SHORT STORIES OF SAMRUAM SINGH

[Fidel]

[color:"green"] Here are some nice short stories by Samruam Singh. They are taken from the book Voices from the Thai Countryside . I hope you like them.

 

The publisher's note on the author:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Writing under the pseudonym Samruam Singh, the Thai author Surasighsamruam

Shimbhanao wrote the stories in this collection during the mid-1970's, a decade

of dramatic social and political change in Thailand. An activist dedicated to

improving the lives of the disadvantaged, Surasingh wrote these stories to

convey the agony of the Thai countryside under the pressure of accelerated

social and economic change. They are vignettes from the daily lives of ordinary

villagers. Read as a collection, they offer stark testimony about a troubled

period in Thai history.

 

Surasingh wrote these stories for the progressive magazine JATURAT, a liberal

voice for democracy that was silenced after the return of military rule in 1976.

At the time, Surasingh was working in northern Thailand as a free- lance

journalist and teaching a a local college. Journalistic constraints, the threat

of censorship, and political pressure forced him to fictionalize factual

accounts, thereby creating a style sympathetic to to New Journalism then popular

in the United States.

 

Surasingh stands in first rank of Thai writers. In 1979 the magazine Lok

Nangsyyawarded him the Cho Karaket Prize for his short story "The Necklace."

 

Don't know if you guys are going to get pissed off with my long postings but I guess you don't have to read them. [/color]

 

DAUGHTER FOR SALE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

(Written by Samruam Singh; Translated by Katherine A. Bowie)

First published in JATURAT 1, No.23 (16 December 1975): 50-51

 

 

* * *

 

After he gave his word to Yai Phloy, Lung Maa couldn't think of what to tell his

daughter. His heart ached, knowing that the words Yai Phloy had uttered that day

were outright lies. But what was he to have done? No matter what, he would have

to let his daughter go with Yai Phloy. So what point would there have been in

disagreeing with her, in forcing her to speak the truth? Wouldn't he only be

degrading himself by admitting openly for everyone to hear that he was so

destitute that he had to sell his daughter. Far better to let Yai Phloy go on

with her eloquent deception. However wrong, he could then mumble that he had

been tricked by Yai Phloy. In any event, a man is better branded as having been

conned that branded as having sold his daughter into prostitution.

 

Yai Phloy's soliloquy was most pervasive. Anyone listening to it would have been

seduced by it. Yai Phloy began by elucidating in great detail about how

children's behavior these days was getting steadily worse and worse, especially

city children, and especially in Bangkok. This was because their parents were so

busy working, striving to get ahead, that they had not time to stay at home with

their children. Instead, the children were ignored until they finally got into

trouble. Hiring someone to take care of the children was extremely difficult.

Some hired servants who, as soon as their employers weren't watching, absconded

with everything in the house. Lost of them stole, even if just a little here and

there. But the major problem was that servants were so unreliable. As soon as

they were the least bit tired or were criticized or scolded in the least. They

ran away back to their homes. Consequently, several of Bangkok's wealthy elite

had requested Yai Phloy to find them dependable girls to be their servants. They

paid good wages and, moreover, even paid money in advance. As many girls as she

could get would be placed.

 

Even though Yai Phloy was not from his village, Lung Maa had known Yai Phloy

since she had been a young girl. In those days, her beauty was known throughout

the subdistrict. But before any of the local youths were able to compete for

possession, Yai Phloy had already run off to Bangkok with someone who had passed

through with the medicine show. Much, much later, when she finally came back,

word had it that she had become thoroughly Bangkokian, with a haughty manner and

pretentious lifestyles. She appeared to have become a lady of no insignificant

wealth. Yai Phloy went back and forth to Bangkok often. Of the girls that went

to Bangkok with her, some came back even poorer than before. And some

disappeared completely.

 

Lung Maa knew perfectly well what kind of work the girls who went with Yai Phloy

did in Bangkok, because one day he had gone to get an injection at the district

health center. That day, the only too discreet doctor there had told him that

two or three girls who had gone to Bangkok with Yai Phloy had come back with

severe cases of gonorrhea, so severe that he had to send them into town for

treatment.

 

Lung Maa heaved a deep sigh as he thought of his daughter who was soon to become

one more in the ranks of unlucky girls. He wanted to talk with his daughter so

she would understand and be as untroubled as possible. But he could think of

nothing to say.

 

Paa Saeng, his partner through life, was lying sick in the hospital in the city,

suffering from an intestinal problem. She was waiting for the money that would

be used to pay for the blood and surgery needed to sustain her life. Her

survival, though, would only continue her pain and suffering.

 

He couldn't borrow money from anyone else any more. His present debt totalled

already about 10,000 baht. He'd been in debt for nearly ten years. In all those

years, all his efforts had only succeeded in ensuring that his debts compounded

interest slowly.

 

One year, the garlic price had been exceptionally good, which was why he found

himself in his present state. The merchants that year had come directly to the

village, buying at fourteen to fifteen baht a kilo. It meant that, for once,

Lung Maa had enough money to think of working for a better life. So, he borrowed

10,000 baht. With that and the money he had saved previously, he bought another

three rai of paddyfield. He was willing to pay the interest rate of 150 thang

(Note: Thang [pronounced taang+ not thaang+] is a northern Thai version of

bushel. During 1977, one thang of rice can be sold for 45-50 baht. Please note

also that one rai [=1,600 sq. meters or 0.4 acre] of land yields 30-60 thang per

crop.) of rice per year. He had planned to use the entire rice crop from the

newly bought land to pay the interest and use the money from the dry season to

pay off the original loan.

 

But he met with bad luck. The following year, the garlic prices dropped to

between thirty and fifty satang (one 100th of baht) a kilo, despite his effort

to appease the merchants by bringing the garlic directly to their warehouses and

despite the fact that the seed he had bought had been very expensive, nearly

fifty baht per kilo. He thought they were probably garlic seeds imported from

China. That year began his downward cycle. No matter how he struggled by trying

other crops, the profit he made was only enough to see his family through. One

year, the price of rice dropped to five baht a thang, forcing him to give up his

new plot of land to his creditor. But he was still left with debts worth more

than the plot of land he had inherited from his parents. He debts kept steadily

increasing. Now he was working his remaining four rai without getting anything

himself, because the rice yield went to pay the interest on his debts. The hope

that he would one day clear himself of his debts had faded.

 

As he thought of his past, his eyes brimmed with tears of bitterness at his

fate, welling over as his thoughts turned to the future. In another tow or three

days, his daughter, while still living, would be forced into hell in Bangkok. In

two or three weeks, he would once again face the painful sight of his creditor

callously coming to collect 200 thang of rice. This year there had not been

enough water, so he was not sure if he would have enough rice to pay, and if

there would be any left over. Agony tore his heart as he recalled the words of

his creditor, echoing in his mind: "Maa, the money you've borrowed from me now

amounts to more than the value of the land you mortgaged. What am I to do? If it

keeps on like this, I'm afraid I's going to have to ask to claim your land and

house. Next year my son is going abroad, so I'll be having a lot of expenses

myself. So please try to pay me by then, if even only the interest."

 

* * *

 

So now his daughter had gone with Yai Phloy. He had controlled his tears. His

parting words to his daughter had been to obey Yai Phloy without questions. If

she had any problems, she should write a letter and let him know. He consoled

her by saying if he had a chance, he would come to visit her. Of what he had

prepared to tell her, nor a single word would come out.

 

The 2,500 baht he had received as an advance from Yai Phloy was barely enough to

pay for Paa Saeng's hospital expenses. And when Paa Saeng returned home and

learned that her daughter had gone off with Yai Phloy, she fainted instantly.

When she recovered, she began sobbing and sobbing. She wouldn't talk to or even

look Lung Maa in face, let alone any of her other five children who were

standing around her. Lung Maa could think of nothing to say, so he sought silent

refuge in making bamboo ties. (Note: About 2 feet long ties made of bamboo are

to be used in binding the harvested rice stalks together)

 

Late that night, when all their children were asleep, Paa Saeng's voice, muffled

with the sounds of weeping, whispered, "Phii Maa, didn't you know what Ee Phloy

took our daughter to do?"

 

"Mother, I knew, but it was necessary. You know as well as I that we had no

choice. When you were in hospital, if we didn't have the money to pay for the

cost of medicine, the blood, the saline, and other expenses, the doctor wouldn't

have been willing to treat you. They wouldn't let us go to the destitute ward.

Are you angry with me?"

 

"No, I'm not angry. But I feel so sad. Ever since I was born, there's been

nothing but suffering."

 

"Do you know Yai Phloy well?"

 

"Oh, the people in the market place know her only too well. She's taken several

of their daughters to sell already. She gets paid 500 baht a head for some,

2-300 baht for others. She takes whatever she can get. She's been a prostitute

herself, ever since she was young. When she was not longer able to sell herself,

she began selling young girls instead. Her parents had a lot of debts then. Now

things seem to be going better for them, but they still owe money."

 

"I worry about our daughter. I feel so sorry for her. Ever since she left, I

don't sleep at night."

 

"Phii Maa, the matter has happened and nothing can be done, so we might as well

let it pass. We'll help each other to share the burden of our demerit. It's just

as if she has gone off and gotten a husband, only that she doesn't have a real

husband...By the time she can earn the money to help her parents, I wonder how

many husbands she will have to have..."

 

* THE END *

 

 

 

PADDYFIELDS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

The soft billowing green of planted paddyfields gives most people who look at

them a feeling of harmony and renewal. But there is another group of people who

can hardly wait for the rice and other crops of silver and gold to diappear from

the land as quickly as possible. They have no interest in whether crop yields

are high or low, or whether there are any yields at all.

 

Because once the crops have been harvested and removed from the fields, the

lands that appear useless once again become public property. Anyone can go and

gather animals and plants of all kinds without owners getting upset. Lizards,

mice, toads, frogs, fish, and even dung-beetles have been the delicacies of the

poor for generations. In addition, there are edible plants of all descriptions,

such as, haew, phak bung, phak waen, phak khiikhuang, and phak ihin. These

plants and animals have never had landlords or tenants disputing ownership over

them.

 

This rainy season, just before the farmers began plowing up the land and before

the young people came home from their jobs in the city, Kham had been able to

catch fish in the paddyfields than ever before. He had sold so many fish that he

had accumulated quite a sum of money. After consulting with Paa Phuang, his life

partner, Lung Kham was finally able to buy something he had wanted for as long

as he could remember. He had wanted it so badly that he had already given up

attaining it in this lifetime.

 

Every other rainy season Lung Kham had despaird, thinking if he only had a Mida

lathern, he would be certain to find more fish than anyone else. The best way to

find fish in the paddyfields was with a light to illuminate the water and a

finely woven cage in which to trap the fish as they lay sleeping in the night.

But with the dim light from his tin-can kerosene lamp and vision blurred with

age, he could not rival the youngsters who used bright Mida lanterns.

 

Many of his neighbors watched jealously as Lung Kham stroked, touched, caressed,

and polished his brand-new Mida lantern that he had just bought from Chinaman

Mong for nearly 300 Baht. Actually his lantern was a different brand than Mida,

but everyone still called it by that name anyway, including Chinaman Mong.

 

He was so engrossed, so enraptured with his new Mida that Paa Phuang finally had

to remind him to go back and check the fish traps that he had set ealier.

 

It was long after they had finished supper that evening when Paa Phuang finally

decided to permit Daeng, their eldest sone who was just entering fourth grade

that year, to go fishing with his father.

 

Daeng had begged to go fishing at night with his fathere many times before, but

both Lung Kaham and Paa Phuang had told him the same thing each time. The glow

of a single kerosene lamp wasn't sufficient to light the way for both Daeng and

his father at the same time.

 

After getting dressed, with some delays lighting the lantern, father and son

left home, setting off for the paddyfields. The fields had already been partly

plowed, so there were no more weeds left; it would be easier now to see the

fish.

 

The lights of different kinds of lanterns of the other fish hunters twinkled all

over the horizon and were redobled by their reflection in the mirror-still

water.

 

Lung Kham carried the lantern in his left hand and a fish cage in his right. A

large basket to hold the captured fish hung over his hip. Ever so carefully he

took one step after the other, wading cautiously in the calf- deep water. Daeng

carried his bamboo fish cage in his left hand. In his right hand he carried a

big knife about a half-meter in length. He walked on the left hand side of his

father and just as cautiously.

 

The gazes of both were transfixed, peering into the water. Their ears hardly

heard the sound of frogs and toads croaking noisily about them in all

directions. Dozens of fish-eater snes stuck their heads out of the water,

motionless. They stared imperviously at their two human competitors, who in turn

viewed them with equally little emotion.

 

"Daeng, you can't use the cage for eels or scorpion fish, or they will escape.

You have to stun them with the knife. Come down straight on top of their heads

with all your might. Cut through the water with the sharp edge of the knife, not

the broad side. Here, I'll show you how."

 

The young red-colored eel the width of a thumb lay stretched out full-length in

the water, so still it seemed to be arleady dead. They sharp edge of the knife

came down on its neck, driving its head into the soft mud. It jerked around in

every direction, muddying the water. Before the surrounding water could clear,

the eel had been picked up and put into the basket of the little boy.

 

"In a little while, it will recover. Now it's your turn. Why don't you practice

hitting a scorpion fish first. If you see any eels, tell me. If I let you try

eels already, there's chance you'll hit it so hard it may die. Then we can't get

a good price for it. You have to hit them just right. You can't let any marks

show either. And don't do anything careless like hitting a snake. Look carefully

before you strike. If you hit a snake, it means that all night long we'll have

not hope of catching any more fish. harming snakes brings bad luck."

 

"Daeng, Daeng! Come here quickly and hold the Mida for me. Here's full-grown duk

fish. They're very hard to catch. Other fish you just have to trap under the

cage and then reach in and grab them. But duk fish of this size take patience.

Sometimes you have to wait a long time for the right moment to grab them.

Otherwise they can give you a wound that throbs for days."

 

******

 

The planting of the paddyfields marks the end of the golden age for villagers

such as Lun Kham. Then the fertile womb of the paddyfields, which had been

virtually public domain, reverts to private property. The owners guard their

individual plots jealously, lest the tender rice seedlings be harmed. No longer

can anyone roam through the waters looking for fish. Lung Kham and others of his

class knew this unwritten law of their fellow villagers only too well and never

thought to violate it.

 

Only a single patch of swamp located at the far eadge of the paddyfields

remained out of all of Lung Kham's fishing places; it, too, would dry up in the

dry season. Then he would have to walk along the bunds in the paddyfields,

taking his beloved lantern. He would also take along another implement, a bamboo

stick the width of his index finger and about one meter long. It forked tip was

interwoven with bamboo into a board used for hitting frogs.

 

Lung Kham didn't like earning a living by catching frogs. The frogs' expression

when hit on the head was awful. It tormented him to see their tears flow and

their front legs reach up to their eyes to wipe them away. But Lung Kham and

others in his position had ever fewer choices.

 

The night arrived that Lung Kham knew was the last night he could hunt fish in

the paddyfields before he would have to change his form of livelihood to

foraging in the forest. That night his basket had fewer fish, crabs, frogs, and

clams than ever, so few that he feared they would not make up for the cost of

the kerosene he was using for his lantern.

 

As he paused to set the lantern on the path through the paddyfield to pump more

air into it, he caught sight of chohn fish. It was as wide as his wrist. Hiding

among the ricestalks now over half a meter high, it lays so still that one

almost might not thinks it was a fish. Lung Kham hesitated for a moment. If he

used his fishtrap, he was afraid that, in the process, he might damage some of

the rice shoots. Instead, he decided to get a firm grasp on his knife and came

down with all his might on its head. He made such a loud noise that he startled

even himself. The water became murky with mud and blood, but the chohn fish was

no longer there. Instead, the sound of the writhing fish came from the middle of

the ricefield. Lung Kham set off after the fish. He carefully waded between the

rows of planted ricestalks, looking right and left, careful not to injure any of

the seedlings, not wanting any of the plants to be damaged by him.

 

Suddenly a gunshot rang out across the paddyfields. The lantern in his hand

shattered. He was terrified. A cold shiver ran down his spine. His heart

fluttered. When he came to his sense, he took off running for dear life, his two

legs so light that he didn't notice them. The rice shoots in his path were

trampled underfoot. From the distance, he heard voice velling out after him.

 

"You cur! Trampling everything down! So it's you who have been ruining the rice!

Now I'll have to replant it all over again, and I don't have enough money to buy

more seedlings. If I find you again, I'll shoot you dead!"

 

*THE END*

 

 

[check_bin_krap]

It was thoughts for the brain Fidel, thanks a lot.

 

Sad.