DESCRIPTION OF SHAN HOUSES—CABALISTIC CHARMS—SUPERSTITION—ANCESTRAL
AND DEMON WORSHIP—SHAN DYNASTIES IN BURMAH—ZIMMÉ UNDER THE
BURMESE—RULES FOR HOUSE-BUILDING—POSSESSING A GHOUL—THE SHADOW
SPIRIT—KISSING WITH THE NOSE—FURNITURE—MEALS—CHINESE
CHOP-STICKS—SPINSTERS—WEAVING AND EMBROIDERY—DYES—CHINESE
HONGS—FISHING—REVOLT AGAINST BURMAH—ZIMMÉ AND LAPOON DESERTED—A
REST-HOUSE—SHAN DIALECTS—ENTRANCE OF THE MEH HKUANG—MUSICAL
WATER-WHEELS—BRICK AND TILE WORKS—HOUSES FOR THE DEMONS—HOUSES
IMBEDDED IN GARDENS—LIGHT-COLOURED BUFFALOES—MY FIRST HUNT IN
BURMAH—A FINE PAGODA—APPROACH TO THE CITY—ARRIVE AT ZIMMÉ—AMERICAN
PRESBYTERIAN MISSIONS IN SIAM AND ZIMMÉ.
The houses in the Shan villages along the river-banks are situated in
orchards of fine fruit-trees, separated from each other by palisades.
The people, like the Burmese, are very fond of flowers, and rear them in
their gardens, and in wooden boxes and earthenware pots placed on the
balustrade of their verandahs. Young children encircle the top-knot on
the head with orchids and sweet-smelling flowers. Girls wear roses,
magnolias, bauhinias, jessamine, and orchids in their hair; and net
flowers, seeds, and buds into fragrant and beautiful hanging ornaments
of various designs. Young men are seen with flowers in the holes in
their ear-lobes, which likewise serve as holders for their half-smoked
cheroots. Even coolies at work in the fields have flowers in their ears
to regale themselves at intervals.
The houses of the peasantry are generally built solely of bamboo, with
roofs thatched with grass or the leaves of teak and _eng_ trees. The
walls are roughly constructed of bamboo matting; and bamboos slit open
and spread out by gashing them on the inner side form floor planks a
foot and more in width. Not a nail is used in the structure; slips of
bamboo twisted into string form the only fastenings when cane is not
procurable. In a country where fires are frequent, and bamboos spring up
like grass, these houses are eminently adapted to the requirements of
the people, as they are cheaply constructed and can easily be replaced.
Passing through the gateway in the bamboo palisading, you enter the
garden where the house stands with its floor raised six or eight feet
from the ground. Under the house is a space where elephant howdahs,
gardening implements, and materials are kept, and where cattle can be
tethered for the night. Ascending the steps, you reach a platform or
verandah, which is usually partly or wholly roofed. The houses are
invariably built with the gable-ends facing north and south; the
verandah being generally at the southern extremity.
The east side of the verandah has a wall continuous with that of the
house. Along this wall is a shelf on which are placed offerings of
flowers for Buddha and for the beneficent spirits. On the western side
of the verandah stands a covered settle for the earthen water-pots,
which hold water for drinking and cooking purposes. The outer posts of
this verandah, when only partially covered in, rise high enough to
support the balustrade, on which pot-herbs, onions, chillies, garlic,
flowers, and orchids are grown for family use.
The floor of the uncovered portion of the verandah serves in the daytime
as a drying-place for betel-nuts and fruit, and at night, after the heat
of the day, furnishes a resort for a quiet lounge under the fast cooling
sky. If the family is religiously disposed, it is to the verandah that
the monks are invited to conduct a merit-making service for the
prosperity and health of the household; and it is to the verandah that
witch-finders, medicine-men, and sorcerers, as well as monks, are
received to render their services for a small consideration in cases of
sickness.
Look on the tops of the house-posts, under the rafters, and you will
find cabalistic charms inscribed on fragments of cloth, which have been
placed there to prevent the intrusion of malignant spirits who bring
calamity, disease, and death.
The belief in the spirits of the earth, found in all the dark corners of
the world, and at one time nearly universal, fetters its victims with
the bonds of superstition. Superstition saps all manliness from them,
makes them live in constant dread of their surroundings, and consider
themselves akin in soul to spirits inhabiting the lower grades of
creation and the vegetable and mineral kingdom.
The spirits in the unseen world, although considered to have previously
inhabited human forms, according to the people are as malicious as
monkeys, and can only be kept in good humour by constant coaxing. The
very best—the spirits of their ancestors, and the spirits of deceased
monks, the teachers of their youth—will certainly take vengeance if
provoked by neglect.
Knowing that Shan dynasties reigned in Upper Burmah from A.D. 1298 to
1554, and in Lower Burmah from A.D. 1287 to 1540, and again from 1740 to
1746; that the people of Zimmé were tributary to, and at times directly
ruled by Burmah, between A.D. 1558 and 1774; and that Talaings, the
people of Lower Burmah, flocked to Zimmé and Siam, and settled there in
the latter half of last century and in the first half of this
century,—it is not surprising to find that many superstitions held by
the Talaings and Burmese are common to the people of Zimmé. Thus the
instructions given in the Burmese Dehttohn upon house-building, and
choosing the site and materials, and also as to the lucky day for the
commencement of the house, are generally applicable to Zimmé as well as
to Burmah. Superstition takes under its guidance almost every detail;
and when the house is completed, it still directs as to the day and the
manner of moving in to take possession, and even as to the direction the
people are to repose in at night. No door or windows are allowed in the
eastern wall, and the family sleep with their heads to the east.
The flooring of the house is supported by posts forked at the top to
carry the floor beams on which rest the bamboo joints for supporting the
planking. The walls and roof of the house are supported by other posts
let two feet into the ground, and reaching to the wall-plates or to the
ridge of the house, according to their position. A peculiar feature in
most of the Zimmé houses is the general practice of inclining the walls
slightly outwards from the floor to the roof.
The posts of the walls are arranged in sets of threes, fives, sevens,
&c., as odd numbers bring luck. The spaces between each set of posts
have specific names. The door of the house and the verandah or platform
in front of it are almost always at the south end. The post that is
occupied by the spirits, “Pee,” is on the east side next to the corner
post nearest the door. The guardian spirits of the house are supposed to
occupy the portion of this post above the floor, and malignant or evil
spirits the portion below it.
The Pee Hpōng, or ghoul spirit, who resides in the lower region of the
earth, possesses people in the following manner: A person in communion
with this spirit rises quietly from sleep at night, and stealing
down-stairs, tips his (or her) nose thrice against the spirit post. This
action makes the face lustrous, and by its light, as by a lamp, the
possessed person seeks the vile food that he craves. When satisfied, he
re-tips his nose, the ghoul vanishes, and he returns to bed. The ghoul,
I presume, is inhaled when first tipping the nose, and exhaled when
re-tipping it. Kissing amongst the Shans and Burmese is performed by
inhaling through the nose, and not as with us through the lips. Another
spirit rising from the centre of the earth is Phya Ma-choo Lat, the
shadow spirit, that renders people prematurely careworn and old.
The house has its floor raised a few inches above that of the verandah,
and the interior is divided into one, two, or more apartments, according
to its size and the wants of its owner. The furniture of the houses is
very simple. Mats and cushions are piled in a corner ready for use; the
handsomest cushions being triangular in section and embroidered at each
end. Simple mats made of fine strips of bamboos or of a species of rush,
often worked into patterns, serve as mattresses in summer, and are
replaced by home-made cotton mattresses in the colder months. The
mattress is rolled up during the day, and placed on the floor at night,
and over it is suspended a thick cotton mosquito-curtain, through which
one would think it scarcely possible to breathe. Curtains made of book
muslin would be much more conducive to health, and would be equally
serviceable, as they would keep out the sand-flies as well as the
mosquitoes, which an ordinary mosquito-net does not do, as I found out
before I had been many days in Burmah.
The fireplace consists of a wooden frame about four feet square and six
inches deep, filled with earth or sand. On this is placed a light iron
tripod, or what equally serves the purpose, three pieces of brick or
stone to rest the pot on when the fire is kindled. In the dry season
cooking is carried on in the garden, but in the rains in a compartment
of the house, the smoke finding its way out through the door, windows,
interstices in the mat walls, and through the roof. The utensils
consist, besides the water-jars, of a few pots, pans, baskets made
waterproof by coatings of _thyt-si_ or wood-oil to serve as buckets,
dippers to scoop the water from the jars made of half a cocoa-nut shell
fitted with a carved wooden handle, spoons, and a few china bowls.
At meal-times, which occur about seven in the morning and towards
sunset, the table, about a foot and a half in diameter and six inches
high, is taken down from a shelf and placed on the floor, and by its
side is put the tall slender basket of steamed glutinous rice. A lacquer
or brass tray holding little bowls of fish, pork, beef, bamboo-shoots,
vegetables, and curry, all cut up fine before being put in the pot, and
fruit, or perhaps only a bowl of curry, a dish of pickled or dried fish,
vegetables and some fruit, are then laid on the table. After the family
circle has gathered round, the steamed rice is served separately to each
person in a small basket. The members squatting like tailors round the
tray in a circle, take up the rice in lumps with their fingers, and dip
it into the common bowl of curry, and pick out tit-bits from the other
bowls as it suits their fancy. When soup or gravy is served, a common
spoon is used; each takes a spoonful and then passes the spoon to his
neighbour. After meals it is customary to wash your own bowl, as well as
your mouth and fingers.
[Illustration:
1, 2, _Lacquered, bamboo dish with plaited cover_. 3, _Wooden comb_.
4, 5, 6, _Baskets for carrying cooked rice_. 7, _Ladle for water_.
8, _Bamboo lantern_.
]
Whatever one may think of the habit of eating with one’s fingers, it is
much more seemly than the Chinese custom of feeding with chop-sticks. It
is simply disgusting to watch a Chinaman shovelling in his food, and
attempting to convey it neatly to his mouth, with these curious and most
unsuitable implements.
[Illustration:
1, _Divider for cotton_. 2, _Basket and bow for carding cotton_. 3,
_Wheel to spin cotton_. 4, 5, _Spinner for silk_. 6, _Divider for
silk_.
]
As in olden time in England, so now in the Shan States, every unmarried
woman is a spinster, and makes homespun garments for the household. Each
house has its native loom and spinning implements, and the women, rich
and poor, spend much of their time in providing clothes for the
monasteries and for their home-folk. Many are skilled in embroidery,
working beautiful patterns in gold and silver thread, and in worsted,
cotton, and silk. Both cotton and silk fabrics are woven at the looms,
and many of the embroidered goods are taken to Burmah, where they fetch
a high price.
The cotton is grown in the gardens surrounding the house, or purchased
in the neighbourhood. Some of the silk is produced from the cocoons of
the local silk-worms, and the rest is brought by the Chinese from China.
The dyes used by the people to within the last few years were solely
vegetable; but these, and pity ’tis so, are being displaced by German
aniline dyes. The favourite colours are indigo, orange, maroon, and a
reddish brown. Many of the Muhseurs and Upper Shans use a black dye made
from the berries of the ebony tree. Turmeric and safflower give a yellow
dye; soap-acacia, green; tamarind-fruit a deep red colour, approaching
purple; and sapan and _thyt-si_ wood, red.
After breakfast we left Htong Htau, the monk and his acolytes coming to
the bank to see us off. Half a mile farther the Meh Khan, a river 150
feet broad, enters from the west. In the village at its mouth is a large
teak-built house in an extensive stockade belonging to a Chinese _hong_
or merchant company. We soon afterwards reached Wang Hluang Pow—the Wang
Pow where Phya Cha Ban removed his court after deserting Zimmé in 1775.
The houses about here are thatched under the gable-ends as well as on
the roofs. The village extends for over two miles, chiefly along the
east bank of the river. Rows of women, approaching each other in lines
extending from bank to bank, were fishing with drop-nets, formed of a
wire frame 2 feet 6 inches square, to which the net is attached. The
frame of the net is suspended from four pieces of bamboo string, one at
each corner, tied together to form a handle.
On the west bank of the river is a fine temple and monastery; and a
little above Wang Pow a large rest-house stands boldly out from the
trees, and is called Nong Doo Sakan by the Zimmé Shans, and Nong Loo
Sakan by the Shans in the British Shan States. In the same way _Loi_, “a
mountain,” in British Shan turns to _Doi_ in Zimmé, and in Kampti Shan
is _Noi_. The dialectic differences amongst the various tribes of Shans
chiefly lie in a change of the first letter of words and in the
occasional dropping of the second letter of a double consonant at the
commencement of a word. _Ruen_, a house, and _pla_, a fish, in Siamese,
become _huen_ and _pa_ in Zimmé and Kampti Shan; _ban_, a village in
Siamese and Zimmé dialects, becomes _man_ in Kampti; _chang_, an
elephant in Siamese and Zimmé, becomes _tsang_ in British Shan and
Kampti; and _ny_ changes into _y_, _kl_ to _kr_, _kh_ to _k_, _k_ to
_ch_, and _ch_ into _s_ and _ts_ in various dialects. Most of the Zimmé
Shans call Zimmé “Kiang Mai”; the Siamese term it “Chieng Mai.” The
Zimmé and British Shans talk of “Kiang Hai”; the Siamese call that place
“Chieng Rai.”
Nong Doo Sakan was erected at the expense of the villagers, as a work of
merit, for the accommodation of travellers journeying along the main
road to Muang Haut. It is built entirely of bamboo and thatched with
_thek-keh_ grass. Over a stream on the opposite side of the river was a
wooden bridge—the first I had seen since leaving Burmah.
Continuing our journey through the village of Kweh Chow, we reached the
southern mouth of the Meh Hkuang, which enters from the east. Between it
and the northern mouth lies Pak Bong, a revenue station of the Shan
State of Lapoon.
The Meh Hkuang rises in the hills to the north-east of Zimmé, close to
the sources of the Meh Low, and by means of canals and irrigating
channels irrigates the Zimmé and Lapoon plain nearly to the bank of the
Meh Ping. A short distance from its mouth it is joined by the Meh Ta, on
which lies the large village of Pa Sang, where Chow Ka Wi La, the
successor of Phya Cha Ban, established his court for the fifteen years
previous to the reoccupation of Zimmé in 1796. Owing to the rebellion of
the Zimmé Shans against the Burmese in 1774, when they threw off the
Burman yoke and accepted the protection of Siam, a period of warfare
ensued. The Burmese besieged Zimmé in 1775. When relieved by the
approach of a Siamese force, the Zimmé Shans scattered to the north and
south, and the chief, Phya Cha Ban, removed his court to Ta Wang Pow,
and, on the approach of a Burmese force, fled to Raheng. The Burmese
entered Siam, but were repulsed after they had taken several Siamese
cities. The Zimmé chief then returned with his people to Wang Pow. In
1777, owing to a fresh advance of the Burmese, he removed his court to
Nong Long, but the following year, owing to the retirement of the
Burmese, fixed it at Lapoon, where he was attacked by the chiefs of
Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen. He then fled southwards and set up his court
at Wang Sa Kang. Zimmé was deserted for twenty years, 1776–1796, and
Lapoon for forty-one years, 1779–1820.
Two miles beyond Pa Sang we halted for the night at a village on the
eastern bank, where ten great spider-web wheels in continuous motion
watered the gardens and neighbouring fields. The music made by the axles
of these wheels working on the trestles which supported them, resembled
the tones of an organ, and at night lulled us to sleep.
Next morning we passed a brick-field where seven small clamps, each ten
feet square and five feet high, were being burned. Close by, on the
opposite bank, a miniature Shan house, about the size of a large
pigeon-house, had been built for the accommodation of a local demon.
Many such houses, even in the grounds of temples, were subsequently seen
along the route. The boatmen passing us in the various craft were now
all clad, as the villages were numerous, and roads skirted the river.
Several of them were wearing billycock felt hats, common amongst
lower-class Chinamen.
We halted for a few minutes at the village of Nong Sang, or Nong Chang,
“the elephant’s lake,” to inspect the tile works. The men were puddling
the clay on a buffalo’s hide by pounding it with their feet. The
roofing-tiles are a quarter of an inch thick, nine inches long, and four
and a half inches broad, and are turned up at one end for three-quarters
of an inch to enable them to hang on to the battens of the roof. They
are moulded separately on a bench, across which the man sits astride.
After sanding the mould, he plunges the clay into it, and cuts off the
superfluous material with a string fastened to a fiddle-bow. The upper
face of the tile is then smoothed with a three-sided stick, which has
been previously cleansed by rubbing it against two cylindrical brushes
made of cocoa-nut fibre, which lie in a little trough, raised on posts,
and full of water. The front of the mould is movable. The tiles are
taken out and dried under a thatched shed, and afterwards are placed on
their side-edge in a kiln and burned. The tiles are used for roofing the
temples and better class of Shan and Chinese houses.
Two miles farther we passed another village of tile-makers, and at the
220th mile came to Ban Hsope Long, above which is a series of long,
cultivated islands. Both banks of the river as well as the islands are
embanked to save the cultivation from being swamped in flood-time.
Above Hsope Long, which extends for about two miles, we passed through
the village of Ta Kwai, “the buffalo’s ford,” and halted for breakfast.
From here the banks of the river to some miles above the city of Zimmé
are nearly continuously fringed with villages. The houses, temples, and
monasteries are imbedded in, and often hidden by, beautiful orchards,
containing palms, cocoa-nut, mango, tamarind, citron, orange, pummelo,
and many other fruit and flowering trees, and the whole scene on land
and water is one of bustling life.
In an hour we were off again, and after passing the temple and monastery
of Koon Kong, came to a large _hong_ belonging to some Chinese merchants
of Raheng. A mile farther the Meh Kha entered from the west, and just
above its mouth is the village of Pak Muang.
Opposite Pak Muang many buffaloes of a light colour were lying in the
river, enjoying still contentment, with their nostrils only just above
the water. If they had not been too indolent to scent us, they would
have advanced with heads stretched out, horns laid back, and nostrils
sniffing to satisfy their natural curiosity, and then have plunged back
helter-skelter to the bank, and stood gazing at us from a respectful
distance; or else, finding we were strangers of the hated white race,
have lowered their heads, made lances of their horns, and charged full
tilt at us. My first experience of hunting in Burmah was being hunted
when on pony-back by a herd of buffaloes in full chase after me, and
being saved by the herd boy, a lad of eleven or twelve years of age,
who, happening to be between me and them, rushed forward and drove them
in another direction. I would gladly have tipped that boy if I could
have got at him without renewing my acquaintance with the buffaloes. At
Ta Hong Pai, and later at Song Kare, a village at the mouth of the Meh
Ka, which enters from the east, I got a good view of Loi Soo Tayp, the
great hill behind Zimmé, and made sketches, at the same time taking
angles to the well-defined peaks. We halted for the night at the
monastery of Chedi Lee-am, which is situated at the 233d mile to the
east of the river.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Soo Tayp from Ban Meh Ka._
]
Chedi Lee-am, the pagoda to which the monastery is attached, was the
largest seen by me in the Shan States. A hole five feet in diameter had
been broken into one side of it near the top, in order to rob the
shrine; otherwise it was in good repair. This pagoda is peculiar in
shape, and resembles a rectangular church-steeple rising in five great
steps or tiers, cut off from the tower and placed on the ground. Its
summit has not been provided with a _htee_, or umbrella.
Each side of each tier had three niches, and each niche contained a
statue of Gaudama larger than life, making sixty images in all. At each
corner of each tier was a pedestal finished off with a flame-like
ornament at the top. The pagoda was 60 feet square at the base, and 120
feet high. It is made of brick, and plastered over with excellent
cement.
The next day, the 25th of February, we left early, being eager to arrive
at Zimmé, which was distant less than two hours’ journey. The night’s
rain had washed the face of Nature, burnished the trees, and brightened
the whole landscape. The cool fresh morning air, that bathed one’s hands
and face, was scented with the fragrance of flowering shrubs and trees,
and the panorama we were passing through was delightful.
Temples decorated with dark red and gold, and picturesque monasteries,
were set like gems in the beautiful fringes of foliage that skirted the
banks. Women and girls, gaily attired in a striped petticoat, or one of
a small tartan, and a silk scarf thrown over the left shoulder, tripped
along barefooted on their way to the city, with baskets of
garden-produce and flowers. Here was a group of men and women squatting
on the sands, and having a chat before crossing the ford; there men,
women, and children, with their garments tucked up above their knees,
laughing and joking as they waded the stream; children playing in the
water, dashing it about and splashing each other; cattle lowing on the
banks on their way to the fields; the sun lighting up the bald pates and
yellow garments of the monks and acolytes who were passing in
processions and carrying their begging-bowls through the suburbs, which
now lined the banks; women and children heaping their little cups of
rice and saucers of fish and condiments into the monks’ bowls—whilst the
monks,—at least the young ones, who have the reputation of being a
jovial crew,—peeped over their fans, which were intended to veil fair
women from their sight.
Half an hour before reaching the wooden bridge that spans the river, we
came in sight of the walled city, which lies 430 yards inland from the
west bank; then rowing between vegetable gardens, which had been planted
on the numerous sandbanks, halted at the bridge to learn the position of
the quarters of the American Presbyterian Mission, which had been
established since 1867 in the suburbs of Zimmé, and since 1840 in
Bangkok. The bridge lies 82¼ miles from Muang Haut and 236½ miles from
Hlineboay, or about 300 miles from Maulmain. The height of the banks
near the bridge is 1008 feet above sea-level.