Bad Boys Get Inked

In Thailand, Buddhist temples often adopt a certain constituencyteachers, sailors, doctorsand become its spiritual sanctuary. Wat Bang Phra, an hour’s drive west of Bangkok, has taken in naklenghit men, gang members, ex-cons, professional hoods, the kind of people you wouldn’t normally go to temple with.

And what good is a spiritual home that doesn’t give you something to help in your worldly toils and travails? Each February, thousands of nakleng from all parts of the kingdom descend on Wat Bang Phra for exactly that: a little bit of magic to make them even tougher. Many Thais believe monks can pass on a bit of their power through amulets, prayer beads or, in the case of Wat Bang Phra, tattoos. Get a magical tattoo and you may be able to stop a robber’s bullet with your teethor so goes an apocryphal tale of a now legendary bus driver. Then get another one the next year, because you never know how much protection you might need. Somchai, a former soldier, says he once stepped on a land mine at the Cambodian border, but the shrapnel never pierced his tattooed legs. Somchai has returned for some more tattooing. His current profession: “None of your business.”

The devotees wait in line at the temple bearing offerings of orchids, cigarettes, bottles of M-150. At the head of the queue, sitting in the lotus position, is Luang Phi Pao, a young monk whose arms and legs are covered with tattooed mantras and serpents. He dips a pointed, 60-cm silver rod into blue black ink infused with Chinese herbs and snake venom. With a steady rhythm, he delicately jabs Niwet Paopunsri, an auto mechanic, inscribing the words The Heart of Lord Buddha in ancient Khmer on the small of his back. (That’s Pao’s specialty; other monks draw animals or religious symbols.) Finished with the inscription, Pao whispers a prayer.

Then the real action begins. The tattoo awakens demons, and Niwet, who spent time in jail for manslaughter, is on all fours on the gravel outside the temple, blood and ink oozing from his back. He bares his teeth, growls, rises with a feral roar and hurtles himself toward a row of monks chanting on a makeshift altar. But between him and the praying monks are 41 soldiers and volunteers recruited to subdue the devotees. They wrestle Niwet to the ground and one rubs his earlobe. That drives the demons away.

An exhausting ritual, but worth it, according to Niwet. A few years ago he had a tiger tattooed on his chest. He got into a tight spot and someone pointed a gun at him and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. “The tiger did that,” he says. In theory the tattoos shouldn’t work for anyone who fails to lead his life according to the Buddha’s precepts, which include nonviolence. But the monks admit that their tattoos tap into a power even they cannot fully explain.