Glorious Goodbye
Aom’s 71-year-old grandmother died Saturday evening. Aom phoned me on Monday morning asking me to accompany her to her Grandmother's cremation. We would head to Grandmother's village near Payao on Tuesday afternoon, arriving after the funeral was well underway. This cremation was an important occasion. Grandmother's six sons and daughters, plus grandchildren, wanted to assure that she had a glorious goodbye. During our three-hour trip Aom told me how much she cherished her kind, sweet grandmother who had never made Aom angry. She shared that her grandmother loved to talk and was treasured by everyone who knew her. I told Aom I felt honored to be invited.
We arrived at her grandmother’s house at five in the afternoon. We could hear monks chanting. Luckily I had on somber travel clothes. As we climbed out of the car I grabbed my bright pink yam (a cloth Thai shoulder bag) along with my miniscule black purse. I realized my error too late. No bright, cheery colors are allowed in any form at a funeral.
We beelined through the guests, who were sitting under awnings, listening to the miked chants. We climbed the private back stairs. The spacious, upstairs, private-quarter family room, where the body rested in a white and gold coffin, was packed with family and special guests. Aom and I found a place to sit in a small, open anteroom along with several other women. In this room a little movement and shushed talking was allowed.
Four monks chanted from scriptures in Pali, the sacred language of Buddhism. I mimicked the movements of the people around me. I sat on the floor Thai style with my legs neatly folded to my side. I held my hands in a prayer pose most of the time. Still, my presence caused a stir. A man in white snapped my picture.
Grandmother had been in the hospital, but when it became obvious she was dying, her children rushed her home. Whenever possible, a Thai chooses to die at home. After death family and friends keep her spirit company until the cremation, which is the most significant Thai life cycle ceremony. Monks come by the house each day to perform specific rites.
On Tuesday afternoon the monks chanted instructions from sacred texts imploring Grandmother’s spirit to return to her body and coffin rather than wander around in her home. Once the monks finished giving the instructions, men carefully carried the coffin downstairs and placed it on a fancy, two-story high, gold and white, pavilion-like chariot near the entrance to the family compound. An altar with large, fragrant flower arrangements and wreaths, along with an enormous photograph of grandmother, was set up at the head of the pavilion chariot.
Aom introduced me to her recently widowed grandfather. To express my sympathy I gently held his hands for a few moments. After more greetings and introductions, Aom, her father and I drove to Aom's village, about 10 minutes away. Once home we unpacked, took quick, cool, showers and dressed in our formal funeral clothes. Only two colors are appropriate for funerals: black and/or white.
We returned to Grandmother's home and went upstairs for dinner. Trays of food were set on the floor that included bags of sticky rice and bowls of a local delicacy: wild mountain mushrooms cooked in pork fat. Aom served me vegetarian fried rice. A group of men sitting near us were drinking home-made whisky with their dinner. This wake included both festive and somber moments, laughter and tears.
After dinner I sat with a few women downstairs in the yard under one of the large awnings rented for this event. Aom's mother stood nearby. She looked tired and sad. I felt a great desire to hug her. I asked permission. She said yes. The hug was a strong and tender moment between the two of us. Shortly thereafter Aom informed me that as one of the most honored guests at the funeral, I would be asked to 'make merit' for her grandmother. This required an etiquette lesson. We trooped upstairs to chat with the aunt in charge of funeral etiquette.
During the evening ceremony the master of ceremonies would call my name. I'd receive a bolt of orange cloth from a family member. I would reverently offer this bolt to one of the monks. To keep my head below the monk's heads I was told to go over to the monks on my knees, place the bolt in front of him, bow using a specific Buddhist act of reverence and then return to my place, on my knees. I felt honored that they trusted me to perform this sacred task.
After accepting the instructions I followed Aom downstairs to take our place at the entrance of the family compound. We greeted the arriving guests. Other family members often joined us for the greeting ceremony. We sat alongside the altar set up for Grandmother. Each time someone arrived we stood up, greeted them with a traditional 'wai' (raising both hands, palms joined, to a position lightly touching the lower part of our own face) and a warm, sincere 'sawadee-kaa' (welcome in Thai). I would often smile, forgetting that this was a sad occasion. Then Aom, or her sister or a cousin would hand the guest a lighted incense stick. The guest would slip out of his shoes, step on the mat in front of the altar, wai and say a prayer to Grandmother and conclude the mini ceremony by sticking the sweet smelling incense into a big bowl (filled with sand) on the altar.
Grandmother, a popular woman, received many prayers. After the majority of the guests had gathered, four monks arrived and filed upstairs. We soon followed. This time I sat in the main upstairs room. The miked master of ceremonies, who had once been a monk, led the chants and kept everyone, inside and out, attuned to the ceremonies. Aom told me that these sacred chants gave afterlife instructions and blessings for Grandmother. When the chanting finished, the merit-making for Grandmother began. Buddhists believe in an afterlife and rebirth. The more merit you have--the more good deeds you have performed--the better your afterlife and rebirth. Others can perform good deeds on your behalf, thus the importance of merit making at funerals. Bolts of material for making robes is the traditional offering. These gifts provide the monks with a way to clothe themselves. In the truly olden days monks would remove the clothes of the dead and dye them in saffron. When the monks had enough material, they'd sew the pieces together to make a robe (108 pieces for each robe).
After the merit making finished, the monks left. Grandmother rested contentedly (we hoped) in her pavilion. Trays of roasted sunflower seeds and cookies were brought around for the guests, along with cups of hot, sweet, milky coffee. Aom parked me with a couple of men who spoke a little English while she attended to guests. We nibbled on seeds, sipped our coffee and chatted about life, just like Grandmother would have done. About thirty minutes later Aom took me downstairs where a group of women wished to be with me. Even though I spoke little Thai and they spoke little English, we managed to communicate. I felt integrated into this caring and empathetic community.
Some guests would keep vigil the entire night. A blaring television provided entertainment. I noticed, too, that in a far away corner a small gathering of men seemed to be drinking and gambling - this was a party afterall. Suddenly money and 'chips' went flying. The women I sat with quickly scooped me up and rushed me into the house...without even giving me time to remove my shoes. Their behavior particularly exemplifies how everyone was constantly concerned for my well being. Soon someone came in to inform me that all was calm, nothing of substance had happened.
Around eleven Aom and I piled into a truck with neighbors from her father's village and the four of us headed back to Aom's ancestral home for the night. Aom and I shared an upstairs bedroom.
The following morning Aom arose early. About 7:30 I dressed and went downstairs. I was alone in the quiet, still morning. Soon I heard a motorcycle. Aom zipped into the compound with my breakfast in a plastic bag. During breakfast Aom explained to me that her father's best friend had also died on the same Saturday as her grandmother. Aom wanted me to go with her to greet and sympathize with the new widow and her daughter who lived in Germany. Surely I must speak German, no? No. Oh well.
We borrowed the neighbor's truck and drove to a neighboring village. We paid our respects to the deceased and went indoors where the widow warmly received us. Her daughter placed a tray of fresh-cut dragon fruit and cookies in front of us. She offered me hot Thai coffee. Ahh, yes, please. It took a long time for the coffee to come. In this home I felt the heavy weight of mourning. I wished the widow, who was about my age, great courage. She told me that she would be ok, that her grown son and daughter would take care of her. We stayed about an hour.
We returned to Aom's village where many neighbors were waiting for us. It was time to hightail it to her grandmother's village. Today everyone dressed in their finest funeral wear and wore gold jewlery. The most significant day of funeral rites was the cremation. We arrived in plenty of time to take our place in front Grandmother's altar to greet the guests. It started to rain. I put up my inappropriate bright pink, yellow and white umbrella. Mai pen rai...no problem. It started to pour. Aom stayed as a greeter but I was ushered indoors. I sat on the floor with several women and helped prepare small gifts for the guests.
At mid morning eight monks arrived for the final rites performed at home. I sat in the anteroom. When the monks chanted I went deep inside myself to feel the meaning of their sacred hymns. Two chants particularly moved me. The first one seemed to be a subtle cleansing of the house, a refreshing change of its energy so that Grandmother's spirit wouldn't recognise her old home and return as a ghost. The second chant propelled Grandmother onward to heaven, her next temporary home. Grandmother left. Firecrackers exploded with loud bangs. Her departure brought about joy and relief at the success of the ceremony as well as great sadness for those who remained. More gifts were presented to the monks both in gratitude and for merit making. Each monk received a large ice bucket filled with many little items they could use, from toothpaste to tea bags.
The monks left. A sound system, loaded on a truck, blared mournful funeral music rythmically punctuated with the sound of a large gong. We sat huddled in small groups while family members brought us our lunch on round trays filled with bowls of pork, incredibly spicy dipping sauce, bags of sticky rice, bags of sliced cucumber and bamboo shoots plus a bag filled with firewater. Someone handed me a bag of sticky rice and, following suit, I grabbed a small chunk, rolled it in the palm of my right hand and ate some along with the cukes and bamboo shoots. The women were delighted in my efforts. I even tried a drop of the eye-watering spicy sauce. Aom soon arrived to join us. She exchanged my bag of sticky rice with a bag containing a sweet Thai dessert made of rice and a green egg custard: delicious and much more palatable to my Western tastebuds.
Once we finished lunch we started to prepare for the march to the cremation grounds. First the men mounted the pavilion chariot on a truck bed in the middle of the village road. Next the men attached two long ropes to the front of the chariot. Flowers were set up along the right side of the chariot. We all had our pictures taken, it reminded me of taking formal wedding pictures after a wedding and before the reception. It seemed everyone wanted me in their family picture. I see a camera and I automatically smile. Whoops - I had to be reminded to look sad.
Once finished with the formal photographs, the two hundred guests lined up and grabbed the rope. All of us would be pallbearers. I believe the widower with his three sons and three daughters walked behind the casket. As the funeral music wafted through the air, we inched our way forward towards the cremation grounds. The rains lifted and we marched the half mile in the hot afternoon sun. The last long block of the walk to the cremation grounds passed through verdant green rice paddies. My eyes rested on the lush, tranquil landscape of flourishing rice paddies, with trees and mountains in the hazy distance.
As we arrived at the small forest, which served as the cremation grounds, we were handed icy cold soft drinks. Everyone automatically directed themselves to one of three sitting areas. Aom ushered me to low cement benches where family and relatives sat under tall shady trees. A large altar was set up in front of the pavilion chariot. Eight monks sat on a covered, stage-like platform. The master of ceremonies along with the daughters stood behind a large table in front of the stage. After some prayers, the third and last session of merit making began. I watched attentively. Name after name was called. The invited guest would graciously recieve a bundle of cloth from the family, turn toward the coffin and give an honoring wai to the departed and finally, reverently, lay the gift in front of one of the monks. Suddenly Aom nudged me, my name had been called. I gratefully made merit once again for Grandmother. Once the orange bolts had been bestowed, the collected merit-making donations from the guests were distributed. A third of the money went to the monks, a third to students in need, and a third remained with the family to help defray some of the costs of the funeral. Finally it was the sons and daughters turn to make their own special offerings to the most important monks directly at Grandmother's altar.
The funeral was drawing to a close, soon the cremation itself would begin. The truck holding the coffin drove down a gentle slope to the funeral pyre - an open cinderblock arrangement. First men placed the casket on a platform, followed by the elegant towering pavillion. The casket was momentarily opened giving the sons and daughters had one last chance to silently say goodbye. The family came and sat down, Aom's mother sat next to me. Tears flowed freely as the youngest daughter read a touching story of Grandmother's life. The guests paid their last respects by filing by the pyre and tossing under the casket flowers made of wood shavings. Immediately they headed back towards the village. Three booming firecrackers exploded. The fire roared. We left. I walked along with Aom's mother, hand in hand, through the living rice paddies.