Monsoon Country

By Pira Sudham

Pira Sudham's 1988 classic Monsoon Country
NEW 2022 EDITION

It is hard to overstate the impact that Pira's Monsoon Country had on the outside world when it was first published in 1988. Regarded as a classic by many, yet is was classic in a genre of just one novel.

Pira Sudham and Monsoon Country are close to unique in so many ways. He wrote in the English and never published novels or short stories in his native Thai language. A justifiable comparison could be made to Joseph Conrad writing almost a century before.

He came from a peasant family in the northeast, the country's poorest region where a third of Thailand's population live. With Monsoon Country there was suddenly an international voice for the peasants, long exploited by both governments and provincial godfathers. The story tracks Pira's own life, a poor youngster taken to Bangkok as a temple boy and winning scholarships to end up studying English in Thailand's leading university followed by overseas universities in New Zealand, Australia and England.

Many kids born in this century, growing up in NE Thailand wouldn't recognize the 1960s and 1970s region called Isan. (Sometimes Esarn, Issan, Isaan and other spellings.) Their grandparents would know the life lived in poverty well. Young girls moving to Bangkok to work in its notorious nightlife industry in order to support their parents and siblings. Development has taken place. The inequality and local godfathers may still be there, but now politicians and army generals have to remember the insurgency of the 60s and 70s and at least pay lip service to improving the living standards in Thailand's largest region.

Maybe, again like Conrad, English being a second language forces authors to be meticulous in their use of the language and finding the exact right words and phrases to use. If you have never read Monsoon Country, or last read it back when it was first published, now is a good time to read it for the first or second time to see why it was so widely praised back then.

Pira is still with us and living back in his home village. The sequel to Monsoon Country, 2002's The Force of Karma has a new final chapter written in 2022 bringing the story up-to-date. There are good reasons why Pira Sudham is regarded internationally as the leading Thai author of his generation.

"With his rich command of the English language Pira Sudham possesses the unique gift of being able to convey the cultural evolution of Thailand through the eyes of a poor farmer’s son. Pira’s insightful observations make fascinating reading and the lad who once tended buffaloes has become a significant voice for the people of the Northeast." Roger Crutchley, Bangkok Post columnist and author of The Road to Nakhon Nowhere

• Language: English
• Publisher: Proglen
• Release date: Sep 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9786164560444

Pira Sudham

Pira Sudham was born in Napo, Burirum, Northeastern Thailand. He spent his childhood in the rice fields on the Korat Plateau, helping his parents and tending a herd of buffaloes. At fourteen he was taken to Bangkok to be a servant to monks. He was also enrolled in school. He supported himself through high school and his first year in Chulalongkorn University by selling souvenirs to tourists before winning a New Zealand government scholarship to Auckland University to study English literature.His best know book is Monsoon Country which has a sequel called The Force of Karma. Both have been revised under a single title, Shadowed Country. His short story collections are People of Esarn and Tales of Thailand and now the ebook, It is the People.Pira Sudham now lives back in his village of Napo helping with the schooling and feeding of the many poor kids there.

Book preview

A Rebirth

In the Year of the Horse, Boonliang gave birth to a boy.

When the monsoonal rain ended the searing summer, rice farmers toiled on their inundated paddy-fields.

Some time later Kum realised that he had not registered the infant’s existence with the authority. Consequently, the fear of wrongdoing worried him. Hence he hastened to the headman’s house in the heart of Napo Village.

He crawled towards the reclining chief and submitted himself, crouching.

Chief Tongdi sat up, coughing.

Because the headman represented the absolute power of the Masters, his official duty invariably commanded respect and awe.

Erm mer mer my wer wer wife gave ber ber birth to an off-spring.

Come closer, the half-deaf Octogenarian commanded.

The penurious peasant gingerly moved forward.

A boy?

The headman had been blessed with seven daughters, most of whom were the results of his attempts to have a son.

The word off-spring, which should be ambiguous enough, might avoid reminding the powerful man of his misfortune, the humble little man surmised.

Not to have a son to carry on the family name was a retribution for a misdeed committed in the previous life. That was a common belief among the Napotians.

Suke appeared, crawling towards a wooden cabinet from which she produced a census register.

Having handed the volume and a fountain pen to her husband, she sat submissively by his side.

Holding the register close to his glaucomatous eyes, Tongdi tried to steady his trembling hands, turning pages.

What name?

Per per Prem. Prem Surin

What day?

Erm um um…

Suke, who was also the village midwife, recalled the date and the month from her memory so that the fortunate father could repeat after her.

You are Kum and your wife is Boonliang. Correct?

Yay yay yes, sir.

Address?

Ban Nong Eso, Tumbol Napo, Umper Putthaisong, Changwat Burirum.

The stutterer uttered rather fluently, for the fact had been memorized since childhood.

It’s a good name, the chief stated. Being born on Friday in the Year of the Horse, this son of yours will be brainy as well as obedient.

The visitor tacitly acknowledged the prediction, crawling away from the influential couple.

On his return to the hut, Kum gazed at the tiny thing that was laid on a nest of rags on the wooden floor.

Sitting down, he took the baby into his arms.

The tiller of the earth wanted to tell the little creature that from then on it existed in the eye of the law.

Boonliang smiled, seeing Kum pass on his love to the child.

Kiang, the older son, popped in, squatting by his father’s side.

At school I read about a tadpole named Od. Let’s call him Tadpole, Tadpole Od or just Od.

The father seemed anxious, being aware that the puny boy seldom opened his eyes and rarely made a sound.

A few years later, when Tadpole remained dumb, many Napotians called him Mute.

Boonliang did not object to her son’s new identity, believing that such a deficiency might have been a fruit of his bad karma committed in a former life.

But Piang, the sister, would not stand idly by.

Don’t call him Mute! Piang challenged a group of girls.

Mute! Mute! Mute!

As dumb as a stump!

Or a buffalo!

He talks to me sometimes! Piang pouted.

Make him yack then, one girl taunted.

The sister turned to the silent one and asked him to say ‘I can speak’.

There was not a peep out of him.

He’s mute! Odd Little Od is mute!

As mute as a paddy-field la la la la la, another girl sang and danced.

Piang aimed for an eye of one brat. Her nails served her temper well. Then she viciously boxed the rest.

Having watched the fracas from her hut, Boonliang tightened her sarong and came over to render justice.

If you can’t play nicely with them, stay away from them, she stressed hoarsely, beating the daughter with a stick.

Piang did not cry. Taking the little tadpole by the hand, she led him away from the crying children to sit under a mango tree some distance away.

There, the ground was sandy.

The sister began to scratch the sand with an index finger, making a pattern.

Following her example, the little brother drew lines.

Piang wanted to say that one should not draw with one’s left hand. But her throat was parched while tears welled up in her eyes. All the while she was trying to remain calm.

What were the words that she had heard him utter the other day? Was it his way of saying that he had seen a ghost disappear into a tree trunk? But, as tears ran down her face, it appeared that the sister was the one who needed consolation. Where the stick had hit her arms the pain had to be dispersed by rubbing gently while the mother’s wrath and the mocking ‘la la la la’ had to be contained.

On the other hand, Kiang believed that it was fortunate to have a brother because three others had died. Now he saw the little one as a future helping hand. Kiang would not mind even if Little Od remained mute all his life as long as he would not become a wimp later on in life. He could not be bothered with some people’s snide remarks either. For now he had a brother.

As young men they would be working side by side in the rice fields.

There were times when Kiang looked anxiously at Tadpole, anxious that an illness or a ghost would deprive him of his brother.

The mute must survive, Kiang wished.

One day, when they were together in a fallow field, taking care of their buffalo, whose name was Etan, Kiang said:

I’ll teach you to ride Etan.

The big brother jumped swiftly from the hind legs of the docile animal onto its back.

Surprisingly Etan remained unperturbed.

You press your legs on the flanks and move them to and fro to signal her to move. Like this.

Etan pulled another mouthful of grass and snorted. The master prompted her with the whip, causing her to jerk and strut forward. Kiang also made certain noises that Etan seemed to understand.

She stopped in front of the boy now.

The rider slid to the ground.

I can jump onto her back from here.

Kiang, lean and lissome, paused to see whether the little one was listening.

But you’ll have to hold on to her tail. Put your toes on one of her hind legs and pull her tail to lift yourself up. Try now.

The village mute looked at Etan’s long curvy horns and at her sheer size. The bulging buffalo seemed awesomely heavy with the calf inside.

Try! With your right foot on her knee joint, hold on to the tail and pull yourself up.

Kiang stood aside, watching.

The buffalo grazed heedlessly. Her black skin and hair smelt of mud.

The mute hung on to her tail. When the buffalo moved, he fell off.

The spry teenager patted the family’s mobile treasure and ordered Etan to stand still. Then the big brother helped the timid little thing climb upon her back.

There you are. It’s easy.

Etan turned her head as if to question the little master’s intention. Kiang patted her so that she moved forward, shaking her head and flapping her ears.

The buffalo halted now, awaiting further instruction.

Make her move, Kiang directed.

How could one dare to be the master of so huge an animal? He had handed himself over to her. Being now at her mercy, he could not act.

Go on! Make her walk! Kiang huffed as Etan grazed, ignoring the rider.

When there was no action, Kiang angrily slapped the buffalo’s haunch.

Surprised, Etan surged ahead.

A moment later the tiny thing fell.

No one else was there to pass judgment on Kiang. His boyish manliness prevented him from going over to see whether the child was hurt or not. Instead the big brother went after the animal as it fled from the scene.

Let’s go home now! Kiang called, sounding as if the accident had not occurred.

When anger and disappointment had dissipated, Kiang brought Etan back to where the silent one was waiting. Having lifted the dumb little child onto the buffalo’s back, the big boy jumped up, sitting behind.

Together the two brothers rode Etan homeward towards Napo.

Omens and Auguries

We’ll have a good monsoon season this year, Piang predicted, scanning the sky.

Some buffaloes stopped grazing to gaze at the speaker. Seemingly they had already known that the monsoon was nigh.

Little Tadpole Od, who had become akin to the herd, looked deep inside the animals for their prescience while his skin sensed the breeze and some droplets of rain.

Looking at the clouds, the mute could see that the downpour was imminent, but pretended that he did not.

Te..tell me, Sis. Ha…ha...how you know.

Wanting to say more, the child fumbled in his mind.

It was still a tremendous effort to speak, to make sounds for others to hear and understand.

Ignoring him, Piang concentrated on interpreting the auguries from the formation and shadows of clouds. She prided herself for being much older than he, and last year she had won a top prize at school.

See that cloud there, Piang indicated, tilting her face upward. "It’s the Goddess of Rain. Over there is Maehaeng, Mother of Drought, mean-looking but is weakening."

Then the tadpole saw indescribable beauty.

Could Piang read also the poetry of the sky?

There was an immense electrifying power in such a beauty, passing from form to form, from shadow to shadow, perpetuating the clouds with its intensity.

The little thing pointed and made another attempt to speak.

Piang trembled, believing that the mute had committed a taboo act.

One must not point at Mother of Drought and not at rainbows either. Otherwise, one might lose one’s index finger.

Meanwhile the wind became frightfully forceful.

Piang feared that Little Od’s gesture and remark were the cause. For you must not see and point out the supernatural and the evil.

At the edge of the woods by a neglected melon patch, a whirlwind appeared, whirling and furling.

Razor-sharp gale, please blow the other way.

The sister looked forebodingly serious then, expecting the culprit to do the same. In her mind, she recalled a code of survival: Do not challenge the supernatural, the evil and the wicked. Eyes are not to see, ears not to hear, and mouths not to flout them.

Lightning struck.

Thunder rumbled.

O lord, the true ruler of the earth and the sky.

She kept her eyes closed while remaining absolutely still.

Opening her eyes again, she looked about her, calling out to boys and girls who were the members of the Napo herders.

Their responses echoed from all directions.

Now it was time to round up the buffaloes.

How lovely Piang looked with her black hair flying about her winsome face as she waited for rainfall.

The turbulent air stirred the whole plain now.

The buffaloes began to run about, chasing one another. Some locked horns until the weaker ones gave in, running away from the pursuing victors.

Many fronds on tall palm trees broke off and bats dispersed, screeching and flying away.

Clouds hung low, melting into grey veils.

The boys dashed off to collect fallen fronds to make a simple shelter so that the little ones could huddle inside.

I lost all my frogs and crabs, one girl lamented.

If we can’t keep the buffaloes together now they will run off too far, Piang worried.

Then the storm struck. The torrential rain swept and lashed at the fronds under which the children crouched. The bigger boys, overpowered by the magical monsoon, took off their clothes to keep dry under the fronds. Then they ran about wildly, laughing and hollering and singing.

Rain!

Here comes the monsoonal rain,

But I have only a handful of grain!

The one, who had lost all her frogs and crabs, giggled at the sight of those wild naked boys.

Lightning may strike them.

Are you afraid of lightning, Mute? another girl asked after a flash of lightning had blazed.

The mute opened his mouth, trying to utter a sound that meant no.

Yes, you are, Piang butted in to emphasize a taboo: One must not dare. And don’t gape. You look like a twit when you gape.

Are you scared of me? Tume Polsan leaned forward with one truncated arm outstretched like a fleshy truncheon.

Tume had been born deformed. Her right hand had no fingers.

Silly girl! Why should one fear deformity when one was not afraid of the dead?

Yes, when the senile village chief had died, the tadpole went to the house of the dead to gawp at the corpse. There was no mystery to death at all. The soul deserted the body -- an empty nest after the birds had flown away.

Nay, not a..a..afraid, the mute managed to raise his voice against the sound of the torrential monsoon.

Then he wriggled free from their hold on him, running away.

The girls chased him, shouting:

How dare you!

At that instant the jubilant boys turned their attention to the screaming girls, chasing them.

Their banter and laughter entwined with the velocity of the rain.

How happy they were then.

Their happiness marked the beginning of a monsoon season in which men and their buffaloes were toiling on the rain-soaked land.

The young herders disbanded.

Each became a helping hand to their parents in the paddy-fields.

Being too young yet to toil, Tadpole Od was assigned to look after Mother Etan and Aitong, the male calf.

When one came close to a buffalo, one noticed how the big eyes rolled, and how they looked at things. Little Od had become very fond of Etan, riding her every morning when he took her and the calf out from the pen to the plain.

When the heat became intense, the tiny herdsman and his herd sought a leafy tree.

In the shade, the boy rested, leaning against the reclining mother buffalo’s flank.

With Etan and Aitong, there was no need for human language.

Many times Piang had tried to drum into his head words and their pronunciation so that people could understand him. But, after a while, she lost patience, balefully saying:

You’re hopeless. People will believe that you’re an idiot and a wimp to boot. They’ll laugh at you when you babble like that.

They have already done that, the boy meant to say. Worse than their mocking laughter are the awful names they have called me. To them I am either the freak or the creep.

The silent one tried to please her but without success. Words would not come easily to his lips in their proper order. They fluttered in his mind like butterflies, some of which could escape through his gaping mouth.

One day the freak fell off the stilted hut and lost consciousness.

The seer-cum-soothsayer Tatip Henkai had to be sent for.

Meanwhile, below the hut, Kum and Kiang had made a four-poster bier of bamboo.

Then Boonliang kindled a wood fire underneath it.

On this crudely-built structure, the father laid his half-dead son. Then Tatip Henkai led the congregation to pray for the boy’s life.

Strangely enough, soon after that accident, the wimp seemed to be able to babble more.

But still he stammered, just like his father, while being obliged to speak with awesome persons, such as the new village chief or patrolling policemen or strangers who asked for directions.

He would rather avoid making an attempt to speak by being with Etan and Aitong on the plain.

Then one day several big boys snatched the mute and threw him into a pond. The bullied would have drowned if it had not been for a passer-by who came to the rescue.

Once more, Kum laid the body on the bamboo bier and the weeping mother kindled a wood fire underneath it. Then Tatip Henkai was sent for.

Old Mr Henkai took a prominent place, facing the body on the stilted bier, and led the Surins and their neighbours to pray for boy’s life. They prayed long and hard and yet the boy remained in a coma.

The seer believed that a ghost wanted to adopt him.

So then the clairvoyant declared that there was only one task left to do. He must barter with the pi for the return of Litlle Od whose penurious parents and grandparents needed him to toil along with them on their land.

During the rite of bartering for a life, various votive offerings, including a hard-boiled egg and rice and flowers were arrayed on a large copper tray.

The Surins promised that they would present saffron robes and food to the monks and transfer the merit gained to the pi.

Still the body remained lifeless.

Eventually Tatip Henkai called for silence so that he could concentrate and gather the force from within.

In a solemn act of supplication, he chanted a lengthy mantra and then entered into a trance to explore the past, present and future.

His ulterior motive could be revealed as a desire to find out why the village mute had become remarkably different from the others and suffered a great deal.

The seer had seen several bigger and stronger boys kick and spit at the vulnerable boy. They gave him derogatory names and denigrated him.

Once a gang of teenagers tied the little freak to a tree on which red ants thrived. If Tatip had not come to the rescue in time, those tiny, vicious creatures would have bitten the boy to death.

In a trance, the seer became rigid for so long that the congregation feared the septuagenarian might not make his way back to the present and recover the reality.

A long while later, having emerged from the exploration, Tatip voiced a startling discovery.

"He’s not one of us. Tadple Od came from another race, another time, and from a country far away to the west. I saw him as a tall, stalwart white man, a military commander, on a steed ordering the troops to shoot a throng of natives. When the cavalry ran out of bullets, they cut down the unarmed people with swords. After that horrific sight, I saw his golden head shining sublimely while moving about his grand place of residence that housed treasures and ornate furniture and decorations of which we have never seen the likes.

"I also saw him being laid to rest. After his soul had suffered long from tortures in hell, it was conceived by the poorest of the poor in our impoverished land. Isan must have been chosen so that, not only his physique would be malnourished and diseased but also his mind would be deprived, tortured and maimed. Among us the child was born to become a feeble mute who could not cry for help. Among us, he is tormented and wounded and humiliated by those who see that he is vulnerable and helpless and without protection.

"The wretched soul has a look that incites aversion so that the stronger shall lift their hands to hurt him or to cause his fall by all means made possible to them. In our land he shall spend his life paying for the monstrous karma made in a former life. In this life he is to be the opposite of what he was in the other life. Wherever he goes, he will find hindrances, pitfalls and people with ill will towards him. He shall attract foes rather than friends. He will encounter many powerful persons who will humble him, making him go down on his knees, to be at the receiving end of the others’ arrogance and cruelty and malice.

"Against humiliation, tortures and attacks, he would have to do good deeds to benefit those who are poverty-stricken, downtrodden, despised and unjustly treated as he himself has been, if he is to deserve a rebirth in his former home in the land far away.

"Just now I have seen him as he is -- feeble, vulnerable, unprotected but trusting. He is wide open to assault, to disease, ruthlessness and brutality, unable to identify who are his hidden enemies and his true friends. Thus he renders himself to the treatments according to their whims. I know now what to do to give this poor thing some degree of protection. Should he die now or shortly after, he will not complete the course of retribution. In this life he has yet to finish paying for his heinous karma committed in his previous life. If not, he has to be reborn to suffer more through to the end. But, in the next rebirth, he might not be back as human. He might return to our world as a hideous creature, a spider or a centipede or a pernicious reptile. Not so nice, hm? No one likes these creatures. Lord Buddha says: To be born human is a foremost fortune. I know what to do. We will offer him to the pi, who shall be his Pipramae, the Mother Ghost, so that the adopted one will be under her protection through to the end of his long, suffering life. How about that? Kum and Liang, will you agree?"

The father fumbled in his enclosed mind for a word that would affirm his consent while the mother nodded.

Thus the seer, renowned for having an accurate second-sight and for having successful dealings with