Phi Ta Khon

Phi Ta Khon - Thailand's Halloween

Grown men riding cardboard buffaloes, children wearing fearsome masks and waving wooden penises in your face, old women wailing and a procession that features kings, queens, Osama Bin Laden, taxi girls and an enlightened mystic. Thailand has it all, riotous, colourful and shamelessly drunk.

The Phi Ta Khon Festival takes place in Dan Sai, a small town in northern Thailand. The tourist brochure tells us that the local people are very proud of this ‘unique and colorful traditional merit–making ceremony, which has been passed on from generation to generation’. The precise origin of Phi Ta Khon is unclear. But it is believed that the roots of the festival revolve around an important tale of the Buddha's last life, before he reached Nirvana.
According to Buddhist folklore, the Buddha-to-be was born as Prince Vessandorn, a generous man who gave freely to the people. One day, he gave away a white elephant, a royal creature, revered as a symbol of rain. The townspeople were so angry for fear of drought and famine, that they banished the prince into exile. The prince left the village. His subjects forgot him and even thought that he was already dead. When he suddenly returned, his people were overjoyed. They welcomed him back with a celebration so loud that even the dead were awakened from their slumbers to join in the festivities.
In fact, Phi Ta Khon is several festivals amalgamated into a vibrant three-day explosion of positive semi-organised anarchy. The roots lie both in Buddhism and local animist traditions. And it’s all about rain.
The rain follows me 400km from Bangkok to Dan Sai. The highways are flooded, the Thais travel uncovered in the back of pick-ups, getting soaked. In Dan Sai it rains too, more or less all the time, so the rain festival should bring bonus rains this year.

At 3am an old man jumps into the local river and retrieves Pra Ub-pa-kud (a white piece of marble). After crawling around in the mud for a bit under the glare of local TV cameras and few photographers’ flashes, the marble is indeed retrieved (I think they had it with them all along) and a small noisy procession walks through town to Wat Pon Chai, the temple central to the celebrations. In fact, Pra Ub-pa-kud is a monk or a positive spirit with supernatural powers who can take on any shape he chooses. Pra Ub-pa-kud is essential to the well-being of the people of Dan Sai and the smooth passing of the festival. They know what’s coming.
Back at the temple, Wat Pon Chai, a group of older villagers is circumambulating the prayer hall, gongs and drums in hand, led by a khaen player and several prahm officials, men and women dressed in white, their tradition rooted in pre Buddhist religion. They make a lot of noise and several of the women dance while walking, elegantly moving their arms and rotating their hands in time to the drums. Pra Ub-pa-kud is carried to the first of four points around the building. A prayer is offered and an old man fires a very old gun. The crowd moves on to the next point, stops, another prayer is offered, the gun is fired again, before the troupe resumes its way round the muddy track.
By dawn the local community leaders, musicians and a whole army of prim elderly ladies armed with tambourines have gathered on the property of Chao Por Guan, a local mystic and medium, and a reincarnation of another great mystic, his father. Chao Por Guan is sitting, dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, a white bandana round his head, in the center of his living room. Women press money in his hand and wrap white threads around his wrists. Chao Por Guan cuts an imposing figure, his presence fills the room, while the heavily made-up old ladies shake their tambourines and wail in tune to a khaen )polyphonic bamboo flute, common in northern Thailand and Laos) player.
Outside a mor lam (a punky rough Thai country music style) band cranks up. Drums, bass, khaen, gtr and stylophone make up this early morning ensemble. Two great figures, a male and a female made from bamboo and cloth are chasing each other through the forecourt. The male figure’s huge penis occasionally jerks up and stabs at young girls and tourists in the vicinity.

As the sun rises into a gray sky, the road is blocked with men in masks, first a few, then many, crowding the tarmac, stopping the traffic. The cops are in the middle of the road, trying, in vain, to contain the chaos. More masks and men arrive in pick-ups.
The tradition dictates that young male villagers prepare their ghostly attire and masks, while children roam around town playing tricks. Sheets or blankets are sewn together to look like shrouds while traditional wooden bamboo containers used to store sticky rice (huad), are creatively fashioned into bizarre hats. The huge masks are carved from the bases of coconut trees. Prior to the festival, the ghostly costumes must be hidden while they are being made, and they must be kept in a rice storage area. They are varnished into garish shines and the matching outfits are strictly color-coded.
Groups of ten or more masked warriors, or rain spirits go around , decorated with small bells, which jingle as the ghosts jump and dance around. Other Phi Ta Khon are armed with knives whose handles are carved into red phallic symbols. Small ones, big ones, humongous ones, painted ones, varnished ones and ones with wires attached to control moving parts. An incredible amount of work has gone into masks and penises and much of the day is spent running round town stabbing, cajoling and waving with phallic abandon at anything that is…desirable. Gender is a minor issue.

In the evening the town gathers in the temple compound light fades, a young man rolls round the temple, followed by community leaders playing gongs and drums. The guy rolls through puddles and across gravel and after having circumambulated the entire hall, comes to a halt, lying face down in the mud, shaking and twitching. The women push him upright and he brings his hands together in prayer, his eyes closed. A lady to his right starts shouting and chanting over the noise of the rain. The young man has made the four points around the building, he suddenly snaps out of his trance, jumps up and runs off into the crowds.
In the temple court-yard a play recounting a local legend, featuring garishly painted men and women in golden glitter costumes, literally drowns in the down-pour. This, apparently, is educational and a continued effort by the tourist authorities to ‘clean up’ the festival. Make up runs over stoic faces, fire works go off and the tape commentary hisses like a steam train. As soon as the performance ends actors and population rush home, the planned concert cancelled - the heavens are open.

Next morning, the town is completely infested by masked ghosts and their phallic utensils. The schools are out in force and teachers herd their students into a procession that slowly crawls down the main street. In the pouring rain. There are some contemporary shades to the party, as I spot several Osama Bin Ladens, Saddams and Spidermen. The procession is led by a local royal couple dressed in white sequins, accompanied by a couple of fat children, riding a cart. Chao Por Guan rides on a wooden horse loaded on the back of a flat bed truck. The horse looks odd, wrapped from head to hoof in a grey blanket. It has a huge penis made from some sort of exhaust pipe. Not far behind are several men riding the aforementioned cardboard buffaloes. The buffalo-constructions are roughly in the shape of canoes. The men are to strap these across their shoulders and march. This is easier said than done as these guys have been drinking Lao Kao, the local rice wine, since before dawn and can barely stand. Luckily they are supported by several of their friends. Who are just as drunk.
Floats with Mor Lam bands and girls decked out like southern German wine queens squeeze amongst the hundreds of masked maniacs. There are a few men entirely covered in mud, obviously doing their own thing. The local MP (a representative for the governing Thai Rak Thai party) has sponsored a flat bed truck filled with skimpily clad taxi girls doing a half hearted go-go dance, while their mama-san leans against the driver’s box, cracking peanuts, getting pissed. A wild-eyed guy with a shaved head has ‘I just came‘ written on his torso. He looks happy. Several older men are wearing women’s clothes, cheap wigs and are stumbling over their high heels, dancing to fast dance tunes roaring from the floats. The offers of Lao Kao become more and more frequent as we close in on the Wat once more. I am floating in the middle of a hundred demonic masks, all of them dancing, singing and welcoming the monsoon,
At night it’s still raining and I head back out on the highway. Tomorrow the local community will abandon their masks and meet in prayer. For several miles masked men trail along the side of the road, on their way home to their villages. The ghost dancers put away their ghostly masks and costumes for another year, return to the paddy fields and continue to earn their living with the onset of the new crop season. I need an extra hour to get back to the metropolis as the roads are submerged all the way south. The prayers have been heard.

If you would like to read more about festivals in Thailand, check the following stories:

The Illustrated Kill Convention, Thailand 2003

The Illustrated Kill Convention Revisited! 2006

The Phuket Vegetarian Festival

The Chonburi Buffalo Race

Jerry Lee Lewis at the Ko Samui Music Festival 2005

Fat chance for the (Heineken) Fat Fest