feature | ruesi
uncontrollable frenzy. They howl and thrash
about on the floor while assistants attempt to
pin them down. “The mask unlocks the spirits
inside of them, particularly if they have spirit
tattoos (Sak Yant),” Phuttavet explains. “If
they have a tattoo of a tiger, they will act like
a tiger. This gives them strength and courage.”
After the ceremony, an envelope makes its
way around the crowd. As with monks, ruesi
accept monetary donations, and Phuttavet
has succeeded in capturing a niche but
affluent market, for his worshippers ooze
wealth and success – which they no doubt
attribute to their piety. One such follower
is Kai, an American-born Thai in his late
20s who faithfully makes a pilgrimage from
California each year.
“I’m in the US Army, and before I was
deployed to Afghanistan, I put on an amulet
blessed by Phuttavet,” he explains. “I had a
few close calls out there – bombs exploding,
like, right next to me – and I’m certain that
amulet saved my life.”
wai khru, or master worship ceremony – a
practice commonly conducted in schools and
temples across the country, but here with a
ruesi twist. His devotees have come not only
to pay their respects, but also in search of
blessings and spiritual fulfilment.
One by one, they enter the room and
fall to their knees at his feet. A large golden
crown, moulded into the face of a ruesi god,
is lifted over their heads as Phuttavet mutters
a blessing. While some politely proffer their
thanks and move on, others erupt into an
“I had a few close calls out
there – bombs exploding,
like, right next to me –
and I’m certain that amulet
saved my life”
Kai, ruesi believer
below Phuttavet prays
over a disciple at a wai
khru ceremony