Phuket’s Vegetarian Festival, where extreme body piercings bring blessings

Every autumn Taoists flock to Phuket in Thailand to take part in arguably the country’s most unusual religious event: the annual Vegetarian Festival. The festival’s simple name belies the depths of the proceedings that unfold over its nine-day run. During the festival, devotees and tourists gather at temples and join processions, praying and following a strict white dress code that symbolises purity. People abstain from sex, alcohol and meat to live in harmony with the universe in line with Taoist principles. Kaan Thanadechaparn, a 51-year-old Phuket native, talks about the importance of adhering to Taoist tenets during the festival, including veganism. “We need vegan food [such as Peranakan chap chye – braised mixed vegetable stew],” she says. An estimated 70 per cent of Phuket island’s residents have Chinese ancestry, the result of a wave of immigration from China to Southeast Asia during the 19th century when the region experienced a tin-mining boom. Kaan points out that Hokkien Chinese – people from Fujian province – who moved to Penang, Singapore and Phuket brought their ideas about food with them. There are various stories about the festival’s origins. Kaan says Chinese immigrants living in Southeast Asia missed home and hired a Chinese opera group who maintained a strictly vegan diet. The opera group fell ill with an infectious disease and then recovered, ostensibly helped by their diet. We’ve done the festival since 1825; the Nine Emperors are our heroes Chanachon ‘Tiw’ Tandavanitj, a fifth-generation Thai of Hokkien descent Tin miners in Phuket later contracted the same disease and remembered the opera singers, but duplicating their vegan diet did not work. Chanachon “Tiw” Tandavanitj, a fifth-generation Thai of Hokkien Chinese descent, says the singers told the miners they would need to erect a wooden statue of Tian Hu Nguan Soi, the opera group’s teacher, to get better. “They also needed a script plus the holy ash from incense Fujians had used to worship Yok Ong Song Tae [the King of the Nine Emperor Gods],” Chanachon says. “We use joss sticks because we believe their scent goes up to heaven to tell the gods we’ve worshipped them.” The Chinese miners believed they were being punished for their sins. The script revealed how to ask the Nine Emperor Gods for forgiveness, mentioning a custom of cheek piercing once practised in Fujian. A worker based in Kathu, a town in central Phuket, arranged for a multicoloured shrine to be built. Only pans never used for cooking meat were allowed to be used to prepare vegan food for the festival. Save for visits to places of worship, citizens could not go out for nine days. “Does that sound like a pandemic?” Chanachon asks with a raised eyebrow. “Many people were sick.” The spread of the disease stopped after the rituals. “That’s why we’ve done the festival since 1825; the Nine Emperors are our heroes.” The festival begins on the eve of the ninth month in the Chinese lunar calendar and runs until the ninth night of the waxing moon. More than its origin story and the food consumed, the Vegetarian Festival is known for featuring mah song – literally “horses of the gods” – spiritual mediums who pierce their faces with swords, lances and other objects in extreme acts of sacrifice and march in procession. Despite what many describe as harrowing scenes – think the constant bang of firecrackers, bloodstained swords and faces pierced with metal spikes – the procession, the most spectacular event of the festival, is disarming. During the procession the mah song give blessings to the public and stop at altars to offer joss sticks, flowers, fruit, tea and sweets. Weeks before the festival, I meet a 34-year-old mah song called Suriya Prommin at his home, where Chinese characters, swords, poles and drums grace the walls, silk thread lanterns dangle from the ceiling, and statues of deities watch over visitors from a dragon-adorned altar under the protection of the Monkey God. Suriya, who is also known as J, is from a family of mah song, and recalls the first time he was possessed by the monkey spirit when he was 14 years old. “My feet were paralysed, then my calves. I had blurry vision and could not speak. While I experienced short-term memory loss, my relatives say I spoke Hokkien Chinese, even though I’d never learned it,” he says. Suriya adds that, just like his ancestors, he was chosen by the gods to become a mah song. He shows me 50-year-old photos of his grandmother’s brother taking part in the festival. At 22, Suriya accepted his lot and continued the family tradition of taking to the streets with lances thrust through his cheeks. During the procession, Suriya treats the elderly and the handicapped, touching their shoulders with one hand. Suriya’s supporters carry a statue of Heng Jia, or Magic Monkey. Chayanin Ngansampantharit, known as Tao, has scars on his cheeks from his acts of mutilation. He has been a mah song since he was 13. “It’s my job to dispel evil,” he says. While the 52-year-old no longer gets his cheeks pierced during the festival, he still climbs up and down a 10-metre ladder bedecked with “72 razor-sharp blades”, in his words, and cuts his face with a sword. I join the procession, walking down a road full of mah song, their cheeks pierced with spears and knives, on the way to Jui Tui Shrine in Phuket town. “Lawang [careful]!” shout helpers drowning in a sea of people. In the thick of the procession, clouds of smoke from firecrackers as loud as thunderclaps billow as if a forest fire had broken out. Festivalgoers sing calming Chinese songs and drumbeats scare away evil spirits as the odd mah song licks an axe as if it were ice cream. When we reach the shrine, I avoid standing in the way of supporters about to thrust a long pole through a spirit horse’s face. An endless procession of Taoists, their cheeks pierced, spill out of the shrine. Curious to see more, I make my way through the crowds to the heart of the action at the shrine. Watching entranced spirit mediums, I feel a surge of energy. The air is laced with incense and fragrant notes of jasmine and lotus flowers. Bells ring as mah song look up to the sky. Others, their eyes rolled back in their heads, hold flags in the air before descending the steps of the shrine. Eyes glazed, they take turns sitting on a chair, where a gloved man pierces their cheeks with a sharp instrument to allow for the impaling of larger objects. Guitars, swords, parasols – nothing is too big. Blood trickles from the cheeks of some of these devotees as they chant while in a trance. Perhaps surprisingly, staff on the information desk at Vachira Hospital, the main hospital in Phuket, say they have not had to deal with any more emergencies than in a typical week.

Phuket’s Vegetarian Festival, where extreme body piercings bring blessings

Every autumn in Phuket, those chosen by the gods are impaled with spikes, swords and more in one of Thailand’s most unusual religious events