Thai Children's Favorite Stories

by Marian D. Toth

  Thai Children’s

  Favorite Stories

  Thai Children’s

  Favorite Stories

  FABLES, MYTHS, LEGENDS AND FAIRY TALES

  Written by Marian D. Toth

  Illustrated by Patcharee Meesukhon

  Contents

  How the Bay of Bangkok Came to Be

  Why Do We Have Thunder and Lightning?

  How the Thais Learned to Be Calm

  The Gold Harvest

  Princess Golden Flower and the Vulture King

  The Wisest Man in Siam

  There Is No Such Thing As a Secret

  How the Tiger Got Its Stripes

  The Footprint of the Buddha

  Glossary

  How the Bay of Bangkok Came to Be

  Once upon a time a kite flew above yellow bamboo rooftops, past green jungles, and high into the bright blue sky of Thailand. During the day it blocked the sun and at night it hid the moon. This kite was larger than an elephant, larger than a house. It was the largest kite in Thailand and maybe the largest kite in the world.

  If you slid from the kite through the clouds, down the long yellow kite string, you would find yourself in the compound of Khun Keha, the best kite maker in Thailand. He was an old man but he always felt young when kites were flying. During the third month, the mango monsoons blew like gusts from a giant bamboo fan. The largest kite in Thailand needed strong winds to keep it flying. Khun Keha prayed to the gods to encourage the winds to blow. He had spent over a year making his gigantic masterpiece and now he wanted all the children in his village to enjoy it.

  The idea for the kite came in the Year of the Snake on a day when Khun Keha’s compound hummed with the busy noises of children making kites. Sawdust puffed into the air like the pollen of flowers. Paint brushes swished reds, blues and yellows over slender strips of bamboo. Khun Keha could not take a step without meeting a question.

  “Is it true that kites can call the winds and bring rain to the rice field, Khun Keha?”

  “Chai, it is so. Kites can even tell what will happen in the future. Some wise men look at a flying kite and see in each movement a glimpse of things to come.”

  “Can kites do anything else, Khun Keha?”

  “Chai,” he answered. “Sometimes we use them to carry explosives. Kites are also good soldiers.”

  “Khun Keha, can a man ride in a kite?” asked a child.

  Khun Keha paused and shook his head. “Mai ruu, I don’t know. No one has tried it. I guess a man would need a kite as big as a house to ride in it.”

  “Can you build a kite that big?” they asked. Khun Keha laughed. “I don’t know, but I can try. Will you help me?”

  The children shouted, “Chai!” and shrieked with delight.

  “Run along now, children. You must rest now. Tomorrow we will watch the kite fights.”

  The next day Khun Keha took his little friends to watch the kite fights in front of the king’s royal palace. “Watch carefully, children, the kites are like boys and girls quarreling. The male kites are called chula. They are big and star shaped. The female kites are called pakpao. They are small and dainty.

  “Kite fighting is a team sport. The object is to keep your kite in the air and guide it to attack the enemy kites. Both the chula and the pakpao try to force each other out of the sky.”

  After the kite fight he took the children home and taught them how to make chula and pakpao kites. His compound was full of the laughter of happy children.

  “Where do I place the hooks on my chula kite?” a little boy asked.

  “Put the hooks on the bottom so they can catch the strings of the pakpao,” he said.

  The little girls said, “Khun Keha, you want the chula kites to win! Come, help us with our pakpao kites.”

  “Now, children,” said Khun Keha. “It isn’t who wins that matters. It is how well you observe the rules of the game. In kite fighting there are fifty rules to remember. It takes a long time to learn them. Most of all, you must be as clever as a tiger to make your pakpao twist and dip. Each flutter of wind sends the pakpao in a different direction. The pakpao is like a chicken chased by a dog. You never know which way the chicken will go.”

  “Chula kites are stronger,” said the boys.

  “Chai,” said Khun Keha.

  The little boys gathered around Khun Keha and said, “Khun Keha, why don’t you make a chula kite that is bigger than a house?”

  “We shall see, we shall see,” he said.

  When the kite season was over, Khun Keha began to make an enormous chula kite. It was so long he had to remove the end of his house. It was so tall, he had to remove the ceiling from his house. To add the sides, he had to tear down the rest of the house. Poor Khun Keha did not have a house any more but he had a giant kite. It was the only kite in Thailand bigger than a house.

  Every day the children came to watch Khun Keha paint swirls, diamonds and traditional designs on the kite. They agreed it was not only the largest but also the most beautiful kite in Thailand.

  On the first day of the waning moon, the wind roared across the ocean and swept over the jungles. It was a strong and steady wind. Before the sun dawned, all the children gathered next to Khun Keha’s kite. They greeted their friend by clasping both hands together, bowing their heads and saying, “Sawaddi, good morning, Khun Keha. Please may we fly the kite today?”

  Khun Keha smiled. “When a baby stands alone, we say he is setting up the egg. Today let us set up the egg for our kite and let it fly for the first time.”

  Khun Keha called eight of the larger children and gave each a heavy rope that was attached to the kite. He pulled the first rope himself. After a brief moment, no longer than it takes a chingchok lizard to catch a fly, the kite stirred to life. It soared into the sky like a giant bird. Higher and higher it flew while the children cheered and shouted.

  Khun Keha tied the long guide rope to a huge boulder. He spent the rest of the day preparing a surprise for the children. It was a sliding pulley that allowed them to ride from the ground through the sky to the giant chula kite.

  The children’s faces brimmed with wonder as they floated in the kite with old Khun Keha. It was like being in a magical world. All around them were soft white clouds fleeced with silver. The only sound was the flap of a bird’s wing or the whistle of the wind. At this great height the wind only tickled the kite and made it sway like a swing. Far below, the earth seemed as neat as a chessboard with rice paddies in squares. The network of klong canals looked like silver footpaths. All the houses looked the same, like little boxes on stilts.

  Each day during kite season the children dashed home from school, then met Khun Keha in the clouds. He told them stories and gave them coconut candy. If he had not done these kind things, they still would have come because the greatest joy of all was to observe the beauty of the world from the kite in the sky.

  One day the clouds were dark and the skies were scowling. “A great storm is coming,” said Khun Keha. “You may not go up to the kite today.”

  As he spoke, a harsh wind almost blew the children off their feet. The kite began to sway and its rock anchor moved slightly. “I’m afraid our kite may be damaged in this storm. Let’s bring it down.”

  Khun Keha and all the children pulled on the sturdy rope, but the force of the wind was so great that it lifted them from the ground. “Rawang! Rawang! Be careful, children. We must let the kite go!”

  The children obeyed, and just at that moment a powerful gust of wind carried their enormous kite high into the sky, so it quickly disappeared from view. Khun Keha sent the children home while he prayed for the gods to return his kite.

  What happened to the beautiful
kite, the largest kite in Thailand? We shall never know for certain, but the people who live in the south say that long ago a kite bigger than a house whirled through the sky, fell with a crash, tore open the earth, and created the Bay of Bangkok.

  Now Khun Keha did not have a house and he did not have a kite. But he had the honor of changing the geography of his country, and he had the love of all the children in the land. He considered himself a wealthy man.

  Why Do We Have Thunder and Lightning?

  When lightning flashes and thunder roars, Thai mothers say, “Don’t be afraid, children. It’s only Mekhala flashing her crystal ball. She is teasing the cruel god of thunder, Ramasura.”

  Mekhala is a beautiful Thai goddess with sparkling black eyes and shining black hair. It is said she was born in the foam of the sea. She is the goddess of the streams, rivers and oceans of the world.

  Ramasura is a demigod, half ogre and half divine and he carries a beautiful ax decorated with diamonds. He was born in a storm cloud, and to this day he wears a rain cloud as a cloak.

  All the gods and goddesses are fond of Mekhala because of her happy, carefree manner. They delight in watching her tease those who are serious. Her favorite victim is Ramasura. He is not a popular god because, it is said, he is harsh, cruel and violent. Worst of all, he has a very bad habit of throwing his ax at those who offend him.

  Fortunately, Ramasura and Mekhala don’t meet often. Most of the year Mekhala stays in the palace of her husband, Siva, where she spends her time polishing her crystal ball.

  Mekhala’s father had given her the crystal ball when she had married the great god Siva. “Now Mekhala, you must be a good wife to Siva,” he said. “My wedding gift to you is a sparkling crystal ball. It will amuse you and keep you occupied. You must always keep it polished, my child.”

  “Chai,” said Mekhala. “I shall do as you say, Father.”

  She kept her word, polishing her crystal ball until it sparkled like a brilliant star. But polishing the crystal was Mekhala’s only task, and soon she became bored with her work.

  “If I only had someone to talk to,” she sighed. “I do wish Siva would not leave me alone in this beautiful palace.”

  One day, when the monsoon season began, the gods and goddesses assembled in heaven to celebrate the life-giving gift of rain. They sang and danced as happily as mortals. As it was such a special occasion, Siva allowed Mekhala to attend the party. When she arrived, everyone stopped dancing and looked at her sparkling eyes, shining hair and her beautiful crystal ball that flashed beams of light into the sky.

  When Ramasura saw the beautiful Mekhala he walked toward her. She flashed her jewel in his eyes and laughed at the huge god.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” he roared.

  Mekhala giggled and flew in and out of the fluffy clouds.

  The winds whipped through the sky as Ramasura tried to find Mekhala. Most goddesses would have been terrified but Mekhala thought it was great fun to hide in the clouds and flash her crystal ball at Ramasura. She led him all over heaven as she skipped and giggled, diving into clouds and hiding in their mists.

  The more she laughed, the more enraged Ramasura became. “I’ll catch that little teaser if it is the last thing I do,” he said.

  No one could catch a goddess who darted as fast as a ray of sunlight, and it seemed as if Mekhala had escaped. Then, suddenly, Ramasura raised his arm and aimed his glittering ax at her. She flashed her crystal in his eyes and blinded him just as the ax flew from his hand with a thunderous sound. Again and again he hurled his ax at her, but his aim was always spoiled by the light from her crystal.

  On a stormy night, look into the sky. That flash of lightning is the sparkle of Mekhala’s crystal ball. The roar of thunder is Ramasura’s ax rolling across the corridors of the sky. If you sit very still and listen carefully you may hear Mekhala’s tinkling laughter, and if the clouds should part suddenly, you may see a graceful goddess darting above the mists with a sparkling crystal ball flashing rays of brilliant light into Ramasura’s angry eyes.

  How the Thais Learned to Be Calm

  Once there was a quiet, sleepy village. It was called Peaceful Village because everyone who lived there said, “My neighbor is my friend.” The people worked together each season of the year, in the rain, in the heat, in the dry season. They were always together like bunches of bananas in a tree. Then a terrible thing happened, as quick and unexpected as a flash of lightning in the sky. Peace left the village and these loving neighbors became enemies.

  It happened one day long ago when the red sun burned over the horizon and shone on the bamboo huts in Peaceful Village. The roosters crowed, as they always did, and stretched their wings like unfolding fans. The pigs oinked and poked their noses in the earth. The rice farmers washed the sleep from their eyes, rinsed their mouths with water, and chewed a wad of betel nut before going to work in the paddy. The women put yokes on the water buffaloes and woke their sleepy sons. The boys rode on the backs of the buffaloes and guided them to the paddy.

  That morning a little chingchok lizard, no bigger than a mouse, slithered onto the dirt road running through Peaceful Village. Its brown body looked like a drop of mud slung from the hoof of a buffalo. The farmers and their sons passed the chingchok on the way to the paddy. The shopkeeper’s sons skipped by it on their way to the wat where they recited their lesson for the priest. No one paid any attention to the chingchok because others just like him were in the houses, the trees and the compounds of every Thai family.

  The chingchok fell fast asleep by the side of the road. Nothing disturbed him, not even a little boy carrying a big pot of honey. As the boy skipped down the road, his pot rocked from side to side and a golden drop of honey flew through the air, landing on the sand beside the sleeping chingchok.

  This day, long ago, seemed like any other day. The lizard slept, the drop of honey sparkled in the sun, and the housewives went on with their work. They cooked the morning rice, scooped it onto banana leaves, and wrapped it with string, like a present. The children carried the little green bundles to their fathers in the paddy. Some wives mashed rice into flour with mortar and pestle. Others wove cotton threads into fabric on large handlooms. In one compound, not far from the sleeping chingchok, a woman and her friend sang a little baby to sleep in a cradle.

  It’s twelve o’clock my baby,

  The turtle dove is still;

  He cries from dawn to noon time

  But now his voice is still.

  And you must rest, my baby,

  For the sun is past the hill.

  When the baby fell fast asleep, his mother said to her friend, “Today I saw two chingchok fighting on the wall of our hut.”

  “It is an omen of evil. It means your family will suffer illness and maybe death,” said the woman as her face wrinkled into a worried frown. “You must offer rice to the guardian spirit of your place. If you burn incense for him and bring him fresh flowers, he may keep the evil from falling upon you.”

  Two little children, a boy and a girl, listened to their mothers’ conversation.

  “Run along, little rat, run along, little rabbit,” the mothers said to them. The children skipped down the road arm in arm.

  “My mother is terribly worried because the chingchok were fighting on the wall of our house this morning,” said the little girl.

  As they passed the sleeping chingchok, the little girl said, “Look, this chingchok is sleeping just an elephant’s step away from my cat.”

  “And my dog is sleeping in the shade behind your cat,” said the little boy.

  Just then the chingchok opened his beady eyes. The first thing he saw was the drop of honey gleaming in the sunlight. With a fast dart and one quick lick of his tongue he devoured the honey. The scurrying of the chingchok alerted the cat. She caught him with her paw and rolled him over in the sand. The scuffle awakened the dog. He snarled and barked at the cat. She arched her back and hissed like the fuse on a firecracker. The dog growled fier
cely. The girl grabbed a stick and beat the growling dog. “Don’t you dare hurt my cat,” she said. The little boy began to beat the little girl and he shouted, “Don’t you dare hurt my dog!”

  The girl’s mother came running to the scene. She slapped the boy and screamed, “Don’t you dare hurt my little girl.”

  The boy’s mother heard him cry and rushed to the street. “You beast,” she yelled.,“Don’t you dare hurt my little boy.”

  Friends of both women came running. When they heard the story, they started to fight, throwing sticks and stones and shouting insults. The women even pointed their toes at their enemies’ heads. Nothing was more insulting than this. The shouting disturbed the ricebirds. They fluttered above the paddies, darkening the sky with their flapping wings.

  The farmers heard the scream of a child, the sob of a mother, a wild shout, and an angry roaring of voices. They did not stop to unyoke their buffaloes and let them have an afternoon rest. They did not check their fishing nets and bring home the day’s catch. They did not sit on their buffaloes’ backs and play their bamboo flutes as the animals plodded homeward. The startled men dropped their plowshares and came running.

  By the time the rice farmers reached the village, the drop of honey, the lizard, the cat, the dog, and the two quarreling children were forgotten. Each man tried to defend his wife and soon found himself furiously fighting his friends and brothers.

  The next day the villagers found themselves divided into two camps. Each side dug trenches, and built barricades. For twenty days and twenty nights they fought each other. Brothers killed brothers and fathers killed sons in a meaningless war.

  The streets of the village became littered with trash and the houses became dirty and unswept. Weeds choked the rice plants. The water buffaloes’ skin cracked because no one gave them their daily bath. As the days passed it was clear that no one was winning but no one was willing to give up.