Loy, Loy Krathong, Loy, Loy Krathong…
Loy Krathong is a Buddhist Festival, which is celebrated in Thailand around November. It is a celebration to the Goddess of Water and held on the night of the Full Moon of the twelfth Thai month and the end of the rainy season. In the past I have celebrated Loy Krathong in Bangkok khlongs, the lake of a university and in the seas at Hua Hin and Songkhla in the centre and south of the country. Every time I have been transfixed by the beauty and serenity of the celebrations.
Its meaning is complicated and variations of its message have been interpreted through time, but the simplest of definitions is to express sorrow for the way that we misuse rivers and waterways in our everyday lives and an attempt to gain merit. It is an apology to the Goddess of Water for any pollution caused, as well as a thank you for the plentiful supply of water, which is ironic as so many floats are now made with polystyrene foam and are a huge cause of pollution. Loy means "to float" and krathong is a small vessel, made of leaves and natural materials.
A folk song, taught to the very young, repeats the words over and over again, in a melodic chant that becomes almost mantra-like. It can also symbolise a letting go, or floating away, of negative emotions:
Loy, Loy Krathong, Loy, Loy Krathong…
I taught in Khrung Thep (Bangkok) in the 1980s and at Loy Krathong every Thai I knew prepared a set of floating lanterns to send to the sea, or lay upon the nearest source of water. Every school taught children the Loy Krathong song, and in the evening – as candles were lit and boats made from banana leaves, lotus flowers and incense were set free – someone would begin the song. Others would join in, building to a crescendo of melodic sounds, as the floats drifted off to sea, with the reflection of hundreds of flickering lights sparkling on the waves. You could make a wish, and if the flame survived into the horizon, or till the end of the song, chances were, your wish would come true.
Loy, Loy Krathong, Loy, Loy Krathong…
Throughout the country, people sat by the shores of rivers and seas, or edges of ponds, pools and lakes, often praying, clasping hands together, in the traditional Thai wai, which communicates so many emotions. Watching contented faces in the brightness of the full moon and the shimmering candles felt like a privilege that had been handed down from a celestial being and always filled me with a sense of peace and a belief that all could be set right in the world.
When I went to Songkhla to celebrate, it felt more special. It was the first time I had seen the festival at the sea. I was with a Thai friend who had taught me the local details of customs, culture and language. He wanted me to see the festival in a more traditional light, so he took me to his hometown, to meet his friends and family, and to celebrate away from the tourists-type festivals that had sprung up on the banks of the Chao Phraya and elsewhere.
Here, we ate curries with paste made by pestles and danced the Ram Wong to the rhythm of Thai drums. This slow round dance, where men and women move with delicate steps and circling hands, bodies close but not touching, is one of the most sensual dances I have ever come across. In the moonlight, with glimmering flames and the heavy scent from a myriad of incense sticks, it is at its most alluring.
That evening, I was the only farang in the company, and my fair hair was adorned with a single pink orchid. My friend’s mother hung a jasmine garland around my neck before we joined the ring and when a friend asked her who I was, she said I was a puang or friend of her son’s. My friend broke off the dance then and took me away from the circle, leading me by the hand, into the group of gossiping ladies who sat on the ground, arranging dishes of carved fruit, sticky rice and coconut milk on a checked or Sacotch cloth, which to my delight they called all checkered or tartan style cloth. He said something in Thai, which I didn’t quite catch, though I got the word puang once more. The women immediately broke into applause and laughter, holding out their hands to me, bringing me into a different circle.
I turned to my friend and asked him what he’d said.
'Not puang but feng,' he replied.
His mother took my hand in hers and said something to my friend.
'She says her wish has come true', he said to me, as I realised what the word feng meant. We celebrated more than Loy Krathong that night, hours after the moon had ceased to shine and when the stars were but dim reflections in the sea. It was a long time ago, and life has since changed, but that festival marked the beginning of one of the happiest periods of my life, and ever so occasionally, when I think of the floating water festival, I hear that song, repeated again and again and my heart fills with light.
Loy, Loy Krathong, Loy, Loy Krathong…