By Graham Gaston 

We have cried through adversity and the murder of his mother in August 28th, 1999 and then when we met again at her cremation in November 5th, 2000. 

We had arrived in Bangkok a few days prior and my friends and I had left on a Thursday and travelled to Chantaburi by coach to attend the funeral of Nitipooms mum.

The coach was air-conditioned and only a few on it so we put the feet up and enjoyed a quiet 4 hour trip taking in the picturesque scenery along the way. 

We had arrived and the vice president of the university was there to greet us and show us to our room.  

We slept well and awoke to have a quick breakfast. 

After breakfast we headed for the temple that was 20 kilometers this side of Trat Province. 

When we got with in one kilometer of the temple colourful Buddhist and Thai flags lined the road, about 40 meters apart, all the way to the temple grounds.  

We finally arrived at the funeral ceremonial site and what a sight.

Standing starkly near the gate was this large incomplete temple and nestled in behind was another miniature temple.  

In the centre of this open area the miniature temple rested on a large freshly laid red clay base.

The temple was approximately 25 metres square and rose to about 30 metres into the air to the top spire.  

This fairy like temple was completely festooned in lights, was three-tiered with steps leading up to a centre platform where Nitipooms Mums body was to be held and then cremated.  

Around the lower perimeter of the temple were numerous paintings end on end depicting Thai folk tales. 

Behind the temple were numerous large open marquees with hundreds of chairs, 5,000 to be precise, standing in rows, and directly opposite was a carpeted, padded seated  VIP area. 

The temple hall was a large area, with a new toilet block housing even a western toilet facility and at the back was a huge food preparation area. 

We looked around, there were some thousand people praying, mainly Nitipooms relatives and village friends.

We joined Nitipoom and his family and went to the very back of the temple grounds where there was this small isolated skillion roofed brick building.

It was about 1.5 metres wide and about 2.5 metres long and about one meter high; inside we were told was the coffin housing Nitipooms mums body. 

She had been lying there in wait for the past 12months. 

Four monks were there praying and we knelt alongside and burnt  incense sticks.  

A video camera was filming this sad occasion for all to share in and reflect upon at some future date.  

We all stood around watching, watching as two men with a crow bar and a sledgehammer smashed the front of the small building to reveal the white coffin that had held Nitipooms mum in safe keeping for the past twelve months. 

The coffin could now be removed and taken to the temple carrying her to her final earthly resting place. 

This took considerable time as the cement and bricks had wedged tightly together and consolidated during this twelve months. 

Eventually the whole front was removed and the end of the coffin was revealed. 

We all stared in fascination and awe as a small white box with a frill of lace all around now filled the open door.  

The workers reached in and pulled and pulled until the whole coffin cleared the building; a small white coffin box frilled with lace but now all heavily cobwebby and grimy from its lonely year in waiting. 

It was gently lifted and carried by six men to a stand where it was surrounded and lovingly dusted by all members of the family. 

Then we all took turns in washing the grime from it until it was clean and white again. 

It had been 12 months since Nitipooms mum, Chuen àª×é͹, was first laid to rest to await and travel her final path to the next world. The coffin lid had been fitted and then taped to preserve the remains. 

This tape was now removed and then the lid was prised open and there lay Nitipooms mother in semi -mummified form, so tiny, all wizened and black for all to look in and gaze and wonder.  

Certainly an eerie, respectful moment.  

A moment to be held in ones memory for ever.

The family and the three Australians moved to the end of the coffin and gazed and gazed in wonderment. 

Here was death so tragically revealed.  

The gaunt figure of Nitipooms sister was standing behind the coffin absolutely ashen with tears of grief trickling down her face, reflecting the feelings of all of us.  

Another poignant moment was when I was handed a bowl of water and some marigolds. 

I slowly circled the coffin gazing down at Nitipooms mum and sprinkling droplets of water all over her now weightless body. 

In mutual respect and grief we all present did the same.  

We were then joined to form a procession, led by the ashen Nitipoom, we were linked by a long piece of silken white cord, that was held in our left hand. 

About 30 people were in the line with the coffin bringing up the rear as we made our way to the temple that was his mums resting cremation area. 

We reached the temple and slowly moved in a long snake like chain three times around the perimeter of the temple. 

Then the coffin was gently placed on the ramp that travelled up into the centre of the upper-tier of the temple.  

The coffin was ever so slowly trundled into its last resting-place in this world. 

This was to be Nitipooms mums final farewell to the world as upon cremation her ashes were to be scattered on the waters of the nearby sea.  

Nitipoom had planned to take his mother on her first ever flight which was to be to Sri Lanka, but that was not to be. 

Here was his mother, emblazoned in her temple of light, going on her final flight to heaven. 

We then made our way up to the top tier again and incense sticks were again burnt and prayers said. 

She lay high above all the people around her in her eternal bed, waiting to be engulfed by fire. 

The paintings of the Thai fables that circled this picturesque base told of her life and that of her ancestors. 

Then flowers were placed around the base and first tier of the temple;

thousands of colourful flowers created a fragrant tribute to Nitipooms mum. 

Constant food and drink was available for all visitors and guests and delivered by the monks every time they thought the guests might need it. 

We then headed off back to Chantaburi but we had only travelled about 5 kilometers, Nitipoom was in the Mercedes we were in Rerats van when suddenly both vehicles almost in unison did a u –turn. 

We were now headed back towards the temple, but there was a side road next to the temple grounds, and we turned left up a fairly rugged road until we abruptly stopped deep in the bush. 

Nitipoom moved out of his car and eight people were now huddled aboard the van and we continued deep into the bush.  

Nitipoom was taking us to his first home, the home where he had been born. 

The track or road that we now were travelling along was heavily over-grown and was in shocking disrepair. We bumped and slid our way along its narrow track for another 15 minutes, with only the dim van lights and the half moon above to point the way. 

We finally arrived at the foot of a rocky winding slope that disappeared into the gloom ahead.             

If we had had one centimetre of rain during the past week I am sure we would have been still there. 

There set eerily, bathed in ghostly moonlight, snuggled into the blackened hillside was a small, lonely, stilted wooden cottage. 

Nitipooms home, a poignant reminder of his earliest years and long gone youth, but yet so fresh in his mind.  

The cottage had been rebuilt by Nitipooms mother within the past five years so he could come home to her and do his writing in solitude. 

We took off our shoes and gingerly followed Nitipoom up a single rickety flight of seven stairs to the balcony of the cottage. 

From the balcony we all stood in total disbelief and wonderment engulfed by the absolute deathly quietness of the night as a shadowy picture of trees bathed in the moonlight, stood immobilized in time, in utter isolated loneliness, appeared before our eyes.  

A truly emotional and unforgetable sight.  

In the distance the occasional blinking light was the only indication that we were still in this world. 

We remained here in solitude, silently reflecting on the past and trying to visualise his mothers presence here and Nitipooms earliest years. 

An hour later we stumbled our way back to the van, saying little as we bumped our way back to civilization. 

The temple suddenly re-appeared emerging from the surrounding darkness, an unbelievable sight.  

A fairy temple festooned in brilliant light, hundreds upon hundreds of lights, their beams piercing the black night sky. 

The temple stood alone an indescribable picture in total isolation oblivious to its surroundings.  

Nitipooms mother, Chuen àª×é͹, was lying in her white coffin, larger in death than in real life, in an illuminated picture pyre more spectacular than life itself.   

This was a breath taking sight that those travelling past would not believe as it suddenly appeared to transform the blackness of the night.  

We finally headed back to Dr Peeras units where we had our room and a cold shower. 

Saturday back to the temple grounds again.  

We spent the whole day sitting in the temple grounds absorbing the occasion as two of Nitipooms brothers and nephews had their heads shaved and were chanted for some two hours into monk-hood and the wisdom of its culture.

They sat there in orange robes with hands clasped and at the end of the ceremony left for the funeral pyre and sat behind the coffin, until the final cremation of their mother and aunt. 

During the afternoon we again visited the school, that we had stopped at the day before, that was set in a magnificent well kept garden setting on a bout 10 acres, alongside the temple grounds. 

The maintenance would put our Australian schools to shame.  

The best kept grounds I have seen anywhere.  

Yesterday we had seen an excellent computer set up with all the 248 children having access to the Internet.  

We met at this time with the teachers and had a look at some of the childrens bookwork.  

Every childs work so neat.  

We left here headed once more back to our residence. 

Sunday  was the final mourning day before Nitipooms mum would be finally laid to rest. 

We went in the van with Rerat, all three Australians in suits and ties.  

We looked like the Blues Brothers àÂÒǪ¹¨Ò¡ÊѹµÔÍâÈ¡ - with Alan hiding behind his dark glasses. 

We arrived to a sea of Buddhists all dressed in their blue about 100 as they were setting up the meals for all the mourners. 

Everything was vegetarian and presented so neatly and orderly not a dish or item was out of place and there was enough food to feed the five thousand guests. 

Then the police arrived 30 of them all dressed in ceremonial white.

Then 30 army officers in their military brown and the armed guards arrived with automatic rifles cradled in their arms.

Then over 100 Buddhist monks arrived for their chanting acknowledgement and traditional meal. 

In the meantime guests were arriving all day long and we stood with a grim faced Nitipoom on a number of occasions to greet them all. 

The Governor of Bangkok ¹ÒÂÊÁѤà Êع·ÃàǪ arrived in a Limo driven by himself, thats his style.  He stayed for and hour shook hands and departed before the ceremony, thats his style. 

The Sri Lankan Ambassador and his party, the Laotian Ambassador and his staff, other diplomats and then the helicopter landed in the school grounds and the Privy Consul Ͼ³Ï ¾ÅàÍ¡ ¾Ô¨ÔµÃ ¡ØÅÅÐdzԪÂì with the Royal Flame was picked up and driven to the temple grounds. 

All in all about 5,000 people were present, including five television stations with cameras ever ready. 

The vast crowd and dignitaries gathered around the temple and were asked to go individually up the temple steps to pay their last respects to Nitipoom mum. 

Nitipoom strode the scene of this colorful but sad occasion  with his grief  exposed for all to share with him at this time. 

We all sat under a large VIP marquee and watched the procession of visitors. 

There were a few speeches followed by a short address from Nitipoom and then the officers carried the Royal Flame and lit the kerosene under the coffin.  

Black /Grey smoke engulfed the coffin and then spiralled up through the top of the temple and suddenly disappeared into the night sky, only momentarily. to reappear again with lights appearing to shine even brighter reflected its path upwards.  

We were all then invited to go up the steps and place a paper flower and light it in the burning kerosene.  

Each person held a flower in the flame and once it caught alight, dropped it back into the flames.   

This was fairly chaotic time as everyone was invited to go via the coffin area and pay his or her last respects virtually together.  

So much for security, as I followed the Sri Lankan Ambassador amongst the solemn, quietly jostling, grieving mass of people that flooded the steps.  

Finally everyone had placed their paper flower in the fire and stepped down the stairs to the awaiting monks who gave each person a carefully packaged parcel, that included a book written by Nitipoom telling about the murder of his mother in Thai and English, three cassettes - one an eulogy and songs specially written and selected for his mother. 

The other two tapes were speeches that Nitipoom had recorded and a CD. 

All this time the brothers sat in monk attire at the back of the coffin as the fire was lit and burnt from beneath.  

The flames licked hungrily at the bottom of the casket but the coffin sides remained in place. 

The keepers of the fire used a stick to gently prod, to move the body, into the burning kerosene. 

The coffins sides scorched but still did not burn. 

The funeral coffin continued to be engulfed in flames as the fire grew more and more intense and then slowly subsided as we said goodbye to the departing dignitaries as they climbed into their limousines.   

We stood transfixed for about another hour staring at this fairy castle, still festooned in lights, as Nitipooms mother slowly disappeared.  

Her ashes and bones to be collected by Nitipoom tomorrow and dispersed on the waters of the sea nearby. 

Her final company as she disappeared, her two grieving monk sons, who sat in quiet, prayerful vigilance. 

We left and Nitipoom disappeared in another direction. 

We arrived back at our unit at 5.30 am on Monday morning. 

Nitipoom had risen before us and collected his mothers ashes and bones and had headed to the sea to float her ashes and bones into the next world. 

Late on Monday we were driven back to Bangkok silently reflecting on a remarkable tribute from Nitipoom to his much loved Mum. 

This is part of his life, the man of the people, for the people, by the people, is the people. 

Everyone and anyone can relate to Dr. Nitipoom and his glowing tribute to his mother. 

That is the Dr. Nitipoom Navaratna that I have seen and know with the wind at his back and a star above that heralds his destiny.