Birthplace of Jatukam Fever Does a Thriving Business

By Todd Crowell/Nakhon Si Thammarat, Thailand

June 08, 2007—This ancient city, which traces its present incarnation to the 13th Century, is possibly the biggest tourist destination in Thailand, at least for Thais.

Four flights a day from Bangkok disgorge visitors. They stream off buses and trains. City officials estimate that 1.6 million people visited in 2006, straining the city’s modest accommodations.

But few of the visitors were foreigners. The visitors—more accurately pilgrims—are mostly Thai.

They come for just one reason:

Jatukam!

All of Thailand is in the grip of Jatukam fever. The medallion, cast my local monks, is supposed to possess magical powers, but nowhere else is medallion fever so all-consuming as in this southern Thai city, where it all began. It seems like every other citizen wears an amulet.

They are easy to spot, since they resemble Olympic bronze medals suspended on a chain around the neck, sometimes more than one. (Thai joke: A man goes to the doctor complaining of neck and shoulder pain. The doctor points to the five Jatukam medallions strung around his neck and suggest he lightens the load.)

It is impossible to ignore the phenomenon here. Billboards plastered on the side of buildings display the latest models. Passing sound trucks that normally would advertise a boxing match or candidates in an election blast out information on new Jatukam medals.

Along Ratchadamoen Road, the town’s main street, entire shops are given over to display cases stocked with the medallions, each one in a plastic case, generally priced from 2,000 to 5,000 baht. Even stores that sell ordinary household items may have a few cases displaying the latest amulets.

The Jatukam craze has become a huge bonanza for Nakhon Si Thammarat and the Buddhist temples that give the medals their blessing. Of the city’s 560 temples, 200 are said to produce the amulets and more are planning to do so. The local sales and visitors have brought in an estimated 10 billion baht.

Jatukam fever is bringing in so much money that the Thai Revenue Department is considering a sales tax on the amulet, helping to offset loss of tax revenue from the general downturn in the economy.

“There’s a tremendous amount of money floating around in the amulet market,” said department director general Sanit Rangnoi.

But what exactly is Jatukam?

The answer may depend on who you talk to. It may be two historical figures, Jatukam and Rammathep, whose origin is obscure and difficult to understand for someone not steeped in Hindu-Buddhist mythology. Other accounts say the two were princes in the Srivijay Kingdom when Nahkon Si Thammarat was its center.

Another theory is that the names are a corruption of Khuttugama and Ramadeva, two Hindu guardians whose statues can be seen alongside a stairway leading into the inner sanctum of the Great Stupa of Wat Pra Mahathat in Nakhon Si Thammarat, said to be the most important and historic Buddhist temple in southern Thailand.

The first Jatukam amulets were stuck and sold in 1987 (now fetching prices in excess of one million baht). But for many years, only a few of the amulets were sold. The craze only took off last year.

Most Jatukam enthusiasts associate the amulets with a much more contemporary figure, Police Major Gen Phantarak Rajadej, the provincial police chief who died last September at age 103. Many people believed he had magical powers. He was instrumental in building a local holy site called the City Pillar, now a center of the Jatukam trade.

His cremation ceremony here in February drew tens of thousands of people, many seeking to obtain one of the talismans distributed to mourners. His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Vajiralongkorn presided.

On a recent rainy day, I watched a consecration ceremony for a new Jatukam amulet at the City Pillar, which is dominated by a golden stele with a four faces of Buddha at the top.

By late morning the courtyard was crowed with people. A large offering table displayed heaps of grapes, bananas, crabs, durians and two hog heads. A loudspeaker blared out constant announcements or prayers. Every now and then one heard the crackling of fireworks.

At 1:30 p.m., ten saffron-robbed monks took their seats on a long bench on one side of the pillar and began a steady, droning chant that lasted for 40 minutes as people paid their respects by listening respectfully and holding their hands in a wai.

On the far side of the pillar complex, several men kneaded clay soon to be pressed into amulets.