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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Courage / Heroism
- Published: 05/30/2014
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A Journey Beyond
By Nui Tuanta
From the tragedy of 2011 flooding in Thailand a love story was born. Moments of truth confronted many lives, some would be forever altered by the relentless floods, but this love story needs to be told.
To leave home, never to return, is what people in Srisaket would describe as "pai tai dab na", or 'to plunge into an unknown risk,' and that's what Ming did at the age of 22.
Migration was not uncommon among residents of this northeastern province of Thailand even in those days. Several droughts in recent years did not leave them much choice. Their farm land had been desperately thirsty for rain. Two years earlier, his elder sister and younger brother had chosen to abandon their homeland to settle as rubber plantation workers in a southern province. His parents went along with them in order to take care of their grand children, and spent the rest of their lives there. “Where there’s rain, there’s life,” they said.
Two years after his siblings’ exodus, and with a heart full of hope, Ming himself decided to set off for Bangkok where construction projects were flourishing. Like most of his fellows with little education and training, Ming felt his physical strength and manual skills would serve him well as a construction worker in the capital city.
After years of climbing up and down the scaffolding and moving constantly from one construction site to the next, Ming was offered a job as a handyman for a wealthy local businesswoman in Pathumthani, a province on the northern outskirts of Bangkok. He gratefully accepted the job because, his wife, Saengthong, had been working as a kitchen hand at one of the lady’s restaurants. Ming was in charge of a variety of simple repairs at her restaurants, apartment buildings and markets.
Pleased with the couple’s service, Madam Wilai, as she was referred to by her employees, sold them a plot of land situated on the banks of a quiet canal, called Klong Chaokoon. Ming built the house literally with his own two hands from the ground up. It was a dream-come-true for him to be living with Saengthong, nine years his junior, and have a place he could call home.
The couple was satisfied with what life had to offer, except for one thing - they were childless. After years of waiting, “If we have a baby…” became too painful a way to begin a conversation. When Saengthong turned 35, they completely dropped it.
Ming’s life journey took a sharp turn when diabetes and a stroke forced him to give up his work with Madam Wilai. Following a long period of rehabilitation and recovery, Ming taught himself to make wicker baskets. It turned out to be the most demanding challenge he had ever faced, yet it was the most realistic solution, given his declining health. He was 56 and did not want to burden his wife with financial worries: they still needed money to pay off the debt to Madam Wilai.
Saengthong helped her husband in every way she could. She walked tirelessly from one shop to another, showing samples of his products. The first order from a large fruit shop in town was an intense delight. “Actually, you do have the skill!” she exclaimed, laughing. Gone were all her worries. “I’ll buy bamboo and rattan cane and everything else you need. Just give me a list.”
Ming loved the sound of her laugh. It was nice and loud and always had the magical power to lighten him up.
Ming had been struggling very hard to come up with various types of wicker products to meet the demands of his customers. Sometimes, that meant a whole sleepless night. However, they were better off financially. The old man felt grateful for the choice he was making. Life truly was an ever-changing journey.
Saengthong went on working for Madam Wilai until she was 60. Sadly, his hearty wife had only two years to enjoy her life after retirement. In and out of hospital, she battled breast cancer before finally succumbing in the third year.
Saengthong bequeathed her husband a legacy of love: a short-haired Chihuahua/Dachshund hybrid which had become an amusing and adorable companion for both of them. The puppy was a reward from Madam Wilai when Saengthong handed her the lost diamond earring which Madam Wilai had given up hope of ever finding.
When Saengthong excitedly brought home the ‘reward’, Ming stared at it. He had never kept any pet and had never wanted one.
“What is it?” He asked. The animal in her palms looked like a large, round lump of bean curd.
“A dog, a male dog – six weeks old,” she said, putting the tiny creature on the floor.
“It’s too small. You should have left it with its mother.”
“It’s a tiny breed. Even when it’s fully grown, it will never get bigger than a cat,” she explained. “Madam Wilai’s daughter loves to take his father with her when she goes shopping.”
Saengthong named her puppy “Tofu” to fit its appearance. Slightly bigger than pure Chihuahua, Tofu, when he grew up, developed a brown coat with a small white mark on his head. He had the long body and short legs of his mother and the perky ears and big eyes of his father.
In no time Saengthong had begun to treat Tofu as a member of the family. At night, the dog slept in his tailor-made basket in their bedroom, but sometimes climbed out to lie on their mattress. Saengthong was always careful not to accidentally suffocate the puppy.
Tofu loved to sunbathe on the porch while watching Saengthong cook in the morning. The little dog was strongly attached to his mistress. He would sit at the door of the house waiting for her to come back from work every afternoon and would jump onto her lap the minute she sat down, giving her lots of kisses on her face. When the elderly couples were watching TV in the evening, he would curl up on Saengthong’s lap like a kitten. He growled like a fierce guard dog if any stranger approached, which always gave Saengthong a good laugh.
It never ceased to amaze Ming how Tofu had been able to create a special bond of love that gave both Ming and his wife a greater sense of fulfillment in their everyday lives. Ming laughed happily whenever he saw Saengthong speaking sweetly to the little dog cradled in her plump arms.
A warm and caring woman, who always kept a happy smile on her face, Saengthong was religious and diligent; she rarely missed her weekly merit making at the temple across the river. Sometimes Tofu, decked out in his gaudy jacket, would accompany her. The monks loved to watch the obliging pup crawl on his belly.
Saengthong had an unshakable belief in reincarnation and the law of karma. Every night before going to bed, she would listen attentively to tape-recorded Buddha’s teachings. Inspired by her friends, she later took up meditation.
“Unless we reach the supreme goal of Nirvana, after we die we will continue in the cycle of birth and death, birth and death, again and again – as night follows day,” she had once explained to her not-so-religious husband.
“Most of us will be reborn, then,” said Ming: “perhaps as humans again”
“Well, that depends on our past and present deeds, our karma,” replied Saengthong.
“Karma collected from our past lives and our present life, as well?” Ming asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes. That’s why people are born different; some healthy, some sickly; some rich, some destitute,” she went on. “And that’s why, in this present life, we have to try to refrain from evil and do good.”
“Otherwise we could be reborn as filthy cockroaches,” Ming said with tongue in cheek.
“Or as dogs like Tofu,’ said Saengthong, smiling.
“Do you think we’ll meet again -- in the next life?”
“I believe so,” answered Saengthong. “And you know what? If I’m to be reborn as a human, I pray I will be with you again, not just in the next life, but in every life thereafter.”
Somehow, the words sounded like a binding promise, so he replied, “Sure, just look for each other when the time comes.”
Thinking of Saengthong, Ming often recalled her last words at the hospital.
“My time …has… come,” she had said thickly as her speech became more slurred. “I don’t think… I’m… gonna … make it.”
“Why do you think that? Did the doctor say something?”
“No,” she signed. “I can hardly … breathe… and my body….”
“I know, I know,” he said, arranging the pillows under her head and shoulders and propping her head up. “But don’t give up. I trust Doctor Kasem. He has cured many cancer patients, you know?”
The old woman shook her head weakly, reaching for his hands. Ming held her hand gently in his. Saengthong was extremely thin. She looked so aged and frail, having lost all her hair during chemotherapy and radiation therapy.
“Don’t forget to take your medicine,” she continued haltingly. “Use the medicine cup … before….. meal. ” She paused again and closed her eyes tightly, as though in pain with the struggle to speak.
“Don’t say anything more. You’re getting tired.”
“Let me...” She half opened her eyes and slowly closed them. “Feed Tofu - he’s yours…. now.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him,” he promised.
A nurse arrived with another IV unit in hand. “Visiting hours is over,” she said in a whisper.
“Ming!” Saengthong suddenly opened her eyes wide as he released her hand.
“You’ve got to rest,” Ming said, a sad smile on his face.
Saengthong looked at him with weary eyes. “You will….make…. merit for me, won’t …you?”
The words were almost inaudible. Ming took off his glasses. He wiped them with his shirt and put them back on again. Raising the side rail of her bed slowly, he cleared his throat and murmured, “I will.”
With that, he said goodbye.
After the last farewell, Saengthong’s condition deteriorated day by day. With a breathing tube in her mouth, she could not talk to him anymore. She only squeezed his hand to acknowledge his presence, or looked at him while he was talking to her. It was clear to them both that her present life was ending.
The day came when there was no more eye contact or hand squeezing. Saengthong just lay still and silent. While holding her hand as usual one day, Ming saw a tear falling from her closed eyes. Believing it was a response to his touch, Ming found himself saying words he had never imagined would come from his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll be in heaven because you’re a very good human being -- and a very good wife,” he said quickly, “You’ll be there looking for me, I’m sure. Do you hear me?”
No response. She did not open her eyes, or squeeze his hand. But Ming was certain she had heard his words. He kept talking to her -- about how quiet the house was without her, about Tofu’s loneliness, about their promises to find each other in the next life, about a rattan rocking chair he was making for her. “You can relax in the rocker with Tofu on your lap and tell me how to cook,” he said.
The next morning, Ming woke up at first light. Standing in front of the full-length mirror with a wicker frame which he had made for his wife, he saw a thin old man in black pants and a long sleeved, khaki shirt, with the top button done up. His face was wrinkled, his grey hair greasy and unkempt.
Ming had come up with an idea he realized was total nonsense. He would take Tofu to the hospital today. Tofu had been very quiet since Saengthong had been gone. The little dog did not follow Ming around, but sometimes sat up and rested his head on Ming’s knee, fixing him with his sad eyes. If Tofu was with him at her bedside on her last day, that would mean the world to her, he concluded.
Tofu sat quietly in a round basket, occasionally poking his head out to look around. “If you make a noise, both of us will be kicked out of the hospital,” whispered the old man.
When they arrived at the hospital, two nurses were standing at Saengthong’s bedside.
“Her blood pressure is dropping,” one of them said, “We’ve notified the doctor. Would you please wait outside for a few minutes?”
Ming left the room and sat at the foot of the stairs, patiently waiting for the nurse to call him back.
Nearly half an hour had passed. Ming was still waiting.
He let Tofu out of the basket. The little dog bowed forward and backward, ran around and then came back to his master.
“What are you doing Uncle Ming?” The nurse was regarding him disapprovingly.
Ming put Tofu back inside the basket, but it was too late. The nurse walked up to the old man. “You know very well we don’t allow pets in the hospital.”
Ming smiled apologetically.
“How’s she doing?” He asked, rising to his feet.
“Uncle Ming, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” The nurse spoke in a softer voice. “Leave your puppy with the guard and come with me.”
She called the security guard and handed him the basket. Reluctantly, Ming followed her, fearing he had missed his wife’s last moments.
There on the bed, behind drawn curtains, was his wife of over 40 years. A green hospital sheet covered her entire body except for her colorless face. No medical instruments were making frightening noises; no tubes were inserted into her nose or her mouth. The intravenous drain which had pierced her side had been taken away.
“She passed away at ten fifty four,” the head nurse informed him. “Auntie Saeng was very brave; she wasn’t afraid of dying. She believed she would be able to wait for you in heaven.”
Alone with his wife, Ming gently touched her face and closed eyes, lightly stroking her bruised arms and hands, her skinny feet. Tears streamed down his face. His heart ached. Perhaps she had waited hopefully for him till her last breath.
The old man bent down, holding her face between his hands. He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, Saeng,” he whispered. “We’ll meet again.” He then covered his face with a hand towel and wept bitterly.
“Are you okay, Uncle Ming? The head nurse asked, as she parted the curtain and handed him a few official forms. The old man nodded, wiped his glasses and exhaled heavily. “Please contact Room 207 upstairs about the death certificate and other paperwork,” she said. “You can leave her with us until tomorrow if you’re not ready with the funeral arrangements.”
Ming took a long last look at his wife before pulling the cloth over her face. After a very long time of seeing each other every day, of being there for each other in every difficulty and holding each other at night, here was the end.
Moments later, the old man emerged from behind the curtain, eyes red and watery. He looked awkwardly around the room for an exit as though he had never been in the place before.
“Come with me,” one of the nurses took him by the arm out of the room. “You have my deepest sympathy, Uncle Ming,” she said gently. “I know how much you loved your wife.” She paused. “You know? I cried the other day when I saw you trim her fingernails and toenails, even though she could not feel a thing.”
The young woman let go of his arm and pointed at the stairs. “Room 207 is the last door on the left.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Good luck,” she said and walked back.
Hearing the old man’s footsteps, Tofu pushed and scrambled out of the basket. Before the guard could move, the little dog had run to his master and rubbed his head against his leg as if to comfort him. Ming picked him up and cradled him in his arms. “She’s gone, Tofu,” he whispered. “She couldn’t wait."
With the help of the oldest daughter of Madam Wilai, Saengthong’s funeral, which lasted three days, went off smoothly. Every day at around 6.00 p.m., relatives and friends arrived for the evening service. Ming was surprised to see so many friends coming to say their last farewell. “Saeng was so kind hearted. She was always happy if she could help others,” said a friend who had often meditated with his wife. “We all loved her. Every time I go to the temple, I know I’m gonna miss her,” said another.
In the afternoon, some neighbors helped arrange flowers to be placed atop the coffin and on the frame of Saengthong’s portrait, while others prepared meals for monks and guests. His brother and sister came from the South and stayed with him throughout the ceremony.
The next day after the funeral, just as the sun was rising, Ming brought home an urn containing the cremated remains of his wife. With Tofu sitting beside him, the old man stood on the small, wooden boat dock in front of his house, pouring the ashes onto the canal according to Saengthong’s wish.
A few neighbors rowed their boats over to attend the final stage of the funeral. “May you rest in peace,” they said as the ashes dispersed in the clear water. Schools of small silvery fish were darting around.
“Why don’t you come and stay with us?” suggested his sister after the ceremony, a concerned look on her face. “Aren’t you getting too old to live by yourself?”
“Actually I’m not alone. Tofu is a great companion.” Ming spoke casually, but he really meant it.
“Yes, that little dog is very smart,” his brother agreed. “Anyway, call me if you change your mind. You know you are always welcome to stay with us.”
* * *
Despite occasional feelings of aching loneliness, Ming did his best to live a normal life without his other half. The old man had given up making wicker baskets for sale since he was 67. His vision and his strength were no longer up to the demanding work. With less activity, he had more free time. He decided to make use of it by keeping laying hens in a spacious but sheltered area under the house. As for Tofu, the little dog seemed to realize that his elderly mistress had left him for good. He now turned all his attention to his master. He helped the old man chase the chickens into their coops in the afternoon and sat quietly on the boat dock when Ming offered food to the monks who came along the canal on their early morning alms round. In those times when Ming found himself weeping, holding Saengthong’s pillow in his arms, Tofu would climb out of his basket and lay quietly beside him.
Ming made merit for his late wife every week. The neighbors got used to seeing him walking cautiously down the road toward the temple, a three-tiered aluminum food carrier in hand. He had every reason to feel proud of himself afterward; Saengthong would approve of him keeping the promise.
That was four years before September, 2011, when the country was devastated by record-breaking floods. Unusually heavy rainfall triggered by tropical storms in the North caused widespread destruction in many provinces in the lower North, Northeast and Central plains. These floods proved to be a terrifying nightmare for thousands, and were, for Uncle Ming, the deadliest experience of his life.
As flood waters in Lopburi province, about 140 kilometers further north of Bangkok, were reaching unprecedented depths of over two meters, local authorities urged residents living along many canals in Pathumthani to leave their homes. Women and children were evacuated to temporary relief shelters. One such center was set up at the temple where Ming regularly went to make merit. Even those in areas not yet affected were moving to higher ground if they needed to commute back and forth to work. Nonetheless, there were still some ‘bullheaded people,’ as they were branded, who simply kept smiling and told the local authorities not to worry, no matter how many times they were asked to evacuate. Ming was one of them. He said calmly and confidently, “We have a plentiful stock of food. We have rice, instant noodles, canned fish and drinking water - - enough for a week or two. If we need more, we can paddle our boats out to the market or the temple to get supplies. We’ll manage. Don’t worry.”
“What if the electricity goes out?”
“Well, we might have to leave then, but for now…”
“Suit yourself then,” said those who were leaving.
Ming wished them good luck.
Like most traditional houses along these canals, Ming’s dwelling was built on high wooden stilts, about a meter and a half above the ground, with steps leading up to a partially roofed porch. It was in this area that most of the household activities took place each day, for example, cooking, eating, watching television, or doing crafts such as weaving baskets. From this platform, a stairway of three-steps led up about two feet to a second raised floor. Ming’s bedroom was situated on this raised area and was connected to an open room from which a window overlooked similar houses and lines of coconut trees on the other side of the canal. Sitting here on a long wooden bench, Saengthong had been used to practicing meditation in this part of their house.
To Ming and other elderly ‘canal people,’ flooding was a natural part of life. They had learned long ago to live with it. The flood water had always receded within a few days, or at worst in a week or two after the heavy rains caused by tropical storms abated. “Just like last time,” they said. Little did they realize they were facing the country's worst flooding in living memory!
Carrying on was not so difficult in the beginning, when the flood water rose only a few feet above the canal banks and electricity was still available. It did not matter if they could not leave home; every few days, local officials came distributing flood relief bags containing bottled water, canned food and other essentials like candles, matches, flashlights, cutters and spoons. They even had a portable toilet in which to relieve themselves. Some of his neighbors found catching the fish that had escaped from nearby flooded fish farms enormous enjoyment!
This situation, still tolerable, continued for three weeks.
Then the flood water began rising again, inexorably finding its way into their houses. Word went round that a great volume of water had been released from the country’s major dams, which had been in imminent danger of bursting in the wake of ongoing heavy rain. There was no more fishing for food or for pleasure. There was no more light-hearted talk about how deep the flood waters were in other areas. Everyone began to hover around their television, trying to understand what was really happening. The more they listened to expert comments – often contradictory - the more they became confused.
A week later, the bullheaded people started to feel the real disaster, and it came as a complete shock. The flood water in their houses rose faster and faster! They had little time to move their belongings to higher places. Ming gathered all his energy to push the long wooden bench nearer to the window in the hope that he wouldn’t be missed if some rescue people decided to come back to him.
It was raining again. Ming watched as his gas stove and old television set on the porch were slowly immersed. His rice cooker and plastic washing bowls, along with his wicker baskets, had floated out of the house through the broken door. The cabinet made of particle board was tipping over slowly, leaving everything inside scattered around. The water had lifted another heavy bench on the porch off the floor as if it was weightless. All the chickens had been gone. The depth of the flood water, now only about a foot below the lower edge of the window, was well over his head. The boat tied to one of the stilts had been stolen a few days earlier. Without that vessel, going to the temple to take shelter or to get relief items was out of the question. No electricity. No help from anyone. He was completely isolated from the outside world.
For two weeks, Ming had been sleeping and spending most of his time on the bench by the window, the safest place. His mattress, which usually lay on the floor, was floating around the bedroom!
Some evacuees came back in a long tail boat to check if their possessions were still safe from burglars. The old man would lean out of the window, waving his hand whenever he heard the sound of the engine. But the boats were driven so fast, and the elderly castaway’s attempts to call their attention went in vain.
The biggest problem was the lack of food and diabetes medications. Ming and Tofu had been eating instant noodles with bottled water for three days in a row. It was impossible to boil water without a gas stove, and tap water was out of the question since the faucets were now submerged beneath waist-deep water.
Ming had not taken any medication for several days and that became another serious cause of concern for him. The thought that he might die alone in the house was horrifying.
Defenseless and feeble, when night came, the old man was dreadfully afraid of snakes. They also were starving and could kill both Tofu and himself! Ming was beginning to panic. The rising water would soon reach the seat of the bench. What would he do if his last refuge was flooded?
The awful reality struck terror into his heart. He kept turning over the survival possibilities in his mind. ‘Should I try to swim to the temple to get help, leaving Tofu behind?’ ‘Should I take Tofu with me and risk drowning?’ ‘Would Tofu survive on some kind of float?’ ‘Should we both resign ourselves to whatever fate?’
The next day, he came to a decision.
Among other relief items on the bench, there were empty water bottles with caps, plastic bags and pieces of plastic rope. A handy man himself, Ming cut the plastic bags into long strips to securely fasten six plastic bottles together. Looking around, he saw two empty milk cartons. He cut one side of each carton and tied it to the bottle raft in such a way that he could put Tofu in between. He checked it out on water several times to make sure it could stay afloat. It would sail on for a few hours, at least, and he hoped a small brown dog sitting in the bright colorful cardboard boxes would be easily noticed.
Ming looked for a piece of paper and a pencil to write a message asking for help. He would send it with Tofu. But nowhere could such items be found. The old man wiped sweat from his forehead; he wouldn’t have the strength to do anything else after this last desperate effort. ‘Am I going to die?’ he asked himself, shivering at the thought.
Clutching Tofu in his arms, the old man kissed the little animal with affection and despair. “Sorry we have to part,” he said. “At least you’ll have a chance.”
Tofu did not, or rather, could not, resist. Ming felt the warmth of his soft tongue as he licked his hand. They quietly exchanged glances before Ming gently put him on the makeshift raft and tied him to the milk cartons with a plastic rope. The old man put the bottle raft onto the water. His heart sank as he watched his dear friend struggling to hang on to the milk cartons as the raft floated downstream. In his prayer, Tofu would be spotted before the raft disintegrated or the poor dog could not hold on any longer.
All alone in the house, Ming sat by the window, staring at the debris laden canal until sunset. Refusing to evacuate had been a mistake, a dreadful mistake. He blamed himself. Had he made a better decision, Tofu wouldn’t have been put into such grave peril. The dog was too small. He had really messed things up.
The old man fumbled in the relief bag for a candle. He lit it, and in the flicker of the candlelight, looked up to see Saengthong’s photo -- but tears blurred that reassuring smile.
Mosquitoes began to fly from nowhere. Ming blew out the candle, pulled the mosquito net over the bench and lay down, starring vaguely upward.
Sleep finally overtook him.
In his sleep, Ming watched himself leave the ground and float upward gracefully in the cool, refreshing wind. It was not a dream, it was not his imagination; it was real. He could feel the cool breeze on his face.
How he looked so different! He was a middle-aged man, nicely and comfortably dressed, with a plump body, fine skin, and sparkling eyes. His serene face, without eyeglasses and unshaved moustache, was softly touched by a ray of light. It was him! He was going to unite with Saengthong.
Never before had he felt so elated!
All of a sudden, the body lying on the floor was being shaken vigorously. A thin voice echoed through the air. “Yeah, yeah, he’s in here -- unconscious, but still alive.”
The jubilant flight he was taking abruptly vanished. Ming was furious! He wanted to curse the owner of the voice. Why the hell did this stranger break into his journey? Everything had been going just right. If not for this man, he would have met up with his wife!
Ming returned to consciousness in a hospital the next afternoon. The moment he opened his eyes, he was racked with guilt. He had disappointed his wife and betrayed Tofu!
A week later, the old man was taken to a relief shelter at a temple after his diabetic and starved body had somewhat recovered. The site was crowded with flood victims of all ages. To his sudden joy, he saw a monk standing among them, and even from afar, he could see Tofu in his arms!
It turned out that the flood current had not carried the bottle raft very far when Tofu was spotted by a team of veterinary volunteers looking for stranded and desperate animals whose owners had been forced to leave without them. The short, weak bark of Tofu had caught their attention and they had eventually spotted him.
“The poor creature was trapped in flood debris and hit by pieces of broken planks.” One of the volunteers who stood next to the monk recounted the rescue operation. “He was badly injured with several cuts on his body and head. He kept barking and looking at us until we realized he was trying to tell us something.”
“We figured out pretty quickly that he was asking us to do something for his owner,” said another, “but we had no idea where he -- or she -- was.”
Ming was told about how the distressed and insistently barking dog finally succeeded in reminding one of the monks of the elderly husband of Saengthong. Despite the difficulties involved in carrying out a search at dusk, the monk had begged a rescue team to go back and look for Ming before it was too late. The monk felt very certain that the old man had been trapped in his own house.
Ming raised his palms at the chest, bowing his head slightly over his hands to express his gratitude to the rescue workers and volunteers. “Thank you so much for helping both of us,” he said.
He then prostrated himself before the monk, with his palms placed above the eyebrows and his forehead touching the ground, a gesture of deepest respect. “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said.
The monk handed little Tofu to Ming. He smiled at him kindly and said, “A super dog you’re holding, you know?”
Wearing a small lampshade collar to prevent him from licking the wounds, Tofu offered his right, front leg wrapped in thick gauze to Ming, which delighted the onlookers, broke the tension, and provoked some happy laughter.
Ming was among some 100 flood victims taking refuge at the temple. Although well fed and cared for, everyone seemed to be overcome with grief. They had never experienced such trauma before. Some had lost loved ones from drowning or electrocution. Ming learned that Madam Wilai’s family had fled in panic to their resort home in the South.
A woman who used to sell baskets for him emerged from the crowd. Her face was grim, her right arm swollen. She had been bitten by a centipede while sleeping.
“I’ve lost everything,” she said. “I really don’t know what to do now.”
Ming nodded sympathetically. He did not know what to say either.
Before Ming’s arrival at the shelter, Tofu had been staying in the monk’s room; he was too small to mix with other dogs at the temporary animal shelter. Now he was under Ming’s care. Ming cleansed his wounds carefully and changed the gauze bandages every day. Tofu looked pitiful. His eyes were heavily infected. He had stitches on his ear and head, and small bandages on his partially shaved body and legs.
After the story about the little dog and the ‘basket maker’ or ‘basket man,’ as Ming became known, reached the media, Tofu appeared on TV as a small, pleasant event of the flooding episode. Newspapers carried pictures of the ‘canine hero’ or ‘an old man’s lifesaver’. Children sent letters to TV stations asking them to put Tofu on a show.
After three weeks at the temple, all the flood evacuees including Ming and his dog had to be hurriedly evacuated to another shelter when the flood water started to break through the earth dikes surrounding the temple. This time they were moved to Chonburi province, on the eastern coast of the Gulf of Thailand. For a 77-year-old man taking care of an injured dog, it was no picnic, living in a crowded relief shelter. However, Tofu was allowed to stay with him, and for that Ming was extremely grateful.
Life as a flood evacuee for Ming ended when he was transported back to his own neighborhood in early December. The worst of the flooding was over and massive, widespread clean-up operations were being launched. Sitting in a long-tail boat driven by a rescue worker, Ming cradled Tofu in his arms and gave him a pat on the head from time to time.
Looking around, Ming saw incredible hills of debris, mainly rotting furniture, littering the canal or piled up high in front of houses or on streets. Dead trees became a common sight. According to rescue agencies, the disaster had killed at least 600 people. Thousands of homes and businesses had been submerged under the flood waters, and just as many mud-covered vehicles now lay abandoned on streets and in housing estates. Water stains left on street lamp posts and concrete walls clearly indicated the high level of the flood waters.
Impressed by the popular story in the media of the old man and his faithful dog, a group of young volunteers had earlier repaired his house. They were cleaning it up when Ming and Tofu arrived, so everything seemed to be much in order. People whom he had never met had made many donations which were neatly piled up on the porch - bags of rice and dog food, clothes, medicines, and cooking utensils. The moldy rocking chair was leaning against the wall. The power supply had been restored.
“Is that your wife?” One of the volunteers asked, pointing at the photo hanging above the door with a rusty wire across its back.
“Yes. She died four years ago,” answered Ming, thankful the photo had not fallen off the wall.
Before leaving, the volunteers wrote down several phone numbers.
“Uncle Ming, if you need any help - any help at all – don’t hesitate to call these numbers. Don’t just lie down again, and wait for help to come! Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.” Ming pressed his raised palms together and bowed his head down to express his appreciation. “Thank you very much young men.”
“No problem.” They responded with the same gesture.
One of them lifted Tofu from his new basket and gently stroked him.
“Tofu, you take good care of Uncle Ming, okay?”
Not fully recovered, Tofu pricked his ears up in response.
The house became quiet after the volunteers had left. After 74 days in two different relief shelters, returning home was a real blessing.
The old man poured some dog food into a bowl for Tofu, and decided to hand feed him when Tofu didn’t show any interest in it. “You don’t like this stuff, do you?” He rubbed Tofu’s head, “All right, I’ll get what you like best tomorrow.”
The next morning, Ming woke up to the familiar noise of long tail boats. He walked around the house, trying to get used to its new ambience. The flood water had taken away more than half of his possessions, except those on the hanging shelves, including Saengthong’s Buddha images and some knick knacks.
Tofu was still fast asleep. Ming placed his basket on the porch and his bowl near him before climbing down the stairs.
It took the old man almost an hour at the pet shop talking to neighbors who wanted to exchange their experiences as evacuees, and, in particular, to congratulate him on surviving the ordeal he had been through. One of them was Madam Wilai’s employee, who said Madam Wilai, now in her eighties, had been very angry at her children for leaving the old man behind.
“You’ve got to see her sometime; she heard about you and Tofu.”
Ming promised himself he would visit Madam Wilai as soon as Tofu had the energy to entertain her with some tricks in exchange for her cookies.
Although feeling a little dizzy, before heading back home, Ming bought some Chinese tea leaves from the market for the monks at the temple. They were still clearing flood debris from the temple compound when Ming arrived. A lucky old man, they called him. “It was a miracle,” one of them said, referring to everything which had conspired to help him survive.
Ming reached home in the late afternoon after stopping by an ice cream shop. His dear friend had not tasted ice cream for quite a while. It surely would delight him. He climbed the stairs, opened the door and pulled it closed loosely behind him. The house was quiet - strangely quiet, he felt. His heart was pounding as he was stepping in.
A sudden wave of panic swept over him. The bag of dog food and the ice cream dropped onto the floor. Lying in a far corner of the porch was his sole companion! He lifted his little friend up and desperately massaged his body, but Tofu remained absolutely motionless.
“I’m so sorry,” he lamented. “I should have known you were so ill.”
* * *
Ming gathered his strength to dig a grave for Tofu in the muddy ground under the house. It was a small hole, for Tofu’s body was by this time no bigger than a rabbit, but the task demanded all his energy. Wrapping his beloved pet in a loincloth before placing him in the hole, the old man looked at the tiny body in his arms. “Thank you so much,” he said softly.
It took the old man nearly an hour to finish filling in the grave. Exhausted and weary, he had to rest for a while before climbing up the stairs. He washed his clothes, took a bath, and made himself a bowl of instant congee. By the time he had finished eating, it was already 11.00 p.m.
The old man sat down on the same bench by the window, looking at everything around him. Down below, the canal became quiet, even restful, as the intrusive drone of passing long-tail boats gradually died down. The wind was blowing softly, bringing with it a faint, sweet fragrance of water jasmine, the only plant around his house which had survived the great flooding. Its familiar scent brought back all the memories, and reminded him of his lifelong friends who had journeyed with him side by side.
Gazing up into a clear night sky studded with twinkling stars, Ming could not remember ever having seen stars twinkling before. It seemed like they were chuckling and whispering something to one another. Just then, Saengthong’s words came to his mind out of the blue.
“All things are always in a state of change,” she had said with simple piety on their way home after one of their many trips to the hospital, “Actually, they change from moment to moment, but we just aren’t aware of it.
“Everything is transitory, right?” Ming added, wanting to keep the conversation going.
“Yes.” She had been surprised. “Where did you learn that?”
“Well, I heard it from your tapes,” confessed Ming, “Many times.”
“So you know why we should let go of the past and never cling to anything. That's the way we can flow with whatever happens in life.”
Ming understood perfectly now what she had been trying to tell him.
One after another, the lights in the houses behind the coconut trees went out. He took a deep breath, closed the window and walked slowly to his bedroom. As he was passing Tofu’s sleeping basket, he looked up at the photo hung above the door. A smile passed over his lined face.
Lying down on the floor, Ming took off his glasses, carefully placed them by the side of his pillow and wrapped himself in a thin blanket and fell immediately into a peaceful, deep and dreamless sleep.
The old digital clock on the shelf flashed 00.00 - the moment when night changed into day.
A Journey Beyond(Tuanta Nimitkul)
A Journey Beyond
By Nui Tuanta
From the tragedy of 2011 flooding in Thailand a love story was born. Moments of truth confronted many lives, some would be forever altered by the relentless floods, but this love story needs to be told.
To leave home, never to return, is what people in Srisaket would describe as "pai tai dab na", or 'to plunge into an unknown risk,' and that's what Ming did at the age of 22.
Migration was not uncommon among residents of this northeastern province of Thailand even in those days. Several droughts in recent years did not leave them much choice. Their farm land had been desperately thirsty for rain. Two years earlier, his elder sister and younger brother had chosen to abandon their homeland to settle as rubber plantation workers in a southern province. His parents went along with them in order to take care of their grand children, and spent the rest of their lives there. “Where there’s rain, there’s life,” they said.
Two years after his siblings’ exodus, and with a heart full of hope, Ming himself decided to set off for Bangkok where construction projects were flourishing. Like most of his fellows with little education and training, Ming felt his physical strength and manual skills would serve him well as a construction worker in the capital city.
After years of climbing up and down the scaffolding and moving constantly from one construction site to the next, Ming was offered a job as a handyman for a wealthy local businesswoman in Pathumthani, a province on the northern outskirts of Bangkok. He gratefully accepted the job because, his wife, Saengthong, had been working as a kitchen hand at one of the lady’s restaurants. Ming was in charge of a variety of simple repairs at her restaurants, apartment buildings and markets.
Pleased with the couple’s service, Madam Wilai, as she was referred to by her employees, sold them a plot of land situated on the banks of a quiet canal, called Klong Chaokoon. Ming built the house literally with his own two hands from the ground up. It was a dream-come-true for him to be living with Saengthong, nine years his junior, and have a place he could call home.
The couple was satisfied with what life had to offer, except for one thing - they were childless. After years of waiting, “If we have a baby…” became too painful a way to begin a conversation. When Saengthong turned 35, they completely dropped it.
Ming’s life journey took a sharp turn when diabetes and a stroke forced him to give up his work with Madam Wilai. Following a long period of rehabilitation and recovery, Ming taught himself to make wicker baskets. It turned out to be the most demanding challenge he had ever faced, yet it was the most realistic solution, given his declining health. He was 56 and did not want to burden his wife with financial worries: they still needed money to pay off the debt to Madam Wilai.
Saengthong helped her husband in every way she could. She walked tirelessly from one shop to another, showing samples of his products. The first order from a large fruit shop in town was an intense delight. “Actually, you do have the skill!” she exclaimed, laughing. Gone were all her worries. “I’ll buy bamboo and rattan cane and everything else you need. Just give me a list.”
Ming loved the sound of her laugh. It was nice and loud and always had the magical power to lighten him up.
Ming had been struggling very hard to come up with various types of wicker products to meet the demands of his customers. Sometimes, that meant a whole sleepless night. However, they were better off financially. The old man felt grateful for the choice he was making. Life truly was an ever-changing journey.
Saengthong went on working for Madam Wilai until she was 60. Sadly, his hearty wife had only two years to enjoy her life after retirement. In and out of hospital, she battled breast cancer before finally succumbing in the third year.
Saengthong bequeathed her husband a legacy of love: a short-haired Chihuahua/Dachshund hybrid which had become an amusing and adorable companion for both of them. The puppy was a reward from Madam Wilai when Saengthong handed her the lost diamond earring which Madam Wilai had given up hope of ever finding.
When Saengthong excitedly brought home the ‘reward’, Ming stared at it. He had never kept any pet and had never wanted one.
“What is it?” He asked. The animal in her palms looked like a large, round lump of bean curd.
“A dog, a male dog – six weeks old,” she said, putting the tiny creature on the floor.
“It’s too small. You should have left it with its mother.”
“It’s a tiny breed. Even when it’s fully grown, it will never get bigger than a cat,” she explained. “Madam Wilai’s daughter loves to take his father with her when she goes shopping.”
Saengthong named her puppy “Tofu” to fit its appearance. Slightly bigger than pure Chihuahua, Tofu, when he grew up, developed a brown coat with a small white mark on his head. He had the long body and short legs of his mother and the perky ears and big eyes of his father.
In no time Saengthong had begun to treat Tofu as a member of the family. At night, the dog slept in his tailor-made basket in their bedroom, but sometimes climbed out to lie on their mattress. Saengthong was always careful not to accidentally suffocate the puppy.
Tofu loved to sunbathe on the porch while watching Saengthong cook in the morning. The little dog was strongly attached to his mistress. He would sit at the door of the house waiting for her to come back from work every afternoon and would jump onto her lap the minute she sat down, giving her lots of kisses on her face. When the elderly couples were watching TV in the evening, he would curl up on Saengthong’s lap like a kitten. He growled like a fierce guard dog if any stranger approached, which always gave Saengthong a good laugh.
It never ceased to amaze Ming how Tofu had been able to create a special bond of love that gave both Ming and his wife a greater sense of fulfillment in their everyday lives. Ming laughed happily whenever he saw Saengthong speaking sweetly to the little dog cradled in her plump arms.
A warm and caring woman, who always kept a happy smile on her face, Saengthong was religious and diligent; she rarely missed her weekly merit making at the temple across the river. Sometimes Tofu, decked out in his gaudy jacket, would accompany her. The monks loved to watch the obliging pup crawl on his belly.
Saengthong had an unshakable belief in reincarnation and the law of karma. Every night before going to bed, she would listen attentively to tape-recorded Buddha’s teachings. Inspired by her friends, she later took up meditation.
“Unless we reach the supreme goal of Nirvana, after we die we will continue in the cycle of birth and death, birth and death, again and again – as night follows day,” she had once explained to her not-so-religious husband.
“Most of us will be reborn, then,” said Ming: “perhaps as humans again”
“Well, that depends on our past and present deeds, our karma,” replied Saengthong.
“Karma collected from our past lives and our present life, as well?” Ming asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes. That’s why people are born different; some healthy, some sickly; some rich, some destitute,” she went on. “And that’s why, in this present life, we have to try to refrain from evil and do good.”
“Otherwise we could be reborn as filthy cockroaches,” Ming said with tongue in cheek.
“Or as dogs like Tofu,’ said Saengthong, smiling.
“Do you think we’ll meet again -- in the next life?”
“I believe so,” answered Saengthong. “And you know what? If I’m to be reborn as a human, I pray I will be with you again, not just in the next life, but in every life thereafter.”
Somehow, the words sounded like a binding promise, so he replied, “Sure, just look for each other when the time comes.”
Thinking of Saengthong, Ming often recalled her last words at the hospital.
“My time …has… come,” she had said thickly as her speech became more slurred. “I don’t think… I’m… gonna … make it.”
“Why do you think that? Did the doctor say something?”
“No,” she signed. “I can hardly … breathe… and my body….”
“I know, I know,” he said, arranging the pillows under her head and shoulders and propping her head up. “But don’t give up. I trust Doctor Kasem. He has cured many cancer patients, you know?”
The old woman shook her head weakly, reaching for his hands. Ming held her hand gently in his. Saengthong was extremely thin. She looked so aged and frail, having lost all her hair during chemotherapy and radiation therapy.
“Don’t forget to take your medicine,” she continued haltingly. “Use the medicine cup … before….. meal. ” She paused again and closed her eyes tightly, as though in pain with the struggle to speak.
“Don’t say anything more. You’re getting tired.”
“Let me...” She half opened her eyes and slowly closed them. “Feed Tofu - he’s yours…. now.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him,” he promised.
A nurse arrived with another IV unit in hand. “Visiting hours is over,” she said in a whisper.
“Ming!” Saengthong suddenly opened her eyes wide as he released her hand.
“You’ve got to rest,” Ming said, a sad smile on his face.
Saengthong looked at him with weary eyes. “You will….make…. merit for me, won’t …you?”
The words were almost inaudible. Ming took off his glasses. He wiped them with his shirt and put them back on again. Raising the side rail of her bed slowly, he cleared his throat and murmured, “I will.”
With that, he said goodbye.
After the last farewell, Saengthong’s condition deteriorated day by day. With a breathing tube in her mouth, she could not talk to him anymore. She only squeezed his hand to acknowledge his presence, or looked at him while he was talking to her. It was clear to them both that her present life was ending.
The day came when there was no more eye contact or hand squeezing. Saengthong just lay still and silent. While holding her hand as usual one day, Ming saw a tear falling from her closed eyes. Believing it was a response to his touch, Ming found himself saying words he had never imagined would come from his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll be in heaven because you’re a very good human being -- and a very good wife,” he said quickly, “You’ll be there looking for me, I’m sure. Do you hear me?”
No response. She did not open her eyes, or squeeze his hand. But Ming was certain she had heard his words. He kept talking to her -- about how quiet the house was without her, about Tofu’s loneliness, about their promises to find each other in the next life, about a rattan rocking chair he was making for her. “You can relax in the rocker with Tofu on your lap and tell me how to cook,” he said.
The next morning, Ming woke up at first light. Standing in front of the full-length mirror with a wicker frame which he had made for his wife, he saw a thin old man in black pants and a long sleeved, khaki shirt, with the top button done up. His face was wrinkled, his grey hair greasy and unkempt.
Ming had come up with an idea he realized was total nonsense. He would take Tofu to the hospital today. Tofu had been very quiet since Saengthong had been gone. The little dog did not follow Ming around, but sometimes sat up and rested his head on Ming’s knee, fixing him with his sad eyes. If Tofu was with him at her bedside on her last day, that would mean the world to her, he concluded.
Tofu sat quietly in a round basket, occasionally poking his head out to look around. “If you make a noise, both of us will be kicked out of the hospital,” whispered the old man.
When they arrived at the hospital, two nurses were standing at Saengthong’s bedside.
“Her blood pressure is dropping,” one of them said, “We’ve notified the doctor. Would you please wait outside for a few minutes?”
Ming left the room and sat at the foot of the stairs, patiently waiting for the nurse to call him back.
Nearly half an hour had passed. Ming was still waiting.
He let Tofu out of the basket. The little dog bowed forward and backward, ran around and then came back to his master.
“What are you doing Uncle Ming?” The nurse was regarding him disapprovingly.
Ming put Tofu back inside the basket, but it was too late. The nurse walked up to the old man. “You know very well we don’t allow pets in the hospital.”
Ming smiled apologetically.
“How’s she doing?” He asked, rising to his feet.
“Uncle Ming, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” The nurse spoke in a softer voice. “Leave your puppy with the guard and come with me.”
She called the security guard and handed him the basket. Reluctantly, Ming followed her, fearing he had missed his wife’s last moments.
There on the bed, behind drawn curtains, was his wife of over 40 years. A green hospital sheet covered her entire body except for her colorless face. No medical instruments were making frightening noises; no tubes were inserted into her nose or her mouth. The intravenous drain which had pierced her side had been taken away.
“She passed away at ten fifty four,” the head nurse informed him. “Auntie Saeng was very brave; she wasn’t afraid of dying. She believed she would be able to wait for you in heaven.”
Alone with his wife, Ming gently touched her face and closed eyes, lightly stroking her bruised arms and hands, her skinny feet. Tears streamed down his face. His heart ached. Perhaps she had waited hopefully for him till her last breath.
The old man bent down, holding her face between his hands. He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, Saeng,” he whispered. “We’ll meet again.” He then covered his face with a hand towel and wept bitterly.
“Are you okay, Uncle Ming? The head nurse asked, as she parted the curtain and handed him a few official forms. The old man nodded, wiped his glasses and exhaled heavily. “Please contact Room 207 upstairs about the death certificate and other paperwork,” she said. “You can leave her with us until tomorrow if you’re not ready with the funeral arrangements.”
Ming took a long last look at his wife before pulling the cloth over her face. After a very long time of seeing each other every day, of being there for each other in every difficulty and holding each other at night, here was the end.
Moments later, the old man emerged from behind the curtain, eyes red and watery. He looked awkwardly around the room for an exit as though he had never been in the place before.
“Come with me,” one of the nurses took him by the arm out of the room. “You have my deepest sympathy, Uncle Ming,” she said gently. “I know how much you loved your wife.” She paused. “You know? I cried the other day when I saw you trim her fingernails and toenails, even though she could not feel a thing.”
The young woman let go of his arm and pointed at the stairs. “Room 207 is the last door on the left.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
“Good luck,” she said and walked back.
Hearing the old man’s footsteps, Tofu pushed and scrambled out of the basket. Before the guard could move, the little dog had run to his master and rubbed his head against his leg as if to comfort him. Ming picked him up and cradled him in his arms. “She’s gone, Tofu,” he whispered. “She couldn’t wait."
With the help of the oldest daughter of Madam Wilai, Saengthong’s funeral, which lasted three days, went off smoothly. Every day at around 6.00 p.m., relatives and friends arrived for the evening service. Ming was surprised to see so many friends coming to say their last farewell. “Saeng was so kind hearted. She was always happy if she could help others,” said a friend who had often meditated with his wife. “We all loved her. Every time I go to the temple, I know I’m gonna miss her,” said another.
In the afternoon, some neighbors helped arrange flowers to be placed atop the coffin and on the frame of Saengthong’s portrait, while others prepared meals for monks and guests. His brother and sister came from the South and stayed with him throughout the ceremony.
The next day after the funeral, just as the sun was rising, Ming brought home an urn containing the cremated remains of his wife. With Tofu sitting beside him, the old man stood on the small, wooden boat dock in front of his house, pouring the ashes onto the canal according to Saengthong’s wish.
A few neighbors rowed their boats over to attend the final stage of the funeral. “May you rest in peace,” they said as the ashes dispersed in the clear water. Schools of small silvery fish were darting around.
“Why don’t you come and stay with us?” suggested his sister after the ceremony, a concerned look on her face. “Aren’t you getting too old to live by yourself?”
“Actually I’m not alone. Tofu is a great companion.” Ming spoke casually, but he really meant it.
“Yes, that little dog is very smart,” his brother agreed. “Anyway, call me if you change your mind. You know you are always welcome to stay with us.”
* * *
Despite occasional feelings of aching loneliness, Ming did his best to live a normal life without his other half. The old man had given up making wicker baskets for sale since he was 67. His vision and his strength were no longer up to the demanding work. With less activity, he had more free time. He decided to make use of it by keeping laying hens in a spacious but sheltered area under the house. As for Tofu, the little dog seemed to realize that his elderly mistress had left him for good. He now turned all his attention to his master. He helped the old man chase the chickens into their coops in the afternoon and sat quietly on the boat dock when Ming offered food to the monks who came along the canal on their early morning alms round. In those times when Ming found himself weeping, holding Saengthong’s pillow in his arms, Tofu would climb out of his basket and lay quietly beside him.
Ming made merit for his late wife every week. The neighbors got used to seeing him walking cautiously down the road toward the temple, a three-tiered aluminum food carrier in hand. He had every reason to feel proud of himself afterward; Saengthong would approve of him keeping the promise.
That was four years before September, 2011, when the country was devastated by record-breaking floods. Unusually heavy rainfall triggered by tropical storms in the North caused widespread destruction in many provinces in the lower North, Northeast and Central plains. These floods proved to be a terrifying nightmare for thousands, and were, for Uncle Ming, the deadliest experience of his life.
As flood waters in Lopburi province, about 140 kilometers further north of Bangkok, were reaching unprecedented depths of over two meters, local authorities urged residents living along many canals in Pathumthani to leave their homes. Women and children were evacuated to temporary relief shelters. One such center was set up at the temple where Ming regularly went to make merit. Even those in areas not yet affected were moving to higher ground if they needed to commute back and forth to work. Nonetheless, there were still some ‘bullheaded people,’ as they were branded, who simply kept smiling and told the local authorities not to worry, no matter how many times they were asked to evacuate. Ming was one of them. He said calmly and confidently, “We have a plentiful stock of food. We have rice, instant noodles, canned fish and drinking water - - enough for a week or two. If we need more, we can paddle our boats out to the market or the temple to get supplies. We’ll manage. Don’t worry.”
“What if the electricity goes out?”
“Well, we might have to leave then, but for now…”
“Suit yourself then,” said those who were leaving.
Ming wished them good luck.
Like most traditional houses along these canals, Ming’s dwelling was built on high wooden stilts, about a meter and a half above the ground, with steps leading up to a partially roofed porch. It was in this area that most of the household activities took place each day, for example, cooking, eating, watching television, or doing crafts such as weaving baskets. From this platform, a stairway of three-steps led up about two feet to a second raised floor. Ming’s bedroom was situated on this raised area and was connected to an open room from which a window overlooked similar houses and lines of coconut trees on the other side of the canal. Sitting here on a long wooden bench, Saengthong had been used to practicing meditation in this part of their house.
To Ming and other elderly ‘canal people,’ flooding was a natural part of life. They had learned long ago to live with it. The flood water had always receded within a few days, or at worst in a week or two after the heavy rains caused by tropical storms abated. “Just like last time,” they said. Little did they realize they were facing the country's worst flooding in living memory!
Carrying on was not so difficult in the beginning, when the flood water rose only a few feet above the canal banks and electricity was still available. It did not matter if they could not leave home; every few days, local officials came distributing flood relief bags containing bottled water, canned food and other essentials like candles, matches, flashlights, cutters and spoons. They even had a portable toilet in which to relieve themselves. Some of his neighbors found catching the fish that had escaped from nearby flooded fish farms enormous enjoyment!
This situation, still tolerable, continued for three weeks.
Then the flood water began rising again, inexorably finding its way into their houses. Word went round that a great volume of water had been released from the country’s major dams, which had been in imminent danger of bursting in the wake of ongoing heavy rain. There was no more fishing for food or for pleasure. There was no more light-hearted talk about how deep the flood waters were in other areas. Everyone began to hover around their television, trying to understand what was really happening. The more they listened to expert comments – often contradictory - the more they became confused.
A week later, the bullheaded people started to feel the real disaster, and it came as a complete shock. The flood water in their houses rose faster and faster! They had little time to move their belongings to higher places. Ming gathered all his energy to push the long wooden bench nearer to the window in the hope that he wouldn’t be missed if some rescue people decided to come back to him.
It was raining again. Ming watched as his gas stove and old television set on the porch were slowly immersed. His rice cooker and plastic washing bowls, along with his wicker baskets, had floated out of the house through the broken door. The cabinet made of particle board was tipping over slowly, leaving everything inside scattered around. The water had lifted another heavy bench on the porch off the floor as if it was weightless. All the chickens had been gone. The depth of the flood water, now only about a foot below the lower edge of the window, was well over his head. The boat tied to one of the stilts had been stolen a few days earlier. Without that vessel, going to the temple to take shelter or to get relief items was out of the question. No electricity. No help from anyone. He was completely isolated from the outside world.
For two weeks, Ming had been sleeping and spending most of his time on the bench by the window, the safest place. His mattress, which usually lay on the floor, was floating around the bedroom!
Some evacuees came back in a long tail boat to check if their possessions were still safe from burglars. The old man would lean out of the window, waving his hand whenever he heard the sound of the engine. But the boats were driven so fast, and the elderly castaway’s attempts to call their attention went in vain.
The biggest problem was the lack of food and diabetes medications. Ming and Tofu had been eating instant noodles with bottled water for three days in a row. It was impossible to boil water without a gas stove, and tap water was out of the question since the faucets were now submerged beneath waist-deep water.
Ming had not taken any medication for several days and that became another serious cause of concern for him. The thought that he might die alone in the house was horrifying.
Defenseless and feeble, when night came, the old man was dreadfully afraid of snakes. They also were starving and could kill both Tofu and himself! Ming was beginning to panic. The rising water would soon reach the seat of the bench. What would he do if his last refuge was flooded?
The awful reality struck terror into his heart. He kept turning over the survival possibilities in his mind. ‘Should I try to swim to the temple to get help, leaving Tofu behind?’ ‘Should I take Tofu with me and risk drowning?’ ‘Would Tofu survive on some kind of float?’ ‘Should we both resign ourselves to whatever fate?’
The next day, he came to a decision.
Among other relief items on the bench, there were empty water bottles with caps, plastic bags and pieces of plastic rope. A handy man himself, Ming cut the plastic bags into long strips to securely fasten six plastic bottles together. Looking around, he saw two empty milk cartons. He cut one side of each carton and tied it to the bottle raft in such a way that he could put Tofu in between. He checked it out on water several times to make sure it could stay afloat. It would sail on for a few hours, at least, and he hoped a small brown dog sitting in the bright colorful cardboard boxes would be easily noticed.
Ming looked for a piece of paper and a pencil to write a message asking for help. He would send it with Tofu. But nowhere could such items be found. The old man wiped sweat from his forehead; he wouldn’t have the strength to do anything else after this last desperate effort. ‘Am I going to die?’ he asked himself, shivering at the thought.
Clutching Tofu in his arms, the old man kissed the little animal with affection and despair. “Sorry we have to part,” he said. “At least you’ll have a chance.”
Tofu did not, or rather, could not, resist. Ming felt the warmth of his soft tongue as he licked his hand. They quietly exchanged glances before Ming gently put him on the makeshift raft and tied him to the milk cartons with a plastic rope. The old man put the bottle raft onto the water. His heart sank as he watched his dear friend struggling to hang on to the milk cartons as the raft floated downstream. In his prayer, Tofu would be spotted before the raft disintegrated or the poor dog could not hold on any longer.
All alone in the house, Ming sat by the window, staring at the debris laden canal until sunset. Refusing to evacuate had been a mistake, a dreadful mistake. He blamed himself. Had he made a better decision, Tofu wouldn’t have been put into such grave peril. The dog was too small. He had really messed things up.
The old man fumbled in the relief bag for a candle. He lit it, and in the flicker of the candlelight, looked up to see Saengthong’s photo -- but tears blurred that reassuring smile.
Mosquitoes began to fly from nowhere. Ming blew out the candle, pulled the mosquito net over the bench and lay down, starring vaguely upward.
Sleep finally overtook him.
In his sleep, Ming watched himself leave the ground and float upward gracefully in the cool, refreshing wind. It was not a dream, it was not his imagination; it was real. He could feel the cool breeze on his face.
How he looked so different! He was a middle-aged man, nicely and comfortably dressed, with a plump body, fine skin, and sparkling eyes. His serene face, without eyeglasses and unshaved moustache, was softly touched by a ray of light. It was him! He was going to unite with Saengthong.
Never before had he felt so elated!
All of a sudden, the body lying on the floor was being shaken vigorously. A thin voice echoed through the air. “Yeah, yeah, he’s in here -- unconscious, but still alive.”
The jubilant flight he was taking abruptly vanished. Ming was furious! He wanted to curse the owner of the voice. Why the hell did this stranger break into his journey? Everything had been going just right. If not for this man, he would have met up with his wife!
Ming returned to consciousness in a hospital the next afternoon. The moment he opened his eyes, he was racked with guilt. He had disappointed his wife and betrayed Tofu!
A week later, the old man was taken to a relief shelter at a temple after his diabetic and starved body had somewhat recovered. The site was crowded with flood victims of all ages. To his sudden joy, he saw a monk standing among them, and even from afar, he could see Tofu in his arms!
It turned out that the flood current had not carried the bottle raft very far when Tofu was spotted by a team of veterinary volunteers looking for stranded and desperate animals whose owners had been forced to leave without them. The short, weak bark of Tofu had caught their attention and they had eventually spotted him.
“The poor creature was trapped in flood debris and hit by pieces of broken planks.” One of the volunteers who stood next to the monk recounted the rescue operation. “He was badly injured with several cuts on his body and head. He kept barking and looking at us until we realized he was trying to tell us something.”
“We figured out pretty quickly that he was asking us to do something for his owner,” said another, “but we had no idea where he -- or she -- was.”
Ming was told about how the distressed and insistently barking dog finally succeeded in reminding one of the monks of the elderly husband of Saengthong. Despite the difficulties involved in carrying out a search at dusk, the monk had begged a rescue team to go back and look for Ming before it was too late. The monk felt very certain that the old man had been trapped in his own house.
Ming raised his palms at the chest, bowing his head slightly over his hands to express his gratitude to the rescue workers and volunteers. “Thank you so much for helping both of us,” he said.
He then prostrated himself before the monk, with his palms placed above the eyebrows and his forehead touching the ground, a gesture of deepest respect. “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said.
The monk handed little Tofu to Ming. He smiled at him kindly and said, “A super dog you’re holding, you know?”
Wearing a small lampshade collar to prevent him from licking the wounds, Tofu offered his right, front leg wrapped in thick gauze to Ming, which delighted the onlookers, broke the tension, and provoked some happy laughter.
Ming was among some 100 flood victims taking refuge at the temple. Although well fed and cared for, everyone seemed to be overcome with grief. They had never experienced such trauma before. Some had lost loved ones from drowning or electrocution. Ming learned that Madam Wilai’s family had fled in panic to their resort home in the South.
A woman who used to sell baskets for him emerged from the crowd. Her face was grim, her right arm swollen. She had been bitten by a centipede while sleeping.
“I’ve lost everything,” she said. “I really don’t know what to do now.”
Ming nodded sympathetically. He did not know what to say either.
Before Ming’s arrival at the shelter, Tofu had been staying in the monk’s room; he was too small to mix with other dogs at the temporary animal shelter. Now he was under Ming’s care. Ming cleansed his wounds carefully and changed the gauze bandages every day. Tofu looked pitiful. His eyes were heavily infected. He had stitches on his ear and head, and small bandages on his partially shaved body and legs.
After the story about the little dog and the ‘basket maker’ or ‘basket man,’ as Ming became known, reached the media, Tofu appeared on TV as a small, pleasant event of the flooding episode. Newspapers carried pictures of the ‘canine hero’ or ‘an old man’s lifesaver’. Children sent letters to TV stations asking them to put Tofu on a show.
After three weeks at the temple, all the flood evacuees including Ming and his dog had to be hurriedly evacuated to another shelter when the flood water started to break through the earth dikes surrounding the temple. This time they were moved to Chonburi province, on the eastern coast of the Gulf of Thailand. For a 77-year-old man taking care of an injured dog, it was no picnic, living in a crowded relief shelter. However, Tofu was allowed to stay with him, and for that Ming was extremely grateful.
Life as a flood evacuee for Ming ended when he was transported back to his own neighborhood in early December. The worst of the flooding was over and massive, widespread clean-up operations were being launched. Sitting in a long-tail boat driven by a rescue worker, Ming cradled Tofu in his arms and gave him a pat on the head from time to time.
Looking around, Ming saw incredible hills of debris, mainly rotting furniture, littering the canal or piled up high in front of houses or on streets. Dead trees became a common sight. According to rescue agencies, the disaster had killed at least 600 people. Thousands of homes and businesses had been submerged under the flood waters, and just as many mud-covered vehicles now lay abandoned on streets and in housing estates. Water stains left on street lamp posts and concrete walls clearly indicated the high level of the flood waters.
Impressed by the popular story in the media of the old man and his faithful dog, a group of young volunteers had earlier repaired his house. They were cleaning it up when Ming and Tofu arrived, so everything seemed to be much in order. People whom he had never met had made many donations which were neatly piled up on the porch - bags of rice and dog food, clothes, medicines, and cooking utensils. The moldy rocking chair was leaning against the wall. The power supply had been restored.
“Is that your wife?” One of the volunteers asked, pointing at the photo hanging above the door with a rusty wire across its back.
“Yes. She died four years ago,” answered Ming, thankful the photo had not fallen off the wall.
Before leaving, the volunteers wrote down several phone numbers.
“Uncle Ming, if you need any help - any help at all – don’t hesitate to call these numbers. Don’t just lie down again, and wait for help to come! Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.” Ming pressed his raised palms together and bowed his head down to express his appreciation. “Thank you very much young men.”
“No problem.” They responded with the same gesture.
One of them lifted Tofu from his new basket and gently stroked him.
“Tofu, you take good care of Uncle Ming, okay?”
Not fully recovered, Tofu pricked his ears up in response.
The house became quiet after the volunteers had left. After 74 days in two different relief shelters, returning home was a real blessing.
The old man poured some dog food into a bowl for Tofu, and decided to hand feed him when Tofu didn’t show any interest in it. “You don’t like this stuff, do you?” He rubbed Tofu’s head, “All right, I’ll get what you like best tomorrow.”
The next morning, Ming woke up to the familiar noise of long tail boats. He walked around the house, trying to get used to its new ambience. The flood water had taken away more than half of his possessions, except those on the hanging shelves, including Saengthong’s Buddha images and some knick knacks.
Tofu was still fast asleep. Ming placed his basket on the porch and his bowl near him before climbing down the stairs.
It took the old man almost an hour at the pet shop talking to neighbors who wanted to exchange their experiences as evacuees, and, in particular, to congratulate him on surviving the ordeal he had been through. One of them was Madam Wilai’s employee, who said Madam Wilai, now in her eighties, had been very angry at her children for leaving the old man behind.
“You’ve got to see her sometime; she heard about you and Tofu.”
Ming promised himself he would visit Madam Wilai as soon as Tofu had the energy to entertain her with some tricks in exchange for her cookies.
Although feeling a little dizzy, before heading back home, Ming bought some Chinese tea leaves from the market for the monks at the temple. They were still clearing flood debris from the temple compound when Ming arrived. A lucky old man, they called him. “It was a miracle,” one of them said, referring to everything which had conspired to help him survive.
Ming reached home in the late afternoon after stopping by an ice cream shop. His dear friend had not tasted ice cream for quite a while. It surely would delight him. He climbed the stairs, opened the door and pulled it closed loosely behind him. The house was quiet - strangely quiet, he felt. His heart was pounding as he was stepping in.
A sudden wave of panic swept over him. The bag of dog food and the ice cream dropped onto the floor. Lying in a far corner of the porch was his sole companion! He lifted his little friend up and desperately massaged his body, but Tofu remained absolutely motionless.
“I’m so sorry,” he lamented. “I should have known you were so ill.”
* * *
Ming gathered his strength to dig a grave for Tofu in the muddy ground under the house. It was a small hole, for Tofu’s body was by this time no bigger than a rabbit, but the task demanded all his energy. Wrapping his beloved pet in a loincloth before placing him in the hole, the old man looked at the tiny body in his arms. “Thank you so much,” he said softly.
It took the old man nearly an hour to finish filling in the grave. Exhausted and weary, he had to rest for a while before climbing up the stairs. He washed his clothes, took a bath, and made himself a bowl of instant congee. By the time he had finished eating, it was already 11.00 p.m.
The old man sat down on the same bench by the window, looking at everything around him. Down below, the canal became quiet, even restful, as the intrusive drone of passing long-tail boats gradually died down. The wind was blowing softly, bringing with it a faint, sweet fragrance of water jasmine, the only plant around his house which had survived the great flooding. Its familiar scent brought back all the memories, and reminded him of his lifelong friends who had journeyed with him side by side.
Gazing up into a clear night sky studded with twinkling stars, Ming could not remember ever having seen stars twinkling before. It seemed like they were chuckling and whispering something to one another. Just then, Saengthong’s words came to his mind out of the blue.
“All things are always in a state of change,” she had said with simple piety on their way home after one of their many trips to the hospital, “Actually, they change from moment to moment, but we just aren’t aware of it.
“Everything is transitory, right?” Ming added, wanting to keep the conversation going.
“Yes.” She had been surprised. “Where did you learn that?”
“Well, I heard it from your tapes,” confessed Ming, “Many times.”
“So you know why we should let go of the past and never cling to anything. That's the way we can flow with whatever happens in life.”
Ming understood perfectly now what she had been trying to tell him.
One after another, the lights in the houses behind the coconut trees went out. He took a deep breath, closed the window and walked slowly to his bedroom. As he was passing Tofu’s sleeping basket, he looked up at the photo hung above the door. A smile passed over his lined face.
Lying down on the floor, Ming took off his glasses, carefully placed them by the side of his pillow and wrapped himself in a thin blanket and fell immediately into a peaceful, deep and dreamless sleep.
The old digital clock on the shelf flashed 00.00 - the moment when night changed into day.
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