On the edge of the forest, beyond the pagodas and giant buddhas of the ancient ruins of Sukhothai, lost in gnarled roots and tangled vines, was a midden of ancient rubble. It was almost indistinguishable from the fallen leaves – a small mound like a tiny long-barrow.
Just for curiosity I rooted around with my feet, clearing a patch of vegetation and stones. Half-submerged in soil, I saw what looked like a piece of broken plant pot. I pulled it out. It was a small disc, with tiny, molded feet. Worms and nematodes, moss and liverworts had created a pattern of intricate tracery across its surface. Rain wash from the soil was so deeply soaked-in that it had left organic, stippled stains.
“Let me see that,” said Khun Thakham, looking surprised. I handed it to the guide, who carefully examined the object in her hands.
“Do you know what this is?”
I shook my head.
“It’s an ancient firing stand. It was made for a porcelain celadon vase to sit on as it hardened – some-700 years ago. This rubble must be the ruins of a kiln.”
She looked towards me, turning the disc in her hand like it was a precious object.
“It seems your search for Thailand’s secrets is paying off. The vase this forgotten stand was made for would have been a real treasure – hardened by temperatures hotter than a volcano; jade green; covered in peony-flower patterns, its porcelain as smooth and polished as a jewel... It perhaps would have been sent to China, to Angkor or even the court of the Siamese king himself.”
“The Emerald Buddha was a glowing focus of energy, clothed in an exquisite cape of filigree gold. I felt that tingle again as I gazed at it, hypnotised”
I looked at the little disc – a relic of a glorious past in a city of ruined buildings, buried for centuries. When this stand
