South East Asia Research

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‘Sao Hai’: the city pillar, the crying tree trunk, the goddess shrine, and contradictions in the sacralization of nature

Phacharawan Boonpromkul

To cite this article: Phacharawan Boonpromkul (2019): ‘Sao Hai’: the city pillar, the crying tree trunk, the goddess shrine, and contradictions in the sacralization of nature, South East Asia Research, DOI: 10.1080/0967828X.2019.1673607 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/0967828X.2019.1673607

Published online: 21 Oct 2019.

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Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rsou20 SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH https://doi.org/10.1080/0967828X.2019.1673607

‘Sao Hai’: the city pillar, the crying tree trunk, the goddess shrine, and contradictions in the sacralization of nature Phacharawan Boonpromkul Department of English Language and Literature, Faculty of Liberal Arts, Thammasat University, Bangkok, Thailand

ABSTRACT KEYWORDS ‘Sao Hai’ (2003) is a short story by the renowned Thai author Daen- Sao Hai; Daen-aran aran Saengthong that retells the myth of the crying pillar, a female Saengthong; the crying pillar; spirit believed to have dwelt in an ironwood for a millennium before Thai Ecocriticism; tree spirits the tree was hewn down and transported to the capital, Bangkok, to serve as the city pillar in 1782. Transforming this oral, provincial tale into a literary text, Daen-aran adds depth to the myth of Sao Hai by personating the compelling figure of this grieving goddess, now a sacred tree trunk worshipped by locals in Saraburi province. Noting the absence of any ecological agenda in either of the versions of the Sao Hai story, this research paper critiques the socio-political and environmental implications of the quest for the city pillar. Its central argument concerns the inseparable contradictions that lie between the sacralization of nature and the dominant royalist-nationalistic discourse in Thai literature and culture. The paper further enquires into the acts of transformation – materially that of the tree and aesthetically that of the story – in relation to environmental conservation at large. At the same time, questions are raised regarding the author’s representation of the non-human and the story’s prevailing note of loss.

‘Sao Hai’ (2003) by Daen-aran Saengthong1 (real name Saneh Sangsuk) is a revision of the myth of the same name and tells of a female spirit who lived in an ironwood2 for a mil- lennium, before the tree was hewn down and transported to serve as the city pillar in the founding of the new capital of Bangkok in 1782. This story has elements that might gen- erate ecological consciousness because it deals with a natural entity as an object of deep respect, and because it seems to raise awareness about the fragility or loss of nature.3 Also, the key protagonist is a non-human being, which may help readers develop an

CONTACT Phacharawan Boonpromkul [email protected] 1Daen-aran Saengthong is an internationally recognized contemporary author who won the South East Asian Writer Award (SEA Write Award) for his short story collection Venom and Other Stories (อสรพิษและเรื่องอื่นๆ) in 2014. His earlier novel White Shadow (เงาสีขาว) (1993) was translated into French, English, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese, and has sold more than 100,000 copies in Europe. The novel resulted in Daen-aran being awarded a medal of the Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres in France in 2001 (‘The French Legion of Honour’ 2008). 2Ironwood (Hopea odorata) is a large hardwood tree found in tropical rainforests in South East Asia and South Asia. It can grow up to forty meters and is often believed to house female spirits 3In recent academic debates, the word ‘nature’ has been laden with implications and its definition has been much ques- tioned as the nature/culture distinction has eroded (See McKibben 1989; Descola 2005; Clark 2011). Here this word is used in a traditional sense of a physical world or a material universe existing and operating largely apart from human control, though, as this article will show, incessantly subjected to human physical intervention and cultural imposition. © 2019 SOAS University of London 2 P. BOONPROMKUL ecocentric mindset. However, from the author’s ‘Afterword’ and his subsequent inter- views, there is no mention of any concern or purpose of writing in connection with environmental thinking or conservation. The same goes for critical studies of this short story. In the article ‘Re-narrating a local myth, reproducing the Thai “royalist-nationalist” narrative: “The Myth of Sao Hai” by Daen-arun Saengthong’, the only academic study of this short story to date, Wanrug Suwanwattana (2015) focuses on the disruptive quality of this myth against the mainstream narrative and on the tension between local history and royalist-nationalist history, without any mention of the female spirit in relation to the physical or natural world. The major task of this research paper, therefore, is to argue how the two key issues in this story, i.e. the concept of the city pillar and the sacrality of nature, present problematic political and environmental implications in the context of Thailand. In the last section, the paper also investigates the current situation and the alleged power of this ironwood as an object of worship, and evaluates the potential of this short story as a piece of Thai environmental literature. The following is a synopsis of Daen-aran’s ‘Sao Hai’. The story begins with the unnamed narrator’s plea to the reader.

I would like all of you to walk and converse quietly, and to remain solemn. All you honour- able people, I would like to plead that you calm your mind just as if you were standing right in the face of the greatest of the mighty sovereigns, glorious and magnificent with miraculous powers. I would plead that you remove your hat and shoes, fold up your umbrella. Bow down and light some incense sticks and candles. Then place flowers in the vase and prostrate three times in front of this humble and strange altar … upon which lies not a Buddha image, nor sculptures of gods or heroes, nor any fantastical beasts from fairy tales. Instead it is a piece of wood, the girth of which can be embraced by only one person. Approximately twenty metres in length, it is round, smooth, and tapering perfectly as if sculptured by the most distinguished artist. Wholly gilded so that it shines brightly, the wood is the abode of one of the most divine spirits in the universe. (Daen-aran 2014, 155–56, my translation4) The narrator continues with the legend of this female spirit, known as Nang Takhian (the ironwood lady: นางตะเคียน)orMae Nang (the maiden: แมนาง). Having lived for a millennium, this nameless deity is perennially youthful and exceptionally beautiful. Her residence is no other than the one-thousand-year-old grand ironwood (Hopea odorata: ตะเคียน), located in the virgin forest just above the Pasak River. It is a lofty and beauteous tree, and the lady – holding a queen-like position over all the nymphs – has always been proud of it. Occasionally some mortals come across this tree and build a small shrine, lying prostrate and imploring her to leave the tree for they would cut it down to serve as the main pillar for a lord’s house, the hull of a racing boat, or the funeral pyre for some chiefs or rulers. She never consents; if those men make any attempt to fell it, they would be driven away by her life-threatening, supernatural force. Being clairvoyant and having lived for so long, the spirit witnesses countless heroic deeds and the rises and falls of Siamese kingdoms, as well as the complete destruction of the capital of Ayutthaya. That last incident fills her with such grief that the tree’s formidable trunk bends down and convulses in pain, soaked throughout with blood-red resin, its green foliage turning scarlet. Beside the miserable trunk stands the devastated spirit, now emaciated and pale. Her hair is dishevelled, tears roll down her cheeks, and the forest echoes with the sound of her weeping.

4As the short story has not been translated into English, all extracts from the text are my own translation. SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 3

In the year 1782,5 a public notice is promulgated to all provinces that King Rama I is plan- ning to establish a new capital city and seeking the finest of all woods to serve as the city pillar in Bangkok. An old hunter, widely experienced through years of roaming in forests, realizes that the most excellent tree is this ironwood. After weeks of searching and tracking, the woodsman finds the tree still devastated but with the same superb beauty. Once a fine shrine is built and delicate oblations are offered, he begins an impassioned supplication to the spirit, recounting his honest determination to requite the kindness of the homeland and her chance to contribute to the foundation of the new kingdom. Nang Takhian envi- sages a grand vision of the new capital and consents; so the men quickly strike down her corporeal body. Once she’s turned into a log, a raft is made to carry her downstream to the city. People along the river are awed by her beauty and press their palms together to show respect and praise her. But alas, as the raft enters Saraburi province, the news reaches the team that it is too late since the state has already chosen the city pillar. The spirit, disappointed and aggrieved beyond consolation, performs a magical feat by floating upstream and finally sinks in the Pasak River. From then on, on some moonlit nights people witness the floating tree trunk circling in the stream, accompanied by the apparition of a sad lady sitting on the wood and the most anguished, unceasing cry, so much that the district becomes known as Sao-Hai (the crying pillar: เสาไห). More than a century afterwards, the day comes when the tree trunk is retrieved and placed on an altar in a temple. The spirit, totally yielding, is invited to dwell in a shrine nearby. The tree trunk is now revered by villagers and visitors who travel near and far to pay respect to her. Although it is incredible, Daen-aran’s story is not inconceivable to many Thai people who are already familiar with mysterious tales and especially with the myth of Sao Hai that inspired the young Daen-aran in the 1960s.6 Moreover, readers or audiences of this tale are not likely to perceive it as a wondrous story about nature or the environment. In fact, neither the earlier versions of the Sao Hai legend nor Daen-aran’s story puts forward any ecological agenda, since they seem more concerned with the haunting mystique of the Nang Takhian spirit. As an ecocritic, however, I find this literary work packed with issues most relevant to literary environmental studies, such as tree-deity worship, logging, the gendering of nature, representations of non-humans and conservation. This research paper will focus on these issues divided into three key topics: the significance of the city pillar in relation to the logic of dominion, the contradictions in the sacralization of nature, and the transformation of the myth of Sao Hai and its implications.

The quest for the city pillar The pamphlet History of the Crying Pillar (ประวัติเสารองไห7 )(1999) chronicles three versions of the origin of the Sao Hai pillar. They differ in the manner of how the ironwood is cut, by whom, and the manner it falls into the river (1–4). The shared element in all the versions, other than the crying noise heard by many people, is the fact that this tree is cut down and

5The year 1782 was the beginning of the Rattanakosin Kingdom and the start of Chakri Dynasty, which is the present dynasty of Thailand. 6In his ‘Afterword’ (2014), Daen-aran confesses to have forgotten the exact month and year of writing this story. What he still remembers is that he came to know it when he was merely seven or eight years old, living in the remote countryside in Petchburi province. Listening to an AM radio station at night, he heard the myth of Sao Hai for the first time. It frigh- tened and possessed him, and has haunted him until he grew up and had a chance to put the story into words (173–174). 7The pamphlet is available at Wat Soong, the temple where this sacred ironwood is now enshrined. 4 P. BOONPROMKUL rafted to Bangkok to be part of a selection process: one myth says it is for the construction of a palace at the start of the Rattanakosin Kingdom, but the other two and Daen-aran’s story say it is for the city pillar. In the latter case, the appropriation of this tree trunk is normalized or even expected as the need for the city pillar supersedes the value of a tree. Reading Daen-aran’s short story against the historical accounts about the city pillar, I would argue, can give us a rare glimpse of the story’s ecological potential and the power struggle presented in the act of the finding that one best wood. This is not a matter of an individual getting some timbers to build a house; the quest for the city pillar is charged with socio-political implications. According to Krasaesin Chantish (1982), researcher and author of City Pillar (พระ หลักเมือง), which is a comprehensive, historical text, city pillars can be made of either stone or wood. The practice of installing them derived from Brahmanic customs in India and has been a royal tradition as a morale-builder for the public and a symbol of blessings to the community (n.p.).8 This fact is illustrated in Daen-aran’s story.

When the zodiac year of Tiger, 1782, arrives, a public notice is issued from the centre to all the counties and sub-districts in its bounds that King Rama I is now considering a plan to build a new capital city for the goodness and dignity of the nation, seeing that the Thai race has been much shaken, disorganized and dispersed everywhere without unity. Houses and farms are deserted. People are hungry and disheartened. Thieves gang up and frequently plunder villagers. The weather itself only conspires to worsen the situation. Drought abnor- mally lasts until October; the freezing cold prolongs itself until June; cholera epidemic hovers as if malignantly planning to bring further havoc. Ayutthaya was only recently burnt to dust like a foundered vessel, irrevocably lost. Thonburi city? It suffered a disastrous ruin after only a short while as a capital. Thus the King perceives that it is high time we speedily build a new city. If any of our good subjects find exceptional pieces of wood, with all the desirable charac- teristics, quickly chop them down and deliver them to Bangkok to serve as the city pillar. (Daen-aran 2014, 164) Daen-aran’s account reaffirms Chantish’s point that a city pillar is there primarily to raise the countrymen’s spirits after the loss of the previous capitals. One of the first things King Rama I did after he moved the capital from Thonburi to Bangkok was to establish a city pillar.

To establish a city without a finite marker means that there can be no feeling of certainty and people might think the city will perhaps be changed or relocated. A city pillar, once erected, will assure everyone of the country’s strength and stability. (Chantish 1982, n.p.) Besides restoring people’s morale, a city pillar can amplify the sacredness of the central administration through the majestic grandeur of the rituals, especially the horrific myths of the sacrifice of heavily pregnant women, which is still widely believed among Thai people.9 Politically speaking, the basic concept and process of the search for a city

8The ritual is very old, probably since the Sukhothai and throughout the Ayutthaya and Thonburi kingdoms, although evi- dence can be found only from Ayutthaya onwards. The present City Pillar Shrine, located just across from the Grand Palace in Bangkok, remains an important place of worship in the heart of the city (Chantish 1982, n.p.). 9Although it is by no means certain that people were killed during the establishment of a town pillar in the Ayutthaya period, there seems to be little doubt that at the beginning of the seventeenth century such practices were common in the establishment of town fortifications. In ‘Description of the Kingdom of Siam’, Jeremias van Vliet, who was in charge of the Dutch East India Company’soffice in Ayutthaya from 1629 to 1634, describes ‘the general custom of impal- ing pregnant women under the posts which support fortifications … for the spirits of pregnant women who died would make ferociously supernatural agents, a belief that is still strong today’ (qtd in Terwiel 1971, 160–161). On the contrary, Chantish (1982) rejects accounts of human sacrifice as only ‘fantastic and malicious novels’ written by some foreigners SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 5 pillar in the myth of Sao Hai show the central administration’s control over the lesser towns at the time.10 From the situation described in the story, the urgent need to make firm the new capital is intensified by serious public disorders and environmental pressures which are believed to be caused by social and political instabilities. As a result, quests must be undertaken thoroughly in all big and small districts, and each village must be eager to contribute to the establishment of the new kingdom. In Daen-aran’s story this involves many important agents, like the able hunter who has to seek approval from the village headman for a team of assistants, equipment, and seven hauling elephants assigned to deliver the goods. In reality this would have certainly resulted in terrible public ordeals and in a number of the best trees felled in order to found a city, the literal pillar of a nation. The acquisition of the best piece of wood from within the boundary of the new kingdom reflects the concept of levy or tributary states, so the call for the city pillar is a manifestation of central power and the integration of lesser towns into the Thai polity. Appended to such a call is the assumption – if not the assertion – of the priority of culture in the centre over the natural landscape in the periphery. In this way, the quest for the city pillar depends not only on transforming and controlling non-human others, which in this case are countless tree trunks, but also epitomizes the complex logic of dominion between dichotomies of culture–nature, subjects–sovereigns, and centre–per- iphery. This is not a case of single binary separation between nature and culture, which many thinkers believe lies in the heart of environmental destruction,11 but a case of inter- woven or imbricating dualisms that are subtly justified in a simplistic method of getting the best piece of wood for the public weal. At the heart of the act was the necessity of King Rama I to generate his legitimacy as the divine head of state and the security of the new capital in an entirely new location from the Thonburi regime.12 In this process, nature as a lifeless resource is not only separate from the human but placed lowest in the great chain of being. Naturally, the tree must be supplied as a gesture of submission by the provincial states and seized as an exercise of power by the central authority. In the official record of the event concerning the city pillar in 1782, the part about the request for the timbers to be chosen from all parts of the country is not mentioned.

The city pillar is Java Cassia wood (Cassia javanica: ชัยพฤกษ) approximately 108 in. high and 29.5 in. in diameter, supported by a 69.5-inch-wide pedestal. The top of the pillar is carved into a lotus shape, containing the horoscopic chart of the Rattanakosin City. (Chantish 1982, 18)

who ‘cherished this kind of story’ and ‘wished to portray Siam as a backward and savage country’. In fact, the establish- ment of city pillars, city gates, and palaces are naturally of propitious and sacred causes, so there can never be such horrific, brutal, or inauspicious practices involved (n.p.). 10Wijeyewardene (1986) suggests that the city pillar is a symbol of political power and there is an association between ritual and political authority in the establishment of lak mueang (myang) [the city pillar], which might be seen as a fertility symbol and potentially phallic. Citing Richard Davis, Wijeyewardene says that ‘lak myang proliferated whenever centra- lized authority is weak – it was associated with any claim to political control of a myang [town/state]’ (78). 11In ‘Nature, Post Nature’ Clark (2014) explains how such diverse thinkers as Val Plumwood, Arne Naess, Max Oelschlaeger, Carolyn Merchant and Lewis Mumford believe that ‘the ultimate source of humanity’s destructive relation to the natural world is dualism – the assumption that humans and nature are quite separate, that the human is radically divided in kind from the rest of creation’ (77). 12The relationship between the dominant monarchical authority and the city pillars remains strong even today. In fact, the erection of city pillars became an official policy in 1992, when ‘the Interior Ministry issued an order to provincial governors to make sure every province has its own city pillar’ (Mekloy, qtd in Cohen 2012, 8). Many of these new city pillars were anointed by the king or other royal family members, with elaborate rituals, adding to the sacrality of the pillars and sub- sumption of these provincial capitals under central authority, with the monarchy as the spiritual centre. 6 P. BOONPROMKUL

There are detailed descriptions of the rituals, the number of brahmins and monks who presided in the ceremony, the chants inviting angels to descend to the shrine, and a long list of sacred objects for each of the procedures. The origin of this particular column, how and when it arrived in Bangkok, or the effort and number of trees involved in the selection process, are wholly omitted. Daen-aran’s story of Sao Hai, therefore, reveals a possible story behind the object of great importance to the national foundation and of great respect to the citizens then and now. Since even the story of the chosen tree trunk is unrecorded – but portrayed as if miraculously given – the story of the unregistered ironwood that is home to the Sao Hai spirit, merely one trunk among probably a hundred others which are equally and totally absent in the state records, calls attention to the silenced sacrifice of the non-humans that must be made in order for the city, the prime symbol of culture and civilization, to be founded. What makes Daen-aran’s version stand out among the earlier myths is that it seems to highlight injustice in this affair through the piteous turn of the whole event. Once the Takhian spirit hears the old woodsman’s talk about ‘the obligation to the land’ and about ‘joining hands to build the glorious new nation’, she contemplates this.

Well, I myself have always wished to return my gratitude to the country. What a luck that the old hunter has undertaken the difficulty and sought me out! How could I neglect this call? Then she is mesmerized by her own fantasies, and gets carried away by them. Really, they are preparing to build a new capital again! How grand and spectacular it will be! What mag- nificence and beauty! She envisions the vast city, filled with herds of gigantic elephants, bril- liant temples and palaces. Khmers, Laotians, and Annamese will be so awed and afraid. The contemptible Burmese would be consumed with envy and puzzlement. Look at them! Look at those Thais! How truly industrious and patriotic! Crushed to dust for an instant and now standing strong again! Would they create another Ayutthaya in Bangkok? City, temples, forts – all so promptly erected and dazzling. (Daen-aran 2014, 166–167) However, when Nang Takhian hears that the chief artist in the capital has already selected a city pillar, and that the transportation of all other trunks should cease, she feels dizzy:

But isn’t this golden ironwood the most gorgeous in the country? Why didn’t the chief artist stay and see for himself first? Oh, the poor hunter and his helpers! Missing their meals and sleep to deliver me, all with the sweetest dream of success. Oh, those seven poor elephants! Labouring hard to pull me out of the deep forest, growing thin from ceaseless work and cut all over by spines and thorns. Oh, poor me! Giving up my body and soul for the good of the nation, holding on but to the wish that I can never realise. She is racked with suffering, as if her chest is being shattered into a thousand pieces. So all these pains are to end in vain? But who am I to blame? And what am I going to do now? I cannot return. Neither can I go on. She never ceases moaning, and then weeping, not knowing where to confide her misery. (Daen-aran 2014, 169) Through this passage, Daen-aran allows the spirit to voice her feelings, which serves as an oblique criticism of the unjust process and the whole enterprise of the city pillar’s quest. This is not found in the earlier folk versions of the Sao Hai myth published in the pamph- let History of the Crying Pillar; there is no mention of the cutting of the wood or the trans- portation, and no question at all about the cost of felling this tree. In contrast, Daen-aran’s short story reveals a horrible case of exploitation conducted by inconsiderate people – individuals and the state – wasting time, energy and resources, all for one tree trunk pur- ported to create social and political stability for the nation. Arguably, such waste could SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 7 literally help promote the utmost gravity of nation-building as well as wealth and power of the monarch, just as it could indefinitely impoverish everyone else. Before now, this tree spirit was regarded as powerful as a sacred spirit. Being felled, she is turned from a non- human into a non-living entity. Here her thwarted hope, together with the hope of the various agents who have mobilized and supported her, reflects the periphery’s absolute powerlessness. The capital city alone possesses the power to choose, judge and reject can- didates from around the country; and regions closer to the city naturally have a better chance of reaching the city sooner and getting selected. At the same time, the elimination of Nang Takhian, one such object of sacrifice, is also symbolically adding to the power of the centre. The state has managed to indirectly destroy possible sources or representations of power in the rural areas beyond its physical reach, i.e. the dispersing, uncontrollable spirit worship that would dilute people’s interest and respect from the centre. From now on the core of worship will focus solely on the higher power and the highest spirit, which is of the city pillar in Bangkok.13 The discussion of spiritual power, either of the city pillar or of Nang Takhian, necessi- tates an examination of the root of Thai people’s belief in inanimate beings. Since animism in Thailand has been one of the most thoroughly researched subjects in anthropology and literary studies, my discussion will deal with spirit worship and tree divinity as related to ecocritical concepts and as reflected in this particular short story. Although the intrinsic and magical power of this ironwood relies on the anthropomorphic traditions commonly found in cross-cultural folk narratives, I would argue that Daen-aran’s narrative goes beyond the usual cultural belief in the supernatural power of nature. In fact, his manipu- lation and exaggeration of the sacred agency in this tree render the non-human’s sacrality more problematic as far as environmentalists and conservationists are concerned. This will be discussed in the next section.

Contradictions in the sacralization of nature In contrast to the three legends in History of the Crying Pillar (1999), which are much shorter and narrated from the third-person limited point of view, Daen-aran’s short story is told by a first-person omniscient narrator who introduces the story and does not appear again until the very end. Attention is given to the previously untold life of Nang Takhian and many parts are told from the perspective of the tree spirit herself in the mode of free indirect speech. So the story shows the author’s attempt to imagine the life of the non-human and endow subjectivity to the plant. Compared with the three older versions, ‘Sao Hai’ more clearly reflects Thai traditional beliefs in tree spirits or tree deities, which, according to Thai folklorist Boonyong Ketthet (2007), abound in natural elements. They can be benevolent or malevolent, stationary or wandering. Apart from ghosts of ancestors who look after the family and ghosts of heroes who have performed honourable deeds in life and are worshipped widely after death, ghosts also reside in nature: mountains, cliffs, forests, streams, unoccupied lands etc. These ghosts are often called chao (gods, angels: เจา)ormae (mothers: แม). They are the ones

13This goes for the political administration level as well as the supernatural. In Chalardchai Ramitanont’s 2002 study of phi chao-nai (a higher level of spirits guarding a village or a city: ผีเจ้านาย), one spirit medium claims that the spirits guarding each region convened on every Buddhist holy day to discuss the management and appropriate, or inappropriate, beha- viours of each other, then to report it to the greatest spirit of the country, the city pillar spirit in Bangkok (37, 81). 8 P. BOONPROMKUL who look after the natural spaces or materials they dwell in. Anyone who disrespectfully misuses nature or challenges the power of these spirits can expect disastrous consequences. So villagers always propitiate the gods with offerings or perform certain rituals to inform them – even to ask permission from them – before utilizing any resources in the wild (7–8). This world view is by no means specific to Thai culture. On pagan animism in the West, Lynn White Jr. (1967) writes, ‘In Antiquity every tree, every spring, every stream, every hill had its own genius loci, its guardian spirit … Before one cut a tree, mined a mountain, or dammed a brook, it was important to placate the spirit in charge of that particular situ- ation, and to keep it placated’ (10). As Anderson (1972) states regarding the concept of power in Javanese thought, ‘Power is that intangible, mysterious, and divine energy which animates the universe. It is manifested in every aspect of the natural world, in stones, trees, clouds, and fire’ (7). In Thailand, the concept of tree spirits is strongly embedded in people’s faith. For instance, Gehan Wijeyewardene (1986) notes that

Buddhism remains animistic in the sense that merit making is generally understood as a mechanism to ensure safety and auspiciousness … To most Thai, merit is a way to be safe in a world that is overlaid with power, and their use and understanding of Buddhism can best be characterized as ‘Buddhist Animism’. (20) Andrew Walker (2012), likewise, states that Thai society has ‘pervasive enchantment with the supernatural’, and ‘spirits are concentrated nodes of the generalized and intangi- ble forces that run throughout the cosmos. More specifically, they are coagulations of the forces of nature – it is no accident that many spirits are associated with large trees’ (25). Sponsel and Natadecha-Sponsel (2001) also echo common people’s belief that

tree is the residence of spirit, usually from a deceased person. Generally such sacred trees are respected to the extent that they are protected. Anyone who harms such a tree might experi- ence misfortune, sickness, or even death as the spirit takes revenge. (364) Despite scholars’ agreement on people’s belief in lively, forceful spirits in nature, the exact nature of their power is still largely elusive. In Daen-aran’s ‘Sao Hai’, the idea of tree deities as guardian spirits is presented. The narrator describes not only the thoughts and feelings of Nang Takhian but also the sur- rounding areas under the care of this special tree, together with people’s reverence and rituals performed by those who want to cut it down. Here the power of Nang Takhian is revealed in quite an original way through Daen-aran’s description of the tree spirit and the ironwood:

Since long ago, this spirit has always possessed the most brilliant feminine appearance, the most celestial beauty. She is a lady without a name. Because of her miraculous powers and merits, she retains her eternal youth and remains the most wondrous and lissom maiden despite having lived for ten centuries. Her hair is long, jet-black, shiny and fine like cormor- ant’s feather. Large bright fawn-like eyes. Brows curved to the form of the cupid’s bows. Lips as red as roses. Pearl-white teeth and conch-shaped ears. Arms slim and elegant as sugarcane stalks. Legs smooth and long as banana’s stems in the green emerald of the mythical Hima- vanta forest …

[As for the plant, it is] a dazzling golden ironwood which is one thousand years old, extre- mely tall and imposing in the jungle above the Pasak River. The trunk is clean, smooth and round, spreading out in a dense green canopy at the top, gradually spanning like the royal SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 9

tiered umbrella … On some elevated branches are giant honey bees busily building their nests. Peacocks, too, frequent this spot and make it their nests, showing off their bright plumes in their courting dance and making loud piercing calls that echo through the forest. The trunk is bedecked with wild orchids, the ground with green grass and flowers of several colours, filling the air with fragrance. At this place, deer often come for a pleasant stroll and graze … but tigers and other vile cats never once approach or range close by. At this place, winged creatures with beautiful plumage and sweet songs and that feed on seeds and fruit find their pleasant refuge and chirp delightfully; but those dark birds of prey with hoarse, sinister cries that live off other creatures or carrion never once glide near. (Daen-aran 2014, 156–157) While it remains doubtful how Nang Takhian possesses any physical or supernatural force to protect her from those who would like to fell her residence, her power is mani- fested in the keeping of virtue and peace in her locality. This is one element that brings her to the higher position as a spirit14 and adds significantly to her barami,15 ‘the charis- matic power possessed by morally upright, righteous people’ (Jackson 2009, 363). Nang Takhian’s barami is accumulated and retained by a long period of moral rectitude and detachment from outside corruption; it results in a highly cultured space in this jungle, as opposed to the common perception of the forest as a wild, violent territory. Far from being rough and dangerous, the barami of Nang Takhian generates an aesthetically refined and peaceful community, free from wars or the civil strife of several human king- doms mentioned in the story. If power denotes the ability to rule and maintain order, then Nang Takhian clearly has it in a purely gracious and benevolent manner. In any case, the image of such a tree spirit that attracts only pleasant and polite creatures is unprecedented in traditional Thai literature and folk beliefs, which more frequently emphasize the spirit’s relationship with humans rather than with other spirits, animals or plants. Daen-aran’s unique representation of Nang Takhian, therefore, elevates and distinguishes her from common or low, wandering ghosts that relish haunting people, and makes her all the more noble and her ruin all the more devastating. Despite its originality and its literary function within in the story, there are at least two fundamental problems with Daen-aran’s depiction of the non-human and the concept of tree spirits in question: the first concerns anthropomorphism; and the second, the relationship between spirituality and ecofeminism. From her physical description, the beauty of Nang Takhian is portrayed through the extended metaphors in a traditional mode, fragmented and exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Her underlined physical beauty is supposed to parallel the idealized landscape, the mythical Himavanta (หิมพานต). The jungle she lives in reads not at all like the real forest above the Pasak River, but as a romanticized ecotopia where beasts and plants coexist without competition or predation. So, instead of reflecting a realistic terrestrial ecosys- tem that could serve to build awareness of connectivity or interdependency in nature,

14Phraya Anuman Rajadhon explains the spirit-world hierarchy that involves a class system similar to that of the mortal world. When laypeople die, their spirits become lay spirits; some are bullying ones that frighten living people. On the contrary, eminent people or village headmen, once dead, become more powerful guardian spirits of the city and scare people all the more. That is because although they are not normally aggressive or malignant, they can be irascible with people’s insolence and absence of offerings (qtd in Smutkupt 1996, 82). 15According to Jackson (2009), barami differs from the other two forms of power in Thailand: from amnat or ‘raw, amoral power that may be used for either good or evil which is accumulated and maintained by sheer force,’ and from saksit which denotes ‘the magico-divine power possessed by holy objects, spirits, and human being linked to ritual authority’ (363). 10 P. BOONPROMKUL the grandiloquent descriptions of the Sao Hai spirit and the ironwood mark the hier- archical relationship between the spiritual sublimity of Nang Takhian and other lesser creatures. As such a depiction emphasizes the unearthly nobility of this tree and anthropomorphic sentimentality, it raises a dubious association between the beautiful tree spirit and the pleasant natural landscape, complete with peace, harmony and moral integrity, all of which do not exist in any of the earlier versions of the Sao Hai legend nor in any real physical environments. Due to the heavily gendered terms used with this particular tree spirit, ecocritics who are particularly concerned with the relationship between female oppression and environ- mental exploitation are likely to point out the possible identification of the Sao Hai spirit with Mother Nature or the earth goddess.16 This strand of interpretation is all the more compelling thanks to the lengthy description of her feminine beauty and the pangs of pain she suffers when felled and snedded, described as a woman in labour. The female tree deity is also juxtaposed with the crew of male human characters in this short story: kings who engage in heroic fights for the nation, the old hunter and common men braving dangers in the jungle to ravish her – the single feminine beauty in the heart of the wilderness, mysterious and alluring, waiting passively to be sought out. Daen-aran’s focus on the spiritual dimension of this ironwood only increases the reader’s inclination to seek explanation through ecofeminist arguments which are predicated on a series of binary oppositions, such as culture–nature, male–female, reason–emotion, intellect–spiri- tuality, etc. For example, according to radical ecofeminists or ‘motherhood environmen- talists’, women are perceived as being closer to nature than men17 through biological experience, i.e. menstruation, gestation, childbirth or nurturing, and through social experi- ence, i.e. their being subordinate to men, subject to childrearing and being confined in domestic sphere (‘ecology’ being from the Greek ‘science of the household’) (Clark 2011, 118; Garrard 2012,26–29). The alignment of nature and women has been attractive to many ecofeminists and nature spiritualists. In Sao Hai’s case this strand of argument is relevant as the short story deals with the subjugation of nature, significantly represented as female, and the sacred or supernatural elements most favoured by radical ecofeminists. This can be seen in a number of activities, movements and rituals performed to connect believers’ spirit with nature. For instance, Mallory (2010) contends that political protests, such as women’s and transgender forest activism in the US Pacific Northwest, can be

motivated by a deeply held belief in the sacredness of wild nature – when sacred places are threatened, the proper response for one whose own personal sense of spirituality and contact with the ineffable is entwined with contact with a living and enchanted nature is to defend such sacrality. (55)

16Citing Sibendu Manna (1993), Thanya Sungkhapantanont (2013b) explains that the notion of the earth goddesses has existed in many societies from the prehistoric period. South East Asians derived the idea of Mother Earth under the name of Bhumi Devi (ภูมิเทวี/นางธรณี) from Hinduism; while in Buddhism, there is also an account of the Earth Lady (นางธรณี) who helps the Lord Buddha to triumph in the battle against Mara or the demon. These female spirits have been central in the cosmology of several agrarian societies around the world (69–71, 74). 17This is by no means what many contemporary ecofeminists would advocate, especially those who are more critical to the feminine essence based on biological sex (Garrard 2012, 27). In fact, the relationships between women and environment have been discussed many other ways. For example, Carolyn Merchant (2005) suggests with various examples that women play an essential role in conservation (218), while Richard Kerridge (2006) notes that many feminist environ- mental justice campaigners, such as Vandana Shiva, are more interested in the fact that women and children are dispro- portionately vulnerable to environmental hazards (538). SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 11

Nevertheless, this line of thought, once pursued, exposes the problematic inter- relation between spirituality and radical ecofeminism. Focusing on the ‘celebration of goddess spirituality’, ecofeminists are roundly criticized as ‘essentialist, ethnocentric, anti-intellectual goddess worshippers who mistakenly portray the Earth as female or issue totalizing and ahistorical mandates for worldwide veganism’ (Gaard 2011), despite their attempt to repudiate these claims by citing practical environmental move- ments organized by women (Merchant 2005, 125; Mallory 2010, 49). Daen-aran’s short story must fall under the same criticism. Readers can observe the profound – even preternatural – relationship between nature and female, both of which are sacred, divine and intuitive. It is an alignment that is both dualistic and essentialist. Nang Takhian’s portrayal as having ‘the most brilliant feminine appearance, the most celes- tial beauty’ (2014, 156) reiterates the supreme value of femininity in physical beauty, which makes her all the more desirable to the male actors in this story. Even as the short story celebrates the greatness of a female spirit, the fact that she is depicted as a beautiful and unsophisticated maiden against the wily male humans does little to empower women or generate positive ideas about forests. In fact, the oversimplified and overgeneralized belief grounded on sentimentalism and dualisms only turn one further away from understanding the complexity of recent environmental problems. Beyond that, contrary to what Mallory (2010) says about sacred places – that when threatened, people will naturally be bound ‘to defend such sacrality’–the myth of Sao Hai shows that it is sacrality itself that attracts hunters and destroyers. Looking closer, the Thai concept of the tree deity or spiritual guardians of nature, in this case of the Sao Hai tree, does not fit neatly into the category of the Western genius loci or the protector of forests. In subtle ways, as it is insinuated in this short story, the sacralization of nature is inseparable from the domination of the greatest institutions in Thai culture: that is of Nation, Religion, and Monarchy. So far the quixotic depiction of Nang Takhian and the essentialist identification of this spirit as a pathetic female victim have created gender and spiritual contestation beyond a sense of connection with the earth or a desire to protect a sacred tree. One more contradiction in the sacralization of nature remains in the problematic concept of the tree deity which is inextricable from the dominant royalist-nationalist discourse in Thai literature and culture. There are, for example, ideas about certain species of trees being sacred, magical, or prestigious, so that they are planted in private properties or worshipped in public spaces (see Figure 1). Unsurprisingly, Java Cassia (Cassia javanica), the material for the current city pillar of Thailand, fea- tures among the nine auspicious trees commonly selected for residential construction and various rituals (‘Nine Auspicious Trees’ 2010). The prioritization of certain specific plants can be attributed to their physical features or for totally different reasons,18 like names, religious beliefs, or even the flower’s colour that matches the sovereign’s birthday.19

18Morrow (2011) explains that most spirit trees are notable for being large, old, or unique in the area. There are stories of trees that appear to bleed, grow and avoid lightning strikes. Bodhi (Ficus religiosa: โพธิ์), for instance, is deemed sacred in Buddhist belief and is often found in the courtyards of temples. Even when the traditionally taboo trees are cut down for firewood due to bad economic times, Bodhi trees will remain unharmed (54). 19For example, the durable and fine qualities of teak (Tectona grandis: สัก) and Siamese rosewood (Dalbergia cochinch- inensis: พะยูง) turn them into highly valued species that fetch very good prices in the market so that they are subject to serious illegal logging. Some trees are chosen for the names that pun with positive words, i.e. jackfruit (Artocarpus 12 P. BOONPROMKUL

Figure 1. Two sacred Bodhi trees at Talad Noi, an old district in central Bangkok: the colourful gauzes indicate that the trees are old and sacred. Author’s photo.

The tree in the Sao Hai myths, however, is not traditionally considered an auspicious tree but an ominous one. Similar to Tani banana trees (Musa Balbisiana: กลวยตานี), it is believed to be haunted.20 As these examples show, what kinds of plant species are culti- vated, used, or conserved in Thailand have just as much to do with religious and cultural beliefs as their qualities and usefulness. In many cases, such belief is associated with reli- gious-royalistic institutions and leads to species preferences and exclusive exploitation. One such example is shown in the recent funeral arrangement for His Majesty the late King Bhumibol Adulyadej. Thairath, among many other Thai daily newspapers, provided minute details of the ritual of the cutting down some kalamet trees (Mansonia gagei: ไมจันทน หอม)21 which is a rare fragrant wood in Kuiburi National Park, Prachuab-khirikhan pro- vince. At 2.09 pm, the most propitious time for the ritual according to the astrologer, twelve pieces of kalamet tree were anointed and sawn down after being struck first by a

heterophyllus: ขนุน/อุดหนุน) and legume (Erythrina variegata: ทองหลาง/ทอง). Yet, one is considered majestic in relation to the monarchy: golden rain tree (Cassia fistula linn: ราชพฤกษ์), which is a symbol of the nation and royalty because the golden rain flower matches the colour of King Rama IX’s birthday, Monday. 20The takhian tree is believed to house a female ghost, probably because it is a big, long-living tree, some of which produce blood-red oily secretions even after being cut. People do not generally fell ironwood for any housing construction, except monasteries, believing that the spirit will remain in the tree trunk and haunt residents. As for the tani banana, the belief that it is guarded by a female ghost wearing a traditional Thai costume comes from ancient folklore. This might originate from the old custom of lining coffin bases with tani banana leaves. Also, the fruit of this banana is full of seeds and unwholesome as food, so people do not plant them near their houses. 21According to the article ‘The Royal Family Tree’ (Bangkok Post 2016), in Thailand the kalamet tree is protected by the Forest Act BE 2484 (AD 1941). It is listed as a specially prohibited wood, meaning cutting or logging of the tree, even in one’s private property, is prohibited unless permission is granted by the Natural Resources and Environment Ministry. Moreover, kalamet is believed to be a royal tree, for there has been a custom that can be traced back to the Ayutthaya period. The trees were used for the construction of Phra Merumat, or the royal crematorium, the palace-like structure in which the royal urn is housed. It is also used as a material for dokmai chan, artificial flowers used in cremation rites. SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 13 golden hatchet for auspicious inauguration. Only four of these pieces of wood would be selected and handled further by the Royal Guildsman from the Fine Arts Department. After the ceremony ended, people visited the tree stumps, paid respect and made offerings to them (Thairath 2016). Despite being a protected species, the fact that the tree is sacred or auspicious justifies the conspicuous wood extraction right within the pro- tection of the national park. The event was even broadcast nationwide. The kalamet royal crematorium can be viewed as the culmination of the long history of explicit and exclusive royal control over nature, which might first start with a simple belief that certain types of trees are sacred and suitable only for the construction of temples or palaces due to their rarity and endurance. The idea is even viewed as a good measure for conservation, as expressed in Phraya Anuman Rajadhon’s words that

In the old days when certain big trees were required for the making of the traditional royal barge or posts for the tall roof of a royal pyre, an offering was made and a royal proclamation was read to the spirit before it could be cut down. This was a wise practice to preserve big trees of the forest from wanton felling by the simple folk. (qtd in Morrow 2011, 55, my emphasis) It is also unsurprising that the Thai Royal Forest Department was founded by King Rama V in 1896 ‘primarily to oversee the extraction of teak logs from Thailand’s northern forests’, suggesting the centralized control of the government, even though its role gradu- ally changed to forest protection from 1961 onwards (Forsyth and Walker 2008,7–8, 40). Thus the superfluous felling of kalamet trees, an act deemed criminal when committed by common people, becomes correct and appropriate due to an underlying idea that goes far beyond the anthropocentric impulse that lies in general resource extraction. It is essen- tially a belief in the ‘Thai king’s ownership of the trees’, a reference which is included in the proclamation made in recent tree ordination ceremonies22 (Morrow 2011, 56). As the custom has been preserved from the past and enhanced by the media in the present, it is clearly beyond doubt, and definitely above questioning due to the lèse- majesté law, that only the right species of timber, conserved and owned by and for the sake of the monarchy, will do for such an immensely sacred occasion.23 On the one hand, the felling of a rare and valuable plant such as the kalamet tree is necessary as it adds sacrosanctity to religious rituals and royalty, further enhancing grandeur and empowering the institution of the monarchy. On the other hand, the belief and practice have wholly overshadowed the plant’s intrinsic or ecological values. This should raise questions regarding the purposes of nature worship and environmental spirituality in Thai society – such as how exactly species preferences have come about; who exactly has reaped benefits from them; and whether respect for certain specific plants deemed sacred can be more inclusive and less exploitative. Due to such a strong value system that prioritizes institutions and establishments before the environment, the tragedy of Sao Hai is at best seen as an unavoidable or a natural state of affairs. The story is in fact not outstanding in this regard since there are other examples of canonical Thai literature that directly involve nature and the environment, but whose

22The tree ordination ceremony was a phenomenon started by a group of Thai conservationist-monks in 1988 to save local forests from logging. To nobody’s surprise or objection, it evolved into a popular campaign ‘Program for the Community Forest Ordination of 50 Million Trees in Honor of the King’s Golden Jubilee’ in 1997 (Morrow 2011,53–58). 23The king’s cremation, as Geertz (1980) suggests in his study of nineteenth-century Balinese state, is the ‘quintessential royal ceremony. Not only was it the most dramatic, splendid, sizable, and expensive; it was the most thoroughly dedi- cated to the aggressive assertion of status’ (117). 14 P. BOONPROMKUL ecocentric outlooks are glossed over by anthropocentric and monarchical values to the point that they become invisible. For instance, Thanya Sungkhapantanont, the author of Ecocriticism in Thai Literature (2013a), cites ‘Ayutthaya Prophetic Verse’ to show how the environmental apocalypse is attributed to a great lack in a king.24 As for Daen- aran’s story, although it is significant that the Sao Hai tree is chosen to serve as the city pillar by the decree of King Rama I, the depiction of Sao Hai spirit goes beyond the idea of sacred trees that stems from royalist discourse. In fact, Nang Takhian’s doomed decision is further reinforced by strong religious and nationalistic ideologies. After the Sao Hai spirit hears from the hunter about the plan to build a new city, she feels ‘exuberant as if being King Vessantara when encountering a chance to make a great merit’ (Daen-aran 2014, 166). The allusion to the great figure,25 whose sacrifice and virtue are unbounded and who reincarnates into the Lord Buddha according to Theravada Bud- dhism, reveals the relationship between Sao Hai’s personal sacrifice and a religious obli- gation. Furthermore, Nang Takhian is eager to serve the new-found nation as she associates herself with the entire Thai race and submits to the illusion of the nation’s glory. During a thousand years of isolated existence in the deep forest, the spirit has experi- enced ‘everything that has happened in this empire of Suwannabhumi, from the great palaces of kings and princes and in towns, down to the most humble huts of all common villagers’ (Daen-aran 2014, 158). She describes the elephant battles of the great kings of Sukhothai and Ayutthaya, as well as laypeople’s celebrations of Songkran (Thai New Year) and Loi Krathong (water lantern festival) and their death after outbreaks of diseases and drought.

She is filled with bliss when people are happy. She weeps when they suffer and cry. Those people are of the same race as hers – the young and the aged, male and female alike. They are a part of her and she is a part of them. How could it be so? When did it start? She does not know. What she knows is that it will be so forever. Her heart is so connected with them all that she cannot withdraw or regain herself. So she makes a vow in her mind, that whenever she has finished paying off the karma in this life, she would like again to be reborn as a Thai. She would again put her life in the hand of Mae Phosop – the goddess of rice, the head of all plants. She would again immerse herself in the teachings of the merciful Lord Buddha, and again speak the Thai language as spoken by a thousand generations of ancestors over aeons. (Daen-aran 2014, 161) Being divine, Nang Takhian’s omniscient knowledge and experience encompass all the human realms. Her powerful vision penetrates into human history and politics even as she dwells in a tree in the middle of the forest. Ironically, even though she could be an exceptionally worldly-wise spirit from her insight into the lives of the Thai people, from

24‘The stars and the moon are all going awry; portent accidents will occur in all quarters at once. Great clouds will become a blazing fire; abnormal catastrophes will take place everywhere … The land is parched when it is not summer; heavy squalls hit in the most improbable season; Big freeze comes suddenly and never lifts; torrential rains occur all in the wrong time. Every tree and blade of grass reflects a universal, devastating calamity’. The reason for such a turbulent climate condition, resulting in the ruin of all plants, animals, and human civilization, is that ‘the monarch does not remain firm in the ten virtues of the king’ (‘Ayutthaya Prophetic Verse’, qtd in Sungkhapantanont 2013a, 239–241, my translation). A similar idea is found in traditional Javanese kingdoms, where power is related to the ability to maintain fertility and order. The ‘signs of a lessening in the tautness of a ruler’s Power’ are seen in ‘manifestations of disorder in the natural world – floods, eruptions, and plagues – and in inappropriate modes of social behavior – theft, greed, and murder’ (Anderson 1972, 19). 25See Patrick Jory’s Thailand’s Theory of Monarchy: The Vessantara Jataka and the Idea of the Perfect Man (2016) for more information about the significant role of King Vessantara and the ideal image of the king of Thailand. SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 15 the noblest to the most plebeian, she is inexperienced and naïve against nationalist brain- washing propaganda, or, in Wanrug Suwanwattana’s term, the ‘well known master narra- tive of official Thai historiography’ (2015, 511).26 The knowledge of these nationalist and historical accounts, while rendering her a model subject and a patriotic goddess, brings about her downfall. It is important as the sole means to subjugate Nang Takhian to the central authority, in the form of the quest for a city pillar. Otherwise, her supernatural power would be too great for any mortals to interfere with her. So, being enthralled by the overpowering grand narrative – the religious iconic figure, the demand of the sover- eignty, and the indoctrinated nationalist rhetorics, this ‘great-grandma’ (Daen-aran 2014, 166), a sylvan queen and an omnipotent deity, is overcome. She is reduced to a mere tree trunk and finally displaced. Submerged and forgotten for 176 years, the day arrives when she is recovered and transformed into a shrine in Saraburi province, yet another significant turn of events and another potential site for an ecocritical reading of this short story.

The transformation of Sao Hai and its implications The legend of Sao Hai involves many stages of change. Nang Takhian starts as a powerful though somewhat misguided tree deity and ends as a powerless, grieving spirit. The fall of the tree parallels her deterioration in terms of beauty and vitality. Finally, she is no longer a living, autonomous entity but an object on the altar. Because of the fall, both of the real tree and the spirit’s status, some critics find the whole story of Sao Hai a complete defeat of Nang Takhian. To Suwanwattana and Kham Phaka (2012), for example, this local female spirit – a common, marginalized woman – tries to assert herself against the central authority and the grand narrative, holding an ambition to become the lingam in the capital. But she is turned down, thwarted, and cut off from life into the bargain (Voice TV). My reading of Daen-aran’s ‘Sao Hai’, however, focuses on the acts of trans- formations, (a) materially: that of the tree, from a living ironwood into an object of worship in a goddess shrine; and (b) aesthetically: that of the narrative, from the three local myths into a literary short story. The two modes of transference have crucial impli- cations for environmental conservation at large. As chronicled in the History of the Crying Pillar (1999), the village where this piece of ironwood sank has long been known as Sao Hai (crying pillar) because there have been reports of sighting and hearing a female spirit crying in the middle of the river. In April 1958, a number of Sao Hai villagers reported having a similar curious dream of a beautiful tree deity asking to be restored from the riverbed. A medium was presently invited, and Nang Takhian’s spirit entered her and specified the spot where the tree had sunk. Three days later the villagers, equipped with the state’s diving facilities, salvaged the tree trunk and carefully transferred it to Wat Soong, a temple nearby. The wood was

26The historical accounts elaborated in this short story are highly selective. Suwanwattana (2015) explains that ‘Nang Takhian witnesses the successive key historical events that take place under the three ancient and powerful empires believed to belong to the one and unique “Thai nation”: that of Sukhothai (1249–1438); Ayutthaya (1350–1767), with a focus on the much popularized first and second sieges of Ayudhya by the “eternal enemy”, the Burmese; and the short-lived capital of Thonburi (1767–1782) under King Taksin … [T]hese historical details narrated as major events of the spirit’s life correspond to the anecdotes and stories proposed by the master narrative of Thai historical discourse. It is a master narrative that all Thai children must learn repeatedly and memorize faithfully throughout their 12 years of studying the national curriculum … [and that] is also disseminated nowadays through modern modes of cultural reproduction such as TV dramas and films’ (511–512). 16 P. BOONPROMKUL placed horizontally on the altar, and from then on people have visited it to pay respect to the spirit and ask for good fortune (11–19). The history of the Sao Hai Shrine allows us to see the point where the myth is merged with the material being and situated in a spatial and temporal reality. The sorrowful expression that people heard from the river is attrib- uted to Nang Takhian’s disappointment at not serving the nation as the city pillar; this increases her virtue and results in this material remains being genuinely worshipped. As time goes by, the ironwood tree develops from a lumber resource into the key figure of a cult and the more precious commodity as a tourist attraction. The transformation of a living entity charged with spiritual force into a log signifies multiple stages of utilization out of this plant, now completely disconnected from its origin. Her earlier power, barami, as recorded by Daen-aran’s story, is not what people recognized as much as her sacredness (saksit) as a holy object, which was sparked by the salvage and is based on the folk belief that spirit worship can lead to luck and prosper- ity.27 People’s belief in Nang Takhian’s supernatural power to give wealth and success to her worshippers is also reinforced by the media. For example, a news item from the popular newspaper Thairath covers the story of Sao Hai Shrine on the anniversary of its retrieval with the headline: ‘The Crying Nang Takhian, the Legend of Sao Hai, 59 Years after Retrieval: Jackpots Guaranteed!’ (Thairath 2017a) (see Figures 2a and 2b). It might be fruitful to compare Nang Takhian’s sacred power (saksit) with other recent spiritual cults and ‘a diverse range of new prosperity religions that link supernatural forces to commerce, market speculation, and luck-based wealth creation’ (Jackson 2009, 370). Although deemed equally sacred, Nang Takhian differs from the ‘symbolic cores’ of the cults of wealth that Jackson mentions, i.e. the Chinese Mahayana Buddhist goddess Guan Yin, Buddhist monks with wealth-related names like ‘Reverend Father Money’ (Luang Phor Ngern) and ‘Reverend Father Multiply’ (Luang Phor Khun), or King Chula- longkorn (Sadet Phor Ror. 5). While such cults concentrate on already sacred and revered icons, the foundation of Nang Takhian’s shrine rests more on the community’s collective force and imagination. The result is a purely local establishment when compared with the Bangkok City Pillar Shrine or the famous Wat Phra Phutthabat in the same Saraburi pro- vince, the latter being a ‘first-class royal temple’ that contains the Lord Buddha’s footprint and that has been continually renovated and visited by several kings before and during the Chakri dynasty (‘Wat Phra Phutthabat’ n.d.; ‘Buddhist Heritage’ n.d.). The Nang Takhian shrine, viewed together with the two places of worship representing Thailand’s Brahmanic and Buddhist faith, is a small, nondescript building in a district that has little to showcase except this peculiar shrine. These facts make it all the more different from the grander, more renowned cults related to the elitist or middle-class worship that Jackson mentions. Indeed, Nang Takhian’s sacred power is largely independent from the state, the established religion, and the monarchy. It is a form of local spirit worship that is dismissed by some Thai intellectuals as inferior to orthodox faiths, having ‘no value’ and being ‘apparently nothing but superstition’ (Morrow 2011, 59). The mystery and enchantment of Nang Takhian, however, suits the origin of this tree spirit coming from a distant past and from the fringe of the economic and political power. She, like several other tree spirits-

27A case that shows similar ideas behind tree worship is the Lord of the Lucky Tree (chao-nai ton chock: เจ้านายต้นโชค) in Ban Tiam, north of Thailand. According to Walker (2012), the tree is ‘so named because its sap is believed to form the shape of lottery-winning numbers when the bark is scratched’ (25, 102). Even so, worship of a felled tree is unique to ironwood and its spirit is almost always gendered female. SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 17

Figure 2. Sao Hai Pillar Shrine on its 59th retrieval anniversary (23 April 2017). There are many female icons to represent the Nang Takhian spirit. A part of the annual ceremony involves dressing and putting cosmetics on the female statues, as well as sprinkling fragrant water on them and on the tree trunk, which is half mortared into the altar and covered by visitors’ flower garlands. Author’s photos. goddesses,28 actually emerged from the wood and the river. Compared with the ancient Buddha image housed in the same temple, the Nang Takhian shrine seems to earn more attention from visitors, many of whom might find her extraordinary story and her magical, wish-granting power more appealing, if not mightier. As the purpose of visiting the Sao Hai shrine seems to be geared toward mysticism and self-serving attitudes rather than the tragic history of Nang Takhian, the whole story of the Sao Hai pillar starts to drift further away from its potential to engender ideas concerning environmental protection. Hence, Daen-aran’s short story, even with its ambivalent and suspicious depiction of the female spirit and enumeration of mainstream Thai history and royal-nationalist ideology, becomes outstanding in its final note. In the short story, once the tree has been retrieved and placed on an altar in a temple, the spirit obediently resides in a small shrine nearby. The narrator then brings the story to a close.

Although greatly reduced in magnificence and size and almost shattered due to the force of time and woe, the Takhian log is now brilliantly covered by gold leaves and revered by villa- gers and even foreign people who never cease to visit her. They will place gold leaves on every inch of the trunk from end to end, turning it bright gold. Their hearts are filled with sorrow when they prostrate themselves in front of her, moved by the fate she has endured. Yet at the same time the boundary of their vision expands. Their souls become more profound, clearer and lighter; and to some of those with extremely pure and sensitive minds, that is to say chil- dren, dreamers, poets, and prophets, the legend of Nang Takhian becomes just as the foun- tain of inspiration that pours forth and overflows with magical energy.

Therefore I would like all of you to walk and converse quietly, and to remain solemn. All you honourable people, I would like to plead that you calm your mind just as if you were standing right in the face of the greatest of the mighty sovereigns, glorious and magnificent with

28Besides the Sao Hai site in Saraburi, there are occasional news items regarding people’s dreaming of ironwood spirits buried under the riverbed asking to be salvaged, such as in Uttaradit and Nakhon Ratchasima only recently (Thairath 2017b; Matichon 2017). Most of these events have been reported to suggest the power of tree spirits to give out lottery numbers. 18 P. BOONPROMKUL

miraculous powers. I would plead that you pause and contemplate carefully the tale I have just recounted. This lengthy, tattered and hazy memory has been a heavy burden for me for too long a time. I wish to lay it down and ask all of you to bear it on in my stead. Would you kindly do so? (Daen-aran 2014, 171) The story suddenly ends there, still with a plea. Contrary to what the newspapers boast, there is not a single mention of the material rewards this great spirit can endow to her worshippers; she only engenders vision and inspiration. Interestingly, Suwanwattana (2015) makes a point about Daen-aran’s ‘literary translation’ and the underlying political resistance reflected through this composition:

[T]he opening of ‘The Myth of Sao Hai’ seems at first to propose a story with ingredients from community culture and local wisdom whereby an insignificant rural lore becomes a serious literary subject … Furthermore, [the] mythic language, with its poetic rhythm and archaic lexicon, expresses a mysterious and sacred ambiance … Politically speaking, the very act of this literary translation could be read as a seeming challenge to the national nar- rative of the Thai past, which has been dominated by the glorious capitals of ancient king- doms (Thongchai 1995). Daen-aran’s ‘The Myth of Sao Hai’ could thus be understood as an act of reclaiming a lost voice, reclaiming the history of this small, outlying district as part of collective memory. (Suwanwattana 2015, 509) I agree with Wanrug that Daen-aran’s story can be read as a voice from the periphery struggling to be heard by the political centre of the capital; but what has been previously ignored is the fact that the narrator asks us twice, at the beginning and the very end, to pay homage to this tree trunk despite its humble position and its present decaying condition. By paying respect to this tree trunk and re-imagining the plight of the Sao Hai spirit, readers are compelled to perceive the extent of the tragic loss presented in this wooden object in front of them. So, the reason to reclaim ‘a lost voice’, to me, is less to reclaim the small town’s history or to ‘venerate the folklore’ (Suwanwattana 2015, 509) as much as to generate empathy for this tree spirit, a non-human, and to carry on or preserve the old, half-forgotten story that has captivated the author-narrator for decades. Through the act of literary transformation, the author has engaged in the act of preser- vation. Even though he cannot conserve Sao Hai as a living tree, her story might still be preserved and passed on. Instead of leaving it an obscure folktale, ‘tattered and hazy’ due to time and the modern society’s disregard of old tales, Daen-aran transforms the history of Sao Hai into a stylistically complex, engrossing and permanent piece of literary work which he considers his greatest achievement.29 Even as his story is a highly roman- ticized and glorifying account that bears little resemblance to the reality of the Sao Hai Shrine as I have personally encountered,30 and even as its style, being overly erudite and flamboyant, is in a sense an ironic reversal of the local and provincial origin of this

29Daen-aran’s ‘Afterword’ reveals that he put his greatest effort into writing this short story. ‘I was more careful about it than the more famous work like “Venom” which was conceived about the same time. It made me feel genuinely proud, imperious, elated and relieved to have written it. Now that it is complete, if anyone would ask me, “you are a writer, what stories have you written?” I would reply, “Sao Hai”. If he continues, “only one story?” I would say confidently, “yes, only one”. Surely in reality nobody would mind asking such a question, but the Lord of Death would certainly do … Then, my answer would be exactly the same’ (Daen-aran 2014, 172). 30From my observing the anniversary of the salvage on 23 April 2017, the temple was crowded with people paying respect and votive offerings to Nang Takhian’s spirit. The leader of the ceremony, chanting while pouring scent on the statues in a ritual of sacred bathing, emphasized how visitors would gain merit, wealth and protection from harm. Outside the shrine, announcements were made on the loudspeaker about food and goods sold at stalls along the path in the temple, alter- nating with blaring music from outdoor concerts on two stages. SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 19 shrine, such a literary transformation still carries an immense aesthetic value as the tale becomes deeper and fresher. At the same time, it is also a dissemination of the story beyond the local scope, an act of immortalization, and a chance for this spirit to voice her previously unheard expressions, even though most of them are only plaintive cries. That the utterances of the tree spirit are largely wails and cries might, lastly, be signifi- cant. Despite the spirit’s vigorous expression of her delight and pride in national glory and prosperity, two major scenes stand out for the depiction of her in deep mourning: first when she witnesses the collapse of Ayutthaya, and second when she realizes the futility of her highest expectation. The latter is a passionate, deep-seated lament that lasts for more than a century until the spirit suddenly disappears at the end once the shrine is built. What remains is only the voice of the male narrator, her worshipper, who carries on with the denouement. Suwanwattana (2015) finds the ‘paroxysm of weeping’ heard throughout the story as ‘the misogynistic stress on female hysteria (as the subaltern cannot speak, as the provincial figure cannot have her or his own independent “history,” as the female voice can only be heard as hysterical)’ (517–518). Wanrug’s analysis is con- gruous with her reading of Nang Takhian’s spirit as a marginal, ghostly female voice against the patriarchal authority who holds the master narrative. Even so, Daen-aran seems to deliberate over the vivid description of the lachrymose lady sitting on the log in the middle of the wide river at night, both hands covering her face and crying her heart out so that her ceaseless sobbing echoes and mingles with the sound of the currents and the bamboo trees in the wind. Consequently, the impression readers receive here is more likely sadness and pity than discontent about her gender or socio-political subordination. Such a deep sense of distress, so much more pronounced in Daen-aran’s version than the three older legends, is also an element pertinent to ecocriticism. Grief, in fact, is common in environmental texts especially those dealing with nostalgic pastoralism, mass extinction and environmental catastrophe.31 Due to the elegiac mode in Daen- aran’s ‘Sao Hai’, a mode that dominates representations of endangered species (Heise 2016, 55), the worshipped tree trunk could be considered a literary reflection of the real situation of the ironwood, now endangered and under the protection of the forest act (‘Royal Decree’ 2016), or even forests in general. Since the wooded area above the Pasak River has suffered such severe deforestation that what remains is only a denuded mountain range (Nation TV 2016), it is now impossible to regain the place this specific ironwood originally belonged to. In this way, the Sao Hai trunk can be seen as a preserved museum specimen of an extinct locale, the sole lifeless remains of that once-dense forest in the mid-north region of Thailand. As readers are obliged to recognize the ineffable loss of the pure, old-aged spirit of nature, or the sacred natural force that once took care of other beings in the forest, they are reminded of the gravity of environmental degradation and the precariousness of a species by the remarkable sense of sadness and pity that the narrative foregrounds.

31As Heise (2016) explains in Imagining Extinction, the growing awareness of loss has translated into stories or other artistic representations that focus on the fate of an individual species, a taxon, or the global panorama of decreasing biodiversity: ‘Many of these works deploy the genre conventions of elegy and tragedy in such a way that the endangerment of a particular species comes to function as a synecdoche for the broader environmentalist idea of nature’s decline’ (32). Another ecocritic, Lori Gruen (2014), contends that mourning the loss of animals, whether private loss or the death and suffering of animals in factory farms and laboratories, as well as through environmental destruction, is important. It is a way to recognize the ‘precariousness of life’, and because we too can suffer and be killed, ‘we can recognize relations and kinship’ (136). 20 P. BOONPROMKUL

On the other hand, the ambivalence of grief in literature rests in the future or the ways to overcome the torturous state of mourning and melancholia. Since grief and elegiac lamentation, though powerful and effective in generating involvement, are rather passive, inward-looking and spiritually oriented, it can become difficult to translate these emotions to more active, positive and forward-looking – if not politically inclined – solutions. The answer, had there been one, might rest in the narrator’s final suggestion to take the whole story not simply as a dirge for the loss of nature or a glorious spirit, but also to expand the boundary of our vision, to deepen and illumine our souls, and to derive spiritual and creative power from the story. By these abstract instructions, it is perhaps possible to suggest how the tragic plight of Nang Takhian might lead to a better, more careful contemplation of current ecological loss and possible ways to redress it through stories.32 Such powerful narratives serve to remind us and future gen- erations not only about a strong faith in natural elements in the old days, but also about the outright hubristic and mindless violence against nature in the name of progress and civilization, of which we are now a part of and whose crimes we too must be held accountable for.

Conclusion By tracing Sao Hai’s history as recorded in the official pamphlet, in popular media and in the Daen-aran short story, and rereading them against stories about the city pillar’s erec- tion, readers are invited to examine the concept of power and the building of hegemony in Thailand. The felling of this single ironwood can signify that of an indefinite number of large trees to establish the new kingdom, an act that triggers an intensified encroachment of human culture on uncultivated territories. Then, by delving into the concept of sacred nature in Thai society, especially the practice of tree-spirit worshipping and the belief in auspicious species, one does not find traces of ecological understanding so much as a larger and more complex power structure and sacrosanct institutions. On top of that, by drawing a relation between the folklore and the reality of the Sao Hai shrine, one sees how Nang Takhian, a tree spirit who used to generate reverence in nature and protect old trees in the past, has progressed across time, during which modernity, demand for resources, and human expansion have considerably demystified folk belief in supernatural power in nature. She has now been recontextualized and turned into a magical and sacred item wor- shipped by locals who regard her power as an alternative faith for their personal better- ment, and embraced by the county administration to gain extra revenue from tourism. As these findings show, nature is revealed to be not only inseparable from human culture; it is also continually utilized and appropriated as material resources, and forms a part of multiple discourses, such as aesthetic purity, the sacred Mother Earth, the antith- esis of progress, the marker of socio-political order, and the keystone of the sovereign’s splendour.

32Among many ecocritics who emphasize the significance of stories in environmental studies, Thom van Dooren and Deborah Bird Rose (2017) explain that ‘stories are inevitably powerful contributors to the shaping of our understandings, relationships and so ultimately of the material reality of lives and deaths … [They] are powerful because they can be memorable and accessible to a wide audience. They are also often relatable, drawing listeners into a sense of connection, curiosity and care in a way that the recitation of cold facts often fails to achieve. Stories are also able to hold the world open: rather than insisting on a single interpretation or point of view, a story can allow multiple interpretations, values and possibilities … , something that is vital to understanding complex environmental challenges’ (n.p.). SOUTH EAST ASIA RESEARCH 21

As for the short story under discussion, this article shows that Daen-aran’s ‘Sao Hai’ does not really set forth ecological consciousness as much as it problematizes assumptions about intrinsic and constructed values of this single plant and people’s attempt to exploit or idolize it. It is true that the story offers little hope for any kind of regeneration or recov- ery of the nature destroyed, but a bleak projection that mirrors our current planet of failing ecosystems, where the edenic garden, wilderness, and its spiritual guardians are all lost. Nevertheless, if readers pay attention to the environmental implication and the complete destruction of Nang Takhian depicted in this story, ‘Sao Hai’ can become a penetrating critique of anthropocentrism, speciesism and the dominant national and monarchical ideologies. Being so eloquent, moving, and tragic, it generates in readers affective engage- ment, a sense of care, compassion, and ethical responsibility to the non-human others commonly believed incapable of feeling. In contrast to the mainstream projection that underlines Sao Hai spirit’s power to bring good fortune to her worshippers, the story urges us to mourn and to bear witness to the loss. It compels us to develop reverence for and humility towards this emblem of the physical world and to commit her half-for- gotten old tale to memory and thus keep it alive. All these, arguably, are the only things one can possibly do in the face of this grieving, disintegrating world.

Acknowledgements The author would like to thank her colleague Cameron McLachlan who read and responded to the early draft of this paper and gave her such unflagging support. This paper is a part of the author’s wider research on contemporary Thai environmental literature.

Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

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