SIMPLY (t)RAVELLING

Tak Bat; The Art of Giving and Receiving

 

We were rudely awoken at 6am to the annoying sounds of my phone’s alarm, bleary eyed, only to found out that it was almost bright outside. We rushed out minutes later to an empty street; failed to spot any monks in their orange robes anywhere in sight. Confused, we quickly hailed a tuktuk which happened to be passing by, but to our dismay the driver couldn’t understand any English. I was at my wits end as streaks of morning lights appeared on the gloomy sky, and a glimpsed at my watch I feared that it was over. In my hopeless attempts to explain to the driver my intended destination, I cupped my left hand whilst all fingers of my right joined together like the Italian’s ma che cazzo; only that it moved towards my other palm – my lame tries at the act of benefaction. Luckily the driver understood it somehow, and in no time we sped off through the quiet streets towards Sakkarine Road.

 

Tak Bat, as the locals called it, was the reason of this untimely outing. It is one of the most vivid images of Laos, an almsgiving ritual which happens every early morning in Luang Prabang. Although similar events takes place in other Buddhist countries, Luang Prabang is the place where it is done in larger scale over the scenic setting – where hundreds of monks swathed in their saffron robes making their way from the town’s many wats past those faithful devotees, collecting alms for their own daily sustenance, and in return helping those believers earned their religious merits and spiritual redemptions.

When we arrived, the street was already flooded with tourists with camera in hand, ready to pounce at the sight of the monks. Apparently we just arrived in time. I quickly jumped off the tuktuk; almost running – leaving DH to settle with the fare and joined the crowd. Locals already lined the street; kneeled on a mat with their shoes removed, while both hands clasped together at their chest in a submissive form. A bamboo basket of staple Lao sticky rice, banana, biscuits and sweets were laid neatly in front of them. At the end of the street a parade of orange drew closer, barefooted and chanting in silence.

As the procession filed past, the almsgivers bowed their heads, reached their baskets and scooped a handful of sticky rice before dropping it into the monks’ alms bowl, and the monks slid back the lid in a very quick, rhythmic fashion. All was done in a splash seconds, one devotee after another, and yet not a single word was uttered. Excited tourists clamoured over each other, snapping photos and firing flashes, totally ignorant of the religious ethics.  I on the other hand never thought that watching those recurring acts of opening and closing of the lids could be so entertaining, as it was flawlessly executed and almost in-sync, while the anticipation for a single drop built up.

But, no. Well, they’ve been practicing almost every day, haven’t they?  (- _ ^)

Feeling Good