Ayutthaya- The other Ayodhya
Headless statues, limbless statues, columns with their roofs missing. It would seem we are in a battlefield from which the marauding force had just left the other day. We are amid the ruins of Wat Phrasisanphet in Ayutthaya, the Thai city which was the capital of the Siamese kingdom for over four centuries from 1351, until it was overrun by the Burmese army.
Unlike Ayodhya, situated 3500 kilometres away in India, from which its name is inspired, the violent past has long been forgotten, with hardly anything simmering beneath. Even the long line of Buddhas with the severed limbs do not evoke any passion. Hardly a hundred kilometres away from the pulsating capital city of Bangkok, and accessible by a quaint maroon passenger train, Ayutthaya has but off late come into the radar of the right wing in India.
Last year, the Ram Janmabhumi Nirman Nyas announced its plan for the construction of a Ram temple near here, probably because the one back home is not happening at their intended pace, with the Supreme Court recently ordering mediation on the Ram Janmabhumi-Babri Masjid issue. It is no wonder that Thailand attracts the attention of the Hindutva groups, be it the name ‘Rama’ that all of the Thai kings of the Chakri dynasty to the present day are referred by, or the centrality of ‘Ramakien’, the Thai Ramayana, in the society here.
But moving beyond the names, and into the heart of ‘Ramakien’, the current version of which was composed in the eighteenth century by King Rama I, might not be much to the liking of the right wing, for it diverges quite a lot from the version that they prefer. Demon king Thotsakan (Ravana) is much more prominent in the epic than Phra Ram (Rama).
As A.K.Ramanujam notes in his classic essay ‘300 Ramayanas’, Ramakien admires “Ravana’s resourcefulness and learning, while his abduction of Sita is seen as an act of love and is viewed with sympathy. The Thais are moved by Ravana’s sacrifice of family, kingdom and life itself for the sake of a woman. Unlike Valmiki’s characters, the Thai ones are a fallible, human mixture of good and evil. The fall of Ravana here makes one sad. It is not an occasion for unambiguous rejoicing, as it is in Valmiki.”
The Thai epic also hints at the possibility that Sita could be his daughter, as Ravana’s wife gives birth to Sita after consuming a blessed rice ball. A prophecy that his daughter will cause his death makes Ravana throw Sita into the sea, where the sea goddess protects her and takes her to Janaka. As for Hanuman, instead of being the celibate, here he is a womaniser, a portrayal which could anger the moral police. Also, the epic is not regarded as a religious work, which serves the model code of behaviour.
Ramanujam notes that the Thais enjoy the details of war, the techniques and the fabulous weapons more than the partings and reunions, which are the heart of the Hindu Ramayana. This interest in war is not an accident, but has everything to do with Thailand’s own history, as the mutilated Buddha statues in Ayutthaya would testify. One of the most fascinating sights here is in the site of Wat Maha That, where a Buddha head, which is believed to have been part of a sandstone Buddha statue in the 1600s, can be seen trapped amid the constantly growing roots of a Bodhi tree.
The Ramayana is believed to have reached these regions as early as the seventh century, through the trade routes from South India. Though Buddhism was the main religion of the Kingdom of Ayutthaya, Hindu scriptures had a major influence on its culture and society. This easy blending of the two religions might not be visible to a visitor at present, as mostly Buddhist symbols stand out, except when you travel back to Bangkok along the Chao Phraya River. At the center of the city, near the Grand Palace stands Wat Phra Kaew, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha.
Inside, one would come across an imposing statue of Thotsakan, the Thai Ravana. There’s more. One of the compound walls is filled with giant murals, which tell the complete story of Ramakein (Ramayana) sequentially through 178 images. Painted in the eighteenth century, just a few years after the sacking of Ayutthaya by the Burmese, it might take some time for those from India to recognize the epic being represented here, for the attires and presentation are starkly different from the images that we are used to watching in the television version of Ramayana.
The ruins of Ayutthaya, now a UNESCO World Heritage site spread over a vast area, still retain some of the majesty of the once thriving empire. At Wat Phrasisanphet, three bell-shaped stupas stand at the center of the site, with each containing the ashes of former kings. Steps lead half-way up these stupas, from where the pillars at a distance give one the outline of a large hall which existed here. Red brick structures of myriad shapes and sizes dot the area, which once served as the temple of the royal family and venue of royal ceremonies.
Situated by a vast lake is Wat Phra Ram, which was initially built as a cremation site for one of the first Ayutthayan king, Ramathibodi I, but later turned into a temple. Buddha’s head in the roots is just one of the many marvels at Wat Maha That, built in 1374 and set to fire in 1767 by the Burmese. Walking past the many limb-less Buddha statues that line the periphery of the large open hall, one would be caught by surprise by a giant undamaged statue of a seated Buddha, with the an elevated mountain-like platform and a hexagonal pagoda forming a perfect backdrop.
It was in one of these sites that the Thai dance drama form of ‘Khon’ originated, again with Ramakien, and by extension Ramayana, playing a role as source material. Back in those days, it was performed only by members of the royal family, with the audience too from the upper classes. Performed with elaborate costumes and sets, it is still being performed under royal patronage, but with the doors open to the larger public, as performers and as the audience. ‘Ramakien’ continues to be the major source material.
While attempts are being made to limit Ramayana to a few square kilometres in Northenrn India, with one of its myriad versions being imposed as the one and only true version, the universal epic itself has defied these limitations and spread its wings outside.
As Ramanujam would say, in India and in Southeast Asia, no one ever reads the Ramayana and the Mahabharatha for the first time. The stories are there, ‘always already’. Only that, the story changes a little, with every step one takes.
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An edited version of this story appeared in The Hindu Friday Review on August 2, 2019 —
