Thailand’s Mystic Tattoo Ceremony

Every year in March, thousands of gangsters, drug dealers and mercenaries gather at dawn in the grounds of a temple in Nakorn Sawan. They pray and chant and become possessed. They break out in mass hysteria. Buddhist monks oversee the event and bless them all. Then the monks tattoo the men with animal spirits—to protect them from bullets and knives for another year.

Visitors to Thailand may have seen monks or Buddhist devotees seemingly covered from neck to foot in tattoos. These symbols and concentric lines have a deep spiritual significance in Thailand and are known as “yantra.”

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The yantra, or sak yan, is perhaps best explained as the physical expression of a mantra. The image itself is sacred and should be a symbol of worship or meditation. Many images, such as the tiger and the lotus, are of Hindu origin. The script of the mantra will be in ancient Pali verse and every line represents a feature of the Buddha’s teachings.

Sak yan tattoos are religious, never decorative, and some monks tattoo them with invisible ink.

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Thai Buddhist tattooing may well have taken its inspiration from the three spiritual planes that form the cornerstones of ancient Tribal tattooing: pain, permanence and the loss of one’s life source (blood). This mystical trio elevated the tattoo from a mere art form into an opportunity for devotees to form a divine or transcendent relationship with the gods, magical powers and protection, and a trance or vision state.

Nowhere can this ritualistic possession be seen in greater clarity than at the annual Wai Kru Festival at Wat Bang Phra in Nakorn Pathom, some 30km northwest of Bangkok.

Phra Panya Ghantakham has been tattooing for 23 years, ever since he joined the sangha (monkhood). He sits quietly in his cabin at Wat Nang Leaw in Lampang, northern Thailand, and two or three times a month on average, a Buddhist devotee will arrive and asked to be blessed with a magical snake, a tiger, a dragon or a Pali mantra. Nowadays, Phra Panya uses a 50-cm steel ‘skewer” for tattooing, not the original bamboo arrow that monks use to employ some years ago. Why? Because it is more hygienic, easier to work with, and the bamboo arrow caused the recipient too much pain.

Every March, Phra Panya travels down to Nakorn Pathom for the Wai Kru Festival: to observe the ritual and to tattoo those men who feel its time to fortify their souls with another round of Buddhist tattoos.

The festival itself is nothing less than spellbinding. Thousands gather in the compound of Wat Bang Phra at dawn. Most are men of dubious employment: gangsters, drug dealers and other unsavory characters; men who have been shot or stabbed in the past and who wish protection from danger.

A makeshift stage has been set up around the statue of the deceased abbot of the temple, Luang Phor Pern, a revered monk who practiced white magic and was himself a tattoo master. As the sun begins to rise and the dusty compound becomes hotter, a tangible buzz of electricity can be felt. The M.C. calls out on his microphone to the restless mob sitting on plastic mats:

“If you feel yourself going into a trance, please take off your shirt and your amulets!”

Several have already done so. One or two start shaking uncontrollably. One enormous man with long hair and dressed only in jeans starts writhing on the ground. His friends try to hold him down, but with an explosive force he jerks up into the air and assumes the stance of Hanuman. His eyes are bulging now and sweat drips from his bare body. Edging forward with one hand outstretched in front of himself like a weapon and the other above his head shaking an invisible tambourine, the crowd parts enough to allow him through.

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Then, with a terrifying shriek he leaps in the air. His eyes roll back in his head and his body contorts with spasms. Clenching his outstretched fist like a sword he runs full throttle towards the stage. Nimble-footed photographers sidestep him at the last moment before he careens into a wall of security men: army and civilian volunteers who have formed a line in front of the stage and who catch the man by each of his limbs just in time. They massage his earlobes (which for some reason, seems to dispel the possessing spirits) and rub his back. He quickly submits and his supernatural energy is gone. The man bows to the statue and slumps back to his place on a mat in the midst of the compound.

Most of the men in the crowd are heavily tattooed already and are wearing garlands of Buddhist amulets. They may have been here last year or the year before and were tattooed in the traditional style by a monk who would chant mantras and bestow an animal spirit upon them while tattooing them. Now back at Wat Bang Phra and in the fever of the mass ceremony, these animal spirits return to their keepers and send them into a trance.

At 08:53 the mass hysteria explodes. Instead of two or three men charging the stage at a time, a whole chorus of monkeys, dragons and tigers become aroused and start screaming and jumping about. The air is infectious. Suddenly there is a blood-curdling roar and perhaps 30 or 40 men charge at once. Like any mob scene, it’s frightening. Incredibly, the security line stays firm and the attack is suppressed, the animal warriors soothed, comforted and returned to their seats.

“I don’t remember running to the stage,” admits Phuak afterwards. Aged 44 and claiming to be a radio operator in Bangkok, Phuak has been coming to the Wai Kru ceremony for 30 years.

He struggles to explain what had just happened to him: “I came to the temple at 3am this morning. I had no alcohol, only Chinese noodles. I sat and practiced Vipassana meditation and felt relaxed.”

He scratches his head: “Then I suddenly felt afraid. I heard something like a loud airplane in my head. The hair on my arms stood up and I heard a ringing sound which started getting more and more out of control. I could feel the tiger tattoo on my arm. It was the only thing I could think about. I remember standing up and taking off my shoes. That’s it. The next thing I remember is waking up back on my mat. I was exhausted and covered in dust.”

The ceremony wraps up at 10:30, the abbot sprinkling holy water on the faithful who throng the stage. The exhausted bodies of the animal warriors head to the sala where rice soup and soft drinks are served. It is the turn of the tattooing monks to go to work now and Phra Panya takes his place on a small table in one of the temples quarters, where a queue steadily forms for his mystic skills.

The first volunteer comes forward and kneels in front of the monk. He ‘wais’ and lays his offering on a copper tray – some notes and coins, a packet of cigarettes and incense. He bows again and takes off his shirt. His body is a museum of Pali verses, the kao-yod and other yantra.

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Phra Panya dips the steel skewer in a blue liquid antiseptic and immediately begins tattooing. He mutters a mantra quietly and holds the rod in his hand like a snooker player forming a bridge with his thumb. His wrist jabs rapidly and the needle pierces the flesh of the man’s back like an automatic sewing machine. The monk holds a yellow cloth in his left hand to dab at the blood. The atmosphere is hushed, bar the rhythmic mantra of the monk. The recipient remains motionless, neither wincing nor making a sound.

His friends help by holding his skin taut. The artwork is fast, but precise. A perfect arc of Pali verse appears on the man’s back. The letters are chiseled to form precise 90 degree angles. When the monk stops, the man pulls his T-shirt on and turns to wai once more. The monk smiles benevolently and the man crawls aside, allowing the next devotee to take his place. Within half an hour, Phra Panya has tattooed seven men. (Women are not allowed to be touched by monks, so cannot be tattooed in this ceremony).

Kamphun has come from the southern town of Nakorn Sri Thammarat to get tattooed at this temple. He was shot three times recently and needs protection. He wears an amulet on the back of his neck in case of danger coming from behind. Kamphun has shaved his head and bears his crown to Phra Panya. Within 10 minutes, he has two perfect indigo circles of Pali script on top of his head. Afterwards, he sits in a corner alone, patting his pate with a handkerchief, whispering mantras and shivering with emotion. Like the others he is praying that the magic tattoos keep him alive… at least long enough until he can return to Wat Bang Phra to refortify his animal spirit.

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