THAILAND'S MOMENT OF TRUTH - ZENJOURNALIST

The communiqué was broadcast over the radio early in the evening. For many it
confirmed dreadful rumour… But for most people the radio provided the first news,
flooding them with anguish. From stilted teak houses poised over canals, from
sampan homes lilting on the river, from the shady modern villas of the well-to-do,
from the slits of shops and cluttered workshops, Bangkok delivered up thousands
upon thousands of people who made their way in sorrow and fear and curiosity to
stand outside the white walls of the Grand Palace. And through the countryside,
across rice-field, jungle, and mountain, the news travelled via the monasteries and the
few other possessors of radio sets, causing even greater consternation because of the
greater veneration of the countrypeople. [Krueger, The Devil’s Discus]
Many had begun gathering even before the communiqué was broadcast at 7 p.m.:
Around the palace great crowds gathered in silent grief as the news spread.
Most of Bangkok was unaware of the death of the quiet, studious ruler until the
government broadcast the news at 7 p.m. Immediately a wail went up from a
crowd gathered in the square before the Publicity Building, near the Royal Palace.
[Associated Press, Gun Kills Siam’s young King, June 10, 1946]
Prince Chakrabandhu, who had sometimes played jazz with the two brothers, recounted to
Stevenson a conversation he had with Bhumibol on the day of his Ananda’s death. He had
been due to meet them for a jazz session at 9 a.m. that morning:
‘On that last Sunday, the boys were late for a nine o’clock appointment. I was
thinking they were playing another of their tricks on me. .. But when they should be
making music, His Majesty was already dead. I heard the shouts and hurried to the
mansion. Among all those dignitaries, I felt out of place. Much later, I tried to tip-toe
away.’
The new king caught him at a side door. ‘Don’t go! I need you. The only close friend
I had was my brother. Please be my friend.’
‘But you have many friends,’ said the prince.
‘Acquaintances. At school. On the ski slopes. Not friends. And nobody here.’
‘Then,’ said the old prince, ‘my king for the first time cried.’ [Stevenson, The
Revolutionary King]
Dr Nitya had a discussion in the evening of June 9 with Bhumibol, who said Ananda’s death
had quite clearly been an accident, not suicide:
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At nine o’clock that evening he returned to the Barompiman Hall with sedatives
for the Princess Mother. He intended to hand them over to the Royal Nanny but
Bhoomipol said he would deliver them. The young celestial prince was in a sad,
ruminative mood. There was already upon him the unsmiling gravity which would
henceforward make him a stranger to the exuberant Bhoomipol everyone had
previously known. The kindly, cautious, bespectacled Dr Nit had been a friend of
both his parents in America before his birth, physician to the family whenever they
had been in Bangkok, and he could almost be regarded as a relation. Bhoomipol said
to him: ‘I think there’s no other explanation than accident for my brother’s death. I
can’t help clinging to superstition because four or five days ago he was very tender
towards me, especially when he led me by the hand into the dining-room. He’d never
done that before.’