LEAVE PENYOW—WILD ROSES—AN INUNDATED COUNTRY—ROYAL FUNERAL
BUILDINGS—POSTS TWO HUNDRED FEET LONG—COLLECTION AND USES OF
WOOD-OIL—DESCRIPTION OF DAILY MEALS—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH
KONG AND MEH NAM—PATH FOR RAILWAY—A DEAD FOREST—REACH MUANG
NGOW—SETTLED BY LAKON—KAREN VILLAGES—TEAK-FORESTS—FOUR THOUSAND
BURMESE DESTROYED—A DISTRIBUTING CENTRE FOR MUANG NAN AND MUANG
PEH—DEFICIENT RAINFALL—BURMESE PEDLARS—IMMIGRANTS FROM KIANG HUNG-A
TERRIBLE DIN—THE ECLIPSE—BUDDHIST LEGEND—ELEPHANTS SHOULD REST AFTER
NOON DURING HOT SEASON—LEAVE MUANG NGOW—RAILWAY FROM BANGKOK TO
KIANG HUNG CROSSES NO HILL-RANGE—BATTLE-FIELD—THE STONE
GATE—WATER-PARTING BETWEEN THE MEH NGOW AND MEH WUNG—A JOLTING
ELEPHANT—BAN SA-DET—OFFERINGS FOR THE MONKS—PRESENTS FOR THE
CHILDREN—THE BUDDHIST LENT—LIGHTS FOR EVIL SPIRITS—THE DEMON’S
LENT—OFFERINGS TO THE NAIADS—ILLUMINATING THE RIVER—KING OF SIAM
LIGHTING FIREWORKS—SCARING THE SPIRITS—OFFERINGS TO NAIADS AND
DEMONS IN CASE OF SICKNESS—TRIAL BY WATER—SUPERSTITION AGAINST
SAVING DROWNING FOLK—DESCENT OF THE RAIN-GOD INDRA—LIBATIONS—THE
WATER-FEAST—BATHING THE IMAGES—SCENE IN THE TEMPLE—WAKING THE GODS
WITH WATER—PROPITIATING THE LAWA GENII—THE WARMING OF BUDDH—A
DOUSING—A COMPLIMENT—CALLING THE SPIRITS TO WITNESS—LEAVE BAN
SA-DET—RUBY-MINES—REACH LAKON.
We were detained at Penyow from the 3d to the 8th of April, waiting the
arrival of a fresh relay of elephants. The elephants had been turned out
for the hot season to graze in the forests, and had to be tracked for
long distances before they could be captured. At length, when four
elephants had been brought in, Chow Rat, the Lakon prince, kindly lent
us two of his own animals; and we thus, with Dr M‘Gilvary’s elephant,
and twenty porters, had as much transport as we required.
During our stay the Chow Hluang furnished us with rice and fowls, and
the day before we left, to our great joy sent us the fore quarters of a
pig. Never was roast-pork more enjoyed by mortal beings.
Leaving Penyow the next morning about seven o’clock, we crossed the Meh
Ing, which runs near the south gate of the city. The bed of the river at
our ford was saucer-shaped, 80 feet wide, and 5 feet deep in the centre,
and contained 1 foot of water, which was covered with a thick yellow
slime, that emitted an unpleasant odour. After passing a great clump of
rose-bushes, bearing ordinary tea-roses, we entered a plain covered with
elephant grass and bamboo jungle, which is inundated to a depth of 5 or
6 feet in the rains.
Three-quarters of a mile from the city we left the low ground, and
crossing the Meh Hong Sai, the brook of clear water, entered the
rice-plain of Ban Meh Sai. This village is inhabited by people who have
been turned out of other places in the district, under the accusation of
witchcraft.
Near the village we noticed many padouk and pyngado logs, which had been
dragged there for the purpose of building a temple and monastery.
Beyond the fields we entered a bamboo jungle, through which our
elephants had to force their way by breaking down the bamboos and small
trees, and snapping off such branches and twigs as would interfere with
the howdah. It is surprising how docile these great animals are, and how
sagaciously they obey the orders given them by their drivers. We halted
for breakfast at a house that had been built for us in the pretty
village of Meh Hong Khum, which is situated on a stream of the same
name.
After breakfast, we visited the temple and monastery, where we found the
priests busy making rockets for the approaching eclipse, and then
continued through the forest to the village of Ban So. Thence proceeding
through a slightly rolling country, where several small streams take
their rise, we camped for the night under the shade of a great kanyin
tree, near the Meh Na Poi, which enters the Meh Ing. We had risen 350
feet in 12 miles since leaving Penyow.
The kanyin (or oil-tree), under which we erected our tent, had it been
on an affluent of the Meh Nam, might have been chosen for one of the
main posts of a Pramene, or Royal Siamese cremation temple. When a king
of Siam dies, his successor immediately begins making preparations for
the construction of a Pramene, a splendid temporary building, under
which the body, after sitting in state for several days on a throne
glittering with silver, gold, and precious stones, is committed to the
flames.
The late Dr Bradley thus described the erection of the posts in one of
these buildings:—
“The building is intended to be in size and grandeur according to the
estimation in which the deceased was held. Royal orders are forthwith
sent to the governors of four different provinces far away to the north,
in which large timber abounds, requiring each of these to furnish one of
the four large logs for the centre pillars of the Pramene. These must be
of the finest timber, usually the oil-tree (kanyin), very straight, 200
feet long, and proportionally large in circumference, which is not less
than 12 feet. There are always twelve other pillars, a little smaller in
size, demanded at the same time from the governors of other provinces,
as also much other timber needed in the erection of the Pramene and the
numerous buildings connected with it.
“The great difficulty of procuring these pillars is one main cause of
the usual long delay of the funeral burning of a king. When brought to
the city, they are dragged up to the place of the Pramene, chiefly by
the muscular power of men working by means of a rude windlass and
rollers under the logs. They are then hewed and planed a little—just
enough to remove all cracks and other deformities—and finished off in a
cylindrical form. Then they are planted in the ground 30 feet deep, one
at each corner of a square not less than 160 feet in circumference. When
in their proper place they stand leaning a little toward each other, so
that they describe the form of a four-sided, truncated pyramid from 150
to 180 feet high. On the top of these is framed a pagoda-formed spire,
adding from 50 to 60 feet more to the height of the structure. This
upper part is octagonal, and so covered with yellow tin sheets and
tinselled paper as to make a grand appearance at such a height.”
The Ton Yang (or Ton Nyang), the Shan name for the kanyin tree,
sometimes attains a height of 230 feet to the first branch. Its oil is
procured in a similar way to the varnish of the Mai Hăk, or Thytsi tree.
A large notch is cut in the tree two or three feet from the ground, and
a basin is formed at the bottom of the notch, capable of containing
three quarts of oil as it drops from the upper part of the notch. A fire
is then built in the notches, and kept burning until all parts are well
charred. A tree 12 feet in circumference often has three or more of
these wounds, each giving from one to two quarts in twenty-four hours.
At first the oil appears milky and thin, but it gradually becomes brown
and thicker by exposure to the air. A good deal of sediment collects in
the jars into which the oil is put, which is mixed with rotten wood or
other material, and formed into torches, from 15 to 18 inches long.
These torches serve as candles and lanterns, and also for kindling
fires. The oil is used for oiling boats, and, mixed with a finely
pulverised resin, as a putty for filling the seams of the boats, and,
with less resin, as a coating to protect their bottoms. In a few days it
becomes quite hard and impervious to water.
Camping in the evergreen forest, under the great tree, with the air
rapidly cooling after the heat of the day, was very enjoyable, and was
rendered more so by recollections of our late stuffy quarters in the
pest-ridden city. Then we had pork, roast-pork, for dinner! No one can
realise what a luxury that is who has not existed mainly upon fowls for
several weeks.
For the sake of future travellers in these parts, I may here note the
particulars of our daily meals. Before dawn, whilst the elephant-men
were bathing their charges in the neighbouring stream and we were having
our morning dip, our boys were cooking our _chota haziri_, or early
meal, which consisted of a tin of Kopp’s soup mixed with a
table-spoonful of Liebig’s essence of beef, and some biscuits, with
coffee, cocoa, or tea, and half cooking the fowls which would be
required for our breakfast. By daybreak our meal was completed, and
everything packed on the elephants, so that we might be away as soon as
it was light. On each of our howdahs we carried a cosie-covered Chinese
teapot, into which hot tea had been poured after having been brewed in
another pot, and an enamelled teacup to drink out of when thirsty on the
journey.
At breakfast, which was served during our mid-day halt, we had soup,
chickens, sometimes a duck, curry, and rice, and vegetables when we
could get them. The tender shoots of young bamboos, and certain
fern-fronds when stripped of their stalks, form excellent substitutes
for garden vegetables, and were frequently eaten by us when procurable.
Our dinners were similar to our breakfasts, with the addition of fried
plantains, tapioca, sago, or boiled rice and jam. Beef was a luxury
seldom to be had, and to procure a beefsteak one had to purchase an ox.
The following morning we were off early, and two miles beyond our camp
came to the water-parting that divides the streams flowing into the Meh
Kong from those emptying into the Meh Nam. It was only 1643 feet above
the level of the sea, or 377 feet above Penyow, which was here 14 miles
distant.
Nothing could have been more surprising to us. Loi Kong Lome, the great
range to our right that separates the Meh Ngow from the Meh Ing, was
four or five miles distant, and dying down into the plain, while Loi Nam
Lin, the main range on our left, was ten miles away, with its nearest
spur two miles from us.
We were in a great gap between two ranges of mountains, and were merely
crossing the undulating ground intervening between them. Here was a
freak of nature to be taken advantage of for railway purposes. I had now
proved that the water-parting of the Meh Kong and the Meh Nam could be
crossed through a gap in the mountains, and that Kiang Hung, at the foot
of the Yunnan plateau, could be joined to Bangkok, the capital of Siam,
by a railway passing through a series of valleys separated from each
other by only undulating ground, which offered no physical obstruction
to the carrying out of the work. It now remained to be seen whether an
alternative line _viâ_ the valley of the Meh Wung, which would bring
Zimmé and Maulmain into nearer connection with the railway, was equally
feasible.
Descending along the Meh Yu-ek, amongst hillocks and broken ground, we
seemed to be passing through the valley of the shadow of death. The
forest had a ghastly appearance. Dead bamboos lay like spellicans cast
about in every direction, and many had been crushed down by others to
the ground, which was carpeted with yellow silvery leaves. The light
colour of the bark of the few trees scattered amongst the clumps was
strangely in tone with the dead bamboos; and their yellow-green,
fresh-sprouted foliage, added to the weird aspect of the scene. One
could nearly believe that the pale-blue and yellow butterflies flitting
over the path were the souls of human beings in the land of dreams, or
on their pilgrimage to a new life.
After descending 363 feet in 4 miles, we reached Ban Hai, a hamlet in a
forest of noble teak-trees. Near here, willows were growing in the
stream-bed, and a caravan of thirty-five laden cattle passed on their
way from Muang Peh to Kiang Hai.
We continued along the stream for another two miles, and then left it
flowing to our right, and crossing a couple of low spurs, descended to
and crossed the Meh Ngow. This river at our ford was 1073 feet above the
sea, 60 feet broad, and 6 feet deep, with 6 inches of water in its bed.
The fall from the crest of the pass to our crossing of the Meh Ngow was
only 570 feet in a distance of 8 miles. Three-quarters of a mile farther
we halted for breakfast at a house that had been erected for our use in
the rice-plain of Ban Koi.
We were once again in a cultivated region, and from here to Muang Ngow
our path led chiefly through rice-fields and tobacco-gardens.
Early the next morning we reached the beautifully wooded city of Muang
Ngow, which is situated 93¾ miles from Zimmé, and 798 feet above the
sea.
Muang Ngow is one of the smallest Muangs in the Ping States. It was
resettled a few years ago by Lakon, and comprised at the time of my
visit only 800 houses, which were scattered through the city and six
villages. There were also a few Karen villages in the neighbouring
hills, some of whose inhabitants had lately been converted by Dr
Cushing’s Mission, the American Baptist, that has done such good work
amongst the Karens and other hill tribes in Burmah.
In reporting of this Muang in 1887, three years after my visit, Mr
Archer states: “Muang Ngao (Muang Ngow) is an important sub-province of
Lakhon (Lakon), and, besides its rich rice-fields, boasts of extensive
teak-forests, which have recently been leased to a British company. The
valley is broad and well cultivated, and the numerous and populous
villages and the traffic on the roads showed greater prosperity and
animation than I had yet seen, with a few exceptions, since leaving
Chiengmai (Zimmé). Muang Ngao lies on the trade-route from Lakhon to the
north, and the number of traders I met here proves it to be a trade
station of some importance.”
This Muang, which would be intersected by our proposed railroad, is 83
miles distant from Muang Nan, the capital of the Shan State of the same
name, and three days and five hours’ elephant journey, or about 60
miles, distant from Muang Peh, the capital of the State of that name. At
the time when the Ping States threw off their allegiance to Burmah, Noi
Atha, the governor of Muang Nan, which was then a principality of Zimmé,
led a force of 4000 Burmese soldiers into the gorge of the Meh Si-phan,
where they were crushed to death by rocks hurled down by the Shans from
the overhanging heights. The Meh Si-phan, which enters the Meh Yom from
the east, is skirted by the route from Muang Ngow to Muang Nan, and its
name implies the “river of the 4000.” Lakon and Muang Ngow would be
equally well situated on the railway for tapping the trade of Muang Nan
and Muang Peh.
On visiting the governor, who has the title of _Pau Muang_, or Father of
the State, he received us with the usual frank courtesy of the Shan
chiefs, and gave us what information he could about trade, trade-routes,
and geography. Half of the people gain their livelihood by cultivating
cotton, and the remainder by rice, tobacco, and other crops. The outcome
of rice varies with the rainfall; and in good seasons the return is
eighty to ninety fold, or about double the average in Burmah. The
rainfall was insufficient in 1869 and 1883; though in other years their
crops were good. The river does not inundate the land, but the hills
being near, canals can easily be made to irrigate the fields.
Although there are many areca palms about the place, they do not fruit
well; therefore betel-nuts, as well as seri-leaf, are brought from
Zimmé. Dried fish come from Penyow and Kiang Hsen, and European goods
from Bangkok viâ Lakon. Mr Archer met a number of Toungthoo and Burmese
pedlars at the city; and the inhabitants exchange their cotton with the
Chinese from Yunnan for salt, which the latter have purchased at Lakon
for bartering in the district.
Immigrants from Kiang Hung, belonging to a branch of the Shans known as
Lus, have formed settlements in the country between Muang Peh and Kiang
Khong, as well as in the valley of the Meh Oo, a river that enters the
Meh Kong from the north near the city of Luang Prabang.
The city of Muang Ngow is fringed with, and partially hidden by, fine
fruit-trees; the gardens being rendered beautiful by handsome clumps of
cocoa-nut and areca palms. The _sala_ being in a filthy condition, and
surrounded by a large caravan of laden cattle, we camped in the gardens.
In the evening we were startled by a terrible din which suddenly sprang
up on all sides of us. Swarms of men, women, and children, seemingly
maddened by excitement, were rushing about firing guns, horse-pistols,
rockets, and crackers, in all directions; clashing together gongs,
bells, brass basins, pots, bowls, bamboos, and anything within reach;
and yelling, screeching, and hooting, made night horrible; while the
discord was further increased by the barking and howling of frightened
dogs. An eclipse was occurring—the _Naga_ (or dragon) was swallowing the
moon; and the people, naturally enraged, were determined that he should
disgorge it. After the eclipse was over, clouds gathered over the sky
and we had a sharp shower of rain.
The Buddhist legend that gives the origin of the name of this State is
by no means complimentary to the people. It states that, when Gaudama
Buddha arrived at Ngow and sent to the people announcing his arrival,
they were engaged in fishing. Instead of returning home at once and
putting on decent clothes, they stopped to finish their haul, and then
presented themselves to him in their dripping clothes. On their
approaching him, he exclaimed, “The people of this place are _ngow_
(fools). The Buddha came to visit you, you did not hasten to him, and
when at length you come, it is in this plight.” This legend, I need
hardly say, was not told me in Ngow, but by a _Chow Phya_ of Lakon.
The temperature during the day varied between 69° at 5.30 A.M., 87° at
10 A.M., 92° at noon, 96° at 2.30 P.M., and 95° at 4.10 P.M. During the
hot season it is desirable that the day’s march with elephants should
commence at daybreak and end by noon; afternoons are very oppressive,
and the animals get jaded, particularly when travelling in an open plain
or in a leafless forest.
We left Muang Ngow just as it was getting light, on April 11th, and
crossed the plain to Ban Hoo-art, a village situated on the Meh Hoo-art,
an affluent of the Meh Ngow. We then skirted the stream for five miles,
and halted for breakfast on its bank, under a shady grove of trees. Many
teak-logs had been dragged from the forest into the bed of the stream
for floating to Bangkok during the rainy season. One of the teak-trees
in the forest measured 16 feet in girth 6 feet from the ground. During
our morning’s march we passed two large villages, a party of Burmese
Shans returning to Kiang Tung from Maulmain with their purchases, and a
caravan of fifty laden cattle.
In the afternoon we journeyed through a teak-forest, and after crossing
two low spurs, halted for the night on the bank of the Meh Lah. Our camp
was 81½ miles from Zimmé, and we had risen 614 feet since leaving Muang
Ngow.
A mile to the east of our crossing, the Meh Lah, which enters the Meh
Ngow near the site of the ancient city of Muang Teep, is joined by the
Meh Lah Noi, a tributary from the south, which drains a valley six and a
half miles long, formed by a long low spur, which is connected at the
head of the valley with the plateau on the west. This valley has the
appearance of having been cut lengthways out of the former flat slope of
the plateau, the spur seeming to be the lower continuation of the
original slope. On ascending the plateau on the morrow, I noticed that
in the space between the spur and the north end of the range of hills
lying to the east, which commences some ten miles to the south-east, the
only hill visible was a short precipitous mass of mural limestone,
standing up several hundred feet in height, with its top looking like a
great coronet.
It thus became apparent that a similar freak of nature to that already
described in the water-parting between the Meh Ing and the Meh Ngow was
present in that between the Meh Ngow and the Meh Wung. The ranges
between the basins of the rivers are not continuous, and a railway can
be constructed from Bangkok _viâ_ Lakon, to Kiang Hung, which lies at
the foot of the Yunnan plateau, through a series of great plains, which
are only separated from each other by slightly undulating country.
Leaving the Meh Lah early the next morning, we ascended the slope of the
plateau for two and a half miles by a good broad road, passing through a
teak-forest to the Pah Took (Stone Tent), a pillar of limestone with a
small cave in its western face. For the greater part of the way the
ascent lay along a natural terrace 300 and 400 feet wide, bordered on
the east by the slope of the plateau, and on the west by cliffs of mural
limestone. In this neighbourhood a pitched battle is said to have been
fought between a Zimmé army and one of Burmese Shans, but I could get no
further particulars of the event.
At the Pah Took we turned west and ascended 90 feet to the Pah Too Pah
(Stone Gate)—a gap 200 feet broad, in the line of limestone cliffs that
fringe the eastern edge of the summit of the plateau. The cliffs on
either side of the gap rose like the wall of a fortress to a height of
300 feet, and the ground at the gap was 1941 feet above the level of the
sea.
Continuing along the eastern edge of the plateau, which sloped from
north to south, we reached the base of Loi Pah Heeng. Leaving Loi Pah
Heeng trending away to the south-west, we descended the eastern slope of
the plateau—the same that we had previously mounted from the Meh Lah—and
after marching a mile, reached the head of the Meh Lah Noi valley.
The crest of the spur at this point is 1564 feet above the sea, and I
have assumed that elevation as the height that the railway would have to
cross between the valleys of the Meh Wung and the Meh Ngow; but it is
evident that a considerably lower pass might be found between the spur
and the coronet-topped hill which still loomed above it in the distance.
Continuing our descent, we shortly afterwards came to the source of the
Meh Mau, and skirting its channel until we found water in its bed,
halted for breakfast and for the night—being hungry, thirsty, and weary
with our long march. My long-legged male elephant had kept me in
perpetual torment by plunging at every step, and nearly breaking my
back. The voices of deer were heard in the vicinity of the camp after
dark. These inquisitive animals were most likely attracted by the light
of our fires.
Next morning we crossed the Meh Mau, and soon afterwards left it at the
point where it turns south to enter the Meh Chang, which empties into
the Meh Wung—seven and a half hours’ journey to the south of Lakon.
During the first three miles from the camp, we gradually ascended 171
feet to the source of the Huay Kyoo Lie, and then followed that brook
down-stream for two miles to where its beautiful glen merges into the
great plain of the Meh Wung.
After marching across the plain for three hours, we entered the
rice-fields and suburbs of Ban Sa-det, and passing through the village,
put up at the _sala_, or rest-house, which is situated on the banks of
the Meh Wung. During the morning we met a party of Burmese Shans,
accompanying 102 oxen laden with salt, which they were bartering for
cotton to take back with them to Kiang Tung. Ban Sa-det is 60½ miles
from Zimmé and 823 feet above the level of the sea.
The village was crowded with people from the neighbouring villages, who
had come to join in the New Year festivities and to make their offerings
at the temples and monasteries. Long strings of men, women, and children
streamed past us in single file, all dressed in their best, on their way
to the monasteries—some carrying baskets or brass trays on their heads,
and others baskets dangling from both ends of a long flat
shoulder-bamboo. Every conceivable want of the monks would certainly be
satisfied. Pillows for their heads, handsomely worked three-cornered
pillows to rest their elbows on, rugs to sit on, and mats for reclining;
new yellow garments, lamps, palm-leaf manuscripts beautifully inscribed
and covered with handsomely embroidered covers, fans and face-screens,
luscious fruits and delicate viands,—what more could pious monks
require, particularly when they were sheltered by such a beautiful and
spacious building, situated in such a shady and well-kept garden, as had
been erected for them by the people?
Women and children came crowding round the elephants whilst they were
being unloaded; and as soon as our things were carried up the steps,
followed closely in their wake to gaze at us and our doings and further
satisfy their curiosity. Their natural politeness, however, forbade them
to mount on to the verandah itself until they were invited to do so. Of
course the invitation came as soon as we saw their heads above the level
of the floor, and I ordered the boys to get out my packets of beads and
bead necklaces so as to cheer the hearts of the little children with
such inexpensive presents. How their eyes gloated on them! how their
little hands clutched them when they were given! how the presents were
passed round and separately admired! how this child wanted a necklace
similar to what another child had got! how women who had no children
with them urged that they had children at home, and pitifully besought
me to give them beads for the absent ones! how there was no satisfying
anybody! and those who could get no more were quickly replaced by others
who had heard the glad tidings for the children. The whole formed a
scene not easily forgotten, and I was sorry when I had to close my hoard
in order to keep some of my wealth for distribution elsewhere.
The three days during which the festivities of the New Year last form
the chief festival in Buddhist countries—except, perhaps, that ensuing
at the end of the Buddhist Lent, which lasts from the day after the full
moon of July to the full moon of October—when the merry season is
ushered in by a great feasting of the monks, and fun waxes fast and
furious. During Lent, marriages, feasts, and public amusements are
forbidden to the pious. Some of the monks retire into the forest, or
into caves in the hills far from the haunts of men, to devote themselves
to religious meditation; and the people observe more strictly than usual
the four duty-days which are prescribed in each lunar month, and in
which all good Buddhists are expected to worship at the pagodas. Only
the most pious of the monks turn into recluses during Lent. The
remainder return each night to their monasteries, and are not free to
roam through the country until that season is over. In the Ping States,
throughout Lent, lanterns are hung aloft to guide the spirits through
the air, and thus leave no excuse for them to descend into the streets.
The observance of this custom is general, and probably arises from the
fact that the close of the rains is an unhealthy season, and that
certain spirits are believed to bring disease.
The malevolent and beneficent spirits—the belief in whom forms the
earlier, and indeed the reigning, religion of the people—likewise have
in the Shan States a Lent or season set apart for the stricter execution
of religious duties towards them. This lasts from February to May,
during which time the people very religiously observe the various rites
and ceremonies of spirit-worship. One of these ceremonies consists in
making offerings once in the eleventh month and once in the twelfth
month to the spirits of the river, for having defiled the water by
bathing and throwing refuse into it.
[Illustration:
_Evil spirits._
]
As soon as it is dark, the river becomes alive with joyous
pleasure-seeking people hastening to the scene. Offerings, consisting of
fairy skiffs and rafts of banana-stalks carrying flowers, betel-nut,
seri-leaf, incense, and lighted tapers, are floated in myriads upon the
river, and are replaced by others as they disappear in the distance. A
similar ceremony occurs in Burmah and Siam at the close of Lent. Upon
the toy rafts and boats floated in the river opposite Bangkok, and upon
all the canals, are placed miniature temples, pagodas, and
transparencies of birds and beasts, all brightly illuminated with wax
candles. They are sent off one at a time, and float down with the tide,
beautifully illuminating the river. When the miniature fleet has
disappeared, the king applies a match to fireworks that have been
arranged in boats; and then are seen trees of fire, green shrubbery, and
a variety of flowers of ever-changing colours, with rockets and squibs
in great profusion. Large and small guns are fired from the surrounding
walls of Bangkok to scare away the evil spirits; and during the three
days of the New Year festival, companies of priests are employed by the
king on the top of the walls, going through certain ceremonies in
concert, so as to drive the evil spirits from the city.
Offerings to the spirits of the land or rivers are frequently made in
cases of sickness by the people. These consist of clay images, rice,
vegetables, flesh, fruit, flowers, and wax tapers, set on toy boats or
rafts and placed on the stream or in the street, whichever is the public
highway. The spirits are supposed to find the food, &c., and become
appeased.
[Illustration:
_A dryad._
]
Other superstitions are connected with these naiads. One seems to have
given rise to the trial by water, which can still be claimed in the Ping
States—both accuser and defendant having to enter the river and see
which can keep his head longest under water without coming up for
breath; and another, which accounts for the seeming heartlessness of the
people towards drowning folk. The common belief is that the water-sprite
will certainly resent the interference of one person in rescuing
another, by at some future time claiming the rescuer as a substitute.
New Year’s Day amongst the Shans and Burmese occurs at the time of the
expected break of the south-west monsoons, and is held in honour of the
great Indian rain-god Indra, who is invoked by the people to strike the
great demon-shaped clouds (personified in India as the Demon Vritra)
which bring the periodical rains, upon which the fertility of the ground
depends. In the month of May, in India, the heat becomes intense:
vegetation is dried up, the crops cannot be sown, the cattle droop, and
milk and butter become scarce. Famine or plenty depends upon the
expected rains, and the daily gathering of the clouds is watched with
anxiety; but although the array of clouds is constantly enlarging, there
is no rain until a rattling thunderstorm charges the ranks and the
broken clouds let loose the impetuous showers. “This,” according to the
Sama Veda, “is Indra, who comes ‘loud shouting’ in his car, and hurls
his thunderbolt at the demon Vritra.”
Indra is represented in the Vedas as a young and handsome man, with a
beautiful nose and chin, ever joyous, and delighting in the exhilarating
draughts of Soma juice. When offering to Indra, the priest exclaims—“Thy
inebriety is most intense; nevertheless, thy acts are most beneficent.”
The evening of the next day, when we were at Lakon, the monsoon burst
upon us. A great low-lying phalanx of black bellying clouds came up in
battle array from the horizon, and, like a vast black curtain, quickly
hid every star from our view. Then commenced the stupendous fight.
Indra’s bolts, dashing in every direction, rent the clouds, and the rain
came pouring down in torrents upon the thirsty earth.
Amongst the Ping Shans, New Year’s Day is the same as in Burmah, and is
fixed by the position of the sun and not by that of the moon. It is the
time of the great Water Festival, when for three days Phya In, or
Indra—the rain-god and king of the Dewahs—is supposed to descend at
midnight to the earth to stay for three or four days. On the signal of
his arrival being given, a formal prayer is made, and jars full of
water, which have been placed at the door of each house, their mouths
stoppered with green leaves, have their contents poured on the ground as
a libation to the god, in order to ensure the prosperity of the
household; and every one who has a gun hastens to fire it off as a
salute to the rain-god.
The first thing in the morning the people take fresh pots of water to
the monasteries, and present them to the abbot and his monks; and in the
afternoon the women proceed to the temples to wash the images, and later
on freely douse their grandparents and other aged relatives. The scene
of the image-washing is highly picturesque. Before leaving home for the
temples, the women compound various perfumery from spices and flowers,
which, when duly prepared, is cast into a metal basin—sometimes of
silver—filled with fresh well-water. Newly cut flowers lie on the
surface of the water, and likewise deck the hair of the women and girls,
and even the top-knots of the little boys who accompany them.
Each woman, and even tiny little girl, bears a basin of perfumed water
in her hands, and all trip along gaily, dressed in all the finery at
their disposal, chatting and jesting merrily together, to the temple. As
they enter its grounds, which are enclosed by low white-plastered brick
walls, along two sides of which are erected sheds for the accommodation
of pilgrims, the abbot and his monks, in their bright yellow garments,
and with their bald pates glistening in the sun, may be seen strolling
amongst the pleasant shady fruit-trees. Everything has been kept neat
and trim by the pious villagers, not even a stray leaf is to be seen,
and fresh sand has been scattered about the grounds as a finishing
touch. The great white-walled temple, with its handsome many-tiered
roof, and its floor raised some feet from the ground, stands with its
door facing the entrance-gate, and a broad flight of steps, with
handsome side walls surmounted by great plastered dragons embellished
with coloured glass scales of various tints, and the bottoms of
beer-bottles for eyes, leads up to the double entrance-door.
There are no windows in the building; and therefore the only light shed
upon the great image, besides that glimmering from above, comes from the
entrance-door, which faces the shrine, and from the rows of wax tapers
which are placed on a stand before the image. On its pedestal are many
smaller images covered with gold-leaf or silver, and all intended as
resemblances of Gaudama Buddh; some depicting him in a sitting, others
in a recumbent, and a few in a standing posture. As you enter the
temple, leaving the sunshine for the dim religious light of the great
hall, you notice about the altar wreaths and garlands of lovely flowers,
fruit of various kinds, piles of newly made yellow robes which have been
woven by the women, new mats, and various other offerings, that have
been made to the temple and the monks.
The offerings not required, are supposed to be sold by the layman
attached to the monastery, and the money given to the sick and needy.
The monasteries, I may here remark, serve as refuges for poor
travellers, who are welcome at all times to shelter and food as long as
they conduct themselves properly.
[Illustration:
_Punishments in the Buddhist hells._
]
The floor of the temple is generally of brick covered with a hard white
cement, and the walls of the temples are frequently adorned with fresco
paintings representing incidents in the lives of Gaudama Buddh, as
related in the Zahts,—the favourite one being the Jataka of Naymee,
where he is represented as a white ghostly figure in a chariot, passing
through the eight hells and the six heavens of the Dewahs. The
punishments depicted as happening to various evildoers in the hells make
one’s flesh creep. Other pictures portraying the occupations of daily
life, the different nationalities seen in the country, and even sepoys
and British soldiers, besides civilians with great tall hats or enormous
sola-topees, adorn the walls of some of the temples.
Groups of women and children are squatting about on the floor.
Neighbours who have not met for a time are chatting together in an
ordinary tone of voice. Youths and maidens are joking together, or
having a quiet flirtation. Here an aged woman, telling her beads and
mumbling her prayers, presses her hands together, and lifting them above
her head, inclines her body in a low bow to the great image of Buddha,
till her head and hands are pressing the floor. There a mother with her
little child on her knee, closes its tiny palms on the stalk of a
flower, and teaches the infant how to worship the great lawgiver Buddha.
Presently the abbot, or one of the elderly monks, commences in a
monotonous tone to read one of the sacred books, which, being written in
Pali, none of the women or children can understand. The service being
over, the ceremony of bathing the images commences. All rise to their
feet, and the men carry the smaller images into a miniature temple of
bamboo, that has been erected in the grounds. When they are all
arranged, the women gather around, and each one, taking her basin,
dashes the water over the images, which are too sacred for a woman’s
hand to touch.
The missionaries told me that the images are likewise drenched with
water in times of drought, when the rice crop is being injured for want
of rain. Only the year before, the chief of Zimmé, accompanied by his
retinue of princes and attendants, ascended to the temple of Loi Soo
Tayp, and had the images removed from the building into the grounds of
the pagoda. Then the pagoda and images were thoroughly doused with
water, to awake the attention of the spirits of deceased monks that were
domiciled in them, to the wants of the people. Another day a procession
of a hundred monks visited the temple for the same purpose. Finding
these spirits obdurate, or too somnolent to be of use, the execution of
some convicts was hastened in order to propitiate Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa, the
guardian, rain-producing genii of the hills, so that they might allow
more water to flow down the streams for irrigating the fields. It is
evident that the people believed that these tutelary spirits were
hankering after their former diet, and had perhaps forgotten their
promise to Gaudama when he visited their haunts.
Another peculiar ceremony occurs, according to Dr M‘Gilvary, at the full
moon of the fourth Ping Shan month, which usually falls in January. It
is called by a name signifying “The warming of Buddh.” About daylight,
bonfires are kindled in the temple grounds, at which are assembled a
larger number than usual of worshippers. It is the cool season of the
year, when the mornings are uncomfortably cold; but no one dares to warm
himself by the bonfires on that morning. They are sacred to the spirits
of deceased monks inhabiting the images of Buddh, and are kindled for
their especial benefit. When the fires are lighted, incense-tapers are
taken by the priests, who go inside of the temple, prostrate themselves
before the images, and invite them to come out and be warmed by the
sacred fires. It is a sham invitation, however, so far as the images are
concerned, as they are not carried out; but the spirits of the poor cold
deceased monks are presumed to gladly accept it.
The greatest fun of the Water Festival at the New Year happens amongst
the young people. Young men and maidens dash water over each other at
every chance they have; little boys, with squirts and syringes, are in
their glory; and every one is soon drenched to the skin. No one thinks
of changing his clothes, and the fun continues day after day during the
festival, amidst stifled screams and shouts of merriment. It is the
hottest time of the year, and nobody catches cold; and no one would care
to get through the three days with dry clothes! for the wetting is
looked upon as a compliment.
Notwithstanding the great heat, the thermometer for three hours in the
day marking 101° in the shade, we rambled about amongst the crowd,
visited the monastery, pagoda, and temples, watched the fun and the
fireworks, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. In the grounds of the
pagoda were two fine bells, hanging in beautifully carved belfries. The
bells had the usual pieces of stag-horn lying close to them. After
completing their orisons, it is customary for the devotees to strike the
bell thrice with the deer-horn, in order to awaken the attention of the
guardian spirits, and every one else, to the fact of their having done
so.
The next morning we were off early, and continued for nearly eight miles
down the valley of the Meh Wung, through an extensive rice-plain, to the
eastern entrance of the city of Lakon. On our way we passed near ten
villages, and crossed a stream, which is known as Huay Bau Kyow (the
Stream of the Ruby-Mines). I therefore presume that rubies have been
found near the source of this stream. Before reaching the city, we
noticed a chain of high hills commencing to the east, each link either
separated from the others or divided by merely undulating ground. They
are certainly isolated from any other range, because the Meh Mau, which
we had followed down from our last pass, after draining their eastern
sides, enters the Meh Wung some miles below the city.
The eastern entrance of the city is distant 53 miles from Zimmé, and is
protected by brick walls 15 feet high, which enclose a courtyard 40 feet
long and 30 feet wide, entered by strong outer and inner gates. A brick
wall of the same height extends round three sides of the city; while the
western side is simply protected by a palisade—the former wall having
been destroyed by the encroachment of the river, which skirts the north
and west sides of the city.
After proceeding for three-quarters of a mile through the town, we left
it by the western gate, and halted near the bank of the river at the
house of Chow Don, the Siamese Assistant Judge, who had kindly placed it
at our disposal.