Autobiography 02

Phra Nirōdharaṅsī Gambhirapaññāvisiṭṭha
Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī
Wat Hin Mak Peng, Si Chiang Mai District, Nong Khai Province

History of my parents

At this point, I cannot help but mention the history of my parents, because I am especially mindful of their great kindness. During this period, they trained me in many areas, particularly in morality. And it also seemed they loved me especially. At the same time, they used to tell me in detail the adventurous stories of their lives. Hearing these stories made me sad and filled me with great compassion for them.

As mentioned earlier, both my parents were migrants and both were orphans of their fathers. My father's original homeland was in the highlands of Amphoe Dan Sai, Loei Province. They migrated down to the lowlands fleeing hunger and hardship, because people had told them that in the Nong Khai region, food and provisions were abundant. In his original home, even though they farmed rice, it wasn't enough to eat, as the area was very mountainous. They had to do swidden farming on the hills as well, and they did a great deal of it.

My father once told me: He was orphaned of his father and had to look after four younger siblings together with his mother, working to feed everyone. They farmed swidden fields as far as the eye could see. They didn't need to build a shelter in the field; they ate their meals out in the open, fearing that if the younger ones ate under cover they might become lazy and not want to work. Even so, in years when the rains failed, there still wasn't enough to eat. Some families went hungry, eating wild mango seeds instead of rice just to survive for months on end.

In this migration, there were four younger siblings and the mother: Mrs. Boonma (1), Mr. Kanha Ruangraeng (2), Mr. Chiang In Ruangraeng (3), Mrs. Daeng On (4). Besides these, many relatives and willing others came along as well. The migration required crossing high mountains such as Phu Fa, Phu Luang, and dense jungles in succession. Those with elephants or oxcarts as transport fared somewhat better; those with nothing used their own shoulders as vehicles, carrying loads. Reaching Ban Ngiu took over a week. Upon first arrival, they set up a temporary shelter by a fish pond at Nong Tao Loei, later moving to settle at Ban Ngiu, where they remain to this day.

As for my mother, she was of Phuan descent, a people rounded up by Thai forces from Laos during the reign of King Rama III and released in the Uttaradit region. They settled at Muang Fang (now a sub-district), Amphoe Lap Lae, Uttaradit Province. My mother used to tell me:

"Grandmother told me that when they migrated down from Muang Xiang Khouang, she was still a young child, unable to walk far. The adults placed her in a basket carried on a shoulder pole alongside other goods, cutting through forests, crossing streams and valleys, until they reached Muang Fang. There, Grandmother grew up, married, and had two children: my mother and a younger brother. Later, the father died, leaving just the three of them — mother and two children. In those days, thieves, robbers, and hooligans filled the towns and villages. The authorities were weak and couldn't suppress them. The environment could turn good people bad. Chiang Thong, who was also among the migrants, became a thug himself. He couldn't stay at home; he fled and wandered down seeking refuge around the area of Tambon Klang Yai, Amphoe Ban Phue. When he saw the character, peacefulness, and abundance of the people here, he went back to persuade relatives and friends to migrate down."

My mother told me that many came on that occasion — several dozen people. They traveled via Phetchabun, then continued on, resting at Wat Bai Huai Pot, Loei Province. There, an outbreak of smallpox caused many deaths. Thanks to the virtue of the people of Huai Pot, who were attentive and helpful in times of need, some decided to settle there. As for Chiang Thong's group, they wandered on until reaching Ban Klang Yai. My mother — with her mother, her younger brother, and a maternal uncle (Grandmother's younger brother) — relied on the help of elder friends. When misfortune and destitution are upon you, anything can happen. Traveling together all that way without any quarrel, my mother's younger brother met some Burmese traders and simply followed them away. To this day, we have never heard whether he is alive or dead.

When they arrived at Ban Klang, one part of the group split off to go down to Ban Na Bong Phu Phet, Amphoe Phon Phisai. My mother's maternal uncle also went his separate way. Only the two of them remained — a mother and her child, orphaned of father — continuing to live with the help of their elder companions in hardship. Later, my mother met her destined partner, my father. They fell in love, married, and lived together, establishing themselves at Ban Na Sida, where they had children as already mentioned above.

As for my grandmother, she married Chiang Thong, who had come from the lower fields, and they lived together as elderly folk. But misfortune struck: a falling branch hit her head, splitting it open, and she died. Chiang Thong's bad karma pursued him. After Grandmother died, he took a new wife, also from the same migrant group. Later, this new wife hanged herself. Realizing that his karmic burden was heavy, he entered the temple, wore white, observed the eight precepts until old age — around 100 years old. But he didn't stay at the temple; he lived with his descendants at home. Whenever he tried to pay homage to the Buddha and chant, the descendants were annoyed by the noise. Every time he paid homage, the children would scold him. He was very old, unable to go anywhere. After eating, he would say he hadn't eaten. The descendants, annoyed, cursed him to die every day. He, in turn, cursed his children and grandchildren to become like him and to meet various kinds of ruin. It was truly disgusting. When a person has done evil, even before death, that evil catches up with them. Living among immoral, unethical people, they cause many others to become defiled as well.

People's suffering is endless. Relieve one thing, and you get stuck on another — this goes on throughout life. Therefore, the wise grow weary of the world's suffering and seek a way to escape it.

When my mother's mother died, she was able to rely on her children and husband for support. Their farming sufficed to sustain them. Even if they had only six baht in their pocket, they were not distressed, because in those days food was abundant. Money wasn't necessary. Growing enough rice to last the year was enough. If they grew more, they had no barns to store it. Despite that, there was still plenty of paddy rice left over.

Then the third son died. My father loved this son dearly. He was nearly driven mad with grief, because this son was intelligent, eloquent, spoke only beneficial things, was lovable, obedient, and respectful to his parents, heeding their teachings. With six children and one wife still living, my father seemed to see none of them left at all — he saw only the one who had died. Grief and gloom overwhelmed him completely.

After many days, the dark fog of sorrow gradually lifted. The light of Dhamma, of the Buddha's teachings, slowly shone into his heart, allowing him to see the way, however dimly. He thought: "Being far from worldly concerns — that is, ordaining — might somewhat allay this grief. Moreover, I can ordain to dedicate merit to my deceased son. When he receives his share of merit, he will surely be reborn in a happy realm." So my father took leave of his wife and children and ordained for two rains retreats. However, ordaining in the Buddha's dispensation does not completely end suffering for a person who has experienced loss. Because suffering arises from the defilements within us. We are born accumulating defilements in this world for countless lifetimes. Not to mention enumerating each defilement — even just the layers of defilements piled up within us are countless. The unwise cannot excavate the defilements overflowing in their hearts and expose them to view, and thus cannot destroy them completely. (Nevertheless, ordaining at least allowed him to see the path somewhat.)

As the fog of sorrow gradually thinned, longing for his six dark-eyed children and his wife — now an orphan without relatives or friends — slowly crept back into his heart. So he disrobed and returned to lay life. But this was fortunate for us who were destined to be born. My sister and I were born into the bodies of these two parents, who had built themselves well (that is, they were people of good morality). Being born, we must be proud that we never yielded to certain others born into this world together with us. Having been born, we encountered only upright morality, and then we grew up under the yellow robe in the Buddha's dispensation, continuing to this very day.

What I greatly rejoice in is this: even though I did not care for them in the ordinary layperson's way, I nourished their hearts by living the holy life and gradually training their minds until the end of their lives. And they did not seem disappointed in raising me, because I fulfilled the role of an uttama-putta (superior son) to the fullest. That is, I trained and developed the morality they already practiced, further and further. What I take the greatest pride in is that I gave my father mindfulness and guidance in meditation practice (bhāvanā kammaṭṭhāna) until the final day of his life. He himself gladly accepted my instruction and practiced accordingly, until he saw the results clearly with his own heart. He acknowledged and exclaimed that in his 75 years of life, he had never experienced such peace.

What brings me extreme joy is that I also trained my mother until the end of her life. Even in her final moment of breath, I sat beside her, giving her mindfulness. She, with clear mindfulness, received my counsel with a radiant, blooming face, right up to her last breath.

If we recall the Buddha's concise teaching: "Any son of good family who intends to repay his parents' kindness and serves them in an excellent manner that is difficult for anyone in the world to match — even offering them a universal monarch's treasure as a gift — does not yet count as having fully repaid their kindness. Because those things only give them happiness while they are alive; after death, they cannot take them along. But any son of good family who trains his parents, if they are without morality, to have good morality, or if they already have it, trains and encourages them to develop it further — that son is truly said to have repaid his parents' kindness. For the Noble Treasure (ariya-sampatti) is of great value and can accompany one everywhere." If this is correct, then I have followed the Buddha's teaching in every way. Moreover, I have completely fulfilled the duty of a debtor who made no contract with the creditor.