Eleven years ago was the first time the author met Mrs. Yapho, the wife whom the author and friends now call 'Mae Yapho' at the We All Billy event held at the BACC Art Gallery. This followed the enforced disappearance of community rights defender 'Billy' Palaji Rukjongjaroen. It was not only the author's first encounter with Pakayor ethnic siblings gathered from across the country, but also the first time hearing the sound of the 'Ternah Gu,' the Pakayor people's traditional instrument, through Mae Yapho's performance accompanied by 'Ajarn Shi' Suwichan Pattanaipaiwan.
This event sparked interest in the forced eviction and rights violations faced by Bang Kloi people, prompting the author to follow the 'Dinsorsee' group, led by Ajarn Shi and his wife, who went to Pong Luek-Bang Kloi village in Phetchaburi province, the author's home province. There, the author heard Mae Yapho's ternah sound again.
Various social issues in Thailand that appeared in daily news gradually faded the author's attention from the Bang Kloi people's story until the COVID-19 crisis four years ago. Villagers decided to walk back to the large forest that was their homeland and were arrested, sparking major protests in Bangkok and leading to the formation of the 'Save Bang Kloi Coalition,' a group of young activists interested in indigenous rights. The author became a member of the coalition and had many opportunities to revisit Pong Luek-Bang Kloi village as an artist, member, and local coordinator, forming close bonds with Bang Kloi people including Mae Yapho. Despite language barriers limiting conversations, a deep connection developed through mutual admiration of music. The author often coordinated with Mae Yapho to perform music inside and outside the village, with her ternah and singing consistently impressing all listeners.
Last year, Mae Yapho said that due to age and frailty, she could no longer travel outside the village to perform. This worried the author but there was still hope to hear Mae’s ternah sound if they went to the village. However, at the tenth anniversary memorial of Billy’s disappearance held in the village, where the author was invited to perform alongside Mae Yapho, it was discovered that Mae's ternah was broken and her husband was too old to make a new one. For the first time in a cultural event in Bang Kloi, the ternah—the true voice of the Bang Kloi people—was absent. This deeply unsettled the author.
One personal mission of the author, who is among the organizers of Billy's 11th anniversary memorial this year, is to bring a new ternah to Mae Yapho so that Bang Kloi's music can continue. But the lingering question is: if Mae Yapho passes, will Bang Kloi’s ternah sound fall silent too?
From the perspective of Shi-Suwichan, a Pakayor artist and academic, he reflected that during the park's 'Tanawsi Operation,' villagers were arrested on charges of forest and watershed destruction. Among seized items were fishing nets, a grass-cutting sickle, a hoe, and one ternah. This incident occurred before the community’s forced eviction in 2011.
"I first met Mae Yapho during the news of three helicopter crashes. Following the news, I learned it was about the community being burned out, which deeply affected northern Pakayor siblings because they had faced a similar event 20 years earlier and understood the despair well. This led to collecting tens of tons of unhusked rice, creating a shortage of trucks for transport, so we organized the 'Voice of Indigenous Watershed People 3.5' concert to raise funds for transport and travel costs for those going up, along with a rice spirit-calling ceremony for Bang Kloi people. There were bag exchanges and musical exchanges, which led to familiarization and bonding, as well as my first meeting with Billy," the Pakayor artist recounted the beginning.
Ajarn Shi continued that later, collaborating with the Dinsorsee group, they organized the 'Sowing Seeds of Homeland Music Camp,' discovering that men in the village bore psychological wounds because the ternah was evidence in the forest and watershed destruction case, preventing them from playing it at that time. So, men were asked to craft ternahs for women to play. Since they couldn't find zinc sheets to cover the instrument’s body, Bang Kloi's ternahs are made entirely of wood, unlike ternahs elsewhere. "Besides the ternah, many Bang Kloi people can also play the sotru (bamboo fiddle) and khaen (mouth organ). After the camp, we donated a rooster-head ternah (used by Mae Yapho to this day), three sotru, and three khaen to the village and took them to perform at Phetchaburi Dee Jung festival. After that, Billy led artists and Bang Kloi youth to perform outside the village until he was disappeared." "During performances outside, many band members lacked costumes. Villagers who had them lent them out, charging detergent powder as rent, encouraging performers that even if they couldn’t go, the clothes represented them," he added.
Meanwhile, Sirisa Boonma, a sound and local music communication designer with the Hear and Found team and seven years of field recording experience, who recorded ternah sounds from five community areas including Bang Kloi village, shared stories from her recordings and comparisons with other communities’ ternah sounds.
"Ternahs from each community differ despite similar appearances. Many describe using them to play melodies when going to the fields for personal enjoyment, courting, storytelling, or preserving memories or chants. There's no use of the instrument for harming others or survival battles; instead, it focuses on storytelling to soothe oneself and others."
Sirisa continued that during the Bang Kloi field recording, she talked with Mae Yapho, asking when she played the ternah. The answer was: when going to the fields, which was part of her normal life. "From a cultural struggle perspective, the context matters—such as what type of stage Mae Yapho is invited to and what message it conveys. The identification of Mae Yapho and the ternah as symbols of cultural resistance is an external attribution; we don’t know if she self-identifies that way."
The sound communication designer sees true Pakayor people as peace-loving, not favoring fighting or violence unless pushed beyond endurance. Thus, Mae Yapho's music can be viewed from two angles—whether it’s performed on activist stages or simply played for comfort and joy.
"Ternah songs vary by place, but many share themes about nature, music, and lyrics reflecting lifestyles intertwined with nature. If not nature, then love—two elements often closely linked."
Sirisa views that although ternahs are now made in Keys C, G, and F for convenience in playing with Western instruments—which is positive—attempting to match keys can confine the music. "Musicians should play freely because trying to fit the ternah into Western keys imposes Western musical frameworks unnecessarily and risks disregarding other sounds outside these frames. Many sound frequencies worldwide remain unheard and unappreciated because we're used to produced Western musical systems. Listening to folk music from Roma, India, Estonia, or the Amazon reveals many sounds we don't hear in mainstream music. Closing our ears and saying Western music is the only correct form makes us lose opportunities to appreciate other music."
Meanwhile, Pongsak Tonnaphet, a prominent Bang Kloi community member, described the current situation: musical instruments are important, but no initiatives have been made to nurture this. Mae Yapho still plays the ternah for locals and others, which is good for the community. Ideally, this should be studied further, but various factors hinder music practice. "We often think that if one day we have our land, the main factor for life, and everyone has it, community arts and culture will naturally follow. Music is not something the Bang Kloi people want to abandon; they cannot continue because everyone's rights are violated and livelihoods threatened."
"Another village artist besides Mae Yapho is Uncle Dam, who was a composer since living in upper Bang Kloi until forced relocation. Later, facing various hardships and lacking free time due to work, he passed compositions on to Mae Yapho," the young Bang Kloi man reflected on the realities causing the village's musical sound to dwindle.
"Many in Bang Kloi village are musically skilled, but facing difficult life circumstances, no one feels motivated to play music except Mae Yapho, who willingly plays when asked, while others feel weary."
Pongsak added that almost every provincial event invites Bang Kloi villagers to perform, showcasing Phetchaburi's Pakayor ethnic group. "They want us to demonstrate traditional ways like weaving, rice planting, beekeeping, and playing the ternah, but in reality villagers cannot even do beekeeping because it’s illegal in the park, and villagers get arrested. Our true clothing comes from rotational farming, but we cannot practice it." The young Pakayor man revealed the harsh reality Bang Kloi people face.
"It feels like they want us to showcase, yet we cannot live our true way of life. We cannot do anything about this. Being showcased is like being exploited, turning us into a human zoo. This feeling makes Bang Kloi people reluctant to play the ternah," he explained the deep frustration caused by prolonged state oppression.
Today, Mae Yapho’s ternah sound is about to disappear after cutting deeply into listeners' hearts alongside images of a peaceful community living amid vast forests and homeland. The ancient village called 'Bang Kloi' has been burned and erased from maps, while villagers are forced to face harsh destinies. The long struggle has caused the lifestyle and culture of the indigenous community to vanish piece by piece.
Mae Yapho’s ternah sound, likewise, will soon be lost from the Bang Kloi community.