The size of the compound couldn’t be assessed from outside. The translator and I wondered around the blinding white wall. There was a red marble plaque imposed like a huge blood clot on the whiteness: “Neak Okhna IM BROS” was spelled out in gold letters; either side were etchings of Tevodas – Cambodian angels – scattering metaphorical flowers.
Okhna Im Bros (“Okhna” is an honorific meaning “excellency”) is the most powerful Kru Khmer in Cambodia. “Kru Khmer” is a catch-all term for spirit mediums, herbalists and hocus-pocus merchants that lurk on the outskirts of the Cambodian imagination.
Im Bros is a spirit medium, fortune teller and healer to the Cambodian elite. He counts royalty, governors and army generals among his clients. Even legendary monarch Norodom Sihanouk had his fortune told by this master soothsayer.
Im Bros was striding around an echoing hall, the entire back end of which was taken up by an alter brimming with Buddhas, grinning Angkorian kings and Brahmic deities with swarming arms. On the floor were a number of silver trays containing offerings of fruit, candles and $100 bills.
Im Bros wore a single white waistcloth revealing a web of magical tattoos that covered his chest and arms. He greeted us with a traditional sampeah gesture, pressing his palms together. The translator couldn’t bow low enough; he’d never met someone of such high status before. Indeed, he only agreed to the job after being assured a number of times that we were definitely expected by the shaman.
The walls were covered in dozens of framed photographs hung haphazardly like a drunken man’s stamp collection. Most were of Im Bros meeting dignitaries and officials. It was these photos he turned to first.
He talked in a confident patter. “I paid $100,000 for this school,” he said, pointing to one photo,“ and $1.5 million for this hospital.” The translator was so overcome with humility he could barely render the tycoon’s words in English. “This is why I’m Okhna; this is why I’m respected,” Im Bros repeated throughout the monologue.
After listing his achievements he moved on to a section of the wall where the photos were faded. One showed a fierce teenager wearing a head scarf and brandishing a machete. “This is me when I first became a Kru Khmer,” he said. “I was 14 years old.”
“I joined the army when I was 15,” he continued, pointing to the next photo showing the same young man in combat gear. “I became known as ‘the young trooper Kru Khmer’ because the spirits allowed me to heal injured soldiers with magic water.”
Im Bros was a fighter in the Khmer People’s National Liberation Armed Forces – an anti-communist militia opposed to the Vietnamese-backed government of the ‘80s. They were loyal to Son Sann, a former Prime Minister under Prince Norodom Sihanouk. Im Bros was a skilled army man. “Eventually, I led a task force of 75 soldiers,” he said.
After a Vietnamese offensive in 1985 caused the KPNLAF severe losses, Im Bros scarpered and headed for Phnom Penh. Tales of the “young trooper Kru Khmer” had by then reached the newly appointed Prime Minister Hun Sen, who was recruiting the country’s best young talent to be part of his inner circle.
“I met Hun Sen in 1985,” Im Bros said. “Even then he recognised that I was not only a powerful Kru Khmer but I had a heart for developing Cambodia.”
Im Bros immediately started donating to help fund Hun Sen’s political and developmental efforts. In return, he became friends with the PM and first lady, Bun Rany.
“Hun Sen said I was the best Kru Khmer in Cambodia,” Im Bros said, pointing to a number of pictures of him with the first couple. When probed about the details of his private sessions with the PM, Im Bros declined to comment.
It’s likely, however, that if Hun Sen does seek Im Bros’ advice, it would be to locate auspicious dates on which to hold important meetings or to petition Cambodia’s powerful ancestor spirits for help. “I leave my body and the ancestor spirits take over,” Im Bros explained. “When I return I don’t remember anything; only the client hears their message.”
Im Bros also practices traditional medicine. “I make herbal tinctures to treat chronic disease such as diabetes, heart disease and high cholesterol,” he said. “Most of my clients see a doctor, but when modern medicine doesn’t suffice they come to me.”
Purveyors of ancient remedies, like Im Bros, have long learned not to tackle scientific medicine head on; instead they occupy conceptual fringes, just beyond the last outposts of quantum theory. There they set up colourful stalls under the banner of “complementary therapy.”
The shaman rustled through some correspondence and produced an x-ray of a fractured shin bone. “When people come and see me with a complaint I often send them to the hospital to get tested,” he said. “This person wouldn’t have known they had a fractured shin-bone if I hadn’t sent them to the hospital.”
“When the doctors made a cast I had them add some of my tincture to the mixture,” he said. He produced a second X-ray showing a restored shinbone. “This was the result one week later,” he said and grinned.
Im Bros was at pains to separate his practice from what he called the “ignorant superstition” of countryside folk. It is a problem in Cambodia that results, on average, with the slaying of four so-called sorcerers every year. Indeed, in April 2014, a mob of 600 people savagely stoned an alleged sorcerer to death.
“This is pure cruelty,” Im Bros said, shaking his head. “People spread rumours of sorcery because of some personal vendetta. If a person really is a sorcerer then arrest him and let him be brought to trial.”
Cambodian law doesn’t recognise sorcery as a crime. “The law should be changed,” Im Bros continued. “This would allow people who have been accused to defend themselves in court and not fall victim to mob rule.”
Sometimes rumours can swell and burst into New Testament-esque scenes like the one I witnessed last year when reporting on a 2-year-old boy who was claimed to have healing powers.
“I can’t comment on the powers of any other Kru Khmer,” said Im Bros when asked about the event, which attracted more than 4,000 people to a nearby village. “However, I know you must train for many years to become a powerful healer.” He became animated, gesticulating left and right. “How rich did that family become charging people to see the magic boy? It’s merely business and not true magic.”
As if to demonstrate his authenticity, Im Bros whirled back to his files and pulled out a bamboo cylinder. Inside was a piece of red cloth covered with faded symbols and Sanskrit incantations. “My grandfather gave me this before the war,” he said. “He was also a Kru Khmer.”
The shaman laid the cloth carefully on the tiled floor in between trays of offerings. “These are spells to bless people with health and good luck,” he said, pointing to the tantric inscriptions. “I have tattooed some of them on my body because these scrolls are too rare to risk taking with me when I travel.”
Looking from the ancient spells to the trays stacked with offerings, it was clear that being Cambodia’s most famous Kru Khmer was a job with many perks. “I don’t charge a flat fee,” he said. “Clients pay what they like. And because Kru Khmer is not listed as an occupation by the state, all the cash is tax-free.”
The next family of well-heeled clientele entered and began bowing. The translator tugged at my arm. “We should go, these are important people,” he said.
Before leaving, I bowed in front of the alter and left a cash donation. If there’s one thing Cambodians love, it’s their religion. Their weird, haunted religion.
Im Bros nodded approvingly. “Thank you for coming, and I entreat you to write only the truth; don’t make things up like some journalists,” he said. I glanced from my scrawled notes to the sycophantic translator – a certain amount of poetic license might be needed to lash all this together. Would an accidental untruth – a mistranslation perhaps – result in horrible misfortune?
The magic man grinned. “Always tell the truth,” he said, “and nothing bad will happen.”