here is an example of Luang Poh Bunthong describing Jujaka falling on different
kinds of trees, done in the rhyme pattern we have seen earlier. The basic pattern has the
branch of one kind of tree bending or falling onto the branch of another kind of tree (mai
pao, mai sisiat, mai bodiimii, etc., all types of trees). It begins with Jujaka scrambling up
a mai san tree; its branch bends so Jujaka lands on a mai pao tree, and so on. I have
highlighted the rhyming pattern: “Khing mai kaan yua sai mai pao / Pao wao bai haa mai
sisiat / Biat bai haa mai bodiimii / Nii bai haa lamyai / Bai haa phak la / Yua bai maa bo-oo
(som-oo) / Jolo bai haa mai hua / Luat bai haa mai yohm / Ngom bai haa mai chamchaa /
Bhawaa bai haa mai sisiat / Biat bai haa bodiimii / Nii bai haa balomraeng.” He brings the
sequence to an end by breaking the rhyming pattern with the final lines, “Khing haeng
mii, man bo ko / Bai ko khing daai ” (There was a dry branch, but he didn’t grab it. He
grabbed a dead branch).
47. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 4, side A.
48. In the Pali version, the Chulaphon chapter is only thirty-five verses.
49. See the list in Prakong 1983, 23–24.
50. In several northern temples, I saw mural paintings of Jujaka vomiting and
having diarrhea. In two temples the painting included dogs coming to lap up the diarrhea.
51. Lomphong is an ancient word that no one I asked could translate.
52. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side A.
53. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B. See Prakong 1983, 51, for another
variation based on the same principles.
54. In part the reason for the laughter is because northerners view central Thais as
arrogant. See Prakong 1983, 52, and Manee 1976, 260, for similar variations.
55. It is customary to tap the coffin to make sure the spirit of the deceased is paying
attention.
56. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B. See Prakong 1983, 53, for a
similar variation.
57. He then says this is true of all of us, including himself, but jokes that he has
slightly less kilesa because he is the one giving the sermon. Interview with Phrakhruu
Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong, Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang
Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005.
58. Prakong observes that overall the Lanna version is more interested in emotions
(arom) than mellifluousness (khwaam phairoh) (1983, 72).
59. Bunthong prefaced his remarks by saying, “Excuse me, Goddesses, Gods,
Buddha, Dharma, Sangha, Elders, Teachers [thewadaa, thewaabutr, phrachao, phratham,
phrasong, khon thao, khon kae, kruubaa ajarn] listening, please forgive me. But it is in the
texts, you can read it for yourself. I don’t want to say this. But it’s not right if I say it and
 Notes to Pages 157–169 • 295

it’s not right if I don’t. So let me just get it over with. She wanted to breastfeed her
children with her own breasts, but she didn’t want her breasts to stretch out. So now
you see why I didn’t want to say it [Waa bo yaak waa, tae ca tong waa, bo waa, ko waa,
waa ko waa, bo waa ko waa].”
60. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 2, side B.
61. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 2, side B.
62. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 4, side A.
63. Sticky rice needs to be soaked overnight.
64. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
65. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B.
66. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 006, side A.
67. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
68. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B.
69. Luang Poh Bunthong was corpulent and as a monk already had a shaved
head.
70. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side B.
71. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 2, side B.

Chapter 4. Jujaka as Tr ickster

1. Due largely to the work of Steven Collins, the phrase “Pali imaginaire” has
become increasingly popular among scholars of Theravada Buddhism. Tracing his use
of the term back to Émile Durkheim, Jacques LeGoff, and others, Collins is seeking
to relate the Pali texts he studies to the social world in which they were interpreted.
Rejecting as “the other extreme” the idea that “there is no ideological domination of the
peasantry by the elite in an agrarian society” (1998, 75), Collins sympathizes more with
Fernand Braudel’s description of “ways of thought,” a concept that Braudel explains as
follows: “In every period, a certain view of the world, a collective mentality, dominates
the whole mass of society. . . . These basic values, these psychological structures, are
assuredly the features that civilizations can least immediately communicate to each
other. . . . Here religion is the strongest feature of civilizations, at the heart of both their
present and their past” (quoted in Collins 1998, 75; for fuller discussion, see Collins 1998,
72–89).
My use of “peasant imaginaire” is an anthropological continuation both of
Durkheim’s interest in collective consciousness and Collins’s interest in placing texts in
their sociohistorical context. However, my usage is intended to problematize the extent
to which a given text, such as the Vessantara Jataka, can be understood as part of a
shared worldview. Here I am suggesting that the cultural worldview, and particularly
the political consciousness, of the peasantry was not necessarily the same as the elites in
the same society. Focusing on the character of Jujaka reveals differing political interpreta-
tions of the Vessantara Jataka, hopefully enlivening our understanding of the dynamics
of texts in the historical process.
 296 • Notes to Pages 169–180

2. There is a growing awareness of the role of tricksters in Buddhism, from Monkey

to Jigong (Wu Ch’Eng-En 1958; DeBernardi 2006). Sara McClintock (2011) even
suggests considering the Buddha as a trickster figure.
3. S. E. Schlosser, “Tricksters,” http://www.americanfolklore.net/tricksters.html,
accessed August 25, 2016.
4. Also popular in Laos, Epstein notes that Siang Miang “represents the common
man and his struggle against the bourgeoisie and the monarchy” (1995, vii). According
to Steven Epstein, these tales were also used by the Pathet Lao “in their struggle to defeat
the wealthier and better-armed royalist troops” (1995, vii–viii). In Thailand, Phya
Anuman Rajadhon also mentions similar tales about a monk named Theen Thaung
(1958, 13–16). Reginald LeMay tells a tale of “Lazybones” ([1926] 1986, 223–28). Fleeson
includes folktales about the foibles of villagers and monks in her collection (1899).
Trickster stories were also popular in Burma (e.g., Maung Htin Aung 1976).
5. Wat Pathumwanaram’s laity is largely of northeastern heritage (Hartmann 2013).
6. While national statistics give a general indication of economic hardship overall,
the accounts of anthropologists working in various regions of the country provide evi-
dence of landlessness. Writing of northern Thailand, John De Young “found 27.7 per
cent of the farmers in the region to be tenants” (1955, 28). Kingshill noted that 14 percent
of the inhabitants in his village were landless (1976, 30). Jack Potter determined that
32.5 percent in the village he conducted his fieldwork owned no land at all and 71 percent
owned less than 5 rai, the minimum for subsistence (1976, 56). A survey conducted in
1974 in Chiang Mai province found 36 percent of village households were landless
(Turton 1978, 112). Numerous other studies also detail stratification in other northern
Thai villages (e.g., Moerman 1968, 84, 105; Anan 1984, 388; Chayan 1984, 235). Similar
patterns of internal village stratification were found in the other main regions of Thailand.
For an overview of anthropological literature on this subject, see Potter 1976; see also
Turton 1978; Cohen 1983; Witayakorn 1983; Haberkorn 2011.
7. Interest rates were high. The report continues, “The present rate is one rupee for
every rupee lent, and a bucket of rice as interest on each rupee. The end of the rice harvest
is the final date. In case the crop fails of course the lender takes the field. This amounts
to practically one hundred percent interest for seven to eight months” (BTWM, August
18, 1912).
8. Such shortages also affected Buddhist clergy. A report from Lampang in 1913
noted the nai amphur organizing rice collection to stop monks and novices leaving
(BTWM, September 16, 1913).
9. Chiang Mai, Lamphun, Chiang Rai, Lampang, Phrae, Nan, and Maehongsorn
are all provinces in northern Thailand.
10. See McGilvary (1912, 351) for another account of this famine. Sir Ernest Satow
writes of an earlier serious drought in the area in 1885, which also affected thousands of
villagers (Satow Mss 20/1, 200).
11. For other such village sayings, see Bowie 1988. For further details on poverty,
see Bowie 1988, 1992, 1998, 2014.
 Notes to Pages 181–188 • 297

12. Interviews included HD-14, SPT-62, S-147, S-151, S-155, S-163, S-168, SKP-245,
SKP-254, SKP-257, SKP-286, DS-298, DS-339, DS-353, SS-523, M-546.
13. Interviews included HD-11, HD-14, HD-36, S-127, S-155, S-163, SKP-247,
SKP-253, SKP-258, SKP-264, SKP-286, DS-352, MR-370, MR-422, MR-438, SS-478,
SS-512.
14. Interviews included HD-8, HD-14, HD-19, HD-36, CT-59, SPT-62, S-114,
S-126, S-127, S-147, S-156, S-163, S-168, S-174, S-177, SKP-225, SKP-247, SKP-253,
SKP-257, SKP-258, S-260, SKP-273, SKP-285, DS-298, DS-305, 343, DS-352, MR-386,
MR-398, MR-422, SS-462, SS-476, SS-478. One went on to add that it would be terrible
if the new laws had not come into force in 1932 and things were still as they had been in
the past (SS-515).
15. Interviews included HD-19, CT-59, S-126, SKP-253, SKP-273, DS-305, DS-352,
MR-386, MR-422, SS-462, SS-478, SS-515.
16. Interview with Kraisri Nimmanahaeminda, April 2, 1985.
17. One villager specifically added with regard to a tenant’s daughter, who had
been made into a mistress, “fortunately she didn’t get pregnant” (S-126, SKP-253).
18. Interviews included HD-8, SPT-62, CT-101, S-146, S-147, S-173, 174, SKP-257,
SKP-285, DS-307, DS-330, DS-352, DS-354, MR-389.
19. In another common version, one of the corvéed villagers starts to bark like a
dog, and the other corvéed villagers meow like cats and all run away, leaving the lord
standing there!
20. I recall seeing senior government officials being carried piggy-back across rivers
in the 1970s.
21. Anecdotes portray villagers on a spectrum from helpless to impish and clever.
Stories in which villagers dare to stand up to royal authority still meet with laughter
today. One villager told a story of when villagers were called up to dig the foundations
of a house. A fellow named Lung Noi Pan, whom the villager knew personally, was
rather lazy and was just wandering about while everyone else was working. So the chao
saw this and called him over. He then assigned him a posthole to dig all by himself—
usually two people would dig together. Finally, everyone finished digging the foundations
for the day. The lord provided refreshments for everyone—including liquid palm sugar
(namtaan), which Lung Noi Pan really liked. So Lung Noi Pan helped himself to two
scoopfuls of sugar—after all, he had done the work of two! (SS-505).
22. Interviews included HD-8, S-113, S-114, S-127, S-162, S-168, S-173, SKP-225,
SKP-232, DS-298, MR-438, SS-445.
23. Interviews included HD-14, CT-59, SPT-62, S-113, S-114, S-126, S-127, S-147,
S-168, S-177, S-187, SKP-232, SKP-253, SKP-267, SKP-286, DS-298, DS-322, DS-335,
SS-448.
24. Interviews included HD-11, HD-14, HD-36, CT-105, S-116, S-155, S-156,
S-166, S-168, SKP-253, DS-322, MR-367, MR-392, MR-438, SS-462, MR-527.
25. Interviews included S-126, S-160, M-194, SKP-231, DS-335, DS-343, M-534,
M-542.
 298 • Notes to Pages 188–194

26. Interviews included HD-14, HD-30, HD-53, S-124, S-126, S-145, S-163, S-174,
S-175, S-177, S-187, SKP-285, SS-460, SS-490.
27. See further discussion in Grabowsky and Turton 2003, 188–91.
28. Various revolts were led by “saints” or “holy men” who were seen as incarnations
of the future Maitreya Buddha (called variously tonbun in northern Thailand; phuu mii
bun or phuu viset in northeastern Thailand and Laos; setkya-min in Burma; and qanak
man puny or nak sel in Cambodia. Messianic revolts also took place in Laos (e.g., Baird
2007; see Gunn 1990, 102, for a fuller listing); Cambodia (Tai 1983, 27–33; Chandler
1996, 64–75; Harris 2005, 131–35; Hansen 2007, 56–59, 113); and Burma (Cady 1958, 309–
21; Sarkisyanz 1965, 160–65; Spiro 1970, 172–79; Mendelson 1975, 208). In the course of
his fieldwork in 1961–62, Melford Spiro noted that many Burmese peasants “firmly
believed in the coming of a Future King”; he added that “indeed most of my informants
believed he would appear in their own lifetime” (1970, 172–73). Despite regional variation,
the overall themes of Maitreya’s precursors were remarkably similar. These movements
were typified by a “belief in imminent catastrophes to be followed by a new society of
material abundance” and an appeal to followers “to observe the moral precepts strictly,
to meditate, and to chant Buddhist texts” in order to be saved (Chatthip 1984, 123; see
also Murdoch 1974; Hansen 2007, 59). As exemplified in surviving nineteenth-century
Khmer texts, “natural” disasters were harbingers of the impending millennium, signs of
supernatural discontent with earthly immorality. Although some scholars view these
holy men as consistent with a royalist ideology, others see them as founders of “a new
society of village ‘socialism’ free from state power” (Chatthip 1984, 123; see also the
discussions in Sarkisyanz 1965, 106; Cohen 2001; Hansen 2007, 59–60).
29. A Burmese version, dating to 1201 CE, evidently also was paired with the recita-
tion of the Vessantara Jataka (in the month of Tazaugmon, circa October to November).
Some scholars believe the Phra Malai legend originated in Chiang Rai (Brereton 1995, 39).
30. Villagers commented about how all of these predictions were coming true.
Now people do not walk on roads because there are cars; now they do not pound rice
with a mortar and pestle anymore because there are rice mills; and now there is so much
traffic that red dust settles everywhere in their homes.
31. Contemporary Thai Buddhists will describe this classic pose as the Buddha
calling the earth (in the form of the goddess of the earth, Mae Thoranii) to witness his
generosity from his life as Prince Vessantara at the moment of his enlightenment.
Instead, LeMay describes this pose as “Buddha Frightened by the Burmans” (Phra
Sadung Man) ([1926] 1986, 119). Carl Bock provides yet another interpretation ([1884]
1986, 282–83). I heard another variation of the Buddha image story in an interview in
Sankhamphaeng district (SKP-205); this villager explained the difference in the two
images by saying that the Lord Indra had built a pulpit (ten kaew) for the Buddha.
While the Buddha was meditating, Phrayar Man tried to steal it. Mae Thoranii helped
the Buddha by making a flood, which swept Phrayar Man away. But in the course of
these events, the Buddha was surprised or lost his balance, and hence the one hand on
one leg.
 Notes to Pages 195–205 • 299

32. Kenneth Landon’s interpretation of the lotus story is less derogatory to Gotama
(1939, 186).
33. Even Taksin (1734–82), the founder of the Bangkok dynasty, appears to have
laid claim to a form of sainthood (see Tambiah 1976, 184).
34. In southern Thailand a phuu viset was reported as causing “trouble in Patani”
(BTWM, November 21, 1911).
35. Historically the law was rarely applied; however, recent years have seen a dra-
matic increase in lèse majesté cases, with 478 coming to trial in 2010 alone (for more, see
Streckfuss 1995, 2011; Johnston 2011; Thongchai 2012). A factory worker alleged to have
made a sarcastic Internet post about the king’s dog found himself facing charges of sedi-
tion and lèse majesté, with a possible thirty-seven-year jail sentence (Fuller 2015).
36. All constitutions since 1932 have contained the clause “The King shall be
enthroned in a position of revered worship and shall not be violated.”
37. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B. The phrase implied by the pause
(indicated here with ellipses) and readily understood by villagers is “mii mia, ko ia hii hia,
“if you have a wife, work her vagina.”
38. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 3, side A.
39. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side B.
40. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 006, side A.
41. See C. George Boeree, “Buddhist Morality,” http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer
/buddhamorals.html, accessed August 27, 2016.
42. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 5, side A.
43. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 4, side A. In another northern version,
Jujaka is also terrified. With tears falling and saliva drooling, he raises both hands (wai)
and then he bows down (kraab) to Jetabutr, saying: “Royal nephew [chao laan], I [khaa]
am afraid. Please listen to me. The royal grandfather [ prachao puu] in the city court
wants me [khaa] to invite [kraabthuun] his son to return to ascend the throne to rule
again. Why do you say I am a bad person and you will kill me? Listen to me, nephew,
don’t act hastily. I am a royal ambassador, not someone who takes advantage of others,
who exploits or kills others. The royal grandfather has sent me [uncle] as his ambassador.
Nephew should not hit or harm me. It would violate ancient customs and tradition
[ jaariit praphaenii ]. Don’t speak with such recklessness, nephew” (Manee 1976, 231–32).
44. Their shock perhaps parallels mine when I attended a black inner city church
and the woman next to me went into trance.
45. Luang Poh Bunthong used a different regional accent for each fellow.
46. Luang Poh Bunthong, TE 066, tape 1, side B. Bunthong also used his long
introduction to teach about the virtue of patience, commenting that he realized they
were wondering when he would ever get round to preaching the Vessantara story. But
he said that people who were impatient often ended up in unfortunate situations, like
people who went into debt because they could not wait for their paycheck or the woman
who ends up marrying an alcoholic because she couldn’t wait and was too worried that
she wouldn’t get a husband. He explained that preaching was like watering a tree; the
 300 • Notes to Pages 205–211

water must reach the roots of the tree to be effective: “If the earth around the roots is too
hard, the water runs off in other directions and never reaches the roots. People who are
conceited or stubborn are like hard earth. They are like some ex-monks or ex-novices—
some who had even been abbots of their temples—who drink liquor until the saliva is
dribbling down their cheeks and get into fights around the village. They know all the
precepts, but can’t follow them. They are like hard earth. They know what they are
doing is wrong, but they are arrogant about it at the same time. Ask them why they
don’t enter the temple. ‘Oh, I disrobed already. Why would I want to go to temple? I
was sick of the temple. That’s why I disrobed.’ They should be the ones encouraging
others to go to temple, but instead they avoid going anywhere near it. ‘Why should I
go?’ they ask. ‘Well to hear the preaching of the Dharma.’ ‘I know it already. I used to
preach it myself. I know all the texts.’ The saliva is dribbling down his cheek. His wife
gets mad at him and he calls her stupid.
“That’s the way it is with arrogant people who think they know better. There’s no
one like that here, this happened somewhere else. But for the dharma to be effective the
water must reach the roots of the trees. You have to take the hoe and prepare the soil
around the tree before the water can soak in. So first one has to lower one’s arrogance
[thithi mana]. It doesn’t matter how much money one has, however many millions, or
how much education, however many degrees, however many honors; they often don’t
want to hear the dharma. There are even monks who try to find something else to do
rather than listen to the dharma; they should be the example to others. They are also
like hard earth. The soil has to be prepared first.”
47. I do know he supported the education of village students, often gave villagers
water buffaloes, and favored the ordination of women.
48. Interview with Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno, Wat Sothan-
naraam, Tambon Don Kaew, Amphur Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1, 2005.
49. The other evils are floods, fires, thieves, and enemies (Spiro 1970, 210).

Chapter 5. Jujaka as Threat

1. The founder of the Han dynasty (206 BC–221 AD) is said to have balked when
advised that the time had come to consult books on Confucian ethics and ritual. “All I
possess I have won on horseback,” he exclaimed. “Why should I now bother with those
musty old texts?” “Your Majesty may have won it on horseback,” retorted his chief
counselor, “but can you rule it on horseback?” (Bell 1992, 193).
2. It was later returned to the south.
3. One of these monks was the high-ranking Phra Thammaratmuni (Chun), who
later under Rama I was assigned responsibility for overseeing the Abhidhamma in the
Tripitaka revisions (Reynolds 1972, 47).
4. For more on this period, see Dhani Nivat 1955; Wenk 1968; Wyatt 1994, 141–74.
5. He issued ten sangha laws in all, ending with the tenth in 1801. According to
Reynolds, the king became interested in sangha matters when a woman rebel punished
 Notes to Pages 211–221 • 301

by death left her possessions to a monk of Wat Bang Wa Yai (Wat Rakhang) instead of
to the crown itself (1972, 39).
6. The reddish-brown robes were emblematic of the Maitreya Buddha (Reynolds
1972, 42).
7. Noting frequent mentions of Mon and Lao, Reynolds suggests that “the removal
of conquered populations to the capital area may have introduced non-Siamese strains
of Buddhist practice” (1972, 50).
8. The disrobed monks were given positions in the civil service, and the monk
sentenced to execution was pardoned. For more, see Reynolds (1972, 43–49). The supreme
patriarch resided at Wat Rakhang.
9. These temples were Wat Suthat, Wat Mahathat, Wat Saket in Bangkok, a
temple in Kelantan, and two temples in Nakhon Sri Thammarat (Reynolds 1972, 92).
For more on Siamese–Sri Lankan exchanges, see Blackburn 2010.
10. As a young man, Mongkut had been sent by his father to help settle Mon
refugees fleeing unrest in Burma (Reynolds 1972, 79–80).
11. In the early 1830s Wat Samorai and Wat Boromniwat housed chapters of his
followers. The additional three temples were Wat Khruawan, Wat Phichaiyat, and Wat
Buppharam (Reynolds 1972, 87).
12. Nonetheless, Pawaret was never made prince-patriarch, intimating “the delicacy
of the assimilation process” (Reynolds 1972, 121).
13. For his very interesting autobiography, see Reynolds 1979.
14. The 14 monthons formed between 1893 and 1899 were: Prachinburi and Nakhon
Ratchasima (1893); Pitsanulok (1894); Nakhon Chaisi, Nakhon Sawan, and Ratburi
(1895); Ayutthaya, Burapha (Cambodia), Chumpon, Nakhon Si Thammarat (1896);
Kedah (1897); Phuket (1898); Petchaburi and Udonthani (1899). Each monthon was
under a chaokhana monthon and, on the provincial level, a chaokhana muang (Reynolds
1972, 237–47; Heinze 1977, 27).
15. Monastic residences lack sima stones, which mark the sacred space for ordina-
tions. For more on sima, see Irwin 2011.
16. The royal sangharajas or supreme patriarchs during this period were Prince
Paramanuchit (1851–53), Prince Pawaret (1853–92), Prince Vajiranana (1910–21), and
Prince Chinaworn (1921–37).
17. Vientiane included the regions of present-day Loei, Nong Khai, and Nakhon
Phanom provinces, while Champasak included Ubon and Roi Et provinces (Keyes
1967, 9). This split mirrors the difference in Vessantara Jataka recitation styles between
northern isan (Nong Khai) and southern isan (Ubon) to this day.
18. Vickery writes that Ubon was placed under a royal commissioner for defense
even before the Damrong reforms. Surin’s line of local governors terminated in 1907;
Nakhon Phanom’s ended in 1903 (when a Bangkok appointee took over). Sakhon
Nakhon in the nineteenth century was ruled by a family of trans-Mekhong origin until
probably 1892, when a royal commissioner was transferred there. Mahasarakham’s ruling
family was related to that of Roi Et; the last of the line died in 1913 and was replaced by
 302 • Notes to Pages 221–230

a member of Bangkok royalty. After the Chao Anu rebellion (1826–28), Nakhon
Ratchasima was promoted to first-class status, ruled by members of the Singhaseni
family (descendants of Chaophraya Bodin, who defeated Chao Anu and destroyed
Vientiane) (Vickery 1970; Tambiah 1976, 195).
19. See Strate 2015 for discussion of the continuing significance of these events.
20. Rama I’s favorite concubine, Chaochom Waen, the daughter of a Lao king,
appears to have played an important role in shaping the Jujaka chapter (see chapter 1)
and may have had other political roles.
21. Wat Khemmapirataram in Nonthaburi (Taylor 1993, 51).
22. Two other special envoys were sent to Nong Khai and Korat (Taylor 1993, 51).
23. Phichit’s replacement was another member of the Bangkok royal family, Luang
Sanphasitthiprasong (1893–1910); he was similarly supportive of the Thammayut
monks. In 1910 Ubon was integrated into the monthon system, following Korat and
Udon (Tej 1977, 268–9; Taylor 1993, 51).
24. His name is variously Ubaalii Khunuupamaajaan Sirichantho (Chan), also
Phra Yaanarakhit. See Anake 2007.
25. Although in 1914 he was promoted to the title of Phra Thepmoli, he was
demoted in 1915 because of a controversial publication in which he criticized Siam’s
intended involvement in World War I. Ubalii was kept under temple arrest at Wat
Bowonniwet. While under temple arrest, Ubalii hung a bag of tubers (man) outside his
room as a sign of his continuing defiance. He was released after a few months and in
1922 traveled to northern Thailand, where we shall meet him again in this chapter. (For
further details of Ubalii’s life, see Taylor 1993, 53–58; Anake 2007).
26. Even as late as the 1960s, Keyes suggests there was an average of one Tham-
mayut monastery for each province (1967b; see also Taylor 1993, 64).
27. In 1902, of the fourteen monthon heads, only five were Mahanikai (Taylor
1993, 68).
28. The central Thai monthons were Krungthep, Krung Kao (Ayutthaya), Nakhon
Sawan, and Chanthaburi (Wyatt 1967, 254).
29. The breakdown was Monthon Chumphon (10), Chanthaburi (4), Ratburi
(2), Phitsanulok (8), Krung Kao (4), and Isan (4) (Wyatt 1967, 253).
30. After Bayinnaung’s death in 1581, his vast kingdom collapsed. In 1596 Lanna
was able to declare brief independence from Burma, coming under Ayutthayan control
from 1602 to 1605. However, King Anaukpetlun (r. 1606–28) regained control of Chiang
Mai in 1614. Chiang Mai did become a tributary of Ayutthaya in 1660 but switched
allegiances back to Ava in 1664 (Lieberman 1984, 200–202).
31. A case of binthabatr chiwit occurred during the reign of the Ayutthayan King
Naresuan (r. 1590–1605). When the king was fighting the Burmese prince in 1592, he
drove his elephant ahead so quickly that the soldiers in charge of protecting the royal
elephant’s legs could not keep up. After his famous victory, Naresuan wanted to be-
head those soldiers. On hearing the news, the sangharaja of Wat Pa Kaew (Wat Yai
Chaiyamongkhon), together with twenty-five other senior monks, asked to spare their
 Notes to Pages 231–238 • 303

lives, suggesting that precisely because the soldiers could not keep up, his victory was
all the more glorious. The sangharaja, a Mon monk who was King Naresuan’s mentor,
is known variously as Somdet Phra Wanarat, Heng Khemajaari, and Phra Mahaathera
Khanchong. My thanks to Apinya Fuengfusakul for this information (personal
communication).
32. Bangkok sought to end this practice by only allowing certain authorized monks
to ordain monks and novices. This effort caused considerable resentment in northern
Thailand, contributing to the irredentist movement against Bangkok, which centered
on Khruubaa Srivichai in the early twentieth century (see Bowie 2014a, 2014b).
33. Khaimuk 1999; Ratanaporn Sethakul, e-mail communication, July 13, 2010.
34. This temple is home to the city pillar.
35. Ratanaporn Sethakul, e-mail communication, July 19, 2010.
36. The commissioner was Chao Phrayar Surasihwisitsak (Choei Kanlayanamit),
thesaphiban 1902–15 (Sarassawadee 2005, 209–13).
37. Ajarn Man did have some disciples at northern temples including Waen
Sujinno (Wat Doi Mae Pang, Phrao district), Luang Katapunyo (Wat Samraaniwaat,
Lampang), Sim Phuttahaajaaro (Wat Tham Phra-sabaai, Lampang), each of whom
came originally from northeastern Thailand (see Taylor 1993, 83).
38. Other important acts were the land tax and an act regulating the slaughter of
bullocks, buffaloes, and pigs, which went into effect in Phayap in 1902 (BTWM, June 19,
1902).
39. Income increased from 15,378,114 ticals in 1892 to 60,859,508 ticals in 1908
(BTWM, November 29, 1910).
40. If villagers provided their own food, they worked up to fifteen days; if the
government provided food, they were to work for not more than thirty days (BTWM,
January 28, 1902). This act was revised in 1917 (see Sarassawadee 2005, 229).
41. Villagers also protested land tax abuse “in the form of inflating the actual
number of rai in their paddy fields to twice the number” (BTWM, August 24, 1918).
42. On his life, see Sangaa 1956; Faa 1976–77; Sophaa 1991; Sommai 2002; Singkha
2010. In English, see Keyes 1982, Cohen 2001. Srivichai’s name is variously transliterated
as Siwichai and Srivijaya; Srivichai seems to be most common, so I have used this
form.
43. Scholarly explanations have attributed the 1920 detention to misunderstandings
over ordination caused by the implementation of the 1902 Sangha Act. However, the
Sangha Act did not go into effect in Monthon Phayab until 1924. Furthermore, the Act
makes no mention of ordination. This prevailing interpretation does not accord well
with the available evidence. For details, see Bowie 2014a.
44. Srivichai faced eight charges in 1920, including a charge of treason. For further
discussion, see Bowie 2014a, 2014b.
45. Of their survey in 1990, Sommai and Dore conclude, “only a few monasteries
such as Wat Chang Taem, Wat Suan Dok and Wat That Kham in Chiang Mai and in
other provinces were still found performing tang tham luang.” Other monasteries such
 304 • Notes to Pages 239–241

as Wat Chomphu, Wat Usaikham, and Wat Phra Singh preached the Anisong Patit and
flew paper balloons (1992, 85).
46. Having ordained as a novice or monk was a mark of prestige that carried over
into one’s life after one disrobed, with the permanent addition of the honorific “Noi”
or “Naan” to one’s name; not to have such an honorific was to be literally called a
“raw person” (khon dip). Today these titles survive only among the older generation of
villagers.
47. Luang Poh Bunthong gave several examples of tonal changes and linguistic
changes. The central Thai “whose” is khong krai (midtone), but in northern Thai it is
khong phai (rising tone). Now the younger generation uses khong khrai (combining the
central Thai word with the northern tone). The phrase “I did not see it,” in central Thai
is maj hen and in northern is bo han, but it is now becoming bo hen among the younger
northerners. In other cases the words are significantly different: e.g., “to open the
window” is byyt naatang in central Thai versus khai pong in dialect.
48. Interview with Ajarn Manee Phayomyong, Mae Rim, Chiang Mai, August 1,
2005.
49. Villagers told me that he had scores of people coming to see him each day, so
he had time for little else.
50. Bunthong also traced the change in the northern custom of laity bringing food
to the temple at night to the same period, adding that Chiang Mai was no longer a
separate monthon but had become part of the national sangha after about 1932.
51. For more on the Free Thai, see Haseman 1978; Wimon 1997; Sorasak 2005.
52. Interview with Lung Waai Ryangdej, Baan Den Samrong, Tambon Haat Song
Khwae, Amphur Tron, Uttaradit, August 24, 2015; see also Wongthet 1989. Lung Waai
also mentioned a village named Nang Khamnyng (because Matsi is missing Phrayar
Sonchai) and a now deserted village called Taa Jujaka. Although both Jujaka and
Amitataa were portrayed as evil (naakliat), Waai’s village used to celebrate a wedding
ceremony for Kanhaa and Chalii, parading them around the village. My thanks to
Davisakd Puaksom to traveling with me to Uttaradit.
53. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005.
54. Interview with Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul, Abbot, Wat Nong Tong,
Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang Dong, Chiang Mai, July 13, 2005. He went on to
say that, although no formal meeting had been held, he and other tujok monks had
agreed in private conversations among themselves to tone down their performances lest
modern audiences take offense.
55. The influence of this jataka can also be found in other northern literature such
as “Khlong Chao Withuun Sorn Laan,” a poem intended to teach officials, royalty, and
commoners about proper behavior; it suggests that queens (mahesi) should care for their
husbands, other minor wives, and slaves as Matsi cared for her royal husband. Similarly,
“Khlong Phra Lor Sorn Lok” (Phra Lor teaches the world) praises Matsi as an ideal
wife who treated her husband as her lord (ao phua pen chao) (Prakong 1983, 5–6).
 Notes to Pages 242–251 • 305

56. The performance was so successful that an audience member invited a tujok to
perform for a funeral at her village shortly thereafter.

Chapter 6. Jujaka as Deity

1. For a provocative discussion of the role of merchants in early Buddhism, see

Gokhale 1977; see also F. Reynolds 1990.
2. One does not “buy” amulets but rather requests to worship them (buchaa). For
more on the role of magic and amulets, see especially Tambiah 1984; Pattana 2012;
McDaniel 2014.
3. My thanks to Chaiyaporn Singdee for this research. On Luang Puu Roht (Wat
Bangnamwon), see “Khui fyang ryang phra Luang Puu Roht,” October 30, 2013, http://
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEnbS19l514. See also Thosaphol 1994.
4. Luang Puu Thim had a khaathaa for easy childbirth. He is also mentioned by
Khun Khemika of Jujaka House. For more on him, see Thosaphol 1994.
5. Amulet magazines also mention the Jujaka amulets of Luang Puu Khui at
Wat Saptakhien in Petchabun province, Luang Poh Daeng of Wat Huay Chalong in
Uttaradit province, and others. See also Thosaphol (1994, 2010) for fuller discussion.
6. The amulet is called Choo Chok Khor Dai ( Jujaka who gets what he asks for).
7. See http://www.lersi.net/amulets/#!/Pha-Yant-Choo-Chok-Riak-Sap-Por-
Tao-Nang-Ballangk-Luang-Por-Phan-Wat-Dong-Mae-Sri-Mueang/p/4181827, ac-
cessed August 18, 2016.
8. See http://www.lersi.net/amulets/#!/Choo-Chok-Haa-Kin-Millionaire-
Lucky-Jujaka-Beggar-Nuea-Tong-Tip-Divine-Brass-Luang-Por-Daeng-Wat-Huay-
Chalong-2552-BE/p/3698018, accessed August 18, 2016.
9. See http://www.mitmor.com/#!/~/product/id=10045199, accessed August 18,
2016.
10. I thank Chaiyaporn Singdee for his help with this research.
11. On coyote dancing, see “Payback Time,” Bangkok Post, July 5, 2012, http://
www.bangkokpost.com/vdo/thailand/301082/payback-time, accessed August 18,
2016. For Jujaka House’s website, see http://www.chuchok.com/, accessed August 18,
2016.
12. I thank Chaiyaporn Singdee and Wiriyaporn Ekphon for this information.
13. The temple was apparently built by Chaophraya Thiphakorawong (Kham
Bunnag, 1813–70) in honor of his wife, Nuu, and was originally called Wat Mai
Musikaram. On kumarnthongs, see Sinnott 2014.
14. I thank Neeranooch Malangpoo for being my intermediary. According to
Stephen Collins, this linkage is not in Pali texts (e-mail, July 6, 2014). Nonetheless,
various Buddhist accounts of Devadatta do say that he will become enlightened as the
Pacceka Buddha named Atthissara. See “Life of the Buddha,” Buddha Dharma Edu-
cation Association & BuddhaNet, http://www.buddhanet.net/e-learning/buddhism
/lifebuddha/2_5lbud.htm, accessed August 18, 2016.
 306 • Notes to Pages 251–259

15. Tourist authorities also promote the celebration in Nakhon Sri Thammarat
(Wan Sart) and Uthai Thani (Wan Tak Bat Thevo).
16. Some monks I interviewed in northern Thailand and in Loei province informed
me that they used texts printed at this institute in Khon Kaen for their recitations.
17. See “Boon Phawade Festival 2001,” https://sites.google.com/site/putsarsporn
top/naeana-cang-hwad-ry-xed/10-prapheni-buy-pha-hew-d-canghwad-rxyxed/1-ngan-
prapheni-kin-kha-wpu-nbuy-pha-hew-d, accessed August 18, 2016. I thank Sandra
Cate for drawing my attention to this festival.
18. Villages involved included Naa Wieng, Nam Thaeng, and Naa Hoh.
19. One Tambon One Product (OTOP) is a stimulus program designed during
Thaksin Shinawatra’s 2001–6 Thai Rak Thai government. The program sought to
support the locally made and marketed products of each Thai tambon (subdistrict).
20. The mural was painted by Pramote Sriphrom, a local artist.
21. See “Wetsandon Chadok Park Roi-Et, Northeast Thailand,” Isaan Life (blog),
May 20, 2012, http://isaan-life.blogspot.com/2012/05/wetsandon-chadok-park-roi-et-
northeast.html, accessed February 23, 2016.
22. See “Travel News—Attractions in Thailand,” http://www.thailandtraveltours
.com/news/5-siam-cultural-park-bang-phae-ratchaburi.htm, accessed August 18, 2016.
23. On March 9, 2015, Wat Pho, together with the Department of Religious Af-
fairs and the Ministry of Culture, held a recitation in honor of the sixtieth birthday of
Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn. See “Vessantara Sermon at Wat Pho,” http://www
.watpho.com/news_detail.php?id=386&lang=en, accessed August 18, 2016.
24. On Friday Dr. Manop Kaanthasilo (Wat Chetuphon) and Phra Maha Som
Sutthipaphaasoo (Wat Laksi) recited the first five chapters. On Saturday Chulaphon,
Mahaphon, and Kumarn were recited by Phra Rachawisutthidilok (Wat Saam Phrayaa)
and Phra Mahaa Sin Titamaetho (Wat Laksi). On Sunday the last five chapters were
performed by Phra Rachiwisutthidilok, Phrakhruu Wiphat-aathawaathi (Wat Samien-
Nari), and Phra Mahaa Som Suthipaphaasoo.
25. Some of the texts the monks preached came from Khon Kaen.
26. Its main organizer was a central Thai. The event occurred during Lent because
the organizer said it was convenient.
27. See Patcharin (2013) for discussion of transnational marriages in the northeast.
28. On temples in the United States, see Numrich 1996; Smith-Hefner 1999;
Yamada 2004. On temples in England, see Cate 2003; and in France, see Kalab 1994.
29. See “Vessantara Jataka 15/15,” November 11, 2012, http://www.youtube.com
/watch?v=ZOvdnPqJN-k, accessed August 18, 2016.
30. See “Wat Lao Samakhitham Boun Pravet June 2012,” July 10, 2012, https://
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNspiI8zTwQ, accessed August 18, 2016.
31. “The Revival of Minnesota’s Boun Phra Vet Celebration,” Little Laos on the
Prairie (blog), June 30, 2013, littlelaosontheprairie.wordpress.com/2013/06/30/the-
revival-of-minnesotas-boun-phra-vet-celebration/ Minnesota Vessantara Jataka, ac-
cessed August 18, 2016.
 Notes to Pages 260–273 • 307

32. Monks mentioned included Phrakhruu Sophon Withayaphorn in Mae Rim,

Phrakhruu Athong in Hang Dong, Phrakhruu Khammuul in Bangkok, and Luang Poh
Pankaew in Phrae.
33. The same was true more broadly. In Cambodia, Leclère quaintly remarked,
“The women, even the children, are able to explain them and enumerate the details
almost without omitting a single one” (1899, 119–20). Writing of nineteenth-century Sri
Lanka, Hardy comments that “a great number of the Jatakas are familiar even to the
women” ([1853] 1967, 101). Holt notes that “most of the audience (approximately three-
fourths) were very elderly women” (2009, 219).
34. Luang Poh Bunthong is an example of one monk who saw Matsi and her chil-
dren as making informed decisions for the good of society; in the emerging controversy
over whether women should have the right to be ordained as full bhikkuni, he supported
female ordination. Similarly, the Hok Kasat recitation I attended in northeastern Thai-
land also emphasized Matsi’s own decision-making.
35. For one version of Uppalavanna’s life, see Radhika Abeysekera, “The Nun
Uppalavanna,” Wisdom Quarterly American Buddhist Journal, October 2008, http://
wisdomquarterly.blogspot.com/2008/10/female-chief-disciple-uppalavanna.html,
accessed August 18, 2016.
36. Interview with Lung Waaj Ryangdej, Baan Den Samrong, T. Haat Song
Khwae, A. Tron, Uttaradit, August 24, 2015. The marriage of the two children is also
found in Cambodia, their marriage thereby founding a royal dynasty that can be traced
down to the present. In one version, the Satra of King Chea-Ly (Chalii), the king becomes
infatuated with a servant girl and the couple live apart; other versions have happier
endings. See Leclère 1895; Hansen 2007, 34; Roveda and Yem 2010, 108, 116–17.
37. In the Pali version gods disguised as mice bit the string. Steven Collins, e-mail
communication, July 6, 2014.
38. Likely drawing on a northern recension, Swearer describes Amitataa as “young
and selfish” (1978, 3).
39. See Ruenruthai 1995 for a broader discussion of female characters in Thai
historical literature.

Conclusion

1. For a literature review, see Bowie 1998.

2. Matthew 19:16–30, New International Version (NIV). I thank Hugh Wilson for
these references.
3. Winyu ( John) Wongsurawat is a young Thai political satirist who hosts an
online news show, Shallow News in Depth, together with his sister, Janya Wongsurawat,
and co-presenter, Nattapong Tiendee; the show is often compared to John Stewart’s
The Daily Show. Udom (Note) Taepanich is another familiar Thai comedian, known
most recently for his satire on General Prayut’s curt responses to journalists.
 Bibliography

Archival Sources

BTWM: Bangkok Times Weekly Mail.

Dansai Mss. “Prawat khwaampenmaa kaanlalen Phiitaakhon.” Dansai Folk Museum,
Wat Phonchai, Dansai district, Loei, Thailand, ca. 2009.
Richardson Mss. Journal of Dr. Richardson. Manuscript Division, British Museum,
London, England, 1830–36.
Satow Mss. Journal of Sir Ernest Satow. PRO30/33(21/1). Public Records Office,
London, England, 1885–86.
Taylor Mss. Autobiography of Hugh Taylor. Manuscript, Phayab College Library,
Chiang Mai, Thailand, 1888–1930.

Oral Histor ies

The following interviews are numbered according to the appendix in Bowie 1988.
Abbreviations indicate the following districts: Chom Thong (CT), Doi Saket (DS),
Hang Dong (HD), Muang (M), Mae Rim (MR), Saraphi (S), Sankamphaeng (SKP),
Sanpatong (SPT), San Sai (SS).

HD-8. Mae Chin (age 54). #5, Baan Nong Khwaaj, Tambon Nong Khwaaj, Amphur
Hang Dong. Interviewed November 20, 1984.
HD-11. Poh Luang Waen, ex-village headman (age 88). #7, Baan Myang Kung, Tambon
Nong Khwaaj, Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed November 23, 1984.
HD-14. Lung Bunyyyn Thaabunsom (age 70). Baan San Phak Waan, Tambon San
Phak Waan, Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed November 23, 1984.
HD-19. Mae Ui Buathip (age 84) and daughter Baa Chanthip Thaakhamthip (age 53).
#3, Baan Thawbunryang, Tambon Baan Waen, Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed
November 27, 1984.
HD-30. Naaj Bunsong Wannaphii (age 53); Mae Ui Bundii Khantha (age 83); and Baa
Yohthyan (age 52). #2, Baan Buak Khrok, Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur Hang
Dong. Interviewed December 11, 1984.
HD-36. Lung Saen Khambaa (age 77) and relatives. #6, Baan Khuan, Tambon Hankaew,
Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed December 25, 1984.
HD-38. Lung Pan Thong In (age 60-plus). #1, Baan San Pa Sak, Tambon Hankaew,
Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed December 28, 1984.

309
 310 • Bibliography

HD-53. Abbot Uthaa (age 60). #13, Wat Arambarahu, Baan Pae Kwang, Tambon
Hang Dong, Amphur Hang Dong. Interviewed January 21, 1985.
CT-59. Abbot Phraakhruu Kantha Khanto (Luang Poh Phintha) (age 86). #5, Wat,
Tambon Sop Tia, Amphur Chom Thong. Interviewed February 6, 1985.
SPT-62. Poh Noi Ton Suriyamon (age 88). Baan Thawangphraw, Tambon Thawang-
phraw, Amphur San Patong. Interviewed 18, 1985.
CT-101. Poh Luang Pan Phomcamcaj, village headman (age 48). #1, Baan Mae Klang
Baan Boh, Tambon Doi Kaew, Amphur Chom Thong. Interviewed May 8, 1985.
CT-105. Poh Ui Paeng Phynthana (age 88). #3, Baan Mae Soi, Tambon Mae Soi,
Amphur Chom Thong. Interviewed May 10, 1985.
S-113. Lung Maa Srichan (age 81). #6, Baan Hua Dong, Tambon Khua Mung, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 13, 1985.
S-114. Ui Naan Luang Thii (Damrii Maethalaat), ex-village headman (age 91). #7, Baan
Hua Dong, Tambon Khua Mung, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 13, 1985.
S-116. Poh Naan Saw (age 83). #10, Baan Dya Ngok, Tambon Khua Mung, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 13, 1985.
S-124. Mae Ui Thaa Wongaa (age 90). #6, Baan Thaa Kwang, Tambon Thaa Kwang,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 14, 1985.
S-126. Mae Ui Khiewkham Panyarsailert (age 89). #7, Baan Bakhetthii, Tambon Nong
Phyng, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 16, 1985.
S-127. Duangthip Suksawaen, ex-kamnan (age 80). #6, Baan Kong Saaj, Tambon Nong
Phyng, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 16, 1985.
S-145. Poh Luang Pan Yamwong (age 68). #1, Baan Nong Sri Chaeng, Tambon Nong
Faek, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 21, 1985.
S-146. Poh Naan Nuan Wongwalii (age 83). #7, Baan Chieng Khang, Tambon Chajsataan,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 24, 1985.
S-147. Poh Luang Duanglaa (age 78). #6, Baan Kalapo, Tambon Chajsataan, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 24, 1985.
S-151. Poh Daeng Narin (age 93). #3, Baan Sribunryang, Tambon Chajsataan, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 24, 1985.
S-155. Poh Luang Taan Kham Rungrit (age 61). #6, Baan Bak Kong, Tambon Saraphi,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 26, 1985.
S-156. Mae Ui Tun Chuandii (age 90). #7, Baan San Kap Tong, Tambon Saraphi,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 26, 1985.
S-160. Mae Ui Dii Myangcaj (age 94). #2, Baan Phrayar Chomphuu, Tambon
Chomphuu, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 28, 1985.
S-162. Poh Ui Som Khanya (age 83). #5, Baan Khii Sya, Tambon Chomphuu, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 28, 1985.
S-163. Poh Naan In Saengbun (age 77); Baa Buakhiew, his wife; and his younger brother.
#4, Baan Thaa, Tambon Chomphuu, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 28, 1985.
S-166. Mae Ui Kaew Thast (age 89). #1, Baan San Sai, Tambon San Sai, Amphur
Saraphi. Interviewed May 31, 1985.
 Bibliography • 311

S-168. Mae Ui Khaaj Yawannaa (age 84). #5, Baan Thaa Makkham, Tambon San Sai,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed May 31, 1985.
S-173. Chaw Noi Chanthawong Utama (age 88). #4, Baan Ba Bong, Tambon Ba Bong,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed June 4, 1985.
S-174. Poh Khwaen Caj Inworn (age 82). #3, Baan Sri Kham Chomphuu, Tambon Ba
Bong, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed June 4, 1985.
S-175. Mae Ui Pan Bunpaeng (age 83). #4, Baan Pong, Tambon Thaawangtaan,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed June 6, 1985.
S-177. Poh Ui Aj (age 84). #8, Baan San Nu Nya/Baan Buak Khrok Nya, Tambon
Thaawangtaan, Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed June 6, 1985.
S-187. Poh Naan Dii Sunket (age 78). #4, Baan Yang Nyng, Tambon Yang Nyng,
Amphur Saraphi. Interviewed June 9, 1985.
M-195. Abbot, Baan Pa Pao Nok. #2, Tambon Badaet, Amphur Myang. Interviewed
June 12, 1985.
SKP-205. Poh Ui Kaew Thongkhambaj (age 86). #4, Baan Mae Thaw Din, Tambon
Huaj Kaew, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 5, 1985.
SKP-225. Ajarn Chyyn Wongsuwan (age 60-plus). #7, Tambon Chae Chang, Amphur
San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 11, 1985.
SKP-231. Kruubaa La (Luang Buu La Thaathip) (age 88). #7, Wat Ba Tyng, Baan Ba
Tyng, Tambon Ohn Tai, Amphur San Khampaeng. July 10 and July 18, 1985.
SKP-232. Poh Naan Tyy Chanthadaa (age 88). #7, Tambon Rong Wua Daeng, Amphur
San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 18, 1985.
SKP-245. Mae Ui Aem Naanpoh (age 84). #2, Baan Nong Sae, Tambon Huaj Saaj,
Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 19, 1985.
SKP-247. Poh Ui Muun Chajsaan (age 78–79). #7, Baan Hua Faaj, Tambon Phuukhaa,
Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 19, 1985.
SKP-253. Mae Ui Kaew Panyarryang (age 88). #14, Baan Mae Laen, Tambon Ohn Nya,
Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 25, 1985.
SKP-254. Mae Ui Muu Khamuun (age 93). #5, Baan San Khampaeng, Tambon San
Khampaeng, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 26, 1985.
SKP-257. Mae Ui Wan Namwongphrom (age 90). #14, Baan Ohn, Tambon San
Khampaeng, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 26, 1985.
SKP-258. Poh Naan Myangcaj Chanta (age 84). #9, Baan San Tai, Tambon San
Khampaeng, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 26, 1985.
SKP-260. Kamnan Sawang Fongsaa (age 65). #6, Baan Rooj Phrom, Tambon Buak
Khang, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 30, 1985.
SKP-264. Poh Ui Caj Ngenkhamchan (age 86). #11, Tambon Buak Khang, Amphur
San Khampaeng. Interviewed July 30, 1985.
SKP-267. Poh Ui Noi Kham Raat-uun (age 92). #1, Baan Mohn, Tambon San Klang,
Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed August 4, 1985.
SKP-273. Mae Ui Yohthyan Phiiwong (age 84). #3, Baan San Klang Nya, Tambon San
Klang, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed August 4, 1985.
 312 • Bibliography

SKP-285. Poh Ui Noi Saen Cajbu (age 85) and Poh Ui Sii Kaewkham (age 80). #3, Wat
Bo Sang, Baan Bo Sang, Tambon Ohn Pao, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed
August 8 1985.
SKP-286. Poh Luang Hyan Wongthip, ex-village headman (age 70) and others. #1, Wat
Don Pau, Tambon Don Pao, Amphur San Khampaeng. Interviewed August 8, 1985.
DS-298. Poh Ui Thaa Thalaabun (age 76) and others in temple. #6–7, Baan Huaj Ang/
Tong Phyng, Tambon Mae Bong, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed August 15, 1985.
DS-305. Mae Ui Tut Bajsukhan (age 99). #5, Baan Luang Nya, Tambon Luang Nya,
Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed August 20, 1985.
DS-307. Poh Naan Taa (Thaworn) Buabyyt (age 81). #3, Baan Myang Wa, Tambon
Luang Nya, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed August 20, 1985.
DS-322. Poh Ui Suk Chajket (age 92). #11, Baan Yang Phrathat, Tambon Sanbulyaj,
Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed September 4, 1985.
DS-330. Poh Noi Hyang Taaphuuyoi (age 91) and Mae Ui Noi Taaphuuyoi (age 83).
#2, Baan Mae Roi Ngen, Tambon Mae Roi Ngen, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed
September 3, 1985.
DS-335. Lung Mii Kaewwiengchan (age 63). #4, Tambon Palan, Amphur Doi Saket.
Interviewed August 21, 1985.
DS-339. Mae Ui Caa Kanthamang (age 84). #2, Baan Nam Phrae, Tambon Talaat
Khwan, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed August 22, 1985.
DS-343. Khruu Bunsom Kanthawang (age 72). #4, Baan Phrayaak Luang (Bo Hin),
Tambon Talaat Khwan, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed August 22, 1985.
DS-352. Poh Ui Kham Chajkaen (age 84). #4, Baan Phanlang, Tambon Samranraat,
Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed September 11, 1985.
DS-353. Poh Ui Cajmaa Chakkaew (age 88). #5, Baan Ba Myy-at, Tambon Samranraat,
Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed September 11, 1985.
DS-354. Poh Ui Noi Puk Caajkaew (age 95) (kradaaj). #4, Baan San Ton Myang,
Tambon Samranraat, Amphur Doi Saket. Interviewed September 11, 1985.
MR-367. Poh Ui Mo Chantaa (age 89). #3, Baan Mae Saa Luang, Tambon Mae Saa,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 2, 1985.
MR-370. Poh Naan Kaew Khanthamanii (age 83). #1, Baan Sribunryang, Tambon Mae
Saa, Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 2, 1985.
MR-386. Poh Ui Maa Phakphorn (age 78). #4, Baan Ba Ngae, Tambon Don Kaew,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 9, 1985.
MR-389. Poh Ui Kaew Khemphet (age 83). #5, Baan Ba Huak, Tambon Don Kaew,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 9, 1985.
MR-392. Poh Naan Kaew Phyakphon (age 83). #4, Baan Wang Muun, Tambon San
Pong, Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 10, 1985.
MR-398. Poh Ui Maa Wongsuaj (age 84). #3, Baan San Pong, Tambon San Pong,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 10, 1985.
MR-422. Poh Noi Ai Myangmaa (age 91). Baan Thung Pong, Tambon Mae Laem,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 22, 1985.
 Bibliography • 313

MR-438. Poh Noi Hohm Siripin (age 84). #2, Baan Ton Phyng, Tambon Myang Kaew,
Amphur Mae Rim. Interviewed October 26, 1985.
SS-445. Poh Naan Kam Ratchakit (age 66). #1, Baan Mae Yoi, Tambon San Sai Noi,
Amphur San Sai. Interviewed October 26, 1985.
SS-448. Poh Ui Muun Asaakhit (age 92). #3. Baan Saimuun, Tambon San Sai Noi,
Amphur San Sai. Interviewed October 26, 1985.
SS-460. Mae Ui Kaew Chomduang (age 85) and Mae Ui Daeng Kongngen (age 82). #2,
Baan Ba Bong, Tambon Mae Faek, Amphur San Sai. Interviewed October 30, 1985.
SS-462. Poh Ui Thip Bunyyyn (age 84). #4, Baan Rom Luang, Tambon Mae Faek,
Amphur San Sai. Interviewed October 30, 1985.
SS-476. Poh Ui Thaa Issara (age 75). #2, Baan Sup Faek, Tambon Mae Faek Mai,
Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 8, 1985.
SS-478. Poh Naan Kong Thongvilaat (age 76). #1, Baan Mae Faek Luang, Tambon
Mae Faek Mai, Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 8, 1985.
SS-490. Mae Ui Kaew Borilak (age 89). #4, Baan Thung Faa Tok, Tambon Nong
Yaeng, Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 13, 1985.
SS-512. Poh Ui Noi Buk Phongsiri (age 92). #1, Baan Mae Yoi, Tambon San Sai Noi,
Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 17, 1985.
SS-515. Mae Ui Uun Inthaa (age 94). #5, Baan T, Tambon San Sai Luang, Amphur San
Sai. Interviewed November 18, 1985.
SS-521. Poh Ui Naan Singhkham Kaehang (age 86). #2, Baan Ba Tong, Tambon San
Sai Luang, Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 18, 1985.
SS-523. Mae Ui Kaew Nanthakham (age 87). #5, Tambon San Sai Luang, Amphur San
Sai. Interviewed November 18, 1985.
SS-527. Poh Luang Naan Phet Prichaaraa (age 59). #4, Baan Ba Myat, Tambon
Phaphai, Amphur San Sai. Interviewed November 19, 1985.
M-534. Mae Ui Khiew Arunsit (age 76). Behind Wat Jetawan, Tambon Chang Moi,
Amphur Myang. Interviewed November 28, 1985.
M-542. Nen Khaw Waan Sathaanmuun (age 140?!) (phyng wua). #8, Tambon Suthep,
Amphur Myang. Interviewed December 3, 1985.
M-542a. Monks, Wat Khuang Singh. #3, Tambon Chang Phyak, Amphur Myang.
Interviewed December 3, 1985.
M-546. Mae Ui Khiew na Chiang Mai (age 95); Baa Dii Chatkaew, daughter; and
Sipek Sri, son (age 63). #5, Baan Myang Sat, Tambon Nong Hooj, Amphur Myang.
Interviewed December 4, 1985.

Recent Interviews

Ajarn Manee Phayomyong. Mae Rim, Chiang Mai. August 1, 2005.

Ajarn Sulak Sivaraksa. Bangkok. March 3, 2010.
Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno. Wat Sothannaraam, Tambon Don
Kaew, Amphur Mae Rim, Chiang Mai. August 1, 2005.
 314 • Bibliography

Lung Kriangkrai. Grand Palace official. Bangkok. March 3, 2010.

Lung Naan Saengmuang Ryansin. Baan Kilenoi, Tambon Baan Mae, Amphur Sanpa-
tong, Chiang Mai. July 30, 2005.
Lung Waai Ryangdej. Baan Den Samrong, Tambon Haat Song Khwae, Amphur Tron,
Uttaradit. August 24, 2015.
Phrakhruu Athong Visutikhul. Abbot, Wat Nong Tong, Tambon Nong Tong, Amphur
Hang Dong, Chiang Mai. July 13, 2005.
Phrakhruu Prachotipacharothai (Uthai Chutmanuto). Wat Pothiyen, Baan Thaa
Phuaa, Tambon Hinhao, Amphur Lommkao, Petchabun. March 7, 2010.
Phrakhruu Winaithorn Dr. Manop Paalaphan. Deputy Abbot at Wat Pho (Wat
Chetuphon), Bangkok. March 4, 2010.
Phra Racha Thammawaathii. Deputy Abbot, Wat Prayoon (Wat Prayurawongsawat),
Bangkok. Interview by phone, March 3, 2010.
Phra Racha Vijitphatiphaan. Deputy Abbot, Wat Suthat Thepwaraaraam, Bangkok.
January 15, 2008.

Tapes

Luang Poh Bunthong. TE 006. Tu Lung Thong [Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong
Suwanno]. n.d. (circa 1970s). Lao Jia Muang Nya [Telling humorous northern
tales]. Distributor: Thippanetr Enterprise, Tambon Haiya, Amphur Muang,
Chiang Mai.
. TE 050. Tu Lung Thong [Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno]. n.d.
(circa 1970s). Lao Jia Muang Nya [Telling humorous northern tales]. Distributor:
Thippanetr Enterprise, Tambon Haiya, Amphur Muang, Chiang Mai.
. TE 066. Tu Lung Thong [Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno]. n.d.
(circa 1970s). Mahachaat 13 Kan [Mahachat in 13 chapters]. 5 tapes. November 23, 1990.
. TE 011. Tu Lung Thong [Luang Poh (Phrakhruu) Bunthong Suwanno]. n.d.
(circa 1970s). Thet Mahachaat Prayuk (baep muang nya): Kan Chuchok [Preaching
the Mahachat in modern northern style: The Jujaka chapter].

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 Index

Note: page numbers in italics refer to illustrations.

abuse of power stories, 187–89 Baker, Chris, 30, 67, 276n7

Aggana Sutra, 102, 272 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 29, 197
Ajarn Chop, 83 Bangkok: Grand Palace, 42–49; migration to,
Ajarn Man Phurithatto, 224, 225, 234–35, 87; northeasterners, attitudes toward, 99;
303n37 Siriraj Hospital, 41, 76, 254. See also central
Ajarn Saiyan (Wat Welurachin, Thonburi), 73 region and recitations; court and royal
Ajarn Son Suwannasuk (Suphanburi), 72 recitations; court control
Ajarn Sui (Ubon), 222 bawdiness: Amitataa and, 104, 116–17; Bun-
Ajuta the hermit, 10, 71, 72, 131, 146, 148, 249 thong’s concerns about, 204; in central
Akin Rabibhadana, 112, 286n29 region, 76; court concern over, 58, 165–66;
almsgiving, 19, 78 in history of literature, 59–61, 60; Jujaka
Amarindra, Queen, 282n31 wedding ceremony and, 140–42; “Jujaka
Amitataa: central region attitudes toward, 74– with Large Testicles,” 248; modern audi-
75, 283n54; in central Thai version, 293n39; ences and, 241; nineteenth-century trends,
in court version, 58–59; erasure of, in 30–31; phallic imagery (northeastern region),
northeastern Hok Kasat, 116–17; husband– 111–15, 222; phiitaakhon ghosts, 113, 113–14,
wife relations and, 157; Jujaka as trickster 252; Rabelaisian humor and, 123; restrained,
and, 173; northern development of, 143–46; in northeastern region, 110–15; Rocket
in Pali version, 143, 293n39; portrayal of, Festival and, 110, 111–12; tricksters and, 172;
263–64, 307n38; village women and, 60, 61, “wondrous scenes” (bot atsachan), 61. See
104, 107, 116, 117, 144–45, 264, 287nn37–38 also humor and comedy; tujok monks
amulets, 111–12, 245–47, 251, 305n2 Bayinnaung, King, 229, 302n30
Anaukpetlun, King, 302n30 beggars as sympathetic characters, 180–81
Anisong Vessantara (“blessings of Vessantara”), Bergson, Henri, 29, 171
127, 135, 291n24 Bhumiphol, King, 48, 100
Anuman Rajadhon, Phya, 48–49, 49–50, 63, 67, binthabatr chiwit (monastic right to intervene
69, 78–79, 284n61, 291n17, 296n4 in executions), 230, 302n31
Ariyawongsachan Yanawimon Ubon Sangkha- birth year, lay sponsorship by, 135–36
pamok (Sui), Chao Khun Phra, 116 boat symbolism, 52–57, 53
Ariyawongsakhatayana (Sa), Somdet Phra, Bock, Carl, 298n31
286n28 bodhisattva-king figure, 21
Arthid Sheravanichkul, 244–45 Bodin, Chaophraya, 302n18
atyaa chao (“law by chao”), 188 Bowring, John, 190
Aung San Suu Kyi, 272 Brahmin role in occasional ceremonies, 69–70,
Ayutthaya, royal court temple of, 42 283n44

345
 346 • Index

Braudel, Fernand, 295n1 Chao Mae Kuan Im, 266

Brereton, Bonnie, 19, 102, 109, 117, 120, 192, 238, Chao Muang (northeastern), 220–24
286n26 Chao Poh Kuan, 115
British colonialism, 220–21 Chao Sri Suriyawongse, 44
Buddhagosa’s prophecy, 15 chapters of Vessantara Jataka: birth years cor-
Buddhism: Gotama Buddha, 13–14, 194–95; related with, 135–36; Chohkasat, 10, 57,
Lent, Buddhist, 42–43, 61–63, 278n1, 76, 101–2, 128; Chulaphon, 10, 51, 57–58,
278n2; Mahanikai order, 50, 214, 216, 217, 170; fund-raiser earning by chapter, 76;
218, 224–25; philosophical approach of Himaphan, 10, 51, 57–58, 76, 85, 283n53;
Rama I, 212–13; prophecy of lasting 5,000 Mahaphon, 42, 51, 57–58, 66, 71–72, 156;
years, 15–16, 20, 109, 196. See also monks; Maharaat, 254; Munithi Hortrai recensions
sangha control, centralized; Thammayut by chapter, 51; Nakornkan, 10–11, 58, 70, 71,
order 76, 85–87, 98, 128, 134–35, 268 ; Sakabap, 10,
Bun Bangfai (Rocket Festival), 110, 111–12, 115, 50, 51, 57–58, 76, 128; “Tearjerker,” 6;
222–23, 284n3, 287n34 Thanakan, 10, 45, 51, 57, 71, 135; Thotsa-
Bunnag, Jane, 63, 77 phon, 9–10, 51, 57–58, 135; voice types for,
Bun Pha Wet (“Merit-making for Vessantara”). 66, 128; Wanaprawet, 10, 51, 58, 64, 135,
See northeastern region and Bun Pha Wet 283n48. See also Jujaka chapter; Kumarn
Burmese rule of Lanna kingdoms, 229 chapter; Maharaat chapter; Matsi chapter
charity. See generosity and gifts
calamity cosmologies, 193–94 Chiang Mai, Golden Age of Lanna literature
capitalism, global. See global capitalism and in, 127
contemporary culture child–parent relations, 160–62
capitation tax, 235–36 Chinaworn, Prince, 301n16
Cate, Sandra, 81, 84, 86–88, 94, 97, 98–102, 120, Chiu, Angela, 230
121, 286n24, 288n43 Chohkasat chapter, 10, 57, 76, 101–2, 128
central region and recitations: Amitataa, atti- Chulabhorn, Princess, 48, 280n15
tudes toward, 74–75; bawdy literature and, Chulalongkorn, King: crown prince appointed
59–61, 60; during Buddhist Lent, 61–63; by, 281n20; Maitreya worship, disapproval
decline of Vessantara Jataka and, 76–80; of, 282n40; as novice, 281n19; novice reci-
favorite chapters, 70–72, 75–76; history of tation of, 57; public education and, 226;
performances and style in, 39–40; influence references to 5,000 years suppressed by,
on northeastern region, 98–109; Jujaka, 109, 196; sangha control and, 217; shock at
attitudes toward, 72–74; Jujaka, depiction local Jujaka sermons, 278n30; statue of, 112;
of, 12; language compared to northern re- Tu Ping vs. Sophaa and, 234; Wat Mani
gion, 156–57; lay sponsorship, 66; mille- Cholakhan visit, 196–97
narianism, 196–97; number of monks, 65– Chulaphon chapter, 10, 51, 57–58, 170
66; offerings, 66–70; over days or weeks, Chulasakarat calendar, 45, 279n9
63–65; processions in, 67; regional com- Ciñcam¯anavik¯a, 263
parison, 166; sangha, centralized state con- Coedes, George, 15, 108–9, 127
trol over, 210–19. See also court and royal Collins, Steven, 6, 13, 18–19, 275n3, 277n23,
recitations 295n1, 305n14
Chalii, 4, 10, 11, 82, 203, 247, 262–63, 277n24, colonialism, British and French, 220–21
304n52, 307n36 Colquhoun, Archibald R., 229
Chao Anuwong (Anu), 189, 220, 282n30, comedy. See bawdiness; humor and comedy;
302n18 tujok monks
Chao Dara, 234 communist guerillas, 99, 178, 198, 240
 Index • 347

concubine stories, 183–86 Department of Religious Affairs (Krom

Cone, Margaret, 12–13, 19, 261 Thammakan; now Krom Kaan Saasanaa),
confiscation stories, 182–83 43, 219, 279n3, 306n23
contemporary culture. See global capitalism and Devadatta, 11, 14, 74, 251, 305n14
contemporary culture De Young, John, 296n6
Cort, Mary, 29, 61, 279n11 Dhawat Poonotoke, 288n40
Council of Elders. See National Ecclesiastical Dii (Than Phanthulo), 222–23
Council Dodd, William, 192, 232
Council of Seven, 229 dogs of Jetabutr the hunter, 9, 126, 131, 136–37,
coup of 1932, 40–42, 45, 78, 80, 238, 242, 269, 146–48, 170, 293n45
297n14, 299n36, 304n50 Doniger, Wendy, 13
court and royal recitations: annual monastic Dore, Amphay, 91, 133, 238, 285n15, 303n45
recitations at Wat Phra Kaew, 43–45; au- Durkheim, Émile, 295n1
thors of chapters, 50–51; boat symbolism Dyan Yii Paeng (Full Moon Festival, aka Loi
and the Kumarn chapter, 52–57, 53; comic Krathong), 133–34, 166, 237, 287n39
recitations, suppression efforts against, 26–
29; humor as inappropriate for, 59; Jory on education: Buddhist, under Rama III, 214;
Vessantara Jataka decline and political children sent to temples, 163–65; public,
shifts in, 24–26; Jujaka chapter, 58–59; provincial, 225–28; secular, and impact on
northeastern aesthetic and religious prac- recitations, 239; Vajiranana’s new religio-
tices influenced by, 109–10; northeastern educational system, 218
political ambiguity and, 98–109; novice Emerald Buddha, 20, 42–43. See also Wat Phra
recitations and crown princes, 48–51, 53– Kaew
58; Sakabap, Chulaphon, and Mahaphon Epstein, Steven Jay, 296n4
chapters, 57–58; special state occasions,
recitations on, 45–48; support for formal family reunification theme in northeastern re-
recitations, 41, 50; triannual recitation gion, 85–87, 97–98
during Buddhist Lent at Wat Phra Kaew, famines, 179–80
42–43 Fausböll, Viggo, 14
court control: lèse majesté cases, 197, 299n35; feminist interpretations, 265
Maitreya belief, millenarianism, and, 196– Ferguson, John P., 237–38, 276n15
97; military dictatorships and insurgency five evils, 206, 300n49
campaigns, 197–98; trickster, hidden tran- flags and political subjectivity, 99
script, and, 197–207. See also sangha con- food shortages, 179–80, 296n8
trol, centralized Forbes, Charles, 11
coyote dancing, 248, 249 Foucher, Alfred, 19
Crawfurd, John, 190, 191, 213 Fournereau, Lucien, 54–55, 56–57, 280n17
crown princes, novice recitations by, 49–50, Freeman, John, 189
53–58 French colonialism, 220–21
crows, 283n52 Full Moon Festival. See Dyan Yii Paeng (Full
culture, contemporary. See global capitalism Moon Festival, aka Loi Krathong)
and contemporary culture fund-raisers: cultural heritage and, 258; Siriraj
Hospital recitation, Bangkok, 41, 76, 254;
Damrong Rachanuphab, Prince, 123, 218, 225–26 temple fair, northeastern region, 88
Dansai Bun Pha Wet, 112–15 funeral of Jujaka, 26, 120–21, 149–55, 150
dasajati (final ten jatakas), 127, 275n3 funerary recitations, 7–8; central region and,
Davis, Richard, 237, 291n17 280n16, 291n21; Keyes first-person account,
 348 • Index

funerary recitations (continued ) Griswold, A. B., 14, 15, 17, 23, 127, 277n22
123–25; Matsi chapter and, 260; northeast- Grow, Mary, 32
ern region and, 291n21; northern region
and, 134 Hallett, Holt, 190, 195
Hallisey, Charles, 269, 272
Gabaude, Louis, 22, 261 Handlin, Lillian, 277n24
Garnier, Francis, 190 Hanks, Lucien, 19, 76, 78, 284n58
Gascoigne, Gwendolen Trench, 261 Hansen, Anne, 272, 278n29
Gaston, Bruce, 276n6 Hardy, Robert Spence, 4
generosity and gifts: beggars and, 180–81; Gift Hayashi, Yukio, 81, 285n9
of the Seven Hundreds, 10, 43, 276n14; head tax, 235–36
krajaats (offering baskets), 46–47; Lanna hells, 11, 16, 27, 31, 62, 95, 108, 121, 139, 154, 190,
tamnan and, 230; merit-making and, 206, 249, 288n42
277n26; monastic interests in reinforcing, hidden transcripts, 197–207
19; moral economies and, 270–71; special Himaphan chapter, 10, 51, 57–58, 76, 85, 283n53
state recitations and, 45–47; of Vessantara, historical agency in jatakas : monastic motiva-
as implicit critique of kings, 201–2; Vessan- tions, 18–19; peasant and villager motiva-
tara giving away wife and children, 3, 4, tions, 21–22; regional variation and, 17–18;
5–7, 22–23, 101, 261, 271 royal motivations, 19–21
Gengenbach, Julia, 265 Hok Kasat (“The Six Royals”), 83, 85, 89, 97,
Gerini, Gerolamo Emilio, 25, 28, 39, 40, 45–49, 103, 116–17
52, 55–57, 65, 278n29, 282n40, 284n57 Holt, John, 5
Giant Swing Ceremony, 283n44 Holy Men’s Revolts (1902), 99, 195–96
Gift of the Seven Hundreds, 10, 43, 276n14 hong kwan ceremony, 141, 293n36
gifts. See generosity and gifts housewarmings, 134–35
global capitalism and contemporary culture: humor and comedy: Amitataa and, 144–45;
cultural heritage promotion, state and edginess of, 204–6; eschatological hope in
local support for, 254–58; international scatological humor, 201–4; hidden tran-
performances, 258–59; Jujaka amulets, 244– script, covert anti-royalism, and, 197–207;
47, 251; Jujaka House and coyote dancing, as inappropriate for royal recitations, 59;
247–48, 249; motivational shifts, 259–60; Mahaphon chapter and, 72; in northern
statues of Jujaka, 244, 249–51; tourism and northeastern elaborations, 121; in Phra
promotion, 251–53; wealth, promotion of, Malai Sutra and Traiphum, 30–31; popular
244–51; women, portrayal of and appeal to, appeal and social role of, 29–30; Rabelaisian,
260–66 26–32, 123; royal suppression efforts and,
Goldstein, Donna, 29 26–29; royalty mocked by, 30–32; scholar-
Gombrich, Richard, 6, 12–13, 19, 261, 276n15 ship on, 29; vaudevillian Jujaka (northeast-
Gordon, Alec, 282n35 ern region), 102–7, 104. See also bawdiness;
Goss, L. Allan, 11 Jujaka; tricksters; tujok monks
Gotama Buddha, 13–14, 194–95 Hundius, Harald, 277n20, 290n11
Grandfather Jujaka (Taa Chuchok), 115, 257, husband–wife relations, 158–60, 265
304n52 Hyde, Lewis, 172
“Grandfather Jujaka Who Increases Wealth”
(Poh Puu Chuchok Phyymphuun Sap), 250 India, 3, 4, 6, 14–15, 243, 261, 269, 275n5
Grand Palace, Bangkok: 1807 state recitation Insom, Poh Naan, 290n7
in, 45–49; Wat Phra Kaew, 42–44, 47, 211 interest rates, 296n7
 Index • 349

international performances, 258–59 finding, 12, 66, 73; sponsors for, problems
irredentist movement, 229, 303n32 finding sponsors, 12, 66, 73, 103; unwilling-
ness to perform, 12; variation of, regional,
Jackson, Peter, 218 123, 136–37; village life references, 156; voice
jatakas: about, 3, 275n4; dasajati (final ten), for, 66. See also Amitataa; Jujaka; tujok
275n3; historical agency in, 17–22; non- monks
canonical, 277n20, 290nn11–12. See also his- Jujaka House, 247–48, 249
torical agency in jatakas; Vessantara Jataka Jujaka Light and Sound Cave, Siam Cultural
Jesus, 270–71 Park, Ratburi, 253
Jetabutr the hunter, 10, 119, 131, 138–39, 146–48,
170, 203–4, 288n41, 299n43 Kaiser, Thomas, 276n16
Jetjaras na Ranong, 113, 115 Kamala Tiyavanich, 71–72, 214–15, 218, 259,
Johannsen, Christina B., 276n15 278n32, 282n40
joi, 140, 241 Kanhaa, 4, 10, 11, 82, 247, 262–63, 277n24,
Jory, Patrick, 13, 21, 24–27, 278n28, 288n43 304n52, 307n36
Jujaka: abridged adventures of, in northeastern Kanhaa-Chalii amulets, 247
region compared to northern region, 118– Kaufman, Howard, 21–22, 63, 77
22; amulets of, 244–47, 251; in Baan Nongka- Kemika na Songkla, 247–48
thao, Amphur Nakhonthai, 115; central re- Keyes, Charles, 5, 19, 21, 87, 123–25, 144, 165, 195,
gion attitudes toward, 72–74; childhood, 198, 221, 302n26
imagined, 139–40; comic and villainous Khaiwibaak Vessantara (“hardship of Vessan-
depictions of, 11, 138; at court, 209; in court tara”), 135, 291n24
version of chapter, 58–59; death and funeral kham khon (“to oppress or exploit people”), 188
scenes, 120–21, 149–55, 150; description of, Khathaphan, 83, 89, 97, 135
in Kumarn chapter, 138; eighteen charac- Khin Thitsa, 22, 260–61
teristics of, 292n30; farewell scene, 145–46; “Khlong Chao Withuun Sorn Laan,” 304n55
food offerings to, 70, 283n45; funeral pro- “Khlong Phra Lor Sorn Lok,” 304n55
cession of, 26; in hell, 139; home, descrip- Khon Kaen, Preaching Institute in, 251–52
tion of, 143; northeastern vaudevillian Khon Kaen village Bun Pha Wet, 92–93, 94–
version of, 102–7, 104; northern region 97, 103–7
and, 128; regional comparison, 166; regional Khruubaa Khao Pi, 195
differences in portrayal of, 11–12; role of, in Khruubaa Laa, 232
Vessantara Jataka, 171–72; statues of, 244, Khruubaa Sophaa, 232–34
249–51; tricking Jetabutr the hunter and Khruubaa Srivichai, 195, 228, 236–37, 240,
Ajuta the hermit, 146–48, 170, 203–4, 303n32, 303n42, 303n44
299n43; as trickster, 170–73, 178, 202; tujok Khun Chang Khun Phaen, 30, 67–70
monks dressed as, 130; tujok monks’ inven- Kingkeo Attagara, 77, 284n60
tion of new episodes, 137–43; wedding cere- Kingshill, Konrad, 133–34, 180, 237, 291n17,
mony, 140–42; worship of, 244–45. See also 292n26, 296n6
Amitataa kingship. See royalism, anti-royalism, monar-
Jujaka chapter: bawdiness in, 60, 116; Bunthong chies, and kingship
and, 134; central region and, 72–74, 75; Kin Khao Pun Bun Phawet (Rice Noodle Bun
court version of, 58–59; funerary readings Phrawet), 252
of, 134; northeastern region and, 102–7, Kirsch, Thomas, 81, 82
118–19, 240; northern region and, 118–19, Klausner, William, 86, 89, 94, 110–12, 174,
128–31, 137–43, 240; sponsors, problems 285n12, 285n16
 350 • Index

Korat Plateau, 220 attitudes and, 181; water dipper, 181–82,

Kornvipa Boonsue, 22, 260 187
Kraisri Nimmanhaeminda, 184, 189 Luang Poh Bonsong (Lampang), 291n15
krajaats (offering baskets), 46–47, 49, 53, 53–54, Luang Poh Bunthong: about, 125–26, 289n5;
61, 279n11; as Chinese junk, 52–55, 56 abuse power stories and, 188–89; childhood
Kromsomdet Phra Bamrap Parapak, Prince, 51 of Jujaka, 139–40, 163–65; on condemnation
Krom Thammakan (Department of Religious of humor, 239; on dialect changes, 304n47;
Affairs), 219 edginess of humor and introductions of,
Kumarn chapter, 4; boat symbolism and royal 204–6; funeral performances, 134; hidden
reversion of, 40, 52–57; central region and, transcripts and, 198–206; on husband–wife
71; court recensions of, 51; female audi- relations, 158–60; Jetabutr’s dogs, 147–48;
ences and, 264; fund-raiser earning, 76; Jujaka chapter and, 290n7; Jujaka in hell,
funerary readings of, 134; hosting of, 68; as 139; Jujaka’s death and funeral, 151–54;
inappropriate, 58; Jujaka, description of, Matsi, positive reading of, 265, 307n34;
138; northern region and, 128; voice for, 66, memorial shrine to, 9; on national sangha,
128 304n50; on parent–child relations, 160–62;
on patience, 299n46; on peasant-court
labor commitment for recitations, 238–39 relations, 203–4; Phusadi’s wishes and
Ladwig, Patrice, 6, 100–101 Vessantara’s birth, 157–58, 202–3, 294n59;
lae Yannawa (boat chanting), 53 recordings, 8, 125, 126, 198; tree types, de-
La Loubère, Simon de, 190 scribing, 294n46; village life and, 156;
landlessness, 178, 296n6 wedding ceremony and bawdy song, 140–42
Landon, Kenneth, 299n32 Luang Poh Daeng, (Uttaradit), 305n5
language in Lanna vs. central Thai version, Luang Poh Klai (Nonthaburi), 247
156–57 Luang Poh Laan (Lampang), 291n15
Lanna kingdoms and sangha, 229–30, 302n30 Luang Poh Pankaew (Phrae), 307n32
Lanna literature, Golden Age of, 127 Luang Poh Pii (Sukhothai), 257, 287n36
Lanna versions. See northern region and Luang Poh Somphong Thirathammo (Nakhon
recitations Pathom), 250–51
Leclère, Adhémard, 5, 307n33 Luang Puu Khui (Petchabun), 305n5
Lefferts, Leedom, 81, 84–88, 94, 97–102, 120, Luang Puu Roht (Samut Sakorn), 245, 305n3
121, 285nn12–13, 286n24, 288n43 Luang Puu Thim Isariko (Rayong), 246, 305n4
LeMay, Reginald, 296n4, 298n31 Lutgendorf, Philip, 13
Lent, Buddhist, 42–43, 61–63, 278n1, 278n2 Lyons, Elizabeth, 13, 281n17
lèse majesté cases, 197, 299n35
Lipman, Steve, 29 Maao (Than Thewathammii), 222–23
Lithai, King, 127 Mae Thoranii (earth goddess), 97, 298n31
litters, lords carried by, 186–87 Mahachat. See Vessantara Jataka
local council funds for cultural heritage, 256–58 Mahachulalongkorn Buddhist University, 126,
Loei province, tourism in, 252–53 217, 255
Loi Duangkaew, 257, 287n36 Maha Fai, 73, 283n51
Loi Krathong. See Dyan Yii Paeng (Full Moon Mahamakut Academy, 226, 227
Festival, aka Loi Krathong) Mahamakut Buddhist University, 217, 224
lords, stories about: abuse of power, 187–89; Mahanikai order, 50, 214–18, 224–25
concubine, 183–86; confiscation, 182–83; Maha Nipata, 14
portering, 186–87; shooting oxen, 182; village Mahaphon chapter, 42, 51, 57–58, 66, 71–72, 156
 Index • 351

Maharaat chapter: central region and, 71; comic Military Conscription Act (1905), 236
incidents in, 137; court recensions of, 51; military dictatorships and insurgency campaigns,
fund-raising and, 76; as inappropriate, 197–98
58; modern audiences and, 254; northern millenarianism and millennialism: beliefs of,
region and, 128, 149; plot, 10; Princess 298n28; calamity cosmologies, 193–94; Go-
Sirindhorn and, 47–48; regional differ- tama as cheating Buddha, 194–95; northern
ences, 120; voice for, 66 history of, 192–93; Phra Malai story and
Maitreya: in Anisong Vessantara, 292n24; Chula- messianic beliefs, 191–92; political subjec-
longkorn and, 282n40; Gotama as cheating tivity and, 99; regional comparison, 195–97.
Buddha vs., 194–95; historical association See also Maitreya
with Vessantara Jataka, 127–28; messianic millenarian revolts: in central region, and court
readings of Vessantara Jataka, attempts to concerns, 196–97; court suppression of
suppress, 288n43; millenarianism across jataka recitations and, 25; Holy Men’s Re-
regions and, 195–97; northeastern region volts (1902), 99, 195–96; Maitreyan timing
and, 83, 108; northern region millennialism and, 108; in northeastern region, 195–96;
and, 192–94; in post-canonical texts, 277n23; Rama I decree against, 196; “saints” or
prophecy about Vessantara Jataka and re- “holy men” and, 298n28
turn of, 16–17; story of Phra Malai and, 191– Mills, Mary Beth, 87, 111
92; twenty-four-hour recitation and coming Mizuno, Koichi, 82–83
of, 16–17, 133, 191, 292n25. See also mille- modern culture. See global capitalism and con-
narianism and millennialism; millenarian temporary culture
revolts monarchies. See royalism, anti-royalism, mon-
Manee Phayomyong, 116, 118, 125–29, 239, 285n15, archies, and kingship
286n31, 288n42, 289n7, 291n19, 292n25 monetary costs: of recitations, 23, 90, 238; of
Mara, 91–93, 285n14 scroll, 285n16
Matsi: exile and return, political interpreta- money trees, 292n28
tion of, 100; as female Bodhisattva, 265; Mongkut, King (Rama IV): chapter editions
husband–wife relations and, 157–58; invita- composed by, 51; humor criticized by, 27–
tion to return (northeastern festival), 93– 28; Mon refugees and, 301n10; nautical
95, 252; portrayals of, 262, 307n34; story of imagery and, 55; as novice, 281n19; novice
saving Ajarn Chop’s life, 83 recitation of, 49, 71; number of monks
Matsi chapter: central region and, 71; female and, 279n3; succession to the throne, 216;
audiences and, 264; fund-raiser earning, support for recitations, 50, 278nn28–29;
76; for funerals, 260; funerary readings of, Thammayut order and, 25, 214–17, 222;
134; as inappropriate, 58; northeastern re- Wat Prayoon and, 44
gion and, 85–86; northern region and, 128; monies raised in recitations, 76, 77, 283n55
plot, 10; Rama IV and, 50; voice for, 66 monks: annual monastic recitations at Wat Phra
mazes (wongkot), 131–32, 132, 291n17 Kaew, 43–45; food shortages and, 296n8;
McCarthy, James, 230–31 historical agency and interests of, in jata-
McClintock, Sara, 296n2 kas, 18–19; magical self-protection by, 129;
McClung, Larry, 18 making fun of, 288n42; mass disrobings, in
McDaniel, Justin Thomas, 36, 278n36, 288n40 north, 240; novices, relations with, 162–65;
McGill, Forrest, 17, 20 number of, in north and northeast, 233,
McGilvary, Daniel, 229–30 235–36; number of, in recitations, 65–66,
McLeod, William C., 189 89, 166; specialization by, 128–29. See also
Mechai Thongthep, 176 sangha control, centralized; tujok monks
 352 • Index

moral economies: charity and gift-giving in, Upakut invitation procession, 91–93;
270–71; humor and morality in everyday vaudevillian Jujaka, 102–7; village unity
village life, 155–56; Victorian morality, 30, theme, 87–88, 97–98
61, 165 northern region and recitations: actions and
morlam, 87, 107, 109, 112, 225 language use, 156–58; beggars as sympa-
Mueller, Max, 270–71 thetic characters, 180–81; capitation tax,
Munithi Hortrai, 51 military conscription, and right to ordain,
235–37; chapter specializations and favor-
Nakornkan chapter, 10–11, 58, 70, 71, 76, 85–87, ites, 128–29; demise of Vessantara Jataka
98, 128, 134–35, 268 recitation in, 237–42; dialect changes, 239,
Napat Sirisambhand, 282n35 304n47; geographical and cultural isolation
Narayan, Kirin, 13 from Bangkok, 231; historical importance,
Naresuan, King, 302n31 127–28; Jujaka adventures, expansion of,
National Buddhist Youth Society, 254 136–43, 146–48; Jujaka death scene and fu-
National Ecclesiastical Council (Mahatherasa- neral, 149–55, 150; Keyes account of funeral
makhom), 29, 48, 218, 239–40 performance, 123–25; mazes, 131–32, 132;
nationalist symbolism, 99 millenarianism, 192–94; monks in region,
New Year’s (Songkran), 284n1, 284n4, 287n33 number of, 235–36; northeastern region
Nguyen, Betty, 193–94 compared to, 118–21; number of Lanna
Nidhi Eoseewong, 11, 13, 52, 55, 58, 61, 75, versions of Vessantara Jataka, 123; political
281n25, 282n34 independence, 230–31; poverty and famine,
northeastern region and Bun Pha Wet: about 178–80; Rabelaisian humor, 123; regional
Bun Pha Wet, 81; absences as signs of comparison, 166; Siang Miang tales, 174–
accommodation, 109–10; administration 76; sponsorship by birth year, 135–36; syyb
of, 220–21; Amitataa, erasure of, 116–17; chataa (life-lengthening ceremony) and
bawdiness, restrained, 110–15; Hok Kasat temple decorations, 124, 132–33, 135; Tham-
version and, 83; the jataka’s everyday and mayut initiatives in, 231–36; timing, festi-
pervasive presence in villages, 81–83; Ju- vals, and special occasions, 133–35; tujok
jaka, depiction of, 12; Jujaka’s adventures, costumes and grand entrances, 130–31;
abridgement of, 118–22; Laos and Bun Pha village morality in everyday life, 155–66;
Wet, 43; Maitreyan timing, 108–9; monks women in temples, restrictions on, 7. See
in demand during, 83–84; Nakornkan also peasant imaginaire; tujok monks
chapter and family reunification theme, nostalgia, global, 258–60
85–87, 97–98; northern region compared novice–monk relations, 162–65
to, 118–21; number of monks, 88; outmigra- novice recitations, 48–51, 53–58, 280n16–281n18
tion and return home, 87; political ambigu- nuns, 287n35
ity, defiance, and accommodation, 98–109;
processions, communal, 67; public, provin- Obeyesekere, Gananath, 272
cial education and, 225–28; regional com- Obeyesekere, Rajini, 3, 277n24
parison, 166; Rocket Festival, 110, 111–12; offerings: in central region, 66–70; Jujaka, food
scroll procession and invitation of Vessan- offerings to, 70, 283n45; krajaats (offering
tara and Matsi to return, 82, 93–96, 98–102; baskets), 46–47, 49, 53, 53–54, 61, 279n11;
Siang Miang tales, 174–76; socialism and money trees, 292n28; in northeastern re-
communism, 99; sponsors and lottery, 88– gion, 90, 285n11; in northern region, 136.
89; strategic and defensive importance of, See also generosity and gifts
219–20; Thammayut expansion into, 222–25; Ong Man, 195
thousand balls of rice procession, 96–98; ordination, 19, 236–37, 303n32, 304n46
 Index • 353

Ordination Act (1913), 236 Phrakhruu Dr. Manop Winaithorn, Bangkok,

OTOP (One Tambon One Product) handi- 73–74, 280n15
craft industry, 253, 306n19 Phrakhruu Khammuul (Bangkok), 307n32
oxen, stories of shooting, 182 Phrakhruu Sophon Withayaphorn (Chiang
Mai), 307n32
Padipadana Jataka, 277n20 Phrakhruu Wanna (Ratburi), 280n16
palat khik (penis-shaped amulets), 111–12, 245 Phra Lak Phra Ram, 15
Pali education, 214, 215 Phra Malai, 191–92. See also Phra Malai Sutra
Pali imaginaire, 295n1 Phra Malai Sutra, 16–17, 30–31, 77, 83, 95, 96,
Pali texts: Amitataa in, 143, 293n39; Jujaka a 108, 128, 135, 278n32, 284n59; story of Phra
villain in, 11; Khathaphan, 83, 89, 97, 135; Malai and millenarianism, 191–92
read without translation or understanding, Phra Phanarat, 46
79, 97; religious studies focus on, 12–13; Phra Phimonlatham, 279n10
sacrality of recitation and, 13–14 Phra Rajathammawaathii (Bangkok), 44
Pallegoix, Jean Baptiste, 76 Phra Thammaratmuni (Chun), 300n3
Paramanuchit Chinorot, Prince, 16, 51, 213, 215, Phra Thepmuni (Duang), 51, 58
281n24, 301n16 Phra Thepwethi (aka Prayut Payuttho, Ratcha-
parent–child relations, 160–62 woramuni), 31–32, 202
Paritta Chalermpow-Koanantakool, 278n33, Phra Ubalii, 110, 223–25, 234, 302n25
282n43 Phra Vijit (Phra Racha Vijitphatiphaan) (Bang-
Pasuk Phongphaichit, 30, 67, 276n7 kok), 63–64, 282n39, 283n47
Pawaret, Prince, 214, 216, 301n12, 301n16 Phra Wannarat, 15–16
Peacock, James, 29 Phrayar Naga (the naga snake), 22, 77
peasant imaginaire: beggars as sympathetic Phusadi, 85, 157–58, 202–3, 261–62, 265, 294n59
figure, 180–81; defined, 295n1; hidden tran- Phu Thai, 82, 284n3, 285n5
scripts and covert anti-royalism in tujok Phutthamonthon, 41, 47, 73, 254, 280n15
performances and, 197–207; landlessness pig’s head offerings, 69
and, 296n6; lords, northern stories about, pointillism as methodology, 36
181–89; Maitreya, millenarianism, and, 191– political ambiguity in northeastern region:
97; political ambiguity in northeastern ambiguity and accommodation, 98, 109;
region and, 98; poverty and, 178–80; trick- Maitreyan timing and, 108–9; royal pro-
sters as moral distance and, 170–78; war cession and political subjectivity, 98–102;
captives, slavery, and, 189–91, 190 vaudevillian Jujaka and, 102–7
peasants, historical agency and interests of, in political legitimacy, 19–20, 45
jatakas, 21–22. See also northeastern region portering stories, 186–87
and Bun Pha Wet; northern region and poses of Buddhas, 194, 298n31
recitations Potter, Jack, 296n6
Phichit Prichakorn, Prince, 223, 231–32, 302n23 power, stories of abuse of, 187–89
phiitaakhon ghosts and festival, 113, 113–14, 252 Prakong Nimmanhaeminda, 123, 126, 129, 134,
Phillips, Herbert, 76 138, 144, 291n19, 294n58
Phra Ariyakawii (Orn), 223 Pranee Wongthet, 98
Phrakhlang, Chaophraya (Hon), 50–51, 52, 55, Prasat Thong, King, 45
281n23 Prasert na Nagara, 15, 17, 127, 277n22
Phrakhruu Athong, 8–9, 291n22, 292n29, Prayurawong, Somdet Chaophraya Borom
293n37, 293n40, 293n44, 294n57, 304nn53– Maha (Dit Bunnag, aka Somdet Ong Yai),
54, 307n32 44
Phrakhruu Danuphol (Lampang), 291n15 Preaching Institute, Khon Kaen, 251–52
 354 • Index

processions: in central vs. northeastern region, Rhys Davids, T. W., 24, 275n4
67; development of, 255–57; rerouting of, Rice Noodle Bun Phrawet (Kin Khao Pun Bun
112; scroll procession and invitation of Phawet), 252
Vessantara and Matsi to return (north- Richardson, Dr., 189, 229–30
eastern), 82, 93–96, 98–102; thousand balls Richman, Paula, 13
of rice (northeastern), 96–98; tourism and, Ricoeur, Paul, 268
252–53; Upakut invitation (northeastern), Rocket Festival (Bun Bangfai), 110, 111–12, 115,
91–93 222–23, 284n3, 287n34
prophecies: Buddhism’s deterioration, 15–16, Roi Et province, tourism in, 252, 253
20, 109, 196; Maitreya, 16–17 royalism, anti-royalism, monarchies, and king-
pulpits, raised, 129, 255, 290n14 ship: absolute vs. constitutional monarchy,
Puu Sae Yaa Sae, 287n33 78; decline of Vessantara Jataka and, 24;
historical agency and interests of, in jatakas,
Rabiabrat Pongpanich, 276n12 19–21; mocked by comedy performances,
Radin, Paul, 171–72 30–32; non-royalist egalitarian ethos, 156–
Rama I, King: death of, 213; decree against 58; northeastern region and, 99, 100; pro-
millenarian revolts, 196; Emerald Buddha royalist vs. anti-royalist interpretation, 32,
and, 42–43; Jujaka chapter and, 58; philo- 84, 166, 169; simultaneous pro-royalist,
sophical Buddhism and, 212–13; Queen non-royalist, and anti-royalist agendas, 269;
Amarindra and, 282n31; religious reforms ten duties of rulers, 272; trickster, hidden
and sangha laws, 27, 211–12, 300n5; succes- transcript, and covert anti-royalism, 197–
sion to the throne and gifting by, 45 207; Vessantara as ideal king, 201–2. See
Rama II, King, 49, 213, 214, 220, 280n12 also court and royal recitations; court con-
Rama III, King: coronation and gifting by, 47; trol; specific monarchs
death of, 216; Emerald Buddha robe cere- royal recitations. See court and royal recitations
mony and, 43; as Prince Isara Sunthon,
280n12; reign of, 213–14; rise of Thamma- Saeng, 224
yut order and, 214–15; Wat Prayoon and, Sakabap chapter, 10, 50, 51, 57, 76, 128
44 Sangat, 83, 89, 97, 108–9
Rama IV. See Mongkut, King Sangha Act (1902), 217–18, 227–28, 234, 303n43
Rama V, King: decrees on recitations, 109–10; sangha control, centralized: in central region,
Jory on political shifts and, 24; novice reci- history of, 210–19; importance of, 208–9;
tation of, 49, 51; sangha control and, 217; in northeast region, 222–28; in northern
support for recitations, 50, 280n14 region, efforts toward, 228–37
Rama VI, King, 281n20 sangha laws (Rama I), 211–12
Rama VII, King, 281n20 Sanphasitthiprasong, Luang, 302n23
Ramayana, 13, 14, 15 Satra of King Chea-Ly, 307n36
Ramanujan, A. K., 13 Scott, James C., 29, 197
Ramkhamhaeng, King, 189 scroll procession, 93–96
Ramkhamhaeng inscription, 290n9 scrolls, 94, 285n16
rationalism, 23, 216 Senanurak, Prince, 280n12
Raymond, Catherine, 277n24 Shalardchai Ramitanondh, 237–38
red shirt movement, 100 Sharp, Lauriston, 19, 76, 78, 284n58
renunciation, 18–19 Shaw, Sarah, 275n4, 276n17
Reynolds, Craig, 215, 216, 219, 300n5, 301n7 shooting oxen stories, 182
Reynolds, Frank E., 3, 20 Siam Cultural Park, Ratburi, 253
 Index • 355

Siang Miang (Xieng Mieng), 174–76 Tearjerker Chapter, 6

Sirikit, Queen, 38, 47 ten duties of rulers, 272
Sirindhorn, Princess, 47–48, 254, 280n15, Terweil, Barend, 76–77, 190–91, 284n2, 284n59
281n28, 306n23 Thailand, regions of. See central region and
Siriraj Hospital recitation, Bangkok, 41, 76, 254 recitations; northeastern region and Bun
slaves and war captives, 189–91, 190 Pha Wet; northern region and recitations
soh, 140, 241 Thammayut order: boat imagery and, 55; cen-
soldiers, typology of, 117 tralized administrative control and, 217–19;
Sombat Chantornvong, 20, 283n54 northeastern region and, 93, 110, 222–25;
Somchai Kuakoon, 42, 279n3 northern region and, 231–36; rise of, 25,
Sommai Premchit, 91, 126, 133, 238, 285n15, 303n45 213–17; temples and monasteries, number
Somroay Yencheuy, 102, 109, 117, 120, 286n26 of, 224, 302n26
Songkran (New Year’s), 284n1, 284n4, 287n33 thamnong lae style, 59
Songtham, King, 42 thamnong luang style, 59
southern region of Thailand, 35 thamnong suat style, 42
Sparkes, Stephen, 21 Tham Pha Wet (Vessantara’s Cave), 82
Spiro, Melford, 4, 19, 277n25, 298n28 Thanakan chapter, 10, 45, 51, 57, 71, 135
sponsorship: in central region, 66; Jujaka chap- Thep Singh, 192
ter, problems finding sponsors for, 12, 66, Thet Thetsarangsii, 235
73, 103; in northeastern region, 89–90; in Thiphakorawong, Chaophraya, 216–17, 305n13
northern region, 135–36; regional compari- Thompson, Virginia, 78, 237
son, 166 Thotsaphon chapter, 9–10, 51, 57–58, 135
Sri Thanonchai, 176–78 thousand balls of rice procession (hae khaophan
stamps, 5, 276n8 kohn), 96–98
state control. See court control Tilok, King, 189
Strong, John, 287n39 timing and duration of recitations: Buddhist
Sukhothai, 127, 290n9 Lent and, 42–43, 61–63, 278n1, 278n2; in
Sulak Sivaksa, 50, 57, 281n21 central region, 63–65; Maitreya’s command
Supaporn Siripornlert, 253 for twenty-four-hour recitation, 16–17, 133,
Suttapitaka, 275n2 191, 292n25; in northeastern region, 83,
Suwanna Satha-anand, 265 108–9; in northern region, 133–35, 292n25;
Swearer, Donald, 13, 128, 144, 276n7, 291n17, regional comparison, 166
307n38 tourism, promotion of, 114, 251–53
syyb chataa (life-lengthening ceremony), 124, Trailok, King, 20
132–33, 135 Traiphum (“Three Worlds”), 31, 211
tricksters: as anti-monarchical folk heroes, 174;
Taa Jujaka (Taa Chuchok) (Grandfather Jujaka), Jujaka and characteristics of, 170–73; king-
115, 257, 304n52 ship critiques and, 202; literature on, 29–30;
Tachard, Guy, 260 Siang Miang in northern and northeastern
Ta Chi, Luang, 259 regions, 174–76; Sri Thanonchai in central
Taksin, King, 43, 210–11, 231, 282n31, 299n33 region, 176–78. See also Jujaka
Tambiah, Stanley, 21, 81, 89, 92–93, 245, 285n16, Tripitaka, 212–13
285nn12–14, 286nn20–21 tripods, 124, 133
Tang Tham Luang festival, 133, 135, 136, 237–38, tujok monks: Amitataa development, 143–46;
257, 291n23, 303n45 comic timing and funny sounds, 136–37;
Taylor, Hugh, 179–80, 192–93, 194–95, 224–25 costumes of, 130; criticism of, 241; edginess
 356 • Index

tujok monks (continued ) Vetarani hell, 31

of humor and, 204–6; famous, 125, 291n15; Vickery, Michael, 221, 301n18
grand entrances by, 130–31; initial formal Victorian morality, 30, 61, 165
chant in Pali, 138; Jujaka’s death and fu- Vientiane, 42–43, 58, 189, 211, 220, 301n17
neral, 149–55, 150; Jujaka tricking royal village unity theme in northeastern region, 87–
guardians, 146–48; Keyes first-person ac- 88, 97–98
count of funeral performance, 123–25; Luang Vincent, Frank, 284n56
Poh Bunthong, 8, 9; name, meaning of, voice types for chapters, 66, 128
7–8; new Jujaka episodes, creation of, 137–
43; Phrakhruu Athong, 8–9; younger gen- Waen, Chaochom, 58, 282n30, 302n20
eration and, 241–42. See also Luang Poh Wales, H. G. Quaritch, 190
Bunthong Wanaprawet chapter, 10, 51, 58, 64, 135, 283n48
Tu Luang Som (Chiang Mai), 291n15 Wan Sart festival, 62, 282n36, 306n15
Tu Ping, 232, 234 Wan Thewo festival, 62, 282n37, 306n15
war captives, 189–91, 190, 206
Udom (Note) Taepanich, 273, 307n3 Wat Amphawan, Nonthaburi, 249
Upakut, 91–93, 285n13, 287n39 Wat Arun, Bangkok, 62
Uppalavanna (Ubonwanna), 263, 307n35 Wat Bangkhrai Nok, Nonthaburi, 247
Wat Bangphra, Nakhon Pathom, 249
Vajiranana, Prince (Wachirayan), 28, 57, 217, Wat Ban Yang, Maha Sarakham, 110–11, 117
218, 226, 234, 280n14, 301n16 Wat Bowonniwet, Bangkok, 215, 216, 217, 222,
Vajirunhis, Crown Prince, 49, 57, 281nn19–20 224, 226, 232, 234, 281n19, 302n25
Vallaya Piyarat, 11 Wat Bunyawat, Lampang, 255–56
Vessantara: birth of, 157–58; exile and return, Wat Chaichanasongkram, 62, 64, 283n48
political interpretation of, 100; in Hok Wat Chetuphon. See Wat Pho
Kasat version, 85; as husband, 265; as ideal Wat Dorn Taan, Chanthaburi, 63, 65–66, 77
king, 201–2; invitation to return (north- water dipper stories, 181–82, 187
eastern festival), 93–95, 252; name of, 275n2; Wat Fai Hin, Chiang Mai, 73, 232
wife and children given away by, 3, 4, 5–7, Wat Jaroen Muang, Chiang Rai, 150
22–23, 101, 261, 271 Wat Jedi Luang, Chiang Mai, 232, 234
Vessantara Jataka (Mahachat): about, 3; abridged Wat Kalingkaraat, Uttaradit, 240
version (Hok Kasat), 83, 85, 89, 97, 103, Wat Khon Kaen Nya, Roi Et, 111
116–17; appalled reactions to, 5–7; decline Wat Klang, Chanthaburi, 63, 66
of performances, 5, 22–26, 76–80, 237–42; Wat Lahaanrai, Rayong, 246
importance and popularity of, 3–5, 39–40; Wat Laksi, Bangkok, 249, 254, 255, 302n24
Lanna versions, variety of, 123; Mahachat Wat Lampang Luang, 143
Khamluang version, 42; Manee’s abridged Wat Mahachai, Udorn, 224
version, 289n7; modern controversies, 258; Wat Mahathat, Bangkok, 62, 64, 65, 77, 215, 217
in range of media, 35; recordings, 125; royal- Wat Mai Pinkriaw, Nakhon Pathom, 245, 250–
ist vs. political, anti-royalist reading of, 51, 283n45
206–7; structure and plot of, 9–11; uncer- Wat Mani Cholakhan, Lopburi, 196–97
tain future of, 269–70; uniformity vs. vari- Wat Mongkol Kowithaaram, Ubon, 89
ation in space and time, 12–17. See also Wat Muang, Angthong, 249
chapters of Vessantara Jataka; specific topics, Wat Niramit Vipassana, Loei, 170, 253
characters, and regions Wat Paa Noi, Ubon, 224–25
Vessantara Jataka Park, 253 Wat Palelai, Suphanburi, 67, 72
 Index • 357

Wat Pathumwanaram, Bangkok, 175, 296n5 Wat Thung Sri Muang, Ubon, 116
Wat Phanomyong, Ayutthaya, 249 Wat Yannawa, Bangkok, 53, 53, 55, 281n27, 283n55
Wat Pho (Chetuphon), Bangkok, 46, 55, 62, 65, wealth, personal, promotion of, 244–47
73, 77, 211, 215, 234, 255, 281n24, 282n38, Wells, Kenneth, 291n17
306n23 Wenk, Klaus, 279n10
Wat Phonchai, Loei, 113, 115, 252–53 wife–husband relations, 158–60, 265
Wat Phra Kaew (Emerald Buddha Temple), Wilson, Constance, 219–20
Bangkok, 42–44, 47, 50, 61–62, 70, 211 Winternitz, M., 277n19
Wat Phrathat Duang Diaw, Lamphun, 190 Winyu ( John) Wongsurawat, 273, 307n3
Wat Prayoon (Wat Prayurawongsawat), Bang- women: listening audience, female, 6–7, 260,
kok, 44, 64, 65, 77, 281n24 264; portrayal of, 260–66, 307n33; temple
Wat Raatbamrung, Bangkok, 281n22 restrictions on, 7; Vessantara gives away
Wat Saam Phrayaa, Bangkok, 255 his wife and children, 3, 4, 5–7, 22–23, 101,
Wat Saket, Bangkok, 116, 222, 301n9 261, 271
Wat Samien Nari, Bangkok, 65, 255, 306n24 wongkot. See mazes
Wat Sangkrajai, Bangkok, 51, 58 Wyatt, David, 226–28, 281n23
Wat Sanuan Wari, Khon Kaen, 117
Wat Songtham, Samutprakarn, 245 Xieng Mieng. See Siang Miang
Wat Sophanaram, Chiang Mai, 9, 125–26, 289n5
Wat Sri Sanphet, Ayutthaya, 42 Yasothon, 112
Wat Supat, Ubon, 110, 222–23, 224–25 Young, Ernest, 30, 40, 48, 49, 57, 76
Wat Suthat, Bangkok, 62, 77, 211, 254, 301n9
Wat Suwannaram, Thonburi, 62, 64–66, 77, 209 Zimmerman, Carle, 178
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