Muay Thai is sometimes called Thai boxing. Using hands, feet, knees, elbows, and shins, a Thai boxer batters an opponent until he is unable to continue. Because the sport is so demanding, Thai boxers spend a good deal of time and energy strengthening their body to be able to withstand punishment. They are some of the toughest fighters in the martial arts.
To this day, Muay Thai fighters dedicate one of their fights each year to a man named Nai Khanom Tom, a fighter who lived centuries ago, back when Thailand was still called Siam.
“Who is that man?” the king of Burma demanded as he looked out over the battlefield. “The man in front of the Siamese charge. Who is he?” The king’s aide looked where the king was pointing. It was not difficult to see which man the king meant. In the front of the battle, where the fighting was heaviest, a single man was dropping Burmese soldiers one after another. “Your highness,” the aide said, “that is Nai Khanom Tom.”
“Nai . . . what was that again?” The king could not take his eyes off the magnificent fighter.
“Nai Khanom Tom.”
“And why is it that none of my troops seem to be able to defeat him?” the king asked.
“Well, sir,” his aide stumbled for words, not wanting to insult the king’s troops. “Some say that Nai Khanom Tom is not even mortal. He is Siam’s greatest boxer, and has never lost a fight. Some say he cannot die, that he was sent by the gods.”
“Hmmph,” the king said. “All men die. Even kings die. Send in the right warrior to oppose him, and you’ll see that this Nai person can die, too.”
“Yes, your highness,” the aide replied meekly. The two watched as Nai Khanom Tom continued to cut through Burmese soldiers like rice stalks in the field.
“Mmm, that is something I’d like to see,” the king said. “I’d like to see Nai face my great boxers. I’d like to see him beg for mercy.”
A few weeks later, the king of Burma stood before two hundred of his most powerful soldiers. Some carried elephant spears, long spears with tips sharp enough to pierce elephant hide. Others carried ropes and nets.
“You are not to kill him,” the king commanded. “If I hear that this Nai person died in battle, you will all pay dearly. Is that clear?” The troops bowed their heads in obedience.
“I want him alive. Bring him to me.” The king spun on his heel and strode back into the palace. The two hundred soldiers left to join the battle with Siam.
The soldiers brought Nai Khanom Tom in on a pole. His wrists were tied together. So were his ankles. A large pole was threaded between them. Four soldiers had loaded the pole onto their shoulders. They carried Nai Khanom Tom into the king’s presence like a slain animal.
“He’s not dead, is he?” the King demanded.
“No, sir,” the captain replied. “He’s a bit banged up. We had some trouble capturing him. Even after we tied his arms, he managed to take down two of my men with his knees.”
“With his knees?” the king shouted. “Hmmph. Is that why you have him trussed up like a pig?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain answered.
“Set him down,” the king said, motioning to the troops carrying the pole. “Set him down right here.”
“So, Nai ... whatever your name is,” the king said looking down at Nai Khanom Tom lying bound on the floor, “is it true what they say about you being a god?”
Nai Khanom Tom didn’t answer. His eyes locked on the king’s in a stare of complete calm and complete confidence. The king felt a shiver up his spine. He clasped his hands behind his back and made his way around to Nai Khanom Tom’s other side.
“They say you don’t fight like a mere man. You certainly have gone through enough of my troops.”
Still Nai Khanom Tom was silent.
“How would you like the opportunity to earn your freedom?” The king continued to pace.
“How?” Nai Khanom Tom asked quietly.
“I think we have his interest,” the king said brightly to his troops. The troops laughed appreciatively. “By fighting,” the king said to Nai Khanom Tom.
“I will not fight in your army,” Nai Khanom Tom said simply.
“Not in my army,” the king said loudly. “He thought I wanted him to fight in my army.” The troops again laughed obediently. “No, not in my army. At my festival. I want you to fight my best Bando fighters at my next festival. If you win, I’ll set you free.‘In my army.’ Mmmph. Are you sure you’re some kind of god? You don’t seem very bright to me.”
Nai Khanom Tom lay silently on the floor. If the jeers of the king and his troops had any effect on him, it didn’t show. The king made his way back to his dais.
“Do you agree?” he asked. “Will you fight?”
“Yes,” said Nai Khanom Tom. “I’ll fight your Bando fighters.”
“Good. Very good,” the king said. “Now, how many fighters should we have him fight? Four? Five?”
“I have nine that I have been training,” the captain volunteered. “Nine, you say,” the king exclaimed. “Could you fight nine men, one after another, Siamese?”
Nai Khanom Tom was silent.
“What? Not enough?” The king motioned for his aide. “I want you to find the ten best Bando fighters in the kingdom. No, wait. Make that the fourteen best fighters. Ten might not be enough for this ‘god’ here.”
The ring where Nai Khanom Tom would fight was roped off. The king entered the arena with his aide and the captain of his troops. He took his place in time to see Nai Khanom Tom making his way around the ring, touching each rope, whispering to himself.
“What is he doing?” the king said to his aide.
“He is sealing the ring,” the aide said. “It keeps out evil spirits.” “Evil spirits will be the least of his worries,” the king muttered.
Nai Khanom Tom returned to his corner of the ring. He knelt, touching his hands first to his forehead, then to the ring, then to his forehead, then to the ring, then to his forehead, then to the ring. A look of peace covered his face. He stood and began his ritual dance. The king watched as Nai Khanom Tom lifted first one knee, then the other. His movements were catlike, like a tiger, or maybe a leopard. He stretched and clawed, then turned to catch the eye of his opponent on the other side of the ring. The two locked eyes.
“Who is our first fighter?” the king asked the captain.
“The first fighter is one of my students, your majesty. He is young, but he is tough. He has an ability to wear down an opponent more thoroughly than any other man I’ve trained. He may not defeat Nai Khanom Tom, but I can guarantee you that after fighting my boy, Nai Khanom Tom will be lucky to still be standing halfway through his next fight.”
“Good,” said the king. “I’d enjoy seeing him so tired he could barely move. The man has far too much energy for my taste.”
Nai Khanom Tom and the young fighter faced each other. Then like lightning, the knees began to fly. Nai Khanom Tom landed an elbow, then a knee. As he pulled out, the young fighter followed him with a flurry of knee strikes to Nai Khanom Tom’s thighs and hips.
The fight wore on. It made the king tired just watching the punishment the two men were giving each other. He reached down to pick up his glass and ask for a refill. A gasp went up from the crowd. The king looked up. The young fighter was down.
“What was that?” he said.
“Nai Khanom Tom has injured my fighter’s knee,” the captain said. “How did he do that?”
“He waited until the foot was planted, and then he kicked it with his shin,” the captain replied.
“With his shin?” the king said, imagining the conditioning Nai would have had to do to use his shins as weapons.
The captain nodded.
“Well, if your man can’t fight anymore, get him out of the ring,” the king commanded. “I want someone else in there fighting right away.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain rose and, motioning for two of his men to follow, walked to the ring.
“How many has he fought?” the king asked, returning to his place. “He’s getting ready to face his ninth,” said the captain. “It’s been six hours.” Admiration shone through in his voice.
“Who’s your biggest, strongest man?” the king asked. “Send him in. This has gone on long enough.”The captain bowed his head and stood to approach the fight master.
The fight master whispered in his assistant’s ear, and his assistant ran off, returning with a man large enough to be two men. Nai Khanom Tom simply stood in the center of the ring and waited as the giant stepped over the ropes and removed his shirt.
“Perhaps the man never tires,” the king murmured to his captain when he returned. “But I would be willing to bet that he breaks. It looks like your boy there is just the fellow to do the job.”
The fighters squared off, Nai Khanom Tom dwarfed by the giant lumbering toward him. He snuck inside the big man’s guard and elbowed furiously at his ribs, but the great bear of a man didn’t seem to feel the strikes at all. Instead he grabbed Nai Khanom Tom and squeezed him so tightly that Nai Khanom Tom’s face turned red.
“That’s got him,” the king said, clapping his hand in pleasure.
“Yes, your highness,” his captain replied. But the captain saw weaknesses the king had obviously missed. Nai Khanom Tom saw those weaknesses, too. He stomped down hard on the giant’s foot, then elbowed back into him. The giant bent over in pain. Like lightning, Nai Khanom Tom struck, a quick blow to the giant’s head perhaps. The blow was far too quick to be seen clearly. The giant dropped to the mat, dazed.
“What did he do?” the king asked.
“I’m not sure, your highness,” the captain said, “but it seems to have worked.” The giant crouching on the floor of the ring was shaking his head, stunned and disoriented.
Cheers rose from the crowd. “Mmmph,” the king said. “Since when do they cheer the enemy?”
“I believe, your highness,” the captain said, “that they are simply cheering the superior fighter.”
“Yes,” said the king, “yes, I guess he is that.”
Nai Khanom Tom was fighting his twelfth opponent. While his opponents lay exhausted and demoralized on the edges of the arena, Nai Khanom Tom was still on his feet, still dominating the ring. The king found himself respecting the brave man who continued to fight through exhaustion and pain. One would think that he wouldn’t have the strength by now to lift even a finger. But yet he continued to throw punishing knees and elbows. He connected with a fierce elbow to his opponent’s midsection. The man crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked out of him.
Nai Khanom Tom staggered to his corner and leaned against the post. His next opponent prepared to enter the ring.
“Enough,” said the king, standing, then clapping his hands twice. “Twelve is enough. Nai Khanom Tom,” he called loudly. “Come and stand before me.”
Nai Khanom Tom left the ring. He wiped his face on a towel, then handed it to one of several men who had taken up a place in his corner of the ring. He breathed deeply, steadying his breath, then turned, squared his shoulders, and walked to where the king stood waiting for him.
The king looked into the fighter’s eyes, wondering if he would recognize a god if he saw one. What the king saw was a resolve that made him take a step back. This fighter, even after twelve long, bloody fights, could still break him like a twig in mere seconds.
“Nai Khanom Tom,” he said, pushing the fear he felt down deep where it could not affect his voice, “you have fought well. I am a man of my word. You will be given clean clothes and a chance to rest. Then my captain will personally escort you to the Siam border.” Nai Khanom Tom bowed his head slightly. The king saw the muscles of his neck quiver as he did so.
“I have never seen a man fight like you did today,” the king said more quietly. “Be assured that in Burma as well as in Siam, the name of Nai Khanom Tom will be remembered and spoken with respect for many generations.”
