This week, I would have loved to celebrate the end of the rainy season in Ayutthaya, my favorite city in Thailand. The festival the Thais call Loy Krathong fell this year on November 6, when the full moon cast its reflection on the rivers and rice fields surrounding the city.
Ayutthaya lies a couple of hours’ drive north of Bangkok, on the banks of the Chao Phraya, the country’s most vital waterway. For centuries it was the nation’s capital, until it gradually yielded that role to Bangkok. This year’s celebrations were somewhat subdued due to the passing of Queen Sirikit, yet the Thais — some seventy million of them — still took the opportunity to perform their annual rituals.
Loy Krathong literally means “to float a basket.” The basket may take the form of a tiny boat, or more commonly, a banana-leaf cradle decorated with flowers, incense, and a flickering candle. Each family makes its own and lets it drift away in silence. The act symbolizes gratitude, purification, and renewal.
The more environmentally conscious also ask forgiveness from the goddess of water for the harm they have caused her. The truth is uncomfortable: the rivers of Thailand — and much of Southeast Asia — are more polluted than ever before. For centuries they have nourished the people with fish, life, and fertility. Will they do so forever? Experts say no — not if they continue to be filled with chemicals, plastics, and sewage.
The ongoing climate shift adds another layer of unease. In recent decades, weather patterns across this part of Asia have changed dramatically. The seasons once followed a clear rhythm. Now the dry season grows longer, and the rainy season shorter and more violent. This poses enormous problems for farmers, who depend on stability and predictability.
Under such conditions, traditions evolve alongside the crisis. Where Loy Krathong once centered on personal forgiveness, it now reflects a broader sense of responsibility. Asking the goddess of water for mercy makes little sense if humanity keeps poisoning her rivers. Many monks and teachers therefore speak of the karma of greed — how humanity’s endless desire for growth and prosperity creates an imbalance that returns as floods, droughts, and extreme heat.
These festivals share a common belief in water’s dual nature: it gives life, but can also take it away. In many countries this realization has gained renewed weight. In Cambodia, the water festival Bon Om Touk is often postponed because of low river levels. In Laos, many villagers can no longer send their candles floating because the riverbeds have dried up. Even mighty Mekong, the artery binding the region together, is struggling. The dams in China and Laos have altered its flow and depleted its fish stocks.
In Vietnam, saltwater threatens the rice paddies of the low-lying Mekong Delta. Global warming has raised sea levels, putting millions of livelihoods at risk. Bangladesh and Myanmar, with their vast deltas, face the same fate. In Thailand, the changes are felt most acutely in Bangkok. The city is slowly sinking as the sea continues to rise. Many scientists fear that parts of it could be underwater within a few decades. The old nickname “the Venice of the East” no longer sounds romantic — it has become a warning of a looming disaster.
In India, the smog hangs over the Diwali festival like a lid, and the smoke from fireworks deepens the pollution. The ancient celebrations that once honored nature’s gifts now unfold in landscapes where nature itself struggles to survive.
Both Buddhist and Hindu philosophies ascribe to water a profound spiritual significance. Water is not merely a physical substance, but an expression of life’s rhythm, renewal, and purity. In both traditions, respect for water is inseparable from the ideal of balance and moral responsibility toward nature.
In Hindu thought, water is sacred and life-giving — a force connecting humanity with the cosmos. As early as the Rigveda (ca. 1500 BCE), water was described as a divine gift: “Water is the mother of all life. In water all life finds its strength.” Rivers are seen as living beings, often bearing female divine names. Most revered of all is Ganga, the river goddess who purifies both body and soul. To bathe in the Ganges is thus to seek spiritual cleansing and liberation.
In Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Myanmar, Buddhism reigns almost alone. It shares much of the same reverence for nature, but gives it a deeper ethical dimension. Water is not a deity, but a symbol of mental purity and balance. In many sutras (sacred texts), the mind is compared to water: a calm mind is like a clear lake in which truth is mirrored; an agitated mind is the opposite — restless and opaque.
Though Hinduism and Buddhism perceive water differently, they converge on a central idea: that nature and humanity are inseparable. Both teach that the world does not belong to humankind; rather, humankind belongs to the greater cycle of energy and life. Water represents this eternal cycle — it flows, evaporates, returns as rain, and gives life anew.
In modern times, Buddhist and Hindu thinkers alike have drawn upon their traditions to defend the environment. The Indian eco-philosopher Vandana Shiva writes that Hinduism’s view of nature offers an ethical framework for sustainability: “When we worship the river as a goddess, we cannot poison her.”
Yet much of what happens in this region of Asia shows how noble spiritual ideals are too often overwhelmed by harsh reality. Across Buddhist Southeast Asia, thousands of statues of the Buddha shine serenely in the landscape — but they do not prevent violence or political oppression.
Over the years, I have witnessed many Loy Krathong festivals in Thailand. It always takes place under the full moon — more precisely, under the twelfth full moon of the Thai lunar calendar. The atmosphere is magical, for the gentle lunar light seems to touch everyone’s mood.
But the day after, the cleanup begins. In earlier times, the krathongs were made entirely from natural, biodegradable materials. In the 1980s, however, many producers began using plastic, styrofoam, and synthetics. At the height of the pollution problem, authorities in Bangkok collected nearly one million discarded krathongs in the days following the festival.
Today, almost all are made from biodegradable materials again.
Thankfully.
