Hot on the Trail of Suthep’s Javelin
Introducing guest writer Connor Plessl. Based in Chiang Mai in north Thailand, one day he set out to climb a holy mountain, and discovered a world of mystical connections
Chapter 1. The Legend
While attending classes at Chiang Mai University a number of years ago, I lived in a quiet little bungalow nestled into the foothills just outside the old city square.
It was a secluded two story home belonging to a kind old woman named Jee Jee. The property next door had been left vacant for a number of years, and like all empty pieces of land in the Thai kingdom, a towering patch of banana trees had taken root and were dropping fruit like mad.
The rickety old home was decorated in the most quaint northern style. Strung up between the doors of the dormitories were what seemed to be agricultural tools of years gone by; rusted out and covered in cobwebs. The ubiquitous lantern-like tapristries that look like gently bobbing jellyfish were hung in great numbers all throughout the house. Fading family portraits and photos of a young King Bhumibol in crooked frames lined the walls made of a dark mahogany. An imposing buffalo skull hung triumphantly above the garage.
Jee Jee’s house stood at the end of a sleepy palm-fringed lane with little activity aside from the occasional roaring motorbike, or the shrieks of two felines in battle. If you stood at the opposite end of the street from Jee Jee’s and looked east, a vast tree covered peak towered above the residential hills in a powerful, stately manner.
Its all encompassing shadow seemed to cast a net of protection over all the tiny houses below. A feeling of guardianship that was later reinforced by being told the tale of another stately summit, Doi Suthep, a sacred mountain buried deep in the smoke laden forests west of Chiang Mai.
Situated at the very top of this hallowed mountain peak is an auspiciously named temple, Wat Phra That Doi Suthep. Phra is an honorific word in Thai meaning that which comes from the Buddha, and That means relic. Thus combined, we are left to understand that somewhere within the temple walls is deposited a relic left behind long ago by the Buddha himself. However real or fictious this may be, shrines where supposed relics are kept become major pilgrimage sites with myriad mystical origin stories. This temple being no exception.
A monk by the name of Sumanathera, residing in the splendid kingdom of Sukhothai in the 14th century was told in a dream to go and find a relic of the Buddha. After searching the countryside with great diligence, he came upon a peculiar shoulder bone. According to Sumanathera, the bone could glow and literally vanish into thin air, only to reappear again fully intact. Being so delighted by his discovery, the ellated monk notified the ever so pious king of Sukhothai, Phra Maha Tamaracha I or King Li Thai. Li Thai, unlike his predecessors, did not pursue a reign of military conquest and plunder. He instead devoted himself entirely to the newly ascendant religion of his state, Sinhalese Theravada Buddhism.
Starting almost immediately after the parinirvana of the Buddha, various relics were deposited inside stupas or reliquary monuments housed in temple complexes for veneration by lay people, the sangha and royalty. The Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon is believed to house two hairs plucked right from the head of Siddhartha himself, while the gilded stupa at the top of the golden mount in Bangkok is said to contain various relics brought directly from the Buddhist holy lands in northern India.
Sri Dalada Maligawa, the temple of the sacred tooth in Kandy is today a world heritage site due to the tooth’s importance in providing legitimacy to the Sinhalese kings of the island throughout its history. Relics of the enlightened one were, and continue to be seen as potent symbols and powerful tools of statecraft in the region. It is no surprise then that King Li Thai was so delighted to hear of Sumanathera’s discovery.
After much fanfare and celebration, the relic was finally brought before an audience of noblemen and the king. However, despite Sumanathera’s claims, the bone failed to exhibit any of the fantastical qualities that were expected of it. The king, without hesitation, dismissed the now disgraced monk. Though later on in the year 1368, King Li Thai gave Sumanathera permission to take the relic to King Kue Na of the Lanna kingdom, who had sent for it after hearing of its rumored mystical properties.
On the journey north though there must have been a mishap, for Sumanathera arrived at Lamphun with a shoulder bone that was broken in two. Despite the breakage, Kue Na received the monk and his magical gift with open arms. He allowed Sumanathera to reside at Wat Phra Yuen in Lamphun while a palatial temple complex was built in honor of the relic’s arrival in the newly founded capital of the northern kingdom, Chiang Mai.
After two years of construction the complex was unveiled bearing the name Wat Buppharam. In time, it came to be known colloquially as Wat Suan Dok, as it housed the king’s perfectly manicured flower collection. Sumanathera would spend the rest of his years there preaching the eight fold path and doubtlessly admiring the royal pleasure gardens of his patron, the king of a million rice fields (lan na).
The other half of the shoulder bone relic was placed in the care of a white elephant, who was left to aimlessly wander and decide on the proper location for the next enshrinement. As the story goes, this regal beast sauntered around for sometime, but then suddenly made a decisive move up the slopes of Doi Suthep. The albino rifled galiantly up the side of the mountain as if he were in musk. As he surmounted the crest, he let out three mighty heaves and collapsed dead. The temple was built at the exact spot, as it was deemed the most auspicious.
Today, a statue commemorating that white elephant and a plaque extolling his strength and valor stand proudly near the entrance of the temple in his honor. The bone itself is thought to be kept inside of the shimmering golden chedi at the center point of the complex all these centuries later. Hundreds of thousands of Buddhist faithful come to circumambulate this monument annually in recognition of its storied past. I thought it best that I include myself among them.
Chapter 2. The Walk
The sun had yet to peek above the hills, and the air was cold and full of whirling cicadas and peckish mosquitoes. I sat on a dew-soaked patch of grass under Jee Jee’s decaying old santol tree and laced up in preparation for the climb. I had heard of a trailhead just behind the Chiang Mai Zoo that was carved out of the thickets as a launching pad for the trip up the steep slopes.
It was the entrance to a trail that led faithful pilgrims on the exact trajectory of the fabled white elephant. A path that had been cleared over the centuries for human use by village monks on pilgrimage to the sacred site. Heading in the opposite direction from these city dwellers were forest thudong monks on their way into Chaing Mai from extended stays in rural monasteries and secluded meditation caves. I would follow in their bare footsteps, albeit in sturdy hiking boots of course.
I hailed a motorbike taxi just off my little soi and we sped off down the empty highway at a vicious pace. In a matter of minutes we made it to the backside of Chiang Mai University, which was dark and lifeless at that hour. My driver dropped me off with a look of intense trepidation in his eyes.
I could sense his apprehension and asked him what was wrong. He muttered something I couldn't quite make out. As I asked him to clarify he blurted out, “snakes in there! Everywhere in there huge snakes!” I couldn't tell if he meant the zoo or the trail but I thanked him kindly for the ride and made my way through the darkness with my head now on a serious swivel. I could feel his forlorn glance piercing the back of my neck as we parted ways.
The sun began to shimmer on the horizon not long after and the mist and stillness of the morning gave way to a soft cooling breeze, and the lethargic buzz of students milling about on the sidewalks. I had a lovely walk around Ang Kaew lake, a sprawling reservoir rimmed by endless tree lined paths and verdant green pleasure gardens.
On the far side of the lake, I stopped to take a rest at some secluded picnic tables set up under the canopy of soaring banyan trees. I sat watching supple pink lotuses bob up and down by the waters edge. A little gaggle of geese swam by to admire them as well, nodding their heads in appreciation. I was feeling invigorated, so I took a small footpath down the hill to the zoo to find the trailhead.
After a short stroll through the deserted animal enclosures and lush bird sanctuaries, I made it to the trail’s entrance. Even at the very start, the path had a thick blanket of vegetation on all sides. Fallen tree trunks crisscrossed the already narrow trail while thorns and various ivy burst out from every direction. I rustled my way into this dense vegetation and began the long accent, trying my best to evoke the spirit of the regal white elephant and his infamous charge up these same imposing cliffs.
I had made it about one mile, and as the sweat on my brow began to drip in earnest, a loose collection of white stone edifices came into view ahead. This jungle outpost slowly made itself known to me as I rounded a corner and could hear through the fauna the slight trickling of a babbling brook. One by one the various shrines and pagodas appeared out from behind thick clumps of crackling bamboo.
Massive curtains of blooming epiphytes entangled with vines and creepers like piper and beetle hung from the elongated limbs of towering hardwoods. The air was made deliciously crisp and firm from a moist breeze coming off a collection of tiny waterfalls that dotted the surrounding hillside. I had arrived at Wat Prah Lat.
Made as a resting place of sorts, this temple houses quite the collection of open air prayer halls, moss coated chedis and ornately carved stone sculptures of the enlightened one. It is dripping in religious symbolism and the air is heavily perfumed with the wafting smoke of joss sticks and garlands made of sweet white jasmine.
I walked carefully from shrine to shrine, trying my best not to disturb the absolute serenity. I bought a bundle of joss sticks and a baby blue lotus from a quiet old man parked underneath the shade of a small sala next to an all white statue of the Buddha. I placed my lotus at the figure’s feet and poked my smoking sticks into an ashtray alongside a hundred others. I prostrated myself, and asked for safe passage up the remaining leg of the climb. I felt the utmost reassurance.
Chapter 3. The Hermit
As I was leaving the temple grounds and finding an entrance back onto the trail, I carefully crossed a wooden plank overtop a swiftly flowing stream. To my right was a peculiar looking statue underneath the cover of a yellow umbrella flecked with gold leaf. It was a depiction of an ascetic like man, his legs pendant, with a long unkept beard hanging down from his emaciated face.
To be kept in the cool protective shade of an umbrella like this is usually reserved for depictions of venerated monks, deceased royalty or the Buddha. This mendicant was clearly a wandering hermit of some kind because he was not outfitted with the toga-like robe of a theravada monk, and a beard is certainly never included in any sculpture of the saintly figures listed above. This mysterious wanderer preyed on my mind as I kept hiking.
After climbing for another two and a half miles through soothing wooded hideaways, I scaled one final craggy hillside that led me straight into the all encompassing view of two mighty nagas. These multi-headed beasts furnished the end of banisters on either side of an enormous staircase that seemed to run without end into the mysterious clouds of mist gathering at the mountain’s peak.
Perhaps these mythical serpent creatures were what the motorcycle driver was referring to earlier in the day. In order to placate them, and give credence to my drivers fears, I bought two garlands and hung them round the muscular necks of both nagas with a deep wai to show my utmost respect.
There was a small group of children milling about the bottom of the staircase and all together, in one swift movement, they swarmed me tugging at my shirt and begging for money. Their mischievous, yet adorable little smiles made me giggle a bit out loud before I firmly told them to calm down. My cries for calm went unanswered and more placating was deemed necessary, so I passed around a couple of 100 baht notes and kept moving. The children followed in close pursuit, but gave up at the halfway mark.
Their giggles and shrieks were replaced by the subtle flapping of prayer flags and the distant chimes of various bells and gongs. The sanctity was palpable and the air at once felt thick enough to swim through. As I crested the peak, feeling as near to death as our storied elephant would have, I had truly crossed from the realm of the profrain and into that of the divine. Wat Phra That stood before me shimmering like a ruby, giving off an aura of calm sanctitude that is far beyond description.
It was arresting, but I finally broke out of this suspended animation, removed my shoes and left them in the care of a frugal young girl who offered to watch them for a small fee. The whole complex is terraced, and small naga adorned staircases arranged at regular intervals provide passage between the various stages.
On the highest terrace sits the golden stupa, glowing like a second sun in the mid morning light. Its fierce radiance shot waves of gold in all directions. An earthly Mount Meru, acting as a lighthouse of sorts for those looking to acquire untold amounts of merit. I quickly made my way up the terraces to get a closer look.
Coming in through a narrow stone archway, I arrived suddenly upon the base of the famed stupa sitting directly in the center of an expansive marble floored courtyard. Off in the distance there lay a spectacular view of the surrounding forested mountain sides. The quaint provincial city of Chiang Mai could be seen far below, looking totally motionless. The central structure was enclosed by a gate, and a number of golden umbrellas stood at each corner. Even in the morning, there were still a few Buddhist faithful circumambulating in pensive focus. I thought it best to join them.
I purchased yet another lotus and some joss sticks and made the obligatory three laps around the stupa. I examined the structure closely, admiring the ornate symmetry and splendid golden glow. I felt all together sanctified and left the courtyard feeling deeply satisfied to have accomplished such an arduous trek in the name of sheer curiosity. That said, I had decided to find a lift back down the mountain, having had my fair share of rocky mountain trails for the day.
Chapter 4. The Discovery
I meandered through each of the sprawling terraces, studying every detail with keen interest. I had passed by an imposing four headed Brahma looking majestic and supremely self content. He was dripping in gold jewelry from head to toe and carried his ubiquitous trident with a warrior's grasp. A serene fountain with a gorgeous marble bust of Guanyin in its center attracted many devotees who prostrated themselves and left offerings such as soda bottles and plates of plump tropical fruits.
After much wandering, I came upon a small spirit house set upon the ground with a tiny figurine inside. There were two candles on either side dropping wax in huge clumps all over the floor of the tiny home, and the flowers strewn about gave the whole scene an unkempt look. The small figurine inside had a familiar look with his straggly beard and emaciated features. He was outfitted with a loose, toga like garment made of something that looked like tiger skin. His legs were pendit, and his eyes were firmly closed as he sat in unending meditation. ‘Could this be an allusion to the same ascetic I had seen back at Wat Prah Lat?’ I thought to myself. Who was this man? And why was he so omnipresent here on this sacred mount?
A barely legible plaque sat propped up against a wall next to the spirit house. It read, “The hermit Suthep, builder of Hariphunchai.” I found this to be rather cryptic and the whole display felt out of place here on these hallowed grounds. Questions started gathering rapidly as the mid morning heat came into its early afternoon zenith.
I made my way back down the great naga staircase and tucked into a hearty bowl of rice porridge studded with slippery bits of pork liver and peppery ginger slivers, all the while transfixed by the thoughts of this mystical hermit Suthep and his fabled citadel Hariphunchai. Over the next couple of days I endeavored to ask around, and dive deep into whatever literature I could find on the subject. I present to you now dear reader my findings.
According to the Pali language chronicle known as the Camadevivamsa, the city of Hariphunchai was founded sometime in the mid 7th century by the hermit Suthep and his friends Sukatanata and Narod. This chronicle, composed by a monk named Mahatera Bodhiramsi in the early 15th century, goes on to say that the first true sovereign of this kingdom was a woman by the name of Camadevi. There is some debate though about where this peculiar woman came from and how she ascended the throne of this once mighty kingdom.
The chronicle states that she was an offspring of the king in Lavo, another earlier kingdom further south in the Chao Phraya flood plain. However, according to local lore, she was born to a man named Inta in what is today Lamphun province. At only three months old, she was snatched away by a giant bird and flown north where she was deposited safely at the top of Mount Doi Suthep. The wandering hermit found her amongst the thick vegetation and took her into his care.
He would go on to raise this infant until her 13th year, when he prophesied she would be the ruler of a mighty kingdom in the not so distant future. In order to fulfill that destiny, Suthep sent her on a raft he built down south to Lavo where she could continue her upbringing in the royal court of this powerful state. Suthep stayed behind on his misty mountain top, spending his days in deep meditation. In due course he would fashion a javelin out of raw materials from the surrounding scrub, and launch it 23 kilometers south where it landed perfectly erect near the banks of the Mae Kuang River. He traveled to the site and set about constructing a settlement which later grew into the capital of the Haripunjaya empire.
In the meantime, Camadevi was greeted most kindly by the king and queen of Lavo and was at once taken into the royal household. After some time had elapsed, a court fortuneteller informed the king that this young woman was destined to soon rule over a vast kingdom and marry a man of some considerable stature. Upon hearing this glorious news the king and queen proclaimed Camadevi a princess, formally corinating her only a year after she arrived in the city.
After some difficulty in finding her a marriage partner, which nearly brought the kingdom to its knees, Camadevi was wed to a gallant prince from the nearby kingdom of Ramburi. About 10 years later, Suthep had made his way down to Lavo to ask for an audience with the king. The audience was granted and Suthep went on to explain that he had built a new city far to the north called Hariphunchai a couple of years before, and was looking for a strong leader to bolster its status. He asked that his beloved Camadevi would be allowed passage up country to be such a figure.
His wish was cordially granted, and Camadevi then, at the head of a lengthy floatilla made her up the Chao Praya to the river Ping. She then floated into the Mae Kuang and finally arrived gracefully onto the shores of her new domain after months of arduous travel. She would rule, with the unyielding love and support of her people for nearly 30 years (by most estimates). She abdicated the throne in her early 60s to invest her energies in extolling the words of the Buddha throughout her country. Upon her death the king Mahantayot arranged for a week-long service to be held in her memory. The lofty Suwan Chong Chang Kot Chedi was built to house her earthly remains within the precincts of an eponymous temple.
Chapter 5. The Journey
After hearing of this tremendous backstory, I arranged for a trip by train to Lamphun to see what shadows remained of this kingdom and its infamous founder and queen. I was by now wholly ensconced in the layers of lore I was trying so desperately to comprehend. I longed for a way to jiggle myself out, emerging with some semblance of a meaningful narrative. I reckoned a leisurely train ride though the vast northern wilderness could certainly clear the air, and give me the wriggle room I so craved.
So once again I set off from Jee Jee’s, this time under the gentle radiance of a muted morning sun. I decided to walk to the train station in order to take in the easy ambiance of a lazy Chiang Mai morning. So I made my way through the labyrinth of alleyways that led out to none other than Soi Suthep, the road that leads many countless pedestrians on a straight shot into the old city square.
A quarter of the way down the hill, I passed by Wat Suan Dok, the temple where Sumanatera had spent his blissful retreats all those years ago. I stopped and gave a small wai in the temple’s direction to show my respect for Sumanatera and asked for his blessing on my upcoming trip south.
I was all at once reminded of how living in Thailand can provide you with the thrilling opportunity to exist side by side with ancient history. To see its vestiges alongside modern eyesores allows you to slip out of the present moment if you so choose. Having that trapdoor available is in itself worth the price of admission. And at times that price can seem astronomical, which I was to learn in no time at all.
After making my way through the center of town and slurping down a bowl of silky khao soi, I crossed Nawarat bridge over the murky river Ping. With the rainy season in full swing, the waters were raging and causing whirlpools to spiral round enormous boulders strewn about the rivers edge. I stopped and looked down river to see a solitary coconut palm jutting out from the muddy banks. Its fruit and fronds swung in a flurry of air gusting upwards from the torrent. Frangipanis grouped in clusters along the periphery looked like squishy pillows made of smooth white satin. Their fragrance pranced through the mist and tickled my nose with the faintest little titillation.
This idyllic morning atmosphere was soon shattered however upon my arrival at the train station, for my train was being delayed for no less than 4 hours from its original departure time.
“For what reason?!” I shouted rather bafoonishly at the man behind the ticket window.
“The wheels,” he retorted smugly.
“They need to be replaced. They have been damaged.”
And that was the end of it. There was nothing to do but wait it out. In Thailand, sometimes train travel can be a bit of a challenge. A challenge that I can assure you is repaid 10 times over by the staggering beauty of the countryside that flanks every route from Songkhla to Chiang Rai. Patience is key, and it will pay back in spades.
Around 5.30pm, the train was finally set to depart. The golden hour was just setting in, and all at once, the train jolted violently to life. We started to roll through the charming suburbs of Chiang Mai and out into flooded rice country. Any residual anger at having waited for hours on a hard wooden bench in the tropical heat dissipated in a flash as some dream-like state enveloped me.
When cruising south out of Chiang Mai, it's easy for one to get hypnotized. The rolling fields of jade green sticky rice dance in the wake of dry valley breezes. Steep hills jut out violently one after another in an endless procession as if erupting forever into the blazing Siamese sun. The trees are austere and seem to come from another time entirely.
Hanging from them are withered bean stalks and glistening orange pods of sweet candy like tamarind. Massive reeds of bamboo and sugarcane sway effortlessly despite their awesome girth. Innumerable shrubs and hedges filled in the remaining scrub lands. The air rushing in the wide open windows is peaty and round like roasted coffee. Small settlements spring up here and there, but for the most part we’re off the grid and driving ever deeper into thick mountainous jungle.
The ancient Lanna kingdom, in all its abundant splendor, rolls by my window in a kaleidoscope of colors that emanate from a swiftly setting sun. Its crimson rays lighting it all ablaze like a rioting brushfire. Floating leaves are embers in a great inferno rising and falling to the rhythm of the metal beast in which we ride!
Then night falls, and my temporary hypnosis slides into a state of exhaustion. My eyelids started to sink under the weight of the day’s efforts, and I felt the stillness of the night closing in. Before I could even so much as nod off though, we rolled into the entirely lifeless station in Lamphun. I looked out the window and saw sturdy pine trees lining the track to the left, while an empty platform illuminated by a single fluorescent tube sat on the right.
Chapter 6. The Queen
As I disembarked, I noticed that I was almost alone in choosing Lamphun as a final destination. My only company on the platform were two charming Burmese women wrapped tightly in splendid bright green longyis. As they mosied off towards the exit, we exchanged a pleasant nod. Their playful smiles gleamed in the pitch black night far brighter than the countless stars now starting to twinkle in the sky over head. It was a propitious start I must say.
The girls disappeared down a shadowy side street, and I went out front and hailed a taxi to take me to my lodgings on the outskirts of town. We passed easily through wide open streets where there was little activity aside from the clanging of woks; and the occasional flash from a camera phone trying to capture an image of the particularly rotund full moon.
Upon first impression, I found Lamphun to be even sleepier than Chiang Mai. The bustling jewel in the crown of the Haripunjaya kingdom had become a provincial town on the northern fringes of the modern Thai state. I initially thought that I would need to search with a detective-like thoroughness to find traces of Suthep and Camadevi among this modern sprawl. Then all a sudden after rounding a turn, my illusion was shattered as she came bursting into view.
Set triumphantly at the end of a wide open promenade, a towering bronze image of the former queen stood with great majesty as she surveyed the environs of her once prosperous capital. I quickly asked the taxi driver to cut the ride short so I could get a closer look.
The car had barely stopped before I swung open the door and entered the stark stillness of a deserted city street. The only movement was that of stray cats and dogs perusing the promenade for scraps of food left behind earlier by hawker stalls. I could still hear the rowdy morlum blaring out of my taxi’s cracked windows as the driver careened around a corner and burst off into oblivion. I was thrilled to be left in quiet solitude to survey this fascinating site.
At the foot of a staircase leading to the great bronze image stood a number of wooden elephants who looked to be charging headlong into furious combat. Above them, a long table sat outstretched, completely smothered by floral offerings. Two powerful floodlights at her feet illuminated the intricately carved crown upon her head, and made it twinkle as if it were studded with rubies and pearls.
Her right arm was outstretched as she declared sovereignty over her territory. An unsheathed sword in her left hand reinforced her merciful yet stern matriarchal nature. The Haripunjaya kingdom’s glory lives on in the eyes of this glorious bronze tribute to their beloved queen.
Behind the grand image stands an ancient wall made of brick with an imposing arched doorway at its center. Above the door is a gorgeous lintel depicting a scene in which a seated Buddha preaches to a small group of kneeling devotees. There are radiating bands of ornate stucco work that gradually unfurl themselves into ferocious looking nagas whose fierce protective symbolism does not easily go unnoticed. I am all too easily reminded of Khmer temples to the southeast of here with their countless allusory lintels and miles of hypnotizing stucco panels.
Hariphunchai would have been on the periphery of various Khmer kingdoms since its founding in the 7th century. If any contact was made between the Mon of Dvaravati and their Khmer contemporaries in the Mekong Delta, what was the nature of those correspondences? To what extent does artistic influence flow in only one direction? Do all interactions in the classical period of Southeast Asia have to be thought of in the context of the conquerors displacing the native forms of the conquered? Unfortunately the artistic influence vis a vis these two civilizations would have to be examined another time, for a most tantalizing whiff of grilled pork gently wafted my way. Bringing an immediate halt to all intellectual activity for the evening.
As is the custom everywhere in northern Thailand, I gleefully tucked into a feast of various grilled meats and pungent laabs of fish, chicken and buffalo. I washed it all done with a feisty whisky soda that sent percolations up my spine with each tingly sip. As the alcohol slipped the blood brain barrier, I sunk like a stone into a pensive repose. I had found Camadevi, and was informed by a fellow diner that her eponymous temple sat within walking distance of my home stay. But what about Suthep? I hadn't seen a single image of him thus far; and I was beginning to think that the narrative I had spun in my head had simply been a case of fanciful thinking. I simply couldn't accept that though, and I drifted off to sleep that night determined to find some vestige to cling on to. I needed vindication. I needed to find that javelin.
Chapter 7. The Reward
I got an early start the next day, and had only one stop on the itinerary, Wat Chamtewi. It was there that I was sure to find the shred of evidence that would prove to be the missing link in this intricate web of lore.
After sipping the sweet nectar from a carton of ice cold soy milk I hit the pavement. I had to nimbly dodge rogue motorbike drivers and weave my way in and out of standstill morning traffic before finally arriving at the orange colored walls of the famed temple complex.
The v-shaped roofs of viharas and salas popped up above the walls at regular intervals. Their gilded gable boards lit up like tiny fires as the sun began to gather strength on the horizon. The storied white chedi at the center towered above them all, bringing once again the image of the mythical mount meru to mind. Each of its five terraced levels was studded with resplendent upright Buddhas, which to great visual effect, fit seamlessly into notches of increasingly smaller size as you ascend the regal structure.
I ventured in through the rear entrance which led almost directly onto the veranda of a lofty prayer hall. I removed my shoes and knelt upon the carpeted floor in the gentle gaze of a large Buddha image. The windows were all wide open and the morning chirps of song birds fluttered in and reverberated off the vaulted ceilings and thick marble pillars. In the distance I could hear monks chanting their morning suttas and the soft swishing noise of coconut palm brooms cleaning the walkways of dried leaves for the day's visitors.
I had walked around the entire perimeter of the complex looking carefully for any signs of the fabled hermit, but I had found nothing. Feeling dejected and ready to give up on the whole thing, I made my way towards the exit, my head hung low. After rounding a turn flanked by a squat bunch of banana trees, I came upon a strange looking edifice to an irregularly shaped hut parked in the corner behind a tall teak wood sala. It looked like a cave of some kind, and I was a bit hesitant at first to enter. Sheer curiosity got the upper hand and I ducked into the musty alcove, waiting a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Tucked into the corner of this cave were three emaciated rishis wearing the tiger skin robes I had seen on the figurine back at Wat Phra That. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a plaque placed in front of the central meditating figure bearing an inscription. The plaque read, “Stucco replica of 3 hermits, namely Vasuthep hermit, Sukatanta hermit and Narod hermit. All 3 were involved in the construction of Hariphunchai.”
I stood in stunned silence as a delicious wave of vindication washed over me. Here was the hermit I had found so striking upon first sight at Wat Phra Lat. I had traced his footsteps here to Lamphun. A city he had laid the very foundations of some 14 centuries prior. The location had been chosen simply because a javelin had supposedly landed on it after being launched from the top of a mountain which would go on to be named in his honor. This honorific name would in due course become intimately connected to a sacred shoulder bone relic of the Buddha. A certain elephant's decision to storm the slopes of Suthep’s former abode and die suddenly upon cresting its hallowed peak made it twice hallowed ground.
Is it possible that Suthep launched his magic javelin from the exact site where the elephant would go on to breath his last? No one can be sure, but what this journey taught me is that there are often intricate stacks of local and trans-local lore worth diving into at every religious center in the kingdom of Thailand.
Images of veneration in Southeast Asia often carry with them esoteric narratives, and are thus venerated by local peoples because of the meaning they find in those tales of drama, intrigue, and romance. As I traveled back north by train, a permanent smile etched itself across my face as I sat and thought of where my future travels would take me. What stories would I entangle myself in next?
It can be daunting as an outsider to make sense of the vast universe of symbolism that exists in Southeast Asia, even more so if there are linguistic barriers. But I urge you to strive to make sense of what you see on your travels through these idyllic lands.
It will make your journey all the more fulfilling.
Wonderful! So many layers of mythology here, the infant snatched by a bird, adopted on a high mountain, floating down a river on a raft. The ancient queen is honoured in bronze by a statue in a busy street and tribute to the javelin-throwing hermit-founder found in the back of a cave hidden by a bunch of banana trees in an out-of-the-way corner of a temple. Very evocative.