A new story from Khamsing

Khamsing Srinawk

This short story by Khamsing Srinawk is from 1958, a few years after contested elections and a coup d'état in 1957. It captures the political chaos of that time well.

The politician

The shadows of the tall pines across the country road had shrunk to a few feet. As usual at this time, the market was quiet. Sometimes a bicycle passed. A few people walked under the dust-covered overhanging roofs. There were occasional shouts from the cafe on the corner, but no one paid any attention. Everyone knew that when there were drunken characters it was only Khoen, or Professor Khoen as he was known in the town, along with his two cronies.

Still, it wasn't a bad bunch. They only made noise when they had had a little too much to drink, and Khoen, their leader, was certainly no dissolute outsider. On the contrary, he brought it to the abbot of the local temple. He had reached the second of the three levels of Dharma studies, fulfilled his religious obligations and was respected by the believers. If he had stayed in the order of monks, he might have become the head monk of the district. But alas, nothing is permanent. The faith of the pious, especially of pious women, in the Holy Doctrine often turns into belief in a particular monk. When that happens, the woman can continue as a nun, or the monk can find a reason to take off his yellow robe.

Abbot Khoen was no exception. Among the pious women who enjoyed visiting the temple but did not listen to the sermon was a widow named Wan Im. As everyone expected, it wasn't long before the abbot said goodbye to the temple and moved in with Wan Im where, as everyone understood, they lived together as husband and wife. They lived quietly for several years until an illness took Wan Im away. Grief changed Khoen. Drinking only increased the sadness. A number of times people saw him crying out loud in the middle of the market.

Wan Im was in a bad mood because she had been lending money since she was young. Khoen did not have to worry about food or drink for a long time. When Khwan and Koi, fellow monks in the past, joined him, Khoen acted as the leader of the gang who labeled the townsfolk as 'old monks, new louts'.

The three had been drinking pure whiskey since the early hours. The quiet conversation took a more violent turn as the heat increased, especially when Koet, doorman at the provincial government, joined them. “Professor, you have no idea the mess the country is in right now. Phibun and Phao have fled the country, god knows where," he said, pulling up a chair. The three listened with interest.

'A mess indeed,' Koi murmured drunkenly, 'maybe it's about those things those boasters keep talking about during the elections. What were they talking about again, professor, crazy, crazy, or something like that'. He turned to Khoen.

“Democracy, stupid. Not 'crazy', said Khoen sternly, 'they call it a 'democratic coup'. You have to have a lot of coups otherwise it's not a democracy'. He flaunted his knowledge. 'You're stupid. Shut up if you don't know anything. I know everything because in the last election the mayor and governor got down on their knees begging me to act as a vote-raiser for their boss.'

'Ah, that's true', Khwan began, 'the professor and I gave them a hearty rebuttal. No one dared to contradict us. But isn't there a new election of MPs coming up?'

Coot put down his glass, pushed his chair closer to the table and nodded in agreement. 'Certainly. I heard a group at the provincial government talking about how they could bend the voters to their will.'

The wind blew a cloud of red dust into the store. Pine needles fell on the tin roof.

'I have an idea', Koi announced, 'why don't you run for election, professor?'

'Well, you've got something there', Koet agreed.

Koi's enthusiasm increased, he got up from his chair and spoke in a loud voice 'Because….eh….because the professor is a great man. He has money and no children to worry about. Money corrupts, why cling to it? Isn't that right, Khwan?' Khwan nodded a few times.

"Calm down, damn it, you're looking for trouble," said Khoen, somewhat annoyed.

Khwan: 'They say that members of parliament are really very influential. More than village chiefs, kamnans, governors, and most importantly, more powerful than the police. You really can do anything. Drinking, beating someone up, kicking the Chinese in the ass. Who can stop you? You can even fool that damned Sergeant Huat who visited our gambling den yesterday.'

"I'm not even a decent person, how can I be a good representative of the people?" Khoen wondered.

'Nonsense, Professor. Nowadays if you want to be a member of parliament you have to be a rioter, shout a lot and curse people down to their great-grandparents. You saw that previous group of candidates, a bunch of thugs, swearing in the middle of the street. We may be a bit wild but we are few. That's why I think the professor can be a great member of parliament.'

'It's not easy. I was a voter myself.'

'Precisely! Then why can't you get votes for yourself? Give it a shot, Professor, try it.' He patted Khoen on the back. "If something goes wrong, we'll fight with them."

'But…', Khoen hesitated, 'what am I going to say? Those candidates talk, lie and promise mountains of gold. Even when I was drunk…I was a monk. Lies get stuck in my throat.”

Khwan ordered more whisky. They all reached for their glasses at the same time. Their faces were thoughtful.

'Come on, professor,' Khwan sighed, 'you're turning a mosquito into an elephant. How hard can it be? I could get elected if I had money. You give them a beating. '

The candidate

And so it happened. The news that Mr. Khoen Khianrak, better known as Professor Khoen, had stood as a candidate in the elections spread like wildfire through the city. Officials couldn't stop laughing but the common people only knew that a candidate had to be of service and good at handing out whiskey, cigarettes and money and that he had to talk loudly about things that no one understood...well, Professor Khoen was fully qualified.

Khoen, accompanied by Khwan, Koi and Koet, registered as a candidate, handing over XNUMX baht as a deposit and a number of photographs. From that day on, the town brightened up. All kinds of cars from far away criss-crossed the city. There were nearly ten candidates, including former officials, lawyers, generals and noble figures, all from the capital or from neighboring provinces. Khoen was the only candidate born in the province.

The prospect of the gifts of money, whiskey, tobacco and food, as the previous candidates did, and the lack of work in this dry season brought a flood of people to the city, a flood that only increased as election day approached. There were shows and movies, and the contestants praised their own supernatural abilities. The crowd moved from group to group in search of gifts.

Khoen and his comrades moved drunkenly with the crowd. Khoen had no chance to give a speech, and besides, he didn't know what to say. All he could do was cause some commotion. That didn't go down well with the other people who were afraid he would jeopardize the dispensation of money. One night, two candidates set up podiums. They boasted of their boldness, talents, fame, and abilities. They promised to build houses, lay out gardens, set up schools and hospitals. The audience watched with interest. Khoen asked some of his buddies to start screaming at close quarters.

'NONSENSE! SHUT UP! FUCK IT…” Before he knew what was happening Khoen was lying on the ground after a punch and someone shouted “We are all waiting for money, why are you screaming like that, damn it.”

Khoen stumbled home with a swollen mouth and a black eye dejected. "It doesn't look good," he muttered to his comrades. That night, everyone slept soundly, except Khoen. The force of the blow to his face forced him to look for a way to thwart those others. He rubbed his mouth, moaned softly, but finally fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning Khoen woke up his friends with difficulty. He addressed them as follows, with a tired look in his eyes.

'Koi, Khwan,' he began slowly, 'I know a way to get those screamers. Most people come to receive money.' He rubbed his swollen face. 'So, you're going to tell everyone that if they want money they have to come to my house. Tell them I can make sure they see money.'

As soon as his accomplices had left the house, Khoen fell asleep again. He awoke later in the day and was delighted to hear that the house was filled with bustle and people, more than he had imagined, he saw through a crack. He entered the room with a dirty face and crumpled clothes. Khwan and Koi led the assembled crowd in a few "hurrays."

"Okay, okay, brothers and sisters," Khoen cried loudly. The people listened. "There are some good people here who want to be MPs." He paused to catch his breath. 'They promise everything: they can build roads, dig canals and build schools. They all can." Short break. "But if you compare all those things to money, what do you want?" The question hung in the air for a moment.

"We want money, we want money, we want money," the crowd chanted.

'Good very good. But we have to make sure we get that money. They can build streets. That costs money. They must have money. Where are they?' he asked defiantly.

"They're in the hotel, they're all in the hotel."

"Okay, let's go." Khoen jumped off the porch but fell flat on his face from fatigue to the laughter of the crowd. He got up quickly, brushed the dust off his clothes, and led the crowd. A thousand people marched in a disorderly procession to the only hotel in town.

When the group at the hotel saw the herd approaching, they hastened to dress appropriately according to their dignity. Some pinned their medals and decorations, others shouted orders to turn on the loudspeakers. 'Hurry up, they're really coming this way. That's what I mean. The stupidity of the people pays off, it's like a pot of gold.'

Villagers who had no idea what was going on dragged their children into the throng. Officials abandoned their jobs to see what was happening. The candidates lined up in front of the hotel, and Khoen headed straight for them.

'We want to conclude an agreement with you, dear candidate for parliament,' he began.

"With pleasure," said the eldest, bowing so that his body resembled an old shrimp at the end of the season. “If there's anything we can do for you, we'll do it within our means. Speak.'

"What can you give us?"

"Anything that the people of this province want, anything that will benefit their well-being, I will do that until my last breath," said a young person at the end of the row, with a slight bow.

Without hesitation, Khoen yelled, "We want money, we want money!"

The crowd adopted the cry 'Money, we come for money. MONEY, MONEY!'

The candidates began to twirl uneasily. Some tried to explain their policies and good intentions. Others praised their past deeds and explained their plans. But the call for money prevented them from finishing their story. The elderly squire who had dragged his shrunken body from the capital here fainted to the laughter of the crowd. The others crumpled their notes in frustration. The shouting was deafening when Khoen took a firm step behind the microphone.

'You have now seen for yourself what a gust of wind these are. They do everything for us, but how can that be if they don't even respond to our request for some money? How can we still believe them? How can we choose them?' His voice was emphatic. “These figures are candidates and come from all sorts of classes and ranks. That one over there is a knight.' He pointed with his finger. Also a lawyer. And that man with all those magical amulets on his chest is a general. Well, it's up to you to decide who you're going to choose. I was a voice w… er uh… I was used to going to Bangkok. I'll tell you something. You may not know what a knight is, or a baronet. Well, a knight raises horses, and sometimes chickens, ducks and elephants. I know because I was in Bangkok. We should address a esquire as 'Sire'. And the other nobleman? I have my doubts about that. Look at his clothes! Maybe he's a not-so-noble gentleman.' He stopped for a drink.

“And look at that general! See all those pretty shells on his chest? These guys are like kids. That guy sneaking out there is a lawyer, someone who loves trouble. If you don't have money to pay him, you can just go to prison.'

The people listened breathlessly.

“Friends, they had a lot of talk. Listen to me today. I am also a candidate. Who was it again who just said that he knew us, our poverty and problems? Ask him, ask him. Does he know how many pieces of land we have? Does he know what we eat with our rice in the morning? Trust me, he doesn't know. Hollow words. Look at me. I'll do anything you want. Kicking a dog, smashing heads together. If you don't like someone, tell me.' His eye fell on Sergeant Huat and he lowered his voice. “What I just said… I've never done anything like that. I close. I wish you a long, beautiful and happy life and may the 'Three Jewels' help me get elected.'

From that day on, Khoen's prestige increased as the other candidates avoided meetings. Some fled back to Bangkok.

The elected representative of the people

Election day passed without incident. The results were announced some time after eight o'clock in the evening. Shortly afterwards, Sergeant Huat hurried to the police station.

'I'm screwed', he gasped, 'Mr. Khoen was drunk and I locked him up here this morning and now he's the MP! I won't be able to stay here much longer.' He sounded very worried.

“That's not good, not good at all. Have you released him yet?' asked the officer on duty, but Huat had already disappeared.

The police officer on duty hurried to the cell and opened the door. Three men were sleeping on the floor. The stench of vomit and other filth wafted towards him. He shook Khoen awake but quickly withdrew his vomit-contaminated hand. He nudged Khoen with his foot.

"Sir, Mr. Khoen, Khoen!"

"Hey," Khoen whispered. Where am I? What is? Give me some water'. He peered into the darkness.

It's already night. You can leave. Wake up those other two gentlemen too.'

"Who are you talking to, officer?" asked Khoen in surprise.

“I am speaking to the honorable Member of Parliament. The election is over, sir. You may leave.'

Khoen woke the other two and together they staggered home in the dark after a bowl of water. Khoen kept the news to himself. The "Dear Member of Parliament," spoken with humility by someone who had bullied them for so long, still rang in his ears.

When they arrived at the house, Khwan and Koi immediately fell asleep. Khoen remained awake, his head agitated and confused. His drunkenness was over, he felt light and airy. He began to think about things that normally never touched him: the word 'people's representative'. He thought of what Koet said in the café, that a representative of the people was greater than a mayor or a governor. Beyond that he knew nothing. What then all? He doubted. There had to be more because every member of parliament went to Bangkok. There had to be more. Khoen imagined the insane size of Bangkok. Was he to live there, separated from his own people, in a different kind of life? The future did not look good. Khoen had once been to Bangkok as a monk, but he couldn't remember the name of the temple. That forgetfulness gnawed at his mind. His anguish increased as he recalled the clothing of a former member of parliament: a kind of blanket with a silly rag around his neck. He muttered to himself 'What a fool I am. I didn't know how good I had it.'

The moon and stars descended in the sky. "Wow, this world is getting too hot under my feet," he exclaimed silently. When he fetched some water, he heard a rooster herald the dawn. Khoen was afraid of daybreak. A certain coldness crept up on him. The bushes and trees began to emerge again. Khoen made a decision. Khwan and Koi were fast asleep. He disappeared into the house for a moment, came back, glanced at his comrades and sighed. He tiptoed past them, leaving the house on the way to the market with only one thought: to disappear.

At the end of the road he saw a truck and two men who looked at him suspiciously but asked him to help. He heard that the wagon would carry rice and other goods across the border. He helped push the car until the engine started and the car disappeared into the rising sun.

No one saw Khoen again. No one in the province knew where he had gone. However, it turned out that a few reporters from Bangkok dailies knew the truth. They wrote that a fearless legislator had had his mouth gagged by a dark force and his body thrown from a bluff where vultures feasted on his corpse. The story was illustrated with a picture of vultures hovering under white clouds.

The town was busy again. Every day 'big boys' from Bangkok came to the town in their luxury cars to investigate this mysterious case, often taking some policemen with them. This morning, a car was seen taking Sergeant Huat away. Some heard him mutter, "Now I'm glowing."

Brief Biography of Khamsing Srinawk

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.

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 (still?) in the XNUMXs, at the same time that Khamsing also received the title of 'Thailand's National Artist in Literature' with royal support.

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, spending some time as a refugee in Sweden. 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 his 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

For a few other translated short stories by Khamsing, see

https://www.thailandblog.nl/cultuur/goudbenige-kikker-korte-verhalen-deel-1/

https://www.thailandblog.nl/cultuur/fokdieren-korte-verhalen-deel-2/

https://www.thailandblog.nl/cultuur/de-plank-een-kort-verhaal-van-khamsing-srinawk/