The Legend of Luang Phor Wat Rai Khing
Wat Rai Khing • Sam Phran District • Nakhon Pathom Province
The story of Luang Phor Wat Rai Khing is woven from river mist and temple bells—a legend of five sacred Buddha images said to have floated along the Nakhon Chai Si River, appearing when hearts were heavy and relief was needed. The final image, carried by the current and welcomed by villagers, came to rest at Wat Rai Khing in Sam Phran. From that day forward, the community knew it as Luang Phor Wat Rai Khing, a presence of calm that anchored local faith.
History adds its own thread. During the time of Somdet Phra Buddhacarya (Phuk)—later the Supreme Patriarch—he visited the monastery and observed that the ordination hall was generous in size while its principal image was modest. He offered a solution from his own temple, Wat Sala Poon Worawihan in Ayutthaya: a dignified bronze image in the Mara-Vijaya attitude. The abbot and committee brought it home by bamboo raft, guiding it from the Chao Phraya into the Nakhon Chai Si, and enshrined it with ceremony. From then on, the image was proclaimed the new principal Buddha of the monastery.
Described by devotees as a blend of Chiang Saen, Sukhothai, and early Rattanakosin artistry, the statue sits with a lap width of about four cubits and two inches and a height of four cubits and sixteen inches. The form is firm and serene—bronze, weathered by devotion, brightened by gold leaf and prayer.
The day of enshrinement is remembered for its sudden shift in weather. On the full moon of the fifth lunar month, during Songkran, a fierce sun pressed down on the procession. Midway, the sky darkened; thunder rolled; rain fell hard and generous. For local people, it was a sign—Luang Phor brings coolness and relief, the same way rain returns life to the fields.
Over the years, the reputation of protection and healing has grown through lived experience. Families speak of narrow escapes and recoveries that arrived after a vow or a whispered plea. One tale recalls a farmer struck by lightning who survived while wearing a Rai Khing medallion; another tells of a woman abroad who dreamt of the image and recovered from lingering numbness—returning gratitude with a donation to the monastery’s hospital. Whether taken as miracle or moral reminder, these stories guard the same teaching: keep virtue, keep faith, keep gratitude.
The monastery is also known for its holy water. People bring it home for fevers, headaches, and the small storms of daily life. To meet demand safely, the temple bottles it for devotees—less a relic than a reminder to steady the mind, do good, and wish well for others.
On weekends and holy days, the grounds fill with those who come to make offerings, seek blessings, and fulfill vows—firecrackers crackle in thanks, and kites are offered in a custom beloved by locals. There are rules of conscience, too: Luang Phor is not to be invoked to shirk civic duties such as conscription—faith walks hand in hand with responsibility.
Yearly observances keep the rhythm: Tak Bat Devo on the fifteenth waxing day of the eleventh lunar month; the Chinese New Year festival when the Chinese-Thai community gathers to pray and apply gold leaf; and the Annual Gilding Festival from the thirteenth waxing to the third waning day of the fifth lunar month. Each festival is a shared act of merit-making, a way of keeping the legend alive in practice. In the end, Luang Phor Wat Rai Khing is more than a statue. He is the habit of goodness a community keeps—compassion made visible, rain after heat, faith that steadies the river of days.