of respect that were in vogue prior to the annexation. Native
Christians are exempt from all customs which savour of Buddhism.
The idol and the priest alike represent Gautama, the only god the
Buddhist knows. The attitude of the Burman mind may be illustrated
by what a Burman Christian boy told me of his experience when he
visited his native village. In response to an invitation he went to
see the old priest, who had known him as a child. The priest was held
in honour both by virtue of office, and his advanced age. The young
Christian went through the customary prostrations respectfully, and
then said, "I do not shikko you as God, but because I do not know of
any other way to show my respect." The heathen Burman is in the same
difficulty when he appears in the presence of a foreigner whom he
wishes to honour.
This Oriental mode of showing reverence, not necessarily worship,
throws light on the word "worship," so often used by Matthew.
The Burman is a religious animal, both terms emphasized. He has
many religious festivals, and every festival is a feast. The
casual observer would see but little difference between the street
processions of weddings and funerals. There are the same tom-toms,
the same grotesque dancing, the same stuffing of insatiable stomachs.
Among Chins and Kachins such occasions are scenes of drunkenness
and disorder. Not so among the Burmans. Many have contracted the
drink habit by contact with Europeans, but the use of intoxicants
has not yet become a national vice. The Burman attends all feasts
and festivals because it is unchangeable custom to do so; because
everybody else will be there, and he enjoys being in a crowd; because
it gives him an excuse for abstaining from work, which he does not
enjoy; because he can array himself in his best silk skirt and
gaung-baung, and will find all the ladies there similarly arrayed; and
most of all because whatever the occasion, it will be a feast. During
the rainy season, which coincides with "Buddhist Lent" no feasts or
festivals are held.
Funerals cannot always be postponed, especially as there is much
sickness in the rainy season, but weddings are prohibited. Courting
may be indulged in on the sly, to shorten the process when Lent is
over.
At the beginning of Lent there is a great festival, entered into with
enthusiasm because it will be the last for several months. At the end
of Lent there is another great festival, hilariously enjoyed because
the dull rainy Lenton period with its round of Duty-days without the
craved accompaniments is over at last. Even the priests enjoy it, for
presents to the monasteries, which had fallen off during Lent, will
now be renewed. The young are again free to pair. The whole town is
illuminated. Fire-balloons are sent up, with reckless disregard to
safety of their houses. All are bent on having a good time. It is a
religious festival, to be sure, each separate observance being in
honour of some _nat_ or divinity--but there will be time enough to
meditate on all that afterwards. For the present it is a round of
picnic enjoyment.
The Burman era began in 639 A. D. The New Year begins in
April.
The month is reckoned from midway between two full moons. Any Burman
can readily give you the date, according to the Burman system, but
very few have mastered the European calendar. The date is given as
so many days before or after the full of the moon. The New Year is
always celebrated by the "Water-feast." Offerings of pots of water
are taken to the monasteries, the images of Gautama given their
annual washing down, and then the show begins. Boisterous young men
arm themselves with buckets or chatties of water, frolicsome damsels
with cups, and the boys with bamboo squirt-guns, each and all bent on
douching everybody else. By some means or other everybody gets his
share. He would feel slighted if he did not receive a due share of
liquid attention. The use of water at the beginning of the year has
a religious significance,--but let the priest and the pious attend
to that. The young folks are in for a jolly good time, and they get
it. At the beginning of November there is another feast in honour of
the time when Gautama Buddha made a visit to the celestial regions
to preach to his mother. Then on the full moon of November another
feast in honour of the time when Gautama became a Buddha under the
bawdee-tree. Lesser feasts occur at intervals until Lent begins
again. What with all the religious feasts, the weddings, ear-borings,
funerals, etc., etc., the Burman suffers no lack of enjoyment. He
manages to get some fun out of everything, the funeral being no
exception. He will dance and sing on the way to the cemetery, and race
bullock-carts on the way home. The funeral of a priest often resolves
itself into a tug of war. Two stout ropes are attached to each end
of the four-wheeled cart on which the casket has been placed. The
crowd divides itself into two parties, the ropes are seized, and
the struggle begins. Up the street the cart is dragged with a great
hurrah, until reinforcements strengthen the opposing party, then the
cart takes a lurch in the other direction, its lofty spire swaying
in a threatening manner. Back and forth goes the cart, the exciting
contest sometimes lasting for hours. Merit is gained by drawing the
pongyis' remains to the funeral pyre. Of course the pyre-ward side
must ultimately win, or there would be no cremation.
[Illustration: DANCING GIRLS]
The rope-pull is sometimes resorted to in much the same manner to
break a prolonged drought. Whether successful or not, as rain-makers,
they have the sport. Is the Burman lazy? He certainly has that
reputation, and I never heard it disputed by employers of Burman
labour. His services would be better appreciated were he as punctual
at the beginning of the day as he is at its close, and as diligent
in the use of his tools as he is in keeping his cheroot lighted. He
must have some credit for hard work to leave so many things undone.
At "turning off work" he has no superior. He invariably turns off
all the work he can,--and does the rest. And yet when one reflects
that outside of the delta nearly all of the hard work of cultivation
in the plains is done by Burmans one feels compelled to reconsider
his verdict as to the Burman's capacity for work. No man can tell
by a Burman's clothing whether he is rich or poor. All that a man
hath will he give for a silk skirt. In "the good old times" when the
king's will was law subordinate officials made demands for money
wherever appearances indicated that money existed, to make up the
amount of revenue called for. It was then good policy to dress below
one's ability rather than above it, or one might find himself in an
embarrassing situation. Moreover, certain material, style of cut,
etc., was reserved for royal blood. But when the king fell, and the
Burman found that the conqueror's method of raising revenue was by
equitable taxation, royal customs went to the winds. Young men and
maidens, and even the middle-aged blossomed out in gaudy array on
festive occasions, though there might not be a pice of loose change
to back it. Of all the races of Burma the Burmese are the cleanliest
and dressiest. The costume of nearly all races, at its best, is fairly
respectable and suited to their manner of life,--if they would only
keep it clean and keep it on. When one is about to die the friends
say, "Think not of friends or of property,--think only of God." This
sounds hopeful, but it is well known that these spiritual advisers
have in mind only the brazen image of Gautama, found in every village,
the only god they know.
When a death occurs the pongyis are invited to the house, not to
console the living, but to perform certain rites on behalf of the dead.
First a priest repeats a formula something like this, "He worships
God; he worships the law; he worships the clergy," friends assuming
the attitude of worship as substitutes for the deceased. The priest
continues--"He kills not, steals not, commits no offense against
his neighbour's wife; lies not; drinks not. He has all his life
been careful about these things." The formula ended, one of the
friends drops water from a gurglet or cocoanut shell into a glass, to
accompany another formula by the priest, "May the deceased enjoy the
food of the _nats_. May the nat of the earth bear witness." The person
who pours out the water drawls in a loud voice, "Ah-mya-myo"--in great
abundance and variety, the people responding, "Thah-doo, thah-doo"--it
is well, it is well. At the grave, or in a _zayat_ nearly the same
ceremonies are repeated. The priests have already been feasted at the
house, and now presents are given on behalf of the dead, that he may
enjoy the same blessings in the abode of the nats. The priests do not
usually accompany the procession, but go in advance to the zayats
near the cemetery. At death a small coin is placed in the dead man's
mouth to pay his ferry fare across the mystic river of death. Without
the coin for the ferry he could not cross, but would have to return
to this world to suffer--nobody knows what. The use of the coin is
said to be dying out. The coffin is swung endwise over the grave seven
times (sometimes docked to three) as a good-bye, and to give the
deceased a good start towards the great Myin-Mo Mount, the abode of
the nats.
Human nature is much the same the world over. Courtship and marriage
are universal customs. Methods differ, but motives are the same.
The majority of marriages are for love, or for something that has
been mistaken for that sentiment. When a Burmese young man and maiden
fancy each other well enough to indulge in playful flirtations at
pagoda feasts and other public occasions it is pretty sure to develop
into something more serious. The young lady is not likely to let
a good chance slip by. Old-maidhood is dreaded by all, except the
comparatively few who become nuns, and many of them are said to have
become nuns because disappointed in love. Lover-like attentions may
not be given openly. Clandestine meetings would scandalize the whole
community.
At about nine o'clock in the evening the young man, accompanied by
his friends approaches the house of the maiden whose charms cause his
heart to thump against his ribs. He finds her awaiting his coming.
But they are not to enjoy a fond tête-à-tête by themselves. Several
young lady friends are sitting on the open veranda with her,--and the
old lady peeking through a chink in the bamboo wall. It is courtship
under difficulties, but it means business just the same. The rules of
propriety have been observed, the parents are satisfied. As for the
rest, trust the young folks to find ways and means to enjoy themselves
as lovers do the world over. Accepting presents of jewelry from a
young man is generally recognized as an engagement. Many a maiden has
allowed her fondness for jewelry to lead to complications from which
she has difficulty in extricating herself. According to old Burmese
law the sole right to select or reject suitors was vested in the
parents. The daughter, until twenty years of age, was entirely under
their control.
The Dhammathat says: "Amongst men there are only three ways of
becoming man and wife, which are as follows: First, a man and woman
given in marriage by their parents, who live and eat together. Second,
a man and wife brought together by the intervention of a go-between,
who live and eat together. Third, a man and woman who came together by
mutual consent, who live and eat together." In question of property
rights the most importance is attached to the first method. A marriage
without the consent of the parents, if the girl is under twenty, may
be cancelled by the parents, if action is promptly taken. The girl
may reject the man to whom she has been betrothed by her parents,
but her decision is recognized only after she has run away from him
and been forcibly restored three times. In like manner a girl who has
been taken in marriage without the consent of her parents must be
restored to them three times. If she then returns again to her husband
the parents' claim upon her is forfeited, because the "Owner of the
daughter could not control her." Widows and divorced women are subject
to no control. While all this is Buddhist law, the girl, as a matter
of fact, does about as she pleases in the matter of accepting or
rejecting, just as they do in other lands, whether she is under twenty
or not. Neither Buddhist law nor established custom renders any kind
of a marriage ceremony essential, nor is registration of the marriage
necessary. "Living and eating together," constitute all desired
evidence of marriage.
The first eating together is something done in the presence of
witnesses and so becomes in itself a simple wedding ceremony. This
happy-go-lucky custom makes it exceedingly difficult to settle any
questions in law growing out of such a marriage. A couple may prove
that they are, or are not husband and wife, as best suits their ends.
In Christian lands the wife is sometimes taken home to live with her
mother-in-law.
In Burma the situation is reversed, the young husband going to live
with his wife's parents. By a generally accepted division of labour
the wife is the burden-bearer, while the husband gets the glory for
what is accomplished. Husband and wife are going into town to exchange
a basket of rice for a supply of putrid fish and other necessaries of
life.
The wife carries the basket, weighing seventy-five or one hundred
pounds, on her head, the husband with only his _kun_-bag slung over
his shoulder walking ahead at a gait which she finds it difficult to
follow.
The load may now and then be rested on a convenient stump, or the
considerate husband helps to lower it to the ground and raise it to
her head again. So accustomed have they become to this arrangement
that it never occurs to either party that the man might carry the load
part of the time. Familiar as is this custom, it never fails to stir
in my soul an indignant protest. But the "worm may turn," if pressed
too hard.
A poor woman was going to the station to take a train. On her head
was a heavy load, and on her hip a child. Tears were trickling down
her cheeks. The husband, carrying nothing but his umbrella, was
persistently tormenting her. At last she deposited load and child on
the ground none too gently, and pitched into him with great fury,
cuffing, scratching and screaming all at once, until he gave her a
wide berth.
It was one of the most refreshing sights ever witnessed, in this
land. According to Buddhism the male is far superior to the female.
No woman can cherish the slightest hope of attaining to Naik-ban. Her
highest hope and prayer is that in the next, or some future existence
she may be born as man, and so take a fresh start. But in this life
the Burmese woman holds a higher place than is enjoyed by her sisters
in any other Oriental land. If divorced from her husband she can
take away whatever property she brought when married, together with
all she may have gained by her own exertions. She is by no means a
silent partner in business affairs. Usually she has greater business
acuteness than her husband, and does not hesitate to have a voice in
all negotiations. The Bazar is almost wholly run by the women, each
having her own stall and keeping her own accounts in her head, for she
cannot read nor write. At this point women seem to be inferior, but
it is because they were excluded from the monastic school, and never
had a chance. Vastly better than her indolent husband or brother she
knows how to make money and keep what she makes. While Mohammedan and
Hindu women are shut up in harems and zenanas, the Burmese women walk
the streets with head erect, puffing their huge cheroots without the
slightest thought of being the "weaker vessel." The energy of the
Burmese women saves the race from going to the wall.
[Illustration: TATTOOING]
From courtship and marriage we pass by a natural transition to
child-life in Burma. The crop of babies never fails. Parents would
as soon think of failure of the rice harvest as of a failure to add
annually to the population of the village, and the disappointment
would be about the same. If nature did not defeat the barbarous
methods of native midwives there would be no child-life to describe.
But in spite of methods that would soon depopulate more civilized
lands, every town and village is just romping full of children. Boys
run naked until six or eight years of age, and girls until one or two.
Many a time have I seen parents, wrapped in blankets, huddled around
a fire in the cool season while their infants and small children had
not the slightest protection. There is no intentional neglect, for
the parents love their children, but it is "custom." This custom
supplements the ignorance of the midwives, and adds to the number of
shallow little graves in the adjacent jungle for the parish dogs to
fight over. But baby has its cradle for its frequent naps. This is
made of wood or wickerwork, and suspended from a bamboo in the floor
or roof above. Sometimes this swinging cradle is a wide strip of cloth
tied together at the ends, with the baby deposited in the loop. Baby
has not long been in the world before it has a name. The name depends
on the day of the week in which it was born. Certain letters of the
alphabet are assigned to each day. The baby's name must begin with
one of the letters assigned to its birthday. There is no family name,
nothing to indicate to what particular family a child belongs. Each
day of the week represents some planet, from which it takes its name.
The planet assigned to a particular day will influence the life of a
person born on that day, and determine his temperament. The naming is
done when the baby is one month old. On the previous day invitations
are sent around to the elders of the village, who by eating a pinch of
pickled tea from a cup sent by the messenger,--accepts the invitation
to be present at the ceremony, the parents make ready a supply of
food, a feast being an essential part of every ceremony. Invited
guests bring presents of money, precious stones, or jewels, which
they cast into a large jar of water set there for the purpose. Some
of the more valuable presents are merely lent for the occasion, but
they help to make a show. When the guests have enjoyed their pickled
tea, betel-nut, and cheroot, several of the elders proceed to bathe
the baby in the vessel containing the presents. Another repeats a
benediction calling for the continuous welfare of the child, but
limits it to one hundred and twenty years. From the centre of a circle
of coins on a dish of rice a cord of cotton thread is taken and bound
around the child's wrist. One of the elders now announces the child's
name,--previously decided on by the parents,--as if it were the happy
result of his own meditations. This ceremony is to the Burman and
Shan what a christening is to many in other lands, in its relation
to a child's future. An interesting naming ceremony was held by two
couples of native Christians, in my mission. The missionaries and
native Christians were invited to a prayer-meeting. After the meeting
a number of Old Testament names, written on slips of paper, were put
in a hat borrowed from the missionary. The first fond father to put
his hand into the hat drew for his offspring the name Daniel,--which
he would pronounce Dan-ya-lah. The other father got Moses as a name
for his son. Dan-ya-lah and Maw-shay they are to this day.
It is interesting to watch little children at their play. With
sun-dried marbles, large seeds, or peculiarly-shaped sticks, plays
have been improvised, which, in the course of years, have become
national games for the youngsters. Boys and girls enjoy the sport
together.
Before the English annexed the country the monasteries were the only
schools. This is still the case in the majority of villages. But every
Buddhist boy, whether he has the advantage of the English schools or
not, must spend a few months in the monastery. Until he enters the
monastery as a probationer he is not considered a human being in such
a sense that it would count in future transmigrations. He now receives
a new name, to be used so long as he remains in the monastery. If he
finally becomes a priest he retains the religious name for life.
The novitiate-ceremony usually takes place when the boy is between
ten and twelve years of age. If not already familiar with life
in the monastery, he is taught how to address the priests, and
conduct himself generally. As this is the most important event in a
Burman boy's life, the ceremony is made on as grand a scale as the
circumstances and credit of the boy's parents and friends will permit.
Decked in gayest costume and covered with jewelry he is placed on a
pony, or, in the towns, in the best vehicle obtainable, protected from
the sun by a long-handled umbrella, and conducted to the homes of his
relatives, to bid them farewell. Flashily dressed men and women, boys
and girls make up the procession, some of the young men dancing and
singing as they go. All this pomp and show, to celebrate renunciation
of the world.
The farewells being said, the candidate is reconducted to his own
home, where the feast has been prepared, and an elaborate bamboo
tabernacle erected, extending from the house to the opposite side
of the street. Here, in the presence of the priests, friends, and a
host of gaudily-dressed spectators the actual ceremony is performed.
The candidate's finery gives way to a strip of white cloth fastened
around his loins, forming a very brief skirt. Then the barber is
called in to deprive him of his long hair and shave his head. After a
bath he dresses and presents himself before the priests, goes through
the prescribed prostrations, repeats the memorized formula pledging
himself as a novitiate, is duly clothed in the yellow robe of the
order, the _thabeit_ or begging-bowl is given him, and then he joins
the other novitiates in their return to the monastery in which he is
to live. How sad it seems to see a small boy thus shut out from the
gay world, at just the time when he is fullest of fun and frolic,--but
not half so sad as it seems.
Devout Buddhists may compel their sons to remain in the monastery
three months, but to become a priest is not compulsory. In many
places a week is the limit. Not infrequently a boy who has made the
round of pathetic farewells, and gone through the whole ceremony of
pledging himself to the Assembly, is back home again before night,
having met all actual demands, and exchanged his fine head of hair
for an interesting experience. And right glad he is to be back, for
the feast is still on, and he comes in for a share of the dainties.
Comparatively few give their lives to the priesthood. Some enter the
priesthood later in life.
The longer the term--the greater the merit. The number of young men
to remain in the monastery is steadily decreasing. The same is true of
the number of men who thoroughly understand Buddhism. The festivities
have not slackened, but with less and less religious significance in
the minds of participants. Having been in the monastery the boy has
become a human being. But whether before or after this ceremony he
must receive the signs of manhood by being tattooed from his waist to
his knees. If this is not done the boys and girls will poke fun at
him and call him a woman. This tattooing may be done piece by piece,
at intervals, to allow time for healing of the surface covered. The
sessamum-oil lampblack used for ink, pricked into the skin on a large
surface causes a great deal of swelling, and sometimes fever. The
professional tattooer has his figure-patterns from which the boy or
his parents may select.
The figures are usually animals, set off with an ornamental edging.
Few boys have the nerve to endure the pricking very long. This is
overcome by a dose of opium, deadening the sense of feeling, and
dazing the mind, though not to such an extent as to keep him from
puffing his cheroot while the operation is going on. Besides this
tattooing of imitation breeches, there are many kinds of charms, done
in vermilion on the upper parts of the body and arms, as desired by
the superstitious.