Last updated: 6 Nov 2026 | 21 Views |
At 9:20 in the morning on 6 October 2024, the fourth day of the annual vegetarian festival, the queue of worshippers waiting to bow at Hok Heng Keng Shrine in the old market quarter of Takua Pa District, Phang Nga Province, stretched all the way back to the front gate. Sea air drifted in through the wooden louvre windows, which had been opened for the first time in eleven months.
Mr. Wirat Sae-Ngow, 63, chairman of the shrine's volunteer committee — known to everyone in the market simply as Hia Rat — was standing at his usual spot by the second timber pillar, keeping the queue moving. He is the fourth generation of his family to look after this shrine, which his great-great-grandfather founded in 1934 together with eleven other tin-mining merchant families.
What he heard that morning was not the drum or the firecrackers. It was coughing.
Not a single cough, but a long, heavy run of them, followed by an audible wheeze on the way back in. Auntie Kim Hiang Sae-Lim, 78, who had come to bow at this shrine every festival since she was a young woman, was kneeling on the third prostration cushion from the left. She tried to stand and could not. Her granddaughter had to take her under both arms and walk her to the wooden bench by the wall.
Auntie Kim Hiang has had asthma since her mid-fifties, but she had always controlled it well. That day she used her rescue inhaler three times in fifteen minutes, and when she still did not improve, a rescue foundation van took her to Takua Pa Hospital at 10:05.
Four days later, on 10 October 2024, it happened again. This time it was Uncle Seng Huad Sae-Tang, 81, a retired goldsmith from the market with existing chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He finished his bows, got halfway to his feet, then sat back down on the floor because he could not catch his breath. He spent two nights in hospital.
Two cases in a single festival, at a shrine that had never seen anything like it in the forty years Hia Rat could remember.
That night, all nine committee members sat around the round table in the storeroom behind the shrine until midnight. They reached the same conclusion almost without debate. The cause was incense smoke — because it was the only thing visibly hanging in the air, and the only thing anyone could think of.
It was the most reasonable conclusion in the world, and it was wrong.
The real answer lay about fifty centimetres lower, in the thing every elder pressed their knees and their face against every single time they bowed: 148 kapok-filled prostration cushions, six large carpets in front of the main altar, and twenty-three hand-embroidered gold-thread altar cloths that had never once been cleaned below the surface in the shrine's entire ninety-one years.
In November 2024 the committee voted to spend 78,400 baht of the shrine's general fund on eight industrial extractor fans around the main hall, extra ventilation louvres above the large incense urn, and a full switch to short low-smoke incense sticks in place of the old ones.
Hia Rat says he was completely confident at the time. "I thought that was the end of it. I stood there watching the smoke get pulled out through the vents up top and I felt so relieved."
Chinese New Year fell on 29 January 2025. The shrine opened fully again and roughly 900 people came through over the course of the day. All eight fans ran at full power. The haze in the hall was visibly thinner than the year before.
And before noon, three elderly worshippers had to come out and sit on the bench by the wall because they were coughing too hard to speak. One of them had a clear wheeze. Another was a 71-year-old woman with no history of lung disease of any kind.
"I froze for about a minute," Hia Rat recalls. "Because I knew right then that I had been wrong the whole time. The smoke really was thinner. And people were still coughing exactly the same. So the smoke was not the problem."
Nattharika Sae-Ngow, 29, Hia Rat's grand-niece and a hospital pharmacist in a neighbouring province, had come home to help with the New Year preparations. She listened to her uncle complain about the fans for half an hour and then asked three questions.
First: when do the people who cough start coughing? The answer was that most of them started some time after kneeling down to bow, not on the way in through the gate.
Second: do the people who only stand and bow have symptoms? The answer was, not really. The worst cases were the ones who knelt for a long time — which meant the elderly, who pray longer and bow before every deity in the hall.
Third: when were those cushions last cleaned? The answer was that the outer covers were changed every year, and the inside of the cushions had never been touched at all. Some of them predated Hia Rat's time on the committee entirely.
Nattharika told him plainly that the pattern did not fit smoke irritation. Smoke stings the eyes and throat from the moment you walk in, and it affects everyone regardless of posture. A pattern that "starts after you bend down" and "hits hardest in the people whose faces stay near the cushion longest" is the signature of inhaling allergens knocked directly out of a textile.
On 2 February 2025, with the committee's permission, Nattharika carried the three oldest prostration cushions out to the forecourt at ten in the morning, when the sun was strong, and struck each one gently three times with a rattan beater.
What rose into the sunbeam was not a light dusting. It was a grey cloud that hung in the air for more than ten seconds. One committee member took two steps backwards without realising he had done it.
"That was the moment I understood," Hia Rat says. "I pictured Auntie Kim Hiang putting her face down into that, dozens of times a day. And I felt awful, because we had installed eight fans to suck away something that was never the problem."
The following week Nattharika took Auntie Kim Hiang to see Dr. Piyapong Watanasin, the family physician who manages her asthma. The skin prick test on 18 February 2025 was unambiguous. The wheal at the house dust mite extract site measured 12 millimetres, far larger than anything else on the panel. Incense smoke was not on the panel at all, because smoke is an irritant rather than an allergen in the immunological sense.
Dr. Piyapong later explained it to the committee in a sentence Hia Rat still quotes word for word: incense smoke can genuinely make an already twitchy airway worse, but smoke is not the trigger that pulls first. The trigger is what the patient inhales when their face is less than a hand's width from the fabric.
If you set out deliberately to design a building that maximised dust mite populations, you would end up with something that looks very much like an old Chinese shrine in a southern Thai coastal town. That was the uncomfortable thing the committee had to accept.
Hok Heng Keng Shrine is fully open just 46 days a year — nine days of the vegetarian festival, Chinese New Year, a handful of annual ceremony days, and two lightly attended worship days per lunar month. The rest of the time, all three large timber doors are shut and barred, and the louvre windows are closed tight against rain and nesting birds.
That means that for roughly 300 days a year, the 380 square metres of the main hall sit dark, still, without airflow, and with no sunlight reaching a single thread of fabric. That is precisely the damp, lightless condition dust mites need.
Takua Pa is one of the wettest districts in Thailand. Average annual relative humidity runs somewhere between 78 and 88 per cent, and through the long rainy season the figure hardly ever falls below 80.
Dust mites have no organ for drinking. They absorb moisture straight out of the air through the surface of the body. Relative humidity above roughly 60 per cent is the line beyond which their populations can grow. In Takua Pa, that line is crossed almost every day of the year without anybody doing anything at all.
During the 2024 vegetarian festival, the shrine received an average of 1,200 to 1,800 worshippers a day, and on the seventh day — the main ceremony day — the committee's count, based on the number of offering sets distributed, came to roughly 2,400 people.
A human being sheds around 1.5 grams of skin cells a day. Kneeling and bowing repeatedly on a cushion is an act of friction that drives skin cells from the knees, forehead, palms and forearms directly into the fabric, rather than onto a floor where they could be swept away.
Multiply that across nine days, then add Chinese New Year and the other worship days, and those 148 cushions receive an enormous quantity of food compressed into a short window. Then the doors close, leaving food, humidity, darkness and a steady 28 to 31 degrees Celsius alone together for the next eleven months.
Hia Rat later described it in one line: "We feed them once a year, and then we shut the door so they can grow in peace."
The shrine's prostration cushions are stuffed with traditional kapok, not synthetic foam. Kapok is a hollow natural fibre, extremely light, with an enormous number of voids between the strands. After decades of use it compresses and clumps, creating countless small cavities that make superb shelter.
The six large altar carpets, roughly 96 square metres in total, are dark red short-pile weave laid over the original terracotta tile floor since 1995. The twenty-three hand-embroidered gold-thread altar cloths include one finished in 1976 by a group of market housewives, only two of whom are still living.
All three categories are thick, dense, structurally complex fibre that has never been cleaned below the surface. Biologically speaking, that is prime real estate.
This is the cruellest part of the story. The traditional bow means kneeling, placing the palms down, and lowering the head until the face is very close to the cushion — in some postures only ten to fifteen centimetres away.
Every time knees and palms press into the cushion, the air trapped inside the fibre voids is forced out, carrying the fine particles that have accumulated inside with it. They rise as a plume at exactly face height, and the worshipper inhales them on the very next breath.
And because older devotees bow more slowly, pray longer, and complete more bows than younger visitors, they receive the highest dose of anyone in the building — while having the least respiratory reserve to absorb it.
When the committee finally sat down and gathered real numbers in March 2025, the picture was far larger than anyone expected.
The shrine has roughly 260 elderly regulars who attend every festival, of whom about 140 are over 70. When the committee secretary telephoned families one by one through March and April 2025, the results were these:
That last number was the one that hurt Hia Rat most, because it meant people who had been bound to this shrine their whole lives were slipping away without anyone noticing.
The committee totalled what had been spent on "fixing the smoke" through 2024 and early 2025:
A total of 144,200 baht in community donations, spent addressing something that was not the cause.
Hia Rat is firm about this. "I do not regret the money. Those things have their uses, and less smoke is genuinely better. What I regret is the two years the old folk had to endure while we were busy fixing the wrong thing. That is what kept me awake."
The subtler damage was to what people felt. After the 2024 incidents, several versions of the story circulated in the market. Some said the committee was neglecting its duties. Some said it was simply age. Some of the most senior members of the community suggested it might be something that worldly reasoning could not explain.
Hia Rat says the hardest part was standing in the middle of everyone's genuine concern while not yet knowing the answer himself.
"A shrine is not a building," he says. "It is where the people of this market see each other. A few times a year, that is all. The ones who moved to Phuket or Bangkok come back for exactly these days. If the old people cannot come, the children do not come home either. And in twenty years, what is left?"
The advice the committee heard most often from outsiders was "just throw out the old things and buy new ones," which is very easy to say from outside the situation.
In reality, many of those twenty-three hand-embroidered altar cloths were donated by market families and carry the donor's name and the year of donation. Several were stitched by people who have since passed away. Removing them is not a budget question; it is a question of respect toward the donors and toward the shrine's own customs, which have their own process of consultation.
The cushions are the same. Many were donated in sets to mark significant occasions, and in practical terms the craftspeople who still know how to restuff kapok cushions in the traditional way get fewer every year.
Wet washing was not an option either. Gold-thread embroidery tarnishes when wet and the aged silk thread tears. Kapok that soaks up water clumps into hard lumps, never dries evenly, and carries a very high risk of mould from the inside out — which would make everything dramatically worse.
So the committee was stuck inside what looked like an unsolvable equation: get the material out of the fabric, without water, without dismantling anything, without damaging anything, and without removing a single item from the shrine.
In fairness, the Hok Heng Keng committee had not neglected anything. They clean seriously. But everything they were doing had been designed for visible cleanliness, which is a completely different problem from allergen load inside fibre.
Before every major festival, volunteers strip the outer cushion covers, wash and press them. The cushions look new every year. But a cover is a thin sheet of cloth wrapped around the real reservoir. The mite population and its droppings sit deep inside the kapok, which this method never touches.
The traditional approach in every era has been to carry cushions outside and beat them in the sun. What actually happens is that the impact frees the accumulated particles, which disperse into the air, mostly settle back where they came from or onto the ground nearby, and are inhaled in the highest concentration by the person doing the beating.
Strong sun does heat the surface, but that heat penetrates only a few millimetres, while the fibre voids several centimetres down stay cool and damp. Most importantly, even if the mites themselves die, their droppings and body fragments — which are what actually cause the symptoms — remain in the fabric in full.
The shrine owns one small canister vacuum, used on the carpets before festivals. The trouble is that ordinary vacuums have two limitations at once.
First, the suction is not strong enough to pull particles that are clinging to fibres deep inside. It collects loose surface dust and little else.
Second, and far worse, a standard bag or basic filter cannot retain particles a few microns across. Those particles are blown back into the room through the exhaust, and because they are so light they can stay airborne for hours. This is exactly why so many people feel worse after cleaning rather than better.
This was the shrine's 114,200-baht lesson. Extractor fans and air purifiers only act on particles that are already airborne. But dust mite allergen is not permanently airborne. It lies still inside the cushions and carpets and is knocked up in bursts only when someone presses down on them.
Across a fifteen-centimetre gap between a worshipper's nose and the cushion, there is no air purifier on earth that can capture the plume before the next breath.
Someone suggested spraying the cushions and carpets. The committee nearly did it, but Nattharika caught it in time. Most sprays penetrate only the surface, and even if they performed exactly as advertised, they do not remove the accumulated droppings and fragments from the building. They leave everything in place.
The core of an allergy problem is not whether the mites are alive. It is how much symptom-triggering protein remains in the fabric. Until that is physically taken away, the load does not drop.
On top of that, spraying liquid onto nearly fifty-year-old gold-thread embroidery carries a risk of permanent damage that nobody on the committee was willing to accept.
The committee did contact carpet and upholstery cleaning shops in the provincial capital, and hit three obstacles simultaneously. One, everything would have to be taken down and transported, which conflicts with shrine custom and puts fragile antiques at real risk. Two, the process uses water and chemicals, which cannot be used on gold thread or aged kapok. Three, drying would take days in a building with year-round high humidity, creating a serious mould risk.
What the shrine needed was not washing. It was deep extraction — reaching the inner layers of the fibre without water, without dismantling anything, and capturing everything removed so that none of it returned to the air.
Dr. Piyapong explained this to the committee at their meeting on 9 March 2025, and it changed how all nine of them thought about the building.
The dust mite is an eight-legged arthropod, a distant relative of spiders and ticks, measuring just 0.1 to 0.3 millimetres. It is too small to see with the naked eye under normal conditions, and its body is translucent and colourless, so even close inspection reveals nothing.
It does not bite, does not feed on blood, and does not transmit infectious disease. That is exactly why most people underestimate it — it never harms us directly at all.
The problem is its waste. A single mite produces roughly 20 faecal pellets a day across a lifespan of two to three months — over a thousand pellets per mite. Those pellets contain digestive proteins, and when certain people inhale them, the immune system responds far more aggressively than the situation warrants.
Mite faecal pellets are roughly 10 to 40 microns across. Once disturbed, they stay airborne for about 15 to 30 minutes, sometimes longer. When mite carcasses break down through friction, the fragments get smaller still and stay aloft even longer.
The resulting conditions are familiar to almost everyone: allergic rhinitis and general allergy, inflamed nasal membranes, allergic conjunctivitis, itchy rashes and dermatitis, chronic headaches, and — in anyone with an already hyper-reactive airway — asthma attacks. That last category is precisely what happened to Auntie Kim Hiang and Uncle Seng Huad. The World Health Organization notes that asthma is among the most common chronic respiratory diseases and that reducing exposure to environmental triggers is a key part of managing it (see the WHO fact sheet on asthma).
A female dust mite lays roughly 40 to 80 eggs in her lifetime, and under favourable conditions an egg reaches adulthood in three to four weeks. That means a population can multiply many times over in three months provided food and humidity hold out.
In a shrine sealed for eleven months, with a huge food delivery two or three times a year, that cycle runs continuously with nothing to interrupt it.
Thailand's tropical climate supplies both critical factors all year: average temperatures between 25 and 32 degrees Celsius, and relative humidity that usually stays above 65 per cent.
In temperate regions like northern Europe, a dry winter cuts mite populations back naturally every year — a reset that Thailand simply does not get. Here, mite populations in textiles that are never deep-cleaned only climb, year after year.
And on the Andaman coast, in a district like Takua Pa where humidity stays high for most of the calendar, conditions are even more favourable than the national average.
The three conditions a dust mite needs are damp air, no light, and fibre to grip. In an ordinary home, that means mattresses, pillows, sofas, carpets and curtains. In an old shrine, it means kapok prostration cushions, upholstered wooden benches, altar carpets, table cloths, hanging decorative banners, and ceremonial textiles stored in sealed wooden cabinets all year.
When the committee listed everything, they counted more than 200 individual textile items in the building that met all three conditions.
Nattharika did the research. She set the brief clearly from the start, based on the shrine's constraints: it had to be an on-site service, with no dismantling, no soaking of fabric, no risk to antiques, and provable removal of material from the building rather than simply relocating it.
What she found was the dust mite removal service with mattress, sofa, carpet and curtain deep cleaning plus complete disinfection from World Health Disinfection Co., Ltd. — the first company in Thailand to offer this kind of service.
One: everything is done on site, in place. The team brings the equipment to the object. Cushions are not carried anywhere. Altar cloths are not lifted off the tables. Curtains and hanging banners are treated without being taken down from their rails. This was the committee's single highest priority.
Two: it extracts rather than sprays. The core process uses high suction to pull dust, mite droppings, mite fragments, fibre debris and allergens out of the inner layers of the textile and physically remove them from the building. Nothing is left behind.
Three: everything captured is trapped in water. This was the point that decided it. The shrine's central problem was fine particles rising and being inhaled, so a machine that traps everything in water rather than blowing it back matched their concern precisely.
Four: it covers every category of textile in one visit — mattresses, sofas, carpets and curtains, which in a shrine context translates to prostration cushions, upholstered benches, altar carpets, and all the cloths and hanging textiles.
Five: optional disinfection spraying covering viruses, bacteria and fungi, which matters enormously in a sealed building with year-round high humidity.
Hia Rat admits he hesitated for a long time. "What frightened me most was damage. Some of these pieces were donated when I was a child. If something tore in my hands, I would not know who to answer to," he says. "It was only after the team came to survey the site first and explained exactly what they would do where, and which head they would use on the embroidery, that I could relax."
The committee voted unanimously on 21 July 2025 and booked the service for early August — about ten weeks before the 2025 vegetarian festival.
At the heart of the service is the SIRENA System, which is not a vacuum cleaner in the sense most people understand the term.
The machine is designed in Canada and driven by a 1200-watt cyclonic motor manufactured in Italy. That level of suction is what it takes to pull particles clinging to fibres deep inside kapok cushions that have been compressing and clumping for decades.
The key difference is that a domestic vacuum works on loose surface dust, while most dust mite allergen is not loose at all. It adheres to the fibre with real force and needs sufficient suction before it will let go.
Instead of collecting dust in a paper bag or a dry plastic canister, SIRENA passes all the intake air through water. The principle is simple: particles that enter the water get wet and sink, and cannot travel back out through the exhaust.
The result is that dust and allergens are trapped in the water 100 per cent and never blow back into the room — which spoke directly to a shrine that had spent two years fighting exactly the problem of things coming back.
An unexpected benefit was that the water became visible evidence. After only the first twelve cushions, the tank had gone from clear to thick grey-brown, full of fibre debris and fine sediment.
After the water stage, the air passes through a HEPA element before leaving the machine. The combined system filters down to 0.02 microns — hundreds of times smaller than a mite faecal pellet, and fine enough to handle broken-down mite fragments and the small fungal spores commonly found in sealed old buildings.
The stated performance is removal of up to 99.99 per cent of allergens.
The SIRENA machine is certified by the Asthma Society of Canada, and also carries TUV Rheinland certification, Certified Vacuums accreditation, Dust Mite Proof certification, and Go Green / Eco Friendly standards.
For a committee making a decision on behalf of 260 elderly worshippers, a certification issued by a national asthma organisation carried more weight in the meeting than any marketing claim could have.
For surfaces that can safely take deep washing — such as the synthetic-fibre altar carpets — the team adds the MASTER VACUUM, which is built specifically for deep cleaning mattresses, sofas and carpets.
Critically, every material is assessed first. Antique, fragile or gold-embroidered items receive dry extraction only, with an appropriate head and reduced suction, and no water goes anywhere near them. That was the shrine's condition from day one.
Work started at 08:00 on 4 August 2025 and took two and a half days. Eight committee members took turns observing throughout. Hia Rat was present for every hour of it.
The team surveyed in advance in late July, walking the building point by point with the committee and sorting textiles into three groups: items that could receive the full process, items requiring special care, and fragile antiques that would receive dry extraction at reduced suction only. A written summary was signed off by the committee before any work began.
The shrine gave five days' public notice. The committee performed the customary rites before work commenced, and the team waited until those were complete before entering. All equipment was positioned as agreed, and protective sheeting was laid over the original terracotta floor.
This was the main task and took the longest. Each cushion was treated individually with the SIRENA System on the top, the underside and all four sides. Average time was four to six minutes per cushion; the oldest took nine. The team changed the filter water fourteen times on the cushions alone.
Worked square metre by square metre. Dry extraction with SIRENA first to remove the accumulated layer, then deep washing with MASTER VACUUM in the areas assessed as suitable, with drying time scheduled to finish well before the next worship day.
The most delicate part. All twenty-three gold-embroidered cloths were treated in place; not one was lifted off its table. A specialised head with reduced suction was used in short passes, section by section, with a committee member standing alongside throughout. The high-hung decorative banners and the long curtains were treated without being taken down from their rails.
After extraction was complete, disinfection spraying covered viruses, bacteria and fungi, concentrating on high-touch surfaces: timber rails, incense holders, donation boxes, door leaves and the surfaces around the altar. This matters a great deal in a building touched by several thousand people over a handful of days.
The team debriefed the committee and recommended a maintenance rhythm suited to a building used in bursts: treat before each major festival rather than following a fixed calendar. The committee later wrote that recommendation into the shrine's standing rules.
Asked which moment stayed with him, Hia Rat names the seventh tank of water. "That was the front row of cushions, the ones the old people always use. I looked at that water and I just stood there for a long time. I thought about Auntie Kim Hiang. And then I thought about myself, standing in this spot every year and never knowing."
| Method | Reaches deep fibre layers | Removes allergen from the building | Risk to antiques | Overall result |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Changing outer covers annually | No, outer cloth only | Only what sits on the cover | Low | Worth continuing, but not enough |
| Beating cushions in the sun | No, heat reaches a few millimetres | No, it disperses then resettles | High, old fabric tears | The person beating inhales the most |
| Ordinary household vacuum | Shallow, insufficient suction | No, may exhaust it back out | Medium | Risks worsening air in the hall |
| Extractor fans and air purifiers | No, they act on air only | No, the reservoir stays intact | Low | Helps with smoke, ignores the cause |
| Anti-mite sprays | Shallow, surface penetration | No, residue stays in place | High on gold embroidery | Allergen load does not fall |
| Sending items to a cleaning shop | Partially | Yes, but items must leave the shrine | Very high, dismantling plus water | Not viable for antiques or kapok |
| Replacing everything with new | A temporary reset | No, it reaccumulates quickly | Conflicts with custom and donations | Very costly and cycles back |
| WHD dust mite removal service (SIRENA) | Yes, 1200W motor pulls from deep fibre | Yes, trapped in water 100% and taken away | Low, no dismantling, no water on fragile items | Up to 99.99% allergen removal |
Incense smoke is a genuine irritant that can worsen an already reactive airway, so good ventilation is worth having. But smoke and allergen work through different mechanisms. The distinguishing sign is timing: smoke symptoms usually start the moment you walk in and affect many people at once, while allergen symptoms typically start after bending down close to a textile and hit hardest in the sensitised. At this shrine, eight fans genuinely reduced the smoke and did not reduce the coughing at all. That was the answer.
This is the belief that is most exactly backwards. Being sealed means no airflow, no sunlight, and no route for humidity to escape — all three of the conditions dust mites require. A long-closed building is not a safe building; it is a building where accumulation proceeds quietly with nobody watching.
Visible cleanliness and allergen load in fibre are entirely different things. A cushion with a freshly laundered, neatly pressed cover can hold an extremely high load in the kapok beneath, because what you can see is the outer cloth and not what sits five centimetres down.
The Hok Heng Keng committee discussed this more seriously than anything else, and their conclusion was that keeping the shrine's objects in good condition and safe for the people who come to bow is part of respect, not a departure from it. So they performed the customary rites before work began, kept a committee member present at all times, and defined clearly in advance what could be treated and what was not to be touched. Other religious institutions can adopt the same framework.
Thai sun is hot enough to kill mites near the surface, but that heat reaches only a few millimetres into a thick cushion. More importantly, even if every mite died, the droppings and fragments that actually cause symptoms remain in the fabric in full — and beating the cushion to shift them simply disperses them over whoever is standing there.
Dust mite removal cuts the allergen load dramatically and immediately, but as long as people keep coming to bow and the building stays humid, accumulation restarts naturally. For a building used in bursts, the right rhythm is to treat before each major festival, which matches actual usage far better than a fixed calendar.
People who are not allergic inhale exactly the same quantity; their bodies simply do not react strongly enough to notice. In a shrine, the people who are not allergic tend to be the younger visitors who bow quickly and leave, while the elderly — who stay longest and have the least respiratory reserve — take the full impact. A committee's decision therefore has to be made from the perspective of the most vulnerable group, not from its own.
"I have been the shrine's treasurer for eleven years, and I was the loudest objector at the start. I said it straight out in the meeting: we have just spent over a hundred thousand baht on fans, and now you want to spend more?
What changed my mind was the day Hia Rat's grand-niece took three cushions out and beat them in the sun for us. I was standing about three metres away and I sneezed seven times in a row. I stopped arguing right there.
On the day the team came, I sat at the main altar table the whole time, because my mother was one of the women who embroidered that cloth back in 1976. I told the young man honestly that if a single thread broke I would cry. He showed me which head he would use, tested it on a small corner where nothing shows, and then worked section by section. When it was finished, every thread was still there.
What I will never forget is the water tanks. I photographed every one of them and showed the pictures at the annual general meeting. Not one person asked about the money after that.
This year the festival ran the full nine days and nobody had to get into a rescue van. I watched Auntie Kim Hiang finish her whole round of bows and walk out on her own. That was the moment I knew we had decided correctly."
— Ms. Sukanya Sae-Lim, Treasurer, volunteer committee of an old-market shrine, Takua Pa District, Phang Nga
21 October 2025 was the first day of that year's vegetarian festival. All three great timber doors of Hok Heng Keng Shrine were opened at five in the morning, exactly as they have been every year for ninety-one years.
Hia Rat stood by the second timber pillar, the spot he has occupied for twenty years.
What was different was that across all nine days, he never once heard those long runs of coughing. No rescue van parked at the gate. Nobody had to be helped out to the bench by the wall.
On the main ceremony day, Auntie Kim Hiang arrived at seven in the morning. She is 79 now, and her granddaughter still walks in with her. But this time she completed her full round of bows as she had intended, took about forty minutes over it, and walked out of the hall on her own.
"She came and told me at the door that she had breathed easier this year than any year she could remember," Hia Rat says. "I nodded and then I walked off in the other direction, because I did not want her to see my face."
He paused before continuing.
"What I want to say to anyone else looking after a shrine or a temple is this. We all take good care of our things already. We sweep, we polish the brass, we put on new cloth, we do everything the eye can see. But there is something the eye cannot see, and it happens to land on the old people who kneel the longest — which is to say, the most devoted people we have. That is the part I think we all need to fix quickly."
He added one more line that his committee has quoted repeatedly since.
"This shrine has lasted ninety-one years because people come. If people cannot come, the shrine cannot last. Looking after the cushions and the carpets is looking after the people, and looking after the people is looking after the shrine. It is all the same thing."
Today the volunteer committee of Hok Heng Keng Shrine has written dust mite removal into its standing rules, scheduled before the vegetarian festival and before Chinese New Year each year, alongside the timber inspection and electrical servicing they already carry out. Three shrines in neighbouring districts have asked to come and see how it was done, after the story spread through the community's messaging groups.
What separates this from hiring a general cleaning crew is that it all completes in a single round: dust mite extraction with the SIRENA System, deep washing with MASTER VACUUM where the material allows, and optional disinfection spraying covering viruses, bacteria and fungi. No coordinating multiple contractors, no multiple appointments — which matters enormously for a site with a narrow window of available working days.
After the service, you also receive products that genuinely help with maintenance between rounds.
For hard surfaces, timber joints and carved recesses that are hard to reach in an old building, the Stemar steam machine can be considered as a supplement where the material allows, with the team assessing suitability first.
For background on indoor air and health, see the World Health Organization's material on household air pollution and health and the guidance published by Thailand's Department of Disease Control.
Do not wait until someone has to be helped out of the hall, as they were at Hok Heng Keng. Have the team come and assess and treat the source on site — cushions, carpets, mattresses, sofas and curtains — with no dismantling, complete in a single visit.
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World Health Disinfection Co., Ltd.
88/268 Kanlapaphruek Road, Bang Khae, Bang Khae District, Bangkok 10160
No. The service is performed on site, in place. Cushions do not need to be transported, altar cloths do not need to be lifted off their tables, and high-hung banners and curtains are treated without being taken down from their rails. That dramatically reduces the risk to fragile heritage and donated items. The team always surveys first and agrees a written scope with the committee before starting.
Every item is assessed beforehand, and fragile antiques are placed in a category that receives dry extraction only, with an appropriate head and reduced suction, and no water or chemicals anywhere near them. If a committee is especially concerned, the team can demonstrate on a small, inconspicuous area first, so that the decision to continue is made together.
Yes. Those devices act only on particles that are already airborne, which helps with incense smoke. But dust mite allergen lies still inside cushions and carpets and is only knocked into the air when someone presses down on them. Across the ten to fifteen centimetres between a worshipper's face and the cushion, no air purifier can capture the plume before the next breath. The only method that works is physically removing the allergen from the fabric.
The SIRENA System is designed in Canada and uses a 1200-watt Italian cyclonic motor combined with water filtration and a HEPA element that filters down to 0.02 microns. Dust and allergens drawn in are trapped in the water 100 per cent and never blow back into the room, unlike ordinary vacuums which typically exhaust the finest particles straight back out — the reason many people feel worse after cleaning. SIRENA is also certified by the Asthma Society of Canada and carries TUV Rheinland certification.
Follow actual usage rather than the calendar: treat before each major festival, for example before the vegetarian festival and before Chinese New Year. The periods with the largest crowds are when accumulation is greatest and when elderly worshippers have the most exposure. For homes with an allergy or asthma sufferer, every four to six months is the usual recommendation. The team will assess and advise a suitable cycle on the day of service.
It depends on the volume of textiles and the size of the space. For a shrine with nearly 150 prostration cushions, close to 100 square metres of carpet and more than twenty altar cloths, it took about two and a half days. The team can work zone by zone and hand areas back in sequence. Dust mite extraction areas can be used again immediately once complete; deep-washed areas carry a drying-time recommendation, and the schedule is provided in advance so the committee can plan around it.
Send this to the shrine, temple or foundation committee that looks after the elders in your community
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