LEAVE KIANG HAI—A HOT SPRING—ELEPHANTS WITHOUT
TUSKS—ELEPHANT-DRIVING—DANGER WHEN DRIVER IS CARELESS—A LARGE
RICE-PLAIN—BARGAINING WITH THE ABBOT AT MUANG DOO—BLOODTHIRSTY
FLIES—ELEPHANTS AS TOOL-USERS—INHOSPITABLE ANCESTRAL SPIRITS—GAME
PLENTIFUL—UTTERANCES OF TIGERS—A MAGNIFICENT FOREST—A
STINK-WOOD—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE KIANG HAI AND KIANG HSEN
PLAINS—BRAVE BUTTERFLIES—A FIELD FOR AN ENTOMOLOGIST—PSYCHE IN
BURMAH—A CENTRAL ASIAN BELIEF—THREE SACRED HILLS—BUDDHA AND
CONFUCIUS—LEGEND OF LOI HTONG—VALLEY OF THE MEH CHAN—PASS TO MUANG
FANG—KIANG HSEN PLAIN—SIAMESE AGGRESSION—DESERTED CITIES OF
MANOLA—TIGERS—ATTACK ON KIANG HSEN IN 1794—WILD ANIMALS—LEGEND OF
MUANG NŎNG—THUNDERSTORM—FLOODED COUNTRY—LEANING PAGODA—REACH KIANG
HSEN.
On the morning of the 18th of March we said good-bye to Chow Nan and his
son, and accompanied by the large crane as far as the ford, set off
again on our journey. After crossing the river we struck north, and
continued through low ground to the fields of Pan Pa Teun, the village
of the _eng_ forest, inhabited by witches who have been banished from
other places. Near the village is a ruined pagoda; and from thence
onward teak-trees are scattered through the forest. At 356 miles we
crossed the Nong Ko Kheh, or lake of the Chinese bridge, and halted for
breakfast. The lake is merely a straggling swamp, about 50 feet broad
and 3 feet deep, which serves as a breeding-ground for fish. While the
boys were getting breakfast I sketched Loi Pong Pra Bat, the hill of the
hot spring from Buddha’s footprint.
The large male elephant I was riding had no tusks, and was called by the
driver Ko-dau, which I learnt was the ordinary term for tuskless males.
Those with one tusk are known as Nga-aik. For the last half-mile we had
been passing amongst bamboos and tall grass, and my mahout was guiding
the elephants by knocks on the head. A knock on the left temple
signified turn to the right; one on the right temple, go to the left;
one on the forehead, go slowly; and the animal was warned to look about
by the sharp utterance of his name. Unless a driver keeps his eyes to
the front there is always a chance of the roof of the howdah being
stripped of its covering, and of the occupant having his eyes thrust
out, or being otherwise injured. Several times I have had the insecurely
fastened howdah unbalanced by an awkwardly swaying animal bringing it
into contact with trees. Then it is a case of saving self and things how
one can, unless the mahout can support the howdah until further
assistance arrives.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Pong Pra Bat at 11:11_ A.M. _18th March_.
_Note._—A and B in a line <300 at 1.55 P.M. A and F in a line <294 at
2.58 P.M.
]
On leaving the camp we entered a rice-plain five miles long, at times
more than a mile and a half broad, and fringed with beautiful orchards
which contained splendid clumps of bamboos, and nestled several large
villages. The foliage, although chiefly evergreen, had an autumnal
aspect, owing to the bamboos shedding their leaves, and the
buff-coloured young leaves of the mangoes, which had recently sprouted,
aiding the delusion.
A mile from the camp we passed through Ban Doo, the village where import
duties are levied. Here, on my return, I purchased from the abbot of the
monastery several books concerning astrology, alchemy, sorcery,
cabalistical science, and medicine. Seeing two silver images of Gaudama,
with resin cores, I haggled with him for a long time over their price.
At first he pretended that it was impossible for him to part with these
images, as offerings had been made to them; but at the sight of many
two-anna and four-anna bits his compunctions gave way, and I carried
them off in triumph. They cost me dear, however, for on my sending them
home, with other things, to my sister, our canny custom-house officials
charged the resin as solid silver.
Large herds of cattle and buffaloes were feeding in the plain, and
waging ceaseless war with their tails against myriads of bloodthirsty
gad and elephant-flies. The elephants were likewise greatly annoyed by
these flying leeches, and carried leafy branches in their trunks to
switch them off their bodies. No one who has seen elephants fanning
themselves with great palmyra-leaves, switching at the flies, or
scratching themselves with twigs, could consider man the sole tool-using
animal.
On leaving the rice-fields at Done Ban Kwang, we crossed the Meh Khow
Tome, near a village of the same name, and halted for the night. The Meh
Khow Tome is 12 feet broad, 5 feet deep, and had 9 inches of water in
its bed. Its name implies the “river of cooked rice,” and is said to be
derived from Gaudama having cooked rice on its banks when proceeding to
impress his footprint on Loi Pong Pra Bat.
On reaching the camp I noticed rain-clouds gathering overhead, and asked
the Chow Phya to arrange for our occupation of a large vacant house that
had just been completed. On the arrival of the village head-man, he told
us that owing to the spirits not having been propitiated, if any one
slept under the roof misfortunes would certainly happen; and he begged
us to refrain from doing so. He said game was exceedingly plentiful in
the neighbourhood, and that wild elephant, rhinoceros, wild cattle, and
pigs were often seen by the hunters; and deer, hare, pea-fowl,
jungle-fowl, and quail were abundant.
Tigers, and, I believe, leopards, were prowling round the camp after
nightfall; the clear “peet, peet” of the tiger and the “myow” came from
different directions. The Shans, however, declared that they were both
the cries of tigers—one when they were angry or in search of food, and
the other when they were satisfied.
Early the next morning we recrossed the stream, and followed it up for
four miles, the plain gradually rising as we proceeded. Teak-trees were
sprinkled through the forest which neighboured the plain, and numerous
yellow-flowered orchids hung in clusters from the branches of the trees.
The forest gradually closed in, leaving a grass plain three-quarters of
a mile wide, which we edged on the west, occasionally startling an
elk-deer. A low hillock fringed the east of the plain, backed by a
higher one three-quarters of a mile beyond it.
The forest was one of the most magnificent and varied I have ever seen.
Padouk, thyngan, thytkado, wild mango, kanyin, banian, and many other
fine trees whose names I do not know, grew to an enormous size. One
looked for giants to match the trees, everything was so huge. The forest
was a fit home for elephants and rhinoceroses. A kanyin-tree that I
measured was 20 feet in girth 5 feet from the ground, and over 200 feet
in height.
One of the men brought Dr M‘Gilvary a piece of bark off a large tree,
and after smelling it, he sent it to Dr Cushing, who, after doing
likewise, forwarded it to me. It nearly knocked me down. Of all the
horrible odours I ever met with, that was the worst. Bracken and other
ferns, as well as screw-pines, flourished in the deep shade of the
forest.
At 367 miles we crossed the Huay Pa Au, the last stream that enters the
Meh Khow Tome, and fifteen minutes later, without any perceptible rise,
reached the Huay Leuk, which is said to enter the Meh Chun. We had
crossed the water-parting between the Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen plains
without being aware of it.
Half a mile farther we crossed the toe of a spur, and then passed amidst
low hillocks until we reached a dry brook 6 feet wide and 5 feet deep,
where we halted for breakfast. The hills had ceased, and we were in the
Kiang Hsen plain. The height of the water-parting between it and the
plain of Kiang Hai was 1471 feet above the sea, and only 151 feet above
Kiang Hai. Our camp was 369½ miles from Hlineboay, and 1447 feet above
the sea.
Whilst inking the notes in my field-book, butterflies settled on my
hand, and were as brave and persistent as house-flies. No sooner had I
shaken them off than they were back again, being rocked on my hand as I
wrote. The jungle, particularly in the neighbourhood of water, simply
swarms with insect-life. An entomologist could fill a case in a
morning’s walk. He would have but to shake his net under the leaves of a
few bushes for walking-leaves, stick-insects, ant-cows, lady-birds, and
a variety of remarkable beetles, to drop into it.
Tiger-beetles, ground-beetles, bombardier-beetles, whirling
water-beetles, mimic-beetles, stag-beetles, chaffer-beetles,
click-beetles, scavenger-beetles, rove-beetles, sexton-beetles,
chameleon-green beetles, glowworms, fireflies, floral-beetles,
blister-flies, long-snouted beetles, capricorn-beetles,
tortoise-beetles, ladybird-beetles—all are found in the jungle. Dr
Mason, in his work ‘Burmah,’ states that Captain Smith collected
specimens of nearly 300 species in Toungoo, a town in Burmah, on the
Sittang river.
In connection with butterflies, Dr Mason remarks that “when a person
dies, the Burmese say the soul, or sentient principle, leaves the body
in the form of a butterfly. This too was the faith of the Greeks more
than 2000 years ago. Among the ancients, when a man expired, a butterfly
appeared fluttering above, as if rising from the mouth of the deceased.
The coincidence is the more remarkable the closer it is examined. The
_psyche_ or soul of the Greeks, represented by the butterfly, was the
life, the perceptive principle, and not the _pneuma_ or spiritual
nature. So the Burmans regard the butterfly in man as that principle of
his nature which perceives, but not that of which moral actions are
predicated. If a person is startled or frightened so as to be astounded
for the moment, they say ‘his butterfly has departed.’ When a person is
unconscious of all that is passing around him in sleep, the butterfly is
supposed to be absent, but on its return the person awakes, and what the
butterfly has seen constitutes dreams.
“The Greeks and Burmese undoubtedly derived these ideas from a common
origin. In the Buddhist legends of the creation of man, which originated
in Central Asia, it is stated that when man was formed, a caterpillar,
or worm, was introduced into the body, which, after remaining ten lunar
months, brought forth the living man; and hence the reason why a
butterfly is supposed to leave the body at death.”
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Htong, Loi Ya Tow, and Loi Ta, at 2.34_ P.M. _19th
March_.
]
Leaving the brook, I skirted some granite boulders, and halted for an
hour in a grassy plain, a mile from the camp, to sketch Loi Htong, Loi
Ta, and Loi Ya Tow. Where these hills come together, the end of each is
precipitous, the precipices confronting each other. The villagers say
that Loi Htong and Loi Ta were about to fight when Loi Ya Tow (Ya Tow,
an honorific term given the grandmother on the father’s side) stepped in
between and stopped them. These hills, or rather the shrines on them,
are held in high esteem by the people, and pilgrimages are made to them
by pilgrims from great distances, as it is believed that many sacred
relics of Gaudama, and of the three previous Buddhs, are enshrined
there.
According to “The History of the Shrine of Loi Htong,” which I borrowed
from the pagoda slave who had charge of it, the shrine, which is
situated in a cave on the summit of the hill, contains 566 relics of
Gaudama, the last Buddh. These relics consist of his collar-bones, the
hair of his head and body, his teeth, and the little stones, as large as
mustard-seed, found in the ashes after the body was burned: 500 of them
were deposited there shortly after the Buddh’s death by Phya A-soot-a,
the king of Kiang Hsen; 50 by the king of Muang Yong, the State to the
north of Kiang Hsen, a hundred years after the death of the Buddh; and
16 by a _russi_, or hermit, 1980 years later, or in A.D. 1437.
Further to attract pilgrims to the shrine, the history relates that all
the four Buddhs of the present _lawka_[5] visited the shrine, and that
the third Buddh called twelve celestial fountains into existence in its
neighbourhood. Worshippers bathing in one would be healed of all their
diseases, and have every desire fulfilled. Another conferred wisdom.
Another enabled a person to see the spirits, who are shrouded from
mortal vision by a white veil. Another dispelled all angry passions.
Another renewed youth and youthful desires. Another was for the Yaks, or
ogres, to bathe in. One of the fountains on the east of the shrine is
guarded by a serpent that lives in the heart of the mountain. The shrine
is said to be guarded by two monkeys who were placed there by Gaudama
Buddh at the time of his visit, when he ordained that offerings of
fruit, flowers, and rice should be made to the monkeys and their
descendants by the people, and that all making the offerings should
prosper greatly.
Another part of the history relates that three hundred years after the
last Buddh’s death a Tay-wa-boot,[6] or male angel, brought a young
banian-tree from Himapan, and planted it to the north of the shrine.
Whoever wished to obtain sons or daughters had only to place a prop
under the eastern branch. One placed under the northern branch would
ensure the attainment of all earthly blessings. One placed under the
western branch would cure all bodily ailments. A person placing a prop
under the southern branch would attain Neiban, the state of peaceful
restfulness, the highest bliss desired by a Buddhist.
The history likewise contains a few particulars about the early
relations of the Shans with the Lawas, and the foundation and dynasties
of Kiang Hsen.
During my halt a jungle-fire sprang up in the long grass, and the
elephants became restless. My companions, therefore, went on to the
place where we were to camp for the night, and my mahout took his
elephant out of sight of the fire. I was so bent on sketching and taking
angles, that I woke up from my work surprised to find myself alone.
Loogalay, with the heedlessness of a Burman, had loafed off with the
other servants, when he ought to have been in attendance upon me.
Following the track for about half a mile, I found my elephant waiting
for me, and continued through the grassy plain, where the trees were
still in leaf, and soon afterwards crossed the Meh Chan, or Meh Tsan as
it is called by the Burmese Shans. The Meh Chan is a stream 30 feet
broad, 7 feet deep, with 2 feet of water in the channel. It flows from
the west, but turns north-east at our crossing, and enters the Meh Khum
near Kiang Hsen.
After passing some distance through the straggling village of Ban Meh
Chan, a suburb of Ban Meh Kee, I halted to sketch the hills, which
stretch for 25 miles to the west, and enclose the valleys of the Meh
Chan and Meh Khum. Mr Archer, of our Siam consular service, who crossed
from Muang Fang into the valley of the Meh Chan in 1887, reported that
the pass between the source of the Meh Chan and the Meh Khoke (Meh Khok)
was some 2650 feet above the sea. As the Meh Khoke, where crossed by
him, must have been at least 1500 feet above the sea, the rise in the 18
miles from the Meh Khoke to the top of the pass would have been only
about 1150 feet, and the fall in the 32 miles from the pass to Ban Meh
Kee (Më Khi) only 1200 feet. There would therefore be very little
difficulty in connecting Muang Fang with Kiang Hsen by a railway.
The Kiang Hsen plain extends for 12 miles to the west of Ban Meh Chan,
the hills forming an irregular amphitheatre, with a diameter of 17
miles. To the south the plain is fringed by low isolated hills and
hillocks; to the north-east it stretches for 18 miles to the Meh Kong;
and it continues northwards for 43 miles up the valley of the Nam Hu-uk
(Më Huok), or for 20 miles beyond the fort that has recently been built
by the Siamese at Viang Hpan (Wieng Phan), on the Meh Sai. If we include
the Kiang Hsen, Kiang Hai, and Penyow plains, which are conterminous,
the total length of this vast plain is over 115 miles. Assuming its
average breadth as 10 miles, there is ample room in it for a million
people to earn their living by agriculture. Viang Hpan lies 23 miles
north of Ban Meh Chan.
[Illustration:
_View of the Valley of the Meh Chun at 3.57 P.M. 19th March._
]
At the time of my visit, the Siamo-Burmese frontier passed between Ban
Meh Kee, the northernmost Siamese Shan village, and Ban Meh Puen, the
southernmost Burmese Shan village, the two villages being distant some
1950 feet. At the time of Mr Archer’s visit the Siamese had encroached
22 miles within our frontier, by building their fort on the Meh Sai.
Unless this is rectified, disturbances will certainly occur between the
Ngio Shans, our subjects, and the Siamese. Even as it is, our subjects
consider that the Meh Khoke to its mouth forms their proper boundary,
and that the Siamese had no right to encroach beyond that river.
After an hour’s halt, I again started, and passing through the village,
crossed the stream, and traversed a teak-forest for the next ten
minutes. Most of the small hillocks that are scattered about the plain
are covered with teak-trees. Leaving the forest, I again entered the
plain, which was covered with thatching-grass, and crossed to where my
party was encamped on the banks of the Meh Chan. The camp was situated
376 miles from Hlineboay.
Leaving early the next morning, we continued through the plain, which
was much cut up by irrigation-channels, and had evidently at one time
been under cultivation, and halted for breakfast on the outer
fortifications of the centre one of the three ancient cities of Manola,
which lay on our left.
[Illustration:
_View of Loi Chang Ngo at 4.49 P.M. 20th March._
]
The three cities of Manola, “the silver mountains,” are said to have
been built by the Tay-wa-boot, or male angels. They are each about half
a mile in diameter, and are erected on separate knolls. The ditch of the
one visited by me was 100 feet wide, and 40 feet deep from the top of
the inner rampart. Great trees, some over 100 feet high, growing on the
fortifications, indicated that the city must have been deserted for two
or three hundred years. Close to the city, at the eastern suburb of Ban
Kyoo Pow, a tiger had seized a cow the previous night, on the banks of
the Meh Chun, and both had rolled into the river; the tiger was so
surprised that it allowed the cow to escape. The owner, hearing the
noise, fired off his gun to scare the tiger.
The people of the neighbouring village complained of the ravages
committed by wild pigs; thirty of these animals had rooted up part of
their crops the previous year. According to the villagers, the enormous
plain we were passing through was entirely under cultivation previous to
A.D. 1794–97, when Viang Chang and Luang Prabang besieged Kiang Hsen;
but now the greater part of it is covered with elephant-grass, and forms
the haunt of vast herds of deer, black cattle larger than buffaloes,
rhinoceroses, and other wild animals. Wild elephants are at times seen
in the unsettled parts of the plain, but none had been captured
recently.
[Illustration:
_Phya In or Indra._
]
There were no ruins in the city; but after leaving it I noticed in a
teak-forest, near the village of Ban Pa Sak, the remains of a pagoda and
temple. A mile and a half to the right of the village is a hillock
called Loi Koo, or the hill of the royal sepulchre. Continuing through
the plain, we came to the village of Meh Tsun Tsoor, where a tiger had
endeavoured to carry off cattle the previous night, but had been
frightened away by the villagers. We halted for the night at Pang Mau
Pong, or the camp of Dr Pong, a celebrated hunter.
Loi Chang Ngo (the hill where the elephant became drowsy) commences
about four miles north of the camp, from which there is a fine view of
it, as well as of Loi Saun ka-tee (the hillock to the north of Kiang
Hsen), and some distant precipitous hills lying to the east of the Meh
Kong. Loi Chang Ngo derives its name from the following legend: Before
the destruction of Muang Nŏng by Phya Then, or Indra, the sacred white
elephant left the city, and went trumpeting to Chang Hsen; hence its
name (Chang, an elephant; Hsen, trumpeting). From Kiang Hsen it
proceeded to Loi Chang Ngo, and disappeared. It is supposed to be
slumbering there still.
The legend of Muang Nŏng relates that Phya Then was incensed at the
inhabitants of the city eating white eels—most white animals, except
white men and white cats, are considered sacred by the Shans—and
submerged the city, turning the site into a lake. Only a hunter’s house,
which was built on the outskirts, remained. He had asked the people for
some of the fish, but had been refused. The name Phya In, used by the
Zimmé Shans for Indra, seems to be a compromise between the Phya Then of
the Burmese Shans (which is doubtless derived from the Tien of the
Chinese) and the Indra of the natives of India.
[Illustration:
_The Koo Tow._
]
During the evening (20th March) we had a heavy downpour of rain,
accompanied by thunder and lightning.
The next morning, after leaving the village fields, and crossing the Meh
Chan for the last time, we passed between a newly raised footpath and a
ditch for about half a mile. The footpath had been raised, because, when
the Meh Kong is in high flood, the ground about here and between this
and Kiang Hsen is occasionally inundated by the Meh Khum. At 389 miles
we skirted a hillock, called Loi Ngome, on our right, and soon
afterwards came to the village and fields of Hsan Hsoom Hpee. Many low
hillocks were now seen at distances varying from 800 feet to four miles
to our right. A short distance from Kiang Hsen I halted near an
irrigation-canal, 100 feet wide and 6 feet deep, to visit the Koo Tow, a
celebrated leaning pagoda, which, unlike any other pagoda that I have
seen in Indo-China, has been built in the Chinese style. The figures of
the Tay-wa-boot or male angels, which are executed in bas-relief in
excellent plaster, are Burmese in design. The pagoda is circular, and
about 75 feet high; the upper 60 feet rising in three storeys, like a
drawn-out telescope. Each storey is divided into two by an ornamental
band, above which are Tay-wa-boot with hands upraised and palms pressed
together in adoration, and below which are similar Tay-wa-boot with
hands pressed together in front of their chest. Before the pagoda a
Burmese image of Gaudama has been erected, which was still in good
condition with the exception of the loss of a hand and an arm.
On remounting the elephant, a deer sprang up from the long grass close
by and crossed the track. Six minutes later I crossed the Meh Khum, or
golden river, 80 feet broad and 9 feet deep, with 3½ feet of water; and
three-quarters of a mile from the pagoda, entered the fortifications
which enclose the west central gate of Kiang Hsen. The gate opens on to
one of the main streets of the city, along which we passed amidst
numerous ruins of religious buildings, and a few clusters of recently
built houses, to the _sala_ or rest-house, which we occupied during our
stay. The _sala_ is situated 1274 feet to the west of the Meh Kong, or
Cambodia river, 393 miles from Hlineboay, 1097 feet above the sea, and
only 89 feet higher than Zimmé.