In Asia there is no romance of love and war more famous than the Ramayana. The Sanskrit epic not only backbones Indian culture, but permeates the folklore of all of Southeast Asia, from Laos to Bali. It doesn't matter whether the audience is Buddhist, Hindu or even Muslim. Like in Java, where the story of Rama and Sita is relived with spectacular puppets in a shadow theater.
However, only between Thailand and Cambodia has this quintessential battle story – like the Mahabharata – been the cause of a bitter dispute. Both countries – once in conflict over ownership of the Khmer border temple of Preah Vihear and still today over its boundaries – also dispute the ownership of this total spectacle, which the former call khon and the latter khol.
In both cases, it is a sophisticated representation of the Ramayana, with hundreds of dancers, actors, singers, musicians and rhapsodes, as well as increasingly complex artifacts, especially in Thailand. Because, while in Cambodia the hope is that this art does not die with its last practitioners, among the Thais revitalization is a fact.
This is attributed to the efforts, for fifteen years, of Queen Sirikit, today Queen Mother. After all, in Thailand it is an artistic form of courtly origin, while in Cambodia it is more associated with certain monasteries.
The efforts bear fruit, especially since the creation of a large learning center in Ayutthaya. The ancient Siamese capital, one hour from Bangkok, which not in vain takes its name from Ayodhya, the city where Rama was born.
This god retains his name in the Ramakien (the Thai Ramayana) as his consort Sita (or Sida). Also Hanuman, the deity who commands an army of monkeys. But if the original is, in addition to being strong and loyal, chaste, “in his version he has ten girlfriends,” exclaims an Indian woman with decades of residence, somewhere between amused and scandalized.
The plot of Ramayana is known. Ravana, the demon of neighboring Sri Lanka, kidnaps Sita, but she resists his attacks. The archer Rama, with the help of his brother and Hanuman, kills Ravana and rescues her consort, with whom he returns to Ayodhya, where they are welcomed with candles. This is the origin of Divali, the most important festival in India.
The Thai language version, written at the end of the 18th century, adds an episode in which a voluptuous mermaid, daughter of Ravana – here called “Ten Heads” – ends up falling in love with Hanuman, when what she should have done was kill him.
The revitalization of the khon in Thailand has benefited from the type of funding and sponsorship that only the royal seal guarantees. Giant robots of the protagonists, on which the actors parade, increase the spectacularity and gain new audiences.
Recently they had the idea of converting the warehouse of these contraptions, as well as the adjacent teaching spaces and where the masks, dresses or accessories are made, into a “living museum,” according to the person in charge. All About Khon, it's called.
The government believes that in this way, it has not only encouraged entertainment, but also a legion of artisans, jewelers and specialized tailors. A single dress, studded with rhinestones, takes two months of work.
In fact, the pandemic cooled the recovery of khol, a show with 250 dancers and 40 musicians. But it allowed greater emphasis to be placed on the artisanal part.
The nature of the khon is a matter of state, so the day before yesterday the diplomatic corps in Bangkok was invited to the center. In October, the blockbuster will run for an entire month at the Thai Cultural Center in Bangkok.
Just as the inscription of Preah Vihear on the UNESCO world heritage list spurred Thai nationalism, a decade later, it was Cambodia's proposed recognition of the khol as intangible heritage that accelerated Thai demands. Fortunately, UNESCO recognized khon and khol simultaneously, in 2018. To dance and to fight, two are enough. To make peace, sometimes too.
