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	---> MORE Thai Legends: _________________________________ How the Insulted Rice-Plant Got Its Revenge The Legend of the Crow The Menacing Tiger How the Insulted Rice-Plant Got Its Revenge A Northern Thai Folk Tale The ‘Dead’ Man’s Betel Mom… we need more rain!!! How the Moon Got Its Face THE WEAVER AND THE COWHERD The Myth of Mae Posop, the Goddess of Grain The Legend(s) of Queen Chamadevi Mamia The Origin of Thunder and Lightning The Legend of Wang Bua Ban Waterfalls Tera Jan and the Tunnels of Wat Umong Why Chiang Mai is big but Lamphun small The Lord of all Lanna Ghosts Legends of The Evil Woman/Tigress THE WHITE CHEDI OF SACRIFICE Two good pals Keeping the Pret Happy THE WEAVER AND THE COWHERD A Northern Thai Folk Tale How cats and dogs became enemies Sri Thanonchai Tricks His King The Wonderful Mine of Laplae The Legend of Phra Pathom Chedi GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE COW WHY MONKEYS AND CROCODILES ARE ENNEMIES

The ‘Dead’ Man’s Betel

There was once a monk who loved chewing betel above everything else, and since it came to him most frequently as a gift for having performed a service for the dead, he was all too happy when someone died, and he received the benefit he most desired.

One day he inquired of one of his novices whether anyone in the locality had died, and learning they hadn't, expressed disappointment. A villager overheard this, and decided to play a trick on the monk that would teach him a lesson.

"Look," he told his relatives. "That monk wants one of us to die just to satisfy his desire for betel, so I'm going to be the 'corpse'. You do what you can to make him believe I'm really dead, raise a hullabaloo as if you're in mourning and so on, and we'll see what happens."

They did what he asked and sure enough the monk came hurrying to the cremation ground, happy he was going to receive his reward.

"We're going off to get the wood for the cremation," the villagers told the monk. "You stay with our dead relative, holding the cloth covering him, and perform the chanting ceremony so that he'll pass to a better life."

They then left, but quietly surrounded him with thorny bushes and branches they'd cut so that he couldn't easily get away.

It was evening by now and as the twilight thickened, the monk chanted more and more urgently, thinking to keep evil spirits at bay, and wondering what had happened to the dead man's relatives.

And then to his horror, the form under the robe he was holding - he man whose rebirth he thought he was improving - stirred, groaned.

"What! You can't come back! You're dead, finished with this life…!"

But the groans became more vehement. The 'body' moved again, began to stand.

Dropping the robe of rebirth, terrified beyond anything he'd ever felt, the monk turned, meaning to run to the security of his temple, but immediately found himself stumbling amongst, enmeshed in, the thorny bushes the relatives had surrounded him with. Cut, bleeding, falling headlong and then picking himself up again, bruised in body but even more afflicted in spirit, the monk ran till he reached the temple, closed his kuti door behind him, only then beginning to breathe more easily. He called one of his temple novices to tend his wounds, as he did so remembering the betel he'd been so much looking forward to.

"Did they bring it here, the relatives?" he asked the novice. "They must have left it in the temple somewhere. Did you see it?"

"No," said the novice, who knew what had happened. "They didn't leave it here. It must be at the house of the dead man's relatives. Why don't you go there to claim it?"

"What? Get involved with that family again. Not if they offered ten times the amount of betel I usually get. Don't even mention it..."

From that time on the monk was reluctant to chant at funeral ceremonies. Strangely enough, he lost his taste for betel too.