The spirit was Cha-yod, the reincarnated brother of Parun in a past life. Memories that trickled back into Parun's mind confirmed the connection, but as he spoke, Cha-yod's sharp, pitch-black eyes widened with recognition. The spirit understood—this man remembered their shared history. The air crackled with an aura so intense that it seemed capable of setting souls ablaze, and for a moment, Cha-yod's eyes filled with a primal fear of annihilation. Without hesitation, the spirit vanished, retreating to its own dimension.
Parun watched him go, doubt lingering in his heart. This was his brother, once a part of his life, now just a memory wrapped in mystery. But he turned his attention back to the two young men shivering in the cold night air; it wouldn’t be right to let them stand out here any longer.
Moving away from the spirit’s lingering aura, Parun approached the younger of the two, who had been nervously keeping his eyes shut. He glanced over at Jhettana, who was standing with a dry smile.
"Hey Khem, are you dead yet?" Jhettana teased, patting his friend Khemjira’s shoulder.
Khemjira turned, eyes wide and lips quivering as if he were about to cry. “Jhet, I want to go home.”
Jhettana gave him a gentle push. “Like hell you’re gonna do that. Let’s go!”
As they made their way up to the second-floor balcony, Por Kru handed a lantern to Jhettana.
“Go bathe and get to bed quickly. Don’t leave your room until morning,” Parun instructed, his voice low and firm.
Catching Parun’s intense gaze, Jhettana felt a shiver of unease. He quickly nodded in agreement, silently praying Por Kru wouldn’t change his mind.
“Uh... Good evening.” Khemjira seized the moment to murmur a greeting, lifting a hesitant hand. Parun’s pitch-black eyes glinted in the lantern light, but he only nodded before turning away. Khemjira’s gaze lingered on Parun’s retreating figure, a wave of melancholy washing over him.
“Come, Khem, our room is this way,” Jhettana said, snapping Khemjira back to the present. With a last glance at Parun, Khemjira followed Jhettana, who led the way through the dark.
They reached a bedroom in the left wing of the traditional Thai house, where a large bed awaited them. After settling their belongings, they went downstairs for a quick bath as instructed, still feeling the unease Parun’s presence had left behind.
Meanwhile, Parun returned to the central part of the house, the area reserved for performing rituals. He settled on a dark carpet near the Buddhist altar, placing the lantern beside him. Closing his eyes, he brought his hands together in his lap and steadied his mind, allowing it to drift back to a time long past.
In 2482 B.E., in the heart of a city, there stood a Thai house on stilts with a hip roof. This was the home of the Wongpradit family, a household of four: the father, a military officer; the mother, a teacher; the elder son, a doctor; and the younger son, a student training to be a teacher.
The elder son was Phawat, Parun’s previous self in that life. The younger son, Cha-yod, was now the spirit attached to Khemjira. Parun’s heart ached with questions, a desire to understand the karmic ties binding him to Khemjira and Cha-yod’s spirit. Perhaps, through understanding, he could release Cha-yod to his rightful place.
The first vision to emerge was a memory of a meal around the family’s dining table, a simple scene of warmth and harmony.
But as the memories sharpened, a familiar face emerged: Khemmika, a petite young woman whose resemblance to Khemjira was unmistakable. She was the daughter of a district chief, Cha-yod’s close friend, and Phawat’s beloved.
Phawat had first met Khemmika at the birthday celebration of a high-ranking official. When the festivities grew tiresome, he had wandered out to a garden at the back of the house, where he happened to encounter her. They recognized each other faintly—Khemmika was a school friend of Cha-yod’s, a face he’d seen from afar a few times. Drawn to her presence, Phawat struck up a conversation, and soon they were laughing and talking as though they’d known each other for years.
On their way back to the party, a soft meowing sound stopped them in their tracks. Glancing up, they spotted a small orange kitten trapped in a tree.
Khemmika’s mischievous grin made Phawat chuckle, but his amusement turned to shock as she took off her high heels, hoisted up her skirt, and began climbing the tree. He tried to stop her, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, but she was already halfway up.
Minutes later, Khemmika handed the kitten down to Phawat, who cradled it in his arms. She, however, was left clinging to a branch, uncertain of how to get down.
Phawat couldn’t hold back his laughter. The usually composed doctor momentarily abandoned his decorum, grinning as he fetched a ladder and helped her down, careful not to touch her out of respect.
Phawat returned home after the party, but sleep was elusive as thoughts of Khemmika filled his mind. He realized he’d fallen for her, and he resolved to pursue her heart. After several years, Khemmika finally agreed to be his girlfriend, accepting his engagement proposal in the presence of friends and family at Phawat’s birthday celebration. Amid the joy, Parun’s spirit observed Cha-yod from afar, noticing the quiet torment in his brother's deep red eyes as he watched Khemmika and Phawat. At that moment, Parun began to understand—Cha-yod had loved Khemmika, perhaps even before he had.
Phawat and Khemmika dated for six years, planning their marriage once she completed her master’s degree. Phawat’s father adored his future daughter-in-law so much that he built an eggshell-colored house for the young couple. Often, Phawat and Khemmika would spend their time there, always accompanied by Cha-yod and a female servant to avoid any rumors among the villagers. With only three months left until Khemmika's graduation, their dreams were close to becoming reality.
However, one day, Phawat—a provincial doctor—was transferred to a military camp near the border due to a conflict with a neighboring country. Bound by duty, Phawat had no choice but to obey the orders, postponing their wedding indefinitely.
“Yod, please take care of Khemmika for me. I’ll return as soon as I can,” Phawat said to his brother, embracing him in what would be their last moment together.
“Don’t worry, Brother. I’ve been looking after her for a long time. I can handle this,” Cha-yod replied with a smile. Phawat suspected nothing, unaware of the hidden meaning behind those words.
After Phawat’s departure, Cha-yod began stepping into his brother’s role, expressing his love for Khemmika and confessing that he had secretly loved her since high school. But Khemmika was devoted to her love for Phawat, unable to reciprocate Cha-yod’s feelings no matter how much he tried. Her heart remained steadfast, awaiting Phawat.
For nearly two years, Phawat and Khemmika kept their love alive through letters. But the pain of missing him and the constant worry took a toll on Khemmika’s health. Day by day, Cha-yod watched her cough up blood, her once vibrant spirit slowly wilting.
Then, suddenly, the letters from Phawat stopped. Months turned to years, and Khemmika continued writing, but no reply came. Four long years passed before a letter bearing the army’s seal finally arrived.
“Dear Ms. Khemmika, fiancée of Dr. Phawat, we regret to inform you that Dr. Phawat has passed away in a bombing incident…” The letter slipped from Khemmika’s trembling hands. She choked on blood as she read, collapsing in a fit of shock. Her maid screamed in terror, rushing to get her to the hospital.
Cha-yod, hearing the news, arrived at the hospital, his face painted with fear at Khemmika’s sudden decline. He thought, perhaps, that this would be the chance to change her mind, to help her move on from Phawat and start anew with him. But fate had a crueler plan. The shock was too much for Khemmika’s frail heart, and that evening, she passed away.
It was as if Cha-yod’s world shattered in that moment. He collapsed, his sobs echoing through the halls as if he could flood the world with his grief. He’d never imagined it would end this way, that Khemmika would die from the heartbreak he helped create.
And yet, the cruelest twist came on the final day of Khemmika’s funeral. Phawat, the man they all believed dead, returned. Parun, connected to Phawat’s soul, felt the surge of agony and loss that washed over his brother as he learned the truth. Slowly, Parun began piecing it together.
The letter announcing Phawat’s death had been forged by Cha-yod, who had schemed to deceive everyone to win Khemmika’s hand. The letters Phawat sent over those long years had been intercepted, destroyed by Cha-yod, who bribed postal workers to ensure they’d never reach Khemmika.
Phawat’s return on that fateful day revealed the deception, but the price had already been paid in the most devastating way imaginable. Khemmika was gone, and Cha-yod’s betrayal cut deeper than any wound of war.
Phawat’s voice trembled with rage as he clutched the forged letter in his hand. "How could you do such vile things, Yod? I am your brother! Khem was your friend!"
Tears streamed down Phawat’s face, his large frame trembling. If the man before him weren't his own brother, he swore he’d kill him with his own hands. Cha-yod knelt on the floor, weeping like a madman, clasping his hands and repeatedly begging for forgiveness. But it was all in vain.
With eyes red and fierce, Phawat looked down at his brother, his voice shaking. "All the wealth of our parents and everything that is mine—you can have it. But from this day on, we are no longer brothers. I shall return to the military camp. When I die, I shall die without kin. Do not bother to retrieve my body for a funeral. As long as you are in this house, I shall not be."
From that day on, Phawat could no longer bear to look at his brother. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to cast Cha-yod out to live alone. So, he decided he’d be the one who left.
Parun’s spirit watched as his past self knelt for the last time to say farewell to his parents before his physical body summoned his spirit back. Slowly, Parun opened his eyes.
In the dim light of the room, with only the glow of a lantern, sat a woman in a white blouse and sinh skirt, waiting for him to awaken. "Good evening, Por Kru. My name is Khae-khai. I am Khem’s mother. Thank you for allowing me to come up here," the woman’s spirit said. A spirit servant, taking the form of a young boy, had summoned her, saying it was the house owner’s command.
Parun’s expression softened as he acknowledged her greeting, sensing her pure intentions. She stayed in this world to protect her son, possessing little power to be dangerous.
"Do you know the spirit of the man in the khaki uniform who follows Khem around, ma’am?" he asked politely, having sent Thong to invite her up.
Khae-khai nodded. "Yes, that man has been protecting Khem from Ram-phueng."
Parun’s gaze remained sharp as he listened intently.
"Ram-phueng lived four hundred years ago, from a time before slavery was abolished. I don't know the details, but I do know that it harbors a grudge against our family, cursing and seeking the lives of all the male descendants. It also captures them and makes them spirit servants," Khae-khai explained.
"Some of the many spirits Jhettana sees following Khem around are those of the deceased descendants," she continued.
Parun furrowed his brows. Since Khemjira’s arrival, apart from Cha-yod and Khemjira’s mother, he hadn’t sensed any other spirits.
Cha-yod wasn’t after Khemjira’s life, nor did it have the power to summon an army of spirits from the forest. It also wasn't responsible for the near-accident with the coach Khemjira was on. Another ghost, unseen, was behind these events. But where was it?
Closing his eyes, Parun focused, sending his spirit in eight directions, his presence soaring into the wild forest. He opened his eyes abruptly upon seeing something.
Without hesitation, Parun took an enchanted clay pot and placed it before Khae-khai’s spirit. "Please take refuge inside for now. It's dangerous outside."
Khae-khai, looking into the young man’s eyes, seemed spellbound. Trusting him, she willingly stepped into the clay pot.
Parun sealed the pot’s lid, holding it in one hand and grasping the lantern with the other. Rising, he walked to the room where he stored portraits and urns of his ancestors. He placed the pot in an empty space and clasped his hands in prayer, asking his ancestors to protect Khae-khai’s spirit. Then, he turned and left.
Outside, Parun unrolled a large spool of holy thread, tying it at head height to the trunk of a sam bong tree. He continued from tree to tree, encircling the entire house. Returning to the Buddhist altar, he lit a large candle in front of it.
Suddenly, a gust of wind howled through the yard, and a large flock of barn owls circled overhead. Some perched on the roof, their loud cries disrupting his concentration.
Parun’s pitch-black eyes focused on the candle’s flame, steadying it against the fierce wind through fire kasina. Once his concentration held, he clasped his hands in prayer and began to recite a khatha.
"Saratchang sasenang saphanthung narinthang."
---
Note: This is the “Angels Invitation Chanting” khatha (คาถาชุมนุมเทวดา), a prayer used to summon angels to listen to the Buddha's teachings and help protect humans from danger.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
