In the dark I bicycle to the village, several miles from Chi Phat, past houses and cows and dogs lurking on the sides of the road. I see my friend Pon on the way, and sit for a tea before I move on. I hear music, and motos, smell grilled meat, and I know I've arrived. This is the village that is celebrating the rice harvest festival. A temporary shelter of shredded plastic is the focal point for gathering, singing, and praying. A small Buddha statue is perched on a platform. People sit with feet carefully folded back to the side on the mats below. Older men are at one end, and they tend to baskets of fruit, flowers, and other offerings. I hear a man's voice over a loudspeaker, chanting, then talking. He's there in
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