Ten Thousand Krathongs

Lek raced down the alley and scurried around the corner, dodging the noisy tuk-tuks that carried people through the crowded streets of Bangkok. When at last he pushed open the door of his parents’ restaurant, he could hardly catch his breath.

He ran into the kitchen, gasping in the scent of the lemon-grass soup that his grandmother, Ya, was stirring on the stove. He reached for a pile of banana leaves on the counter. If he hurried, he might have time to make his krathong before the celebration started.

Tonight was Loy Krathong, the Festival of the Floating Lanterns. All over Thailand, people would send out lighted candles in tiny boats along rivers and canals so that the past year’s problems could sail away with them and be replaced with wishes for the new year.

As he wrapped the banana leaves around a bamboo base to form his boat, Lek thought about his sister, Dao. She was too sick to float a krathong on the Chao Phraya River tonight. Perhaps a wish on Loy Krathong would take away her illness. Maybe then she would be able to laugh the way she used to.

“A krathong will not be enough to cure Dao,” Ya said sadly when he told her his plan. But Lek didn’t care. If only he had ten thousand krathongs!

He tucked four red flowers inside the banana leaves and poked three sticks of incense between their blossoms. In the middle, he placed a tall, white candle.

“Ya, may I have a coin for my krathong?” he asked.

His grandmother fished in her pocket for a baht. He set the coin next to the candle.

“The river goddess will be pleased with your krathong,” Ya said. “But you mustn’t go near the river tonight. Tong will launch your boat. If you fall into the water, the current will surely pull you away!” She gave Lek a stern look. “Now we must hurry to get ready for our customers.”

Lek sighed. Like last year, he would help Ya in the kitchen while his brother, Tong, launched krathongs into the river for each of their customers. It was all because Lek was small — just as his name said. In the Thai tradition, a nickname was chosen for him when he was born. Why couldn’t it have been one that meant “gold” like Tong, or “star” like Dao, or even “frog” like his cousin Gop? Instead, his nickname reminded everyone that he was too small to do things his bigger brother could.

But this week, Lek had practiced launching the way Tong did. He had balanced stones on the flat piece of metal at the bottom of a long pole and lowered them into the river… until Ya had scolded him for standing too close to the water’s edge.

Now he peeked out of the kitchen and saw that customers were arriving. Soon, dishes flowed into the kitchen in a steady stream. Each time he finished washing one pile, a new one appeared. There were more tonight than he remembered from past years.

“Ya, is it time to launch the krathongs?” he asked.

Ya nodded. “Yes, it is dark now. Go and ask Tong to help you.”

Lek made his way outside through the crowd standing under the full moon. Tong stood on the jetty, lowering a krathong into the water with his pole. The candlelight danced on the black river as the boat slowly followed the current.

A long line of people waited behind Tong. It would take forever before he could help Lek!

Lek took matches from an empty table and lit the candle on his tiny boat. He looked over his shoulder to see if Ya was watching. Then he lay down at the edge of the jetty and made a wish that Dao would get better from that minute on. He lowered his krathong toward the water, stretching to reach its surface.

Suddenly, he felt his body teetering on the edge. As he jerked himself back to catch his balance, the krathong dropped from his hand into the dark water. It rocked on the surface for a moment before tipping on its side. Lek held his breath as the light from the candle flickered. Then it disappeared.

This was a bad omen for Dao! Would next year bring things even worse than the last?

Lek’s throat stiffened, and tears flooded his eyes. He nearly lost his balance again as he reached toward the river, but it was no use. The wake from a longtail boat splashed against the banana leaves and turned the tiny boat upside down. Lek’s tears dropped into the river as he watched Dao’s krathong drift beneath the jetty.

“Lek!” Tong stood over him. “We have so many people here tonight. Ya said that you may help me, but you must stay where I can see you.”

Lek wiped his eyes. A chance to launch the krathongs! He took a pole from Tong. A girl handed him a boat decorated with white frangipanis. Lek could smell the flowers’ sweetness as he placed the boat on the edge of his pole.

“This is for my father,” the girl whispered. “He couldn’t be here tonight.” Lek nodded. Then he inched the boat down into the dark water until it bobbed on the waves and began its journey to the sea. He thought about Dao lying in bed at home and made his own silent wish. The krathong floated into the current, its candle bright as it sailed down the river. The girl’s smile made Lek feel larger than his name.

Then a woman handed her krathong to Lek, and he set it on the pole. “May Dao be well,” he whispered as he lowered it into the river. He remembered what Ya had said — that his wish might not make Dao better. But it gave him hope. With each krathong he sent into the water, he made the same wish, over and over: may Dao be happy again. At last, he looked out at the procession of flickering lights.

“Tong,” he said, “do you suppose there are a thousand krathongs out there tonight?”

His brother shook his head. “I think there must be at least ten thousand.”

Lek smiled as he listened to the tiny waves lapping the jetty. He hoped the river goddess could hear their song. And he hoped she could hear the ten thousand wishes that sailed from his heart for his sister that night.