'The Golden-legged Frog' a short story by Khamsing Srinawk

Khamsing Srinawk (Photo: Wikipedia)

Between 1958 and 1996, under the pseudonym Law Khamhoom, Khamsing Srinawk wrote a number of short stories entitled ฟ้าบ่กั้น 'Faa bo kan (tones: high, low, falling), Isan for: 'Heaven knows no bounds' and in English translation published as 'Khamsing Srinawk, The Politician and other stories', Silkworm Books, 2001.
He dedicated the book to 'my mother who couldn't read'. It was translated into eight other languages, including Dutch. This page contains the frog story, tomorrow the story 'Breeding Animals'. Both stories are also available in PDF format.

These stories, virtually his only work, have become famous. During the liberal years between 1973 and 1976 (part of) this work was included in the school curriculum to emphasize 'the common man' in Thai society. After the horrific massacre at Thammasaat University (October 6, 1976, a day etched in the memory of many elderly Thais), the book was banned but reintroduced as part of the national curriculum in the XNUMXs, at the same time as Khamsing, with royal support, received the title of 'Thailand's National Artist in Literature'.

Khamsing was born in 1930 in Boea Yai, not far from Khorat, the son of Isan farmers. In addition to his writing career, he led an active political and social life, for example he was vice-chairman of the Socialist Party of Thailand. In 1976 he fled to the jungle where he joined the communist guerrillas but after a quarrel with the Communist Party of Thailand in 1977 he started a wandering life abroad. He returned to Thailand in 1981, aided by a general amnesty. In May 2011, he and 358 others signed the 'Thai Writers Manifesto' to revise Article 112 of the Penal Code (the lèse-majeste article).

A socially committed man, who gave voice and face to the plight of the Thai farmers and pleaded for social justice in Thai society. His portrayal of the Thai farmer in these two stories is perhaps still partly valid, except that the Thai farmer has fortunately abandoned his submissive attitude, although this has not yet reached everyone. I enjoyed his stories, they are very worthwhile. See further for his biography and work: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khamsing_Srinawk

The golden-legged frog

The sun shone as if determined to burn to ashes every living thing in the vast fields. Occasionally the sabang and shorea trees shed some of their yellowed leaves. He sat exhausted against a stump, his blue shirt soaked with sweat. The space around him expressed total dryness. He stared at a column of dry grass and tiny bits of hay drifting slowly toward the sky. The wind sucked up brown earth and whirled it through the air, casting a brown glow over the area.

He remembered that the elders told him that this was the harbinger of drought, want, calamity and death. He suddenly longed to be home, he could already see the bamboo tops that surrounded the house in the distance like swords of grass. He hesitated. Just before he reached the shadow of the tree, he felt his ears ring and his vision blur, and he knew these were the harbingers of sunstroke. He looked at the soles of his feet, blistered from the hot abrasive sand, and grew angry—very angry at the weather that seemed capable of such endless torture. In the morning he had felt the cold down to his bones, but now it was so hot that it seemed to him that his head would break in pieces.

The same morning, he and two of his small children had gone into the rice fields near the house to look for frogs for breakfast. The air was icy. The two children on either side of him shivered as they stopped to look for the frogs hiding among the cracks in the parched earth. Whenever they saw two bright eyes in a deep crevice, they shouted, “Dad, here's another one. Dad, this crevice has two. With golden legs! Come quickly, Dad.”

He had been shoving from place to place in the dry earth when they called him. Some frogs he caught right away, but some jumped away when he started digging. It was the children's task to chase and catch them. They caught a few. Others quickly crept into another crevice and forced him to dig them up again with his hoe. If he was lucky, he would also dig up land snails and shellfish in addition to the frog.

It was already getting warm and he had enough frogs to go with the morning rice. The sound of drums, the village chief's call for a meeting, echoed faintly from the village. Lingering rage engulfed him again as his thoughts returned to that moment. If only he had gone home then, the poor child would have been unharmed by now. It really had been the last crack. As soon as he poked, the earth fell apart. An adult golden-legged frog, the size of a thumb, jumped past the eldest child. The youngest child darted after the frog, who after ten meters dived into a deep water buffalo footprint. The child grabbed it.

His boy's shrill scream shook him to the core of his being. "Dad, a snake, a snake bit my hand." A cobra stretched to full length, hissing. Finally able to respond, he struck the cobra three times with his hoe, leaving the beast convulsed. He carried his child and the basket of frogs home, never forgetting to ask his other child to bring the snake as well.

On the way back, his son cried softly, beating his chest and complaining that he couldn't breathe. Arriving home, the father called all the healers and herbalists whose names he remembered and the squabble began.
"Cut a frog into pieces and put them on the wound," a neighbor shouted.
Another shouted, "Give him the roasted liver of the snake to eat," and sitting beside his weeping wife, he hurriedly cut open the snake to remove the liver.

As it got later, the crowd grew. When they heard the news, all the neighbors attending the village chief's meeting came to join those already present. One of them told him to go to the town hall because the village chief told him that the government would distribute money to those with five or more children. That was another shock.
“Can't you see that my son is dying? How could I go now?” he exclaimed. "What does it matter? There are a lot of doctors here who are all experts.”
“Go on, you sucker! They give two hundred baht. You've never seen so much money in your life. Two hundred baht!”
"I'm sorry to say it," added another, "but if something happens and your son doesn't survive, you miss the boat, that's all."
“I'm not going!” he yelled, “my child can't breathe and you tell me to go. Why can't they hand it out on another day? But it's true, I've never had two hundred baht since birth, but I'm not going. I'm not going."
“Jail,” interrupted another, “if you don't go, you go to jail. How can you disobey the authorities? If they tell you to take it, then you have to take it. If not, prison.”

The repeated threat of prison unnerved him, but he resisted for now. "Whatever it is, I'm not going. I do not want. How can I abandon my son when he is dying?” He raised his voice. "No, I'm not going."
“Go. Don't resist the government. We are subjects.” The speaker turned around to find the village chief nodding grimly at his side.
“If I don't go, do I really have to go to prison?” he asked in a suddenly hoarse voice.
“Absolutely,” said the village chief sternly. “Maybe even life.”

That was the last straw. Bewildered, he asked the healers and neighbors to take good care of his son and left the house. He reached the town hall a little before eleven and met a group of fellow villagers who had also come for the money. They told him to speak to the old deputy official.
“I am mr. Nak Na-ngam, sir. I'm here for the money, the many-child money.”
The officer slowly looked up at him and spoke in a gruff voice. “Idiot, can't you see there are people working here. Out! Get out and wait outside.”
“But, sir, my son is dying…” He held back, however, because if the official suspected that his son was dead, it could lead to trouble. The official looked at his paper and went back to work. Discouraged, Nak returned to the group.
“If you are born a rice farmer and a subject, life is an agony,” thought Nak. “You are poor and helpless, your mouth turns red when you have to eat carrots because the rice has run out, you are at the end of your tether when you turn to the government and then get zero on the question.”
The government official continued to write, as if there were no peasants waiting at the door. A few minutes past twelve he came out of the office and had the goodness to say a few words.
"It's twelve o'clock already. Time for a break. Come back in an hour."
Nak and his fellow villagers sat there for up to an hour. The taciturn official called them back and motioned for them all to sit with him on the floor. He began by asking each one why they had so many children. The somewhat clumsy retorts made the other officers sigh as they turned to listen to the embarrassing answers. Finally his turn came.
“Who is Mr Nak Na-ngam?”
“I am, sir,” he replied humbly.
“Well, why do we have so many children?” chuckle.
“Oh, when you're poor, sir…” he burst out in undisguised annoyance.
“What on earth does it have to do with poverty?” asked the official with disappointment in his voice.
“We are terribly poor and have no money to buy a blanket. And no matter how bad the smell always is, I have to use my wife as a blanket and the kids keep coming.”
Instead of laughter, there was dead silence, finally broken by the flat voice of a pale official. "Bah! This joker uses his wife as a blanket.”

The wind picked up again. The sabang and shorea trees released some leaves again. Spears of sunlight made him dizzy. The small whirlwind in the field beside him whirled on. Nak left the shadow of the big tree and walked back to the village through the blazing afternoon sun.

“Hey, Nak…” The voice came from a group of fellow villagers approaching him from the opposite direction. Another completed him. "You're lucky, say."
The words lightened his heart. A smile appeared on his lips as he asked expectantly, “Luck? What do you mean?"
“The two hundred baht. You have them, right?"
"I have them here." He patted his pocket.
"Congratulations! You're really lucky, Nak. Waited a day longer and you certainly wouldn't have gotten them.”

 Tomorrow on Thailandblog.nl the story 'Breeding animals'.