A death in Isaan – last day

On Friday morning, De Inquisitor stays at home on the advice of sweetheart. It's going to be a tough day, she predicts. We don't go to Poa Deing's house together until around twelve, by car because we have stock. We know that traditionally they will be short of booze and now we don't have to drive back and forth every time a generous guest decides to serve beer or lao kao.

Naturally we position ourselves in the kitchen tent, where the cheerful people are. Well, apparently everyone is happy, despite the fact that today is cremation day. Love was right, the drink flows freely. Together with a lot of food that is brought around continuously, usually by the children and/or grandchildren of the deceased. People arrive from far and wide, family, friends and acquaintances, Deing's father was apparently a popular man. There are also people today who have clearly said goodbye to the countryside, you can see that not only in their clothing but also in their manners. Watching a bit haughtily, exaggerated greetings as if they were high lords and ladies. Lots of gold around the neck and wrists. But just as good at drinking masses of alcohol as the villagers.

We wait for the monks, who strangely enough do not appear until around three in the afternoon. Fifteen, that's a lot. They immediately disappear to the upper room where the body is still laid out, luckily the coffin is cooled. Immediately the mantras blare over the terrain, traditionally amplified with speakers that are much too large. Some turn their chairs towards their homes and devoutly fold their hands together, but the majority continue to chat happily, albeit at a lower volume. After half an hour, strong men are summoned, the large box must be brought down and placed on the back of a pick-up truck. The Inquisitor briefly fears accidents on the stairs, but it ends well.

And should De Inquisitor also enlarge the procession with his pick-up, twelve people are stuck together in the back of the box. Bee's car is also full. With cool boxes full of ice and drinks. Slowly the procession moves on, there are many cars, the first traffic jam that De Inquisitor experiences here because we block the way for other road users – who don't care and patiently stand aside. Strangely enough we don't drive towards the temple and De Inquisitor gets another surprise. The man is cremated in the old way, not in an incinerator as is usually stated at every temple. Villagers here love tradition. There is a forest owned by the temple a few kilometers outside the village.

An open space with a shed, no side walls, just a roof against the sun. There are the monks and the closest relatives. About twenty meters away is a pile of freshly chopped tree trunks and the coffin is placed on it. Really beautiful box, almost double the dimensions as we know it, painted white with gold-coloured decorations. At the top a kind of roof has been placed in the typical Thai style. Around it are many beautiful flower arrangements with the names of the donors. And then the ceremony begins, the monks start muttering again.

However, that passes us by, booze is cheerfully distributed, people talk and laugh that it is no longer beautiful. No one who takes offense to that, even honey-dear, who normally adapts to circumstances seems to be having a lot of fun. Well, the mantras are long, very long. If someone else reads something, the man's life is resurrected. Someone starts handing out small handmade bamboo flower arrangements to everyone, which is to be placed in or on top of the coffin later. The Inquisitor, a bit unfamiliar with all that gaiety, now sees activity on the coffin and sits closer. For he has not yet experienced this, only an ordinary burning in the temple.

Some men remove the flower arrangements and open the box. And then pour gasoline into it. Boy young. Small kindling is laid between the logs, everything is ready. All those present then go to greet the coffin one last time and place their flower arrangement on the wood or the coffin, and then step towards the head monk under the roof. He hands out wristbands, they are popular because many ask for more. The Inquisitor watches in suspense whether they light the fire, but no, someone comes to read again. The names of people who made larger gifts. From five hundred baht. Oh dear, a long list because usually that is in the form of a monk's robe, the called out then come forward and put it very politely on a cloth that lies in front of the monk in question, after all, ladies are not allowed to have physical contact with them.

And then the fire goes in. At the bottom of the wood that expands quite quickly, such that when the flames get bigger and reach the box a blowtorch appears, the gasoline in the box. Little by little the coffin crumbles, the side walls collapse and The Inquisitor, to his amazement, can see the body lying there. Not for weak stomachs this. But they do not wait until the combustion is complete, there are three specialists who will deal with it and collect the ashes later. The masses are retreating to the Deing house, and so are we.

Where the party just continues. Eating and drinking, talking and laughing, the only thing missing is music. Lots of walking back and forth, everyone wants to talk to everyone. And as The Inquisitor moves from table to table, he is called by many and has to satisfy their curiosity. He quickly gets tired of that and goes back to the cooking tent, much more fun there, the friends are there. And honey-dear – who got pretty drunk. So it won't be too late, tomorrow the shop has to open again around half past six. And The Inquisitor goes back to poa Deing. Everything has to be broken down, the material brought back to the village shed. A lot of fun and fun again, guaranteed.

A death in Isaan, a completely different experience than in the Western world!