When Places Come Alive

by Ami Bhat

  “I need at least fifteen such sheets made by you. If you make a mistake, you just have to start all over again,” Phra Intaa instructed.

  And start he had to - not once but many times over. The frustrating part was that every time he made an error, he had to go back to boiling the bark and then waiting for it to dry before hammering it into the fibers. In short, he was back to the first-ever task he took on under Phra Intaa.

  The Sa paper corners had peeled even further. Somchai decided to bite the bullet, and he slowly began peeling the paper. “Slowly! Steady now! Don’t jerk,” he muttered to himself till he finally held his first undamaged sheet.

  Yay! I did it. Clearly, I have to wait for it to peel by itself, Somchai thought as he did a happy dance. With that brief victory celebration, he moved on to create the other sheets. By the end of that day, he had fourteen sieves drying in the courtyard.

  Just to avoid his earlier mistake, he decided to wait the night for the fourteen sieves to dry. The next morning, when he was sure that the parchments were ready, he peeled them and presented them to his teacher.

  Phra Intaa nodded in approval. “So, son, tell me, what have you learned?”

  Somchai launched into explaining the process that he followed. “…and then once the sieves are ready, the paper from the sides start peeling. That is when the whole parchment is ready,” he concluded. He shifted uneasily on his feet and then quickly blurted out, “If the parchment is peeled before it is ready, all the hard work I had done before is in vain.”

  The monk looked pleased. “Yes indeed! It is not so just in this task, but in life in general too. When you have the patience, you get things done right.”

  Somchai folded his hands and addressed him, “Now that I have learned that, am I ready to go home?”

  Phra Intaa shook his head and replied, “After that lesson, I thought you would know better. Just realizing a virtue is not enough. Only when it has become a habit that you have learned. Just like the parchment, you have to wait for your time. Let’s move to a new lesson.”

  And with that, the monk stood up and beckoned Somchai to follow him.

  Over the next few days, the monk taught Somchai something new. It involved cutting down bamboo into small sticks. Each stick had to be of a particular dimension, and to achieve that, it had to be chiseled to perfection. Once a bundle was ready, it had to be fitted together into a framework that resembled a flower. A long stick was attached to the center and threaded such that it allowed the flower to collapse into a single bundle.

  Phra Intaa worked with Somchai on the first wooden flower. After that, he left his apprentice to make fifteen more.

  Somchai began his assignment, but this time with a lot of caution. Having learned from his previous tasks, he spent time creating perfect bundles. His first framework kept collapsing, but this time, he did not get frustrated. He kept at it till he got it right, memorizing the little nuances that helped him achieve his goal.

  Every new framework then became easier, each one reducing the time taken to complete. He beamed with pride as he stacked his finished wooden flowers on a table. He was down to the last five when suddenly…

  Thwack! Crash!

  Three of his frames fell and broke into pieces. Somchai stared at the mess in horror.

  Meow! Purr!

  Somchai turned towards the culprit who made the sound. The wild cat had just entered through the window and leaped across the room, causing the completed frames to tumble over.

  Angry, Somchai grabbed the broken pieces and threw them at the offender.

  Hiss!

  The cat simply turned and ran off, leaving him to stare at the mess.

  Somchai fell to the ground and burst into tears. He sobbed over his labor and the fact that he would have to start over again. He agonized over the fact that it would be even longer now before he saw his mae.

  His mae… He remembered how she stayed up late and used similar tools for chiseling. “Can’t you do this somewhere else? The noise disturbs my sleep,” he used to yell at her, not realizing that the poor woman had not slept a wink.

  “Stop complaining and get used to the pain,” he had retorted once when his mother had winced in pain as the cuts on her palms burned while she cooked food for him. He looked at his own hands and wept loudly, ashamed of not even attempting to tend to her wounds.

  “It wasn’t you, Mae, who complained. It was me. You were the strong one who kept going despite all the difficulties,” Somchai cried. “Those beautiful idols that I carelessly handled were the result of your pain and perseverance. And I never respected them.”

  Somchai wiped his tears and took a deep breath. The realization that he had just had filled him with resolve.

  “Now I understand, my master,” he addressed the monk in his thoughts. “I had to feel that pain to learn and appreciate the fruits of labor. I have to be a better son!” And with that, Somchai went back to cutting the bamboo wood.

  The cutting and chiseling went on through the night. The next morning, when Phra Intaa went to meet his apprentice, he found him cutting more bamboo. The room was filled with over thirty wooden frames, and each one seemed better than the other. The monk patted Somchai and said, “I see that you have learned a lot more than just cutting and chiseling. Tell me about it.”

  Somchai bowed to him and said, “Learned one, it is not just patience that is rewarding. The true reward comes with consistency and hard work. Last night, I learned that one must not give up even when things go south.”

  Phra Intaa beamed happily. “Yes, my son. Consistency is the key. You are almost there. We just have one last lesson to learn, and once you have mastered that, you may leave.”

  Somchai nodded, ready for his next task.

  A few weeks later – Bo Sang Village

  She wiped the sweat that trickled down her temples with one hand, while with the other, she carefully closed the sack of goods. She used all her might to lift the sack when suddenly a huge shadow gave her respite from the blazing sun. She looked up to see a strong hand holding out a gorgeous canopy of green. She squealed with delight when she saw the owner. Dropping her sack, she hugged the young man. “My Somchai. Oh, My Somchai! You have come back,” she exclaimed.

  Tears of joy trickled down her sunburnt cheeks as she pulled back and examined her son. “You have grown lean. And you look different. Wiser maybe. Or maybe I have forgotten over the last few months…”

  Somchai bowed to her and said, “No, Mae, you have not forgotten. A mother never does. It is I who have changed.” He took his mother to the steps of his home and sat her down.

  He continued to speak. “Staying away from you made me realize how callous I was. How I never appreciated you. It made me realize my responsibilities. Phra Intaa not only taught me new skills, through him, I also learned some important lessons of life.”

  He then held out the exquisitely painted umbrella to her. “This is a gift from me to you. Just like this parasol protects you from the sun and rain, I will be there from now on to shield you.”

  She looked at her transformed son in wonder and then turned her attention to the painted umbrella. “Did you make this, Somchai?”

  “This umbrella is proof of what I learned. Not only did I figure out the virtue of patience and hard work, but I also learned how by using both together, you can create a masterpiece. I learned this from Phra Intaa when he trained me to make this painted umbrella using Sa paper and Bamboo.”

  Somchai kissed his mother’s hands and said, “No longer will you have to work the nights, for now, it is my responsibility. No longer do you have to bargain for those toys that everyone here makes. We can earn a living with a unique craft that Phra Intaa learned in Burma.”

  And with that, he opened a sack that he had brought, containing over fifty umbrellas painted in all possible colors.

  BO SANG VILLAGE, CHIANG MAI, THAILAND

  The traditional umbrellas of Bo Sang Village, near Chiang Mai, Thailand

  Bo Sang
village is known as the Umbrella village of Chiang Mai. The heritage art came to the village with a wandering monk from Burma. The skill and knowledge that he imparted were practiced by the villagers and passed on from generation to generation. The colorful umbrellas are not just a fashion statement; they also offer excellent protection from the sun and light rain. The parasols to date are made by hand using Bamboo wood and Mulberry pulp. The pulp is first boiled in water and then beaten into a fluffy form. The cottony particles are dyed and dried on a sieve to make Sa paper. At the same time, the Bamboo wood is cut to make sticks that are sewn together to form the parasol frame. The Sa paper is then attached to the frame.

  Visiting this unique Umbrella village lets you not only see the whole umbrella making process but also get involved in it. The Umbrella village of Bo Sang celebrates its legacy every year with a festival when the best of the creations is showcased to the world.

  Additional Reading

  Crafty Parasols at the Bo Sang Umbrella Center, Chiang Mai - https://thrillingtravel.in/bo-sang-umbrella-chiang-maihandicraft-village.html

  Sparkling Secrets

  Gold Coast, Australia

  The Gold Coast Hinterland

  The curtain of clouds slowly unveiled a landscape of green and blue. The light glow of dawn kept making the colors more vibrant. The strong gust of wind pushed the basket in a new direction, prompting its occupants to gasp in wonder.

  Amy could not believe what she was seeing. The magical touch of the gilded sunrays was turning everything to gold. The trees glowed orange, and the lakes shimmered bright yellow. It was as if she was looking at Eldorado, the city of Gold. The Golden touch. Midas touch29. Could it be…? she wondered.

  She rummaged through her rucksack and pulled out a very old roll of parchment. Delicately, she unrolled it and read.

  The sparkling secret

  Drift with the winds to the place

  Where Midas turns everything to gold.

  She knew those words by heart, but she still stared at them. Did the person who wrote it meant this very place? She just had to know.

  It was as if the wind had heard her. It pushed her hot air balloon down towards the yellow fields. The pilot of the hot air balloon remarked, “Looks like this is the end of our ride. It is time to land.”

  Amy smiled and looked down again at the golden fields. This cannot be a coincidence. It has to be the place. I must look around, she thought as she carefully folded the old parchment and tucked it away to safety.

  A Few Months Back – The Great Barrier Reef

  Amy and her buddy dived down to blue starfish, which acted as a beacon in the underwater city of reefs. A bright-green parrotfish took over as the guide, and the two divers followed its tail over the orange corals, pink pebbles, and yellow sponge beds. Pretty damsels swam around the sandy lanes of the sea bed, while the shy clownfish played peek-a-boo amid the wriggly sea anemones.

  The sandy lanes are like roads, and the corals are like city buildings, thought Amy, amused by her own comparison. The parrotfish had long disappeared under a black rock she was currently hovering over. A stern moray eel popped up from one of the crevices, daring her to come closer. The sudden appearance of it caused a small orange fish to puff up into a ball right in front of Amy.

  “Oh my!” gasped Amy as she withdrew to avoid them. She swerved over to the other side of the rock, only to stare right into the eyes of the wise one. And he winked at her.

  Amy almost dropped her regulator30. The wise old turtle had just winked at her! She blinked to clear her eyes and looked around. Maybe the two dives have got to me. I am hallucinating, she thought. And as if on cue to prove that she was not, the turtle winked again. He circled her and moved in a different direction as if saying, “Follow me.”

  Amy signaled to her buddy, and the two swam behind the old turtle towards what appeared to be a glowing cavern.

  Wonderstruck, Amy took in the glittering walls of a very unusual cavern. Every inch of it was filled with sparkling corals of every imaginable color. These were no ordinary corals. The turtle swam to Amy and almost nudged her. She heeded to his cue and followed him to a corner. The turtle settled next to an orange stone and looked intently in a particular direction, almost as if trying to point at something with its snout.

  What do we have here, my friend? Amy pondered as she followed the turtle’s gaze. Hidden in the corner was a small bottle with a parchment in it. Amy pulled it out and turned it around. It appeared to have been there for quite some time.

  “This feels like a scene straight from the pirate age. I wonder if that is a treasure map,” chuckled Amy, causing a burst of bubbles to rise from her regulator. I guess I will just have to examine it when I am back on the shore, she thought as she added it to her diving bag.

  The turtle had long gone, and after a few moments of poking around, Amy too swam to the surface.

  For reasons unknown to her, she felt compelled to keep the bottle a secret. It was only when she was all alone that she opened the glass bottle. There was nothing except a roll of parchment inside. She slowly unrolled it to reveal a set of lines.

  The sparkling secret

  Drift with the winds to the place

  Where Midas turns everything to gold.

  Over the next few weeks, Amy agonized over the parchment. It filled her dreams with maps and treasure. She went to the library and pored over legends of hidden treasures. She scoured the internet for sunken ships in the Great Barrier Reef. She looked up for lands that are rumored to have hidden gold, but she did not find the answer.

  Finally, she gave up and moved on with her life. However, the lines continued to haunt her.

  Back to the Gold Coast Hinterland

  Hop one. Hop Two. A little drag and a soft tumble!

  Amy’s hot air balloon had just landed in the yellow fields. She climbed out of the basket and walked to the edge of the field, as the pilot and his helper folded their ride. She looked around and saw acres of the golden field bound by the green mountains at the far end. If this is the place, then where do I start? she wondered.

  Pop! Whizz!

  The sound of champagne popping shook her out of her reverie. As was the custom for a safe landing of a hot air balloon, her pilot had opened the bottle of bubbly to celebrate. She took the proffered glass from him and toasted to a stunning flight. “Where exactly are we?” she asked.

  “We are in the valley that is close to Springbrook National Park. This valley used to be filled with green forests before they were converted into vineyards and farms. In fact, a little ahead is a century-old farm owned by the illustrious dowager, Irene Smith. Of course, now she is no more, but her mansion still stands by the stream. They say it is haunted,” explained the pilot.

  “Haunted mansion. Wow! That is intriguing! I would love to see it, if I may,” said Amy.

  “Sure thing, mate. The mansion grounds are open to all. I can drop you there, though you will have to find your way home later. It isn’t very difficult, given that it is at a walking distance from the town bus stop,” informed the pilot.

  “Perfect! That sounds like a plan,” beamed Amy, out loud. And a perfect place to begin my hunt, she silently mused.

  “Locked again!”

  She had already circled the old mansion twice and tried every possible door. Peering through the grubby windows, she only saw empty rooms. Disheartened, she walked the mansion grounds, admiring the wildflowers.

  Ah! well, since I am here, I might as well enjoy the view, she thought as she walked along the banks of the crystal stream flowing through the estate. She had almost reached the fence marking the end of the estate when she saw an old shed. Deciding she needed a rest, she sat down on its front steps.

  Bomp!

  She got up hurriedly. Oh, dear! Did I just break the old wood? She looked down to see that all was well.

  Bomp!

  Came the sound again when she sat down. She got up and patted the wooden plank.

  Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! />
  The stairs were hollow.

  Amy looked around and pried open the plank very cautiously. Rolling in the hollow space was another bottle with a paper. Excited, she pulled it out and read it.

  The sparkling secret

  Join the hopping feet

  Speak to the tree huggers

  This is real! This is meant to be. Excited and intrigued by her discovery, Amy read the note over and over again. The same heading, the same writing. This is a treasure hunt.

  She stared at the words for a long time, trying to decipher their meaning. “Hopping feet…carnival? Or is it a trampoline? And what are tree huggers?” Exhausted with her own arguments, she walked to the stream to refresh herself.

  Splash! Splot!

  She splashed the cool water over her face. When she reached for the water again, she gave a start! Two huge brown eyes were staring at her through the reflection in the water.

  “But, of course. Kangaroos,” exclaimed Amy gleefully as she hopped over to the staring creature. “So, like the turtle, you are going to lead me to the tree huggers who, I suppose, are the koalas,” she gently spoke to the waiting kangaroo and patted him.

  A small head popped out of his little pouch that made Amy squeal with delight. “Oh my, and you have your joey too.” But before she could pat the little guy, he popped back in.

  “Well, I suppose we just have to move on,” she addressed the kangaroo. “Lead on!”

  On that cue, the kangaroo hopped a few steps and stopped. It turned around and looked at Amy, as if saying, “Let’s go.”

  They left the valley behind and ascended to the small hilly forest. The low bushes had changed into tall Eucalyptus trees. Amy kept an eye out for the cuddly koalas, but there seemed to be none in sight.

  They stopped at a small pool of water. The kangaroo lapped a little of it and sat down almost as if it needed a break. “Ah well, I guess I too need to rest a little,” Amy told the kangaroo as she sat by one of the trees. She rested her head against the bark and closed her eyes. The cool breeze made her drowsy, and just as she was drifting into a dream world, a little gumnut31 fell on her head. Jumping up, she craned her neck and looked for the culprit. That is when she saw them hugging the swaying branches, purposefully observing her.