THE DEAD HEART OF A KINGDOM
How the wheels of that bullock-cart did creak!
The reason they had never been greased was because the driver loved
the sound. He believed that the Nats (who are supposed to throng the
neighbourhood) dislike it, and that while the wheels creaked the Nats
would keep away.
I had just come down the Irrawaddy by steamer from Mandalay, and very
early on the second morning had reached Nyaungoo. At three o'clock
Tambusami (my Hindoo servant) appeared at my cabin-door in a state of
excitement. I looked out and saw the boat's searchlight playing
about the shore, three or four brown bodies jumping into the water,
and the usual Flotilla Company's landing-stage--then the steep
sandbank and collection of stalls with their oil-lamps. The air was
full of the shrill voices of women talking, shouting and laughing. I
dressed hurriedly, while fellow-passengers lay peaceful in the
ghostly seclusion of mosquito curtains. The electric fan whirled on
with fitful spits. There was no mist and the stars were {55} bright.
Cocks crowed and dogs barked--the red ends of many cheroots glowed
from the bank, where people squatted smoking and talking.
When the steamer moved slowly away I and my servant were left, a
little before dawn, upon the steep sandy bank pitted with innumerable
foot-treads.
Tambusami had laid in food supplies at Mandalay, and dividing
ourselves and our belongings between two bullock-carts at the top of
the bank, we jolted along the road through Nyaungoo. The higher
clouds were just caught by the new daylight as we passed under the
tamarind trees of the village. The walls of the houses were mere
screens of plaited bamboo, though often there was also an outer fence
of bamboo posts 6 feet high.
A wan amber light now began to bathe the tops of a grove of 50-foot
toddy-palms.
After leaving the village I began to pass tall cactus hedges and then
a dilapidated pagoda with old grinning leogryphs, pale lemon in
colour, and a gilded dome. There were broken masses of crumbling red
brick, and under the now dove-coloured sky the glass facets of tall
bird-topped votive poles gleamed brilliantly. Then the road entered
the district of a myriad ruins and long lines of broken gods. Purple
and violet and fiery orange-red, a multitude of small clouds
scattered across the pale steely-blue. Tall trees {56} of cactus
with small leaves on spreading branches, as well as the upright
column cactus springing green from the sand, now bordered the road.
Suddenly all the red of the clouds changed to gold, the purple to
pale soft heliotrope, and in a burst of golden light the sun rose
over a line of violet mountains. Past stray bushes of wild cotton,
with their mauve blossoms and pale-bluish leaves, men were carrying
loads of red lacquer bowls. These bowls, packed in column and
swinging in nets from the shoulder crosspole, looked like bundles of
giant red sausages.
Mile after mile we jolted and creaked and presently passed between
two great piles of red brick with a Buddha in a porch on the exterior
of either side--all that remained of the great gateway--or one of the
great gateways--of the ancient city of Pagan.
The building of Mandalay was only commenced about fifty years ago;
Pagan was founded before A.D. 200. In Mandalay there are now close
upon 200,000 inhabitants; at Pagan there are eight miles of
brick-strewn sand and a few poor villages. Mandalay, situated where
the Irrawaddy is joined by its chief tributary, is likely to become a
great railway centre; Pagan, in the dryest part of the dry zone, has
had no practical importance since it was sacked by Kubla Khan in
1286. But in that wilderness {57} of rubble and cactus the remains
of 5000 pagodas and monasteries (it is said there were once 13,000)
can still be traced, and among them are certain buildings in a good
state of preservation, vast in size and of quite peculiar interest.
A few small black pigs and a number of very mangy dogs loitered about
some huts. I was now in a land of ruins. Dismantled shrines, broken
pagodas and dilapidated temples stretched in every direction, but
here and there were vast structures of plaster-faced brickwork,
either unharmed by time or restored in spite of the popular belief
that there is no merit in mere reparation.
The Circuit House which I reached at last is a substantial building
of iron and teak, and letting daylight and air into the empty rooms,
which reeked with new varnish, I chose a suite upon the upper floor
which has a wide covered balcony. Hitherto travellers who wanted to
visit Pagan have had either to take camping equipment with them or
else to sleep at Nyaungoo, five miles away. In preparation for a
recent visit of the Viceroy, however, a large and comfortable circuit
house was built near the riverside, in the very centre of the ruins,
and for the future there need be no difficulty in obtaining "lodging
for the night." The Viceroy, on the occasion of his visit, abode in
his launch, and {58} I was told I was the first stranger to sleep at
the Circuit House. I had obtained the key of the cupboard, which
harboured plate and kitchen utensils, and while I went off to look
round, Tambusami prepared a welcome breakfast.
From the house you look over the wide river, which is not more than a
quarter of a mile away, to a range of mountains beautiful at every
hour of the day. I walked inland a little way to the Thatbyinnyu
Pagoda (the Temple of Omniscience), the loftiest of the buildings at
Pagan, 200 feet high and standing upon rising ground. It is square
in plan but with a large projecting porch on one side. The middle
portion is a huge quadrangular mass of brickwork supposed to be
solid, but between this solid centre and the outside there are upon
the lower three of the five storeys of the building external terraces
and internal corridors with stairways connecting the floors, in the
thickness of the walls. Dark and sombre within, it is easy on
descending from the upper storeys to choose wrong stairways and to
wander about as in a maze. Upon the third storey, on the side of the
great projection, there is in a recess against the inner wall a
colossal seated Buddha.
[Illustration: PAGAN.]
Again and again I found myself groping alone in the silence of dark
passages, and after such an approach there is a strange solemnity
about sudden intrusion on the presence of a mighty {59} seated figure
so grandly peaceful, so splendidly aloof and so serenely lasting.
Looking towards the river from the white terraces of this pagoda,
another of somewhat similar design to the Thatbyinnyu, appears on the
right among a number of smaller buildings mostly in ruins. This is
the Gawdawpalin Pagoda, built as a thank-offering by Narapatisezoo, a
king who reigned in Pagan through the last quarter of the twelfth
century A.D. One day he boasted "I am the best of all kings who ever
sat on the throne of Pagan," whereupon he was struck blind, nor could
any doctor cure him; but when told what he had said, his ministers
advised him to make images of the great kings he had insulted by such
a boast of superiority and to do homage to them. Narapatisezoo did
this and regained his sight, and then had the Gawdawpalin Pagoda
erected in gratitude to Buddha.
I came again to these terraces in the late afternoon when the more
mellow light of a low sun made everything glow with warm colour, as
if it wanted to give back the heat of the day before night came. And
standing then with my back to the river and looking inland I saw in
front of me the great Ananda, the most beautiful as well as the most
curious of the Pagan temples.
In the Ananda there is a large projecting porch on each of the four
sides of the square, adding about 40 feet on each side and making
{60} thus a cruciform plan 280 feet across. The highest of its seven
diminishing storeys is shaped like a tall pyramid with four sides
curved vertically as in Hindoo temples.
An ingenious feature of the Ananda is the lighting of the four
colossal figures of the Buddha which stand in niches of the central
mass and face the four porches. They are all standing figures and
are higher than the arches, the pointed arches of the entrance
porches, and are lighted from above by hidden openings in the wall.
Running round the central portion are two colonnades which cross the
porch approaches to the four shrines. The gilded figures of the four
Buddha dispensations, Gautama, Kathaba, Gawnagon and Kankkuthan,
tower up gigantic, and in each case the mysterious illumination of
the head and shoulders adds to their grandeur. Under tall white
arches, as in some Gothic church, I walked slowly along the pavement,
watching the upper portion of the statue appear as I advanced. In
the west porch there is, about the middle of the transept, a raised
circular slab with a pair of Buddha footprints cut in stone in
conventional arrangement, and covered with engraved symbols. In the
niche facing this porch the gilded figure is that of Gautama himself.
The horizontal circular slab is raised upon a four-sided white plinth
to about the height {61} of a man's waist. Looking across it the
next tall archway is seen flanked on either side by 'guardian'
figures, each with the arm towards the arch close to the body, except
for the hand which is stiffly bent outwards and upwards. The other
arms are bent sharply at the elbows and have the hands raised. To
right and left of these figures the transverse colonnades cross
parallel to the outer walls.
From the stone slab with the impress of the feet you cannot quite see
the head of the great image in the distance, the top of the farthest
arch still hiding the upper part of the face. The figure is gilded
all over and stands upon a lotus. In front there is a low railing
composed of thick glass balusters, and having two little doors in the
centre. Approaching nearer you see at last in brilliant light the
benign countenance.
Of the four of these colossal statues that called Kankkuthan on the
north side is believed to be the original figure, though it has been
frequently repaired. The hands are pressed together in front of the
breast. The figure wears a garment with sleeves close-fitting from
the elbow to the wrists, but from the elbows hanging straight down in
a line with the upper arm to make a conventional shape, which stops
at an angle and ends in a slightly curved border which meets the legs
just above the ankle. The background of the niche is covered with
{62} very elaborate glasswork, and on the silvery face of some of
this are patterns in a kind of gesso.
About the white walls of the corridors are numerous small niches in
which in high relief, coloured in red and gold, are representations
of scenes in Buddha's life. Parts of the corridors have tier above
tier of similar niches right up to the top of the wall, almost as in
some Roman columbarium.
In a similar niche on the right as you walk towards the centre
through the western portico there is a small figure of the builder of
the Pagoda, King Kyansittha, a remarkably intrepid warrior whose
chief adventures happened before he came to the throne in the reign
of his mightier predecessor, King Naurata.
Naurata was the greatest of all the kings of Pagan--it was under his
rule that its territory increased till it stretched from Siam to
Kachin and China, and from Chittagong to Tonquin, and it was Naurata
who destroyed Thaton and brought 30,000 prisoners thence to Pagan,
including artists and craftsmen, as well as a king and queen.
Kyansittha was in disgrace for some years before Naurata was killed
by a white buffalo in the jungle. It was all about a certain present
to Naurata from his vassal, the King of Pegu. The present was a
princess in a golden palanquin, {63} the King of Pegu's very
beautiful daughter; and Kyansittha, who seems to have been able to
resist everything except temptation, lifted the purdah, with the
disastrous consequence of Naurata's jealous wrath. He only returned
from banishment upon Naurata's death, and the building of this Ananda
Pagoda was the chief event of a reign apparently much quieter than
that of his stormy and zealous predecessor. Verily, great building
is more lasting than the kingdoms of men!
On the outside of the Ananda Pagoda I saw a line of green glazed
tiles upon the outer walls. All round the base a series of such
tiles a foot square is let in just above a lower flange in the
position of a dado. Each of them is a separate figure illustrating a
Jataka story, and each has the title underneath it upon the tile in
old Burmese characters. Many have been restored in an absurd way
(which has led to their being wrongly described) and some have
disappeared, but a great number remain, and careful drawings should
be made of these spirited reliefs before it is too late.
Near the Ananda there is a small museum containing a number of stone
slabs found at Pagan, covered with inscriptions in the old Burmese
square lettering. Among the objects in the museum are some good
small bronzes, wooden figures of Nats and some small votive {64}
bricks in the shape of a pointed arch, within which Buddhas have been
stamped upon the clay. So little interest, however, are any English
visitors expected to take in these objects that the labels are only
in Burmese characters.
On one of my days at Pagan, Tambusami drew my attention to someone
riding towards us on a white horse. This was Mr Cooper, who had come
over from Nyaungoo to call upon me. Tambusami and a Burman did the
best they could to make a show with our diminished stores, and after
dinner on the wide veranda we found that we both knew Haslemere and
the old Portsmouth Road and Paris, and then Mr Cooper, who was a
subdivisional magistrate, told me about the kind of cases that are
brought before him in the Pagan district,--about an island for one
thing. Now at Salay, just along the river, there is an island which
has been steadily growing in size. Originally it was the property of
one village on the mainland. It had been allotted to the villagers
after it had first appeared, and then some time ago it increased
suddenly in size a great deal more, coming up out of the river. Then
the headman of another village, on the strength of saying that he had
a verbal order from the Barman township magistrate, allotted plots to
his own friends and relations. Naturally the people of the first
village were objecting.
[Illustration: BURMESE DWARF (3FT. 5IN. HIGH) SUFFERING FROM
CATARACT.]
{65}
Most of the cultivated land here pays revenue at the rate of four
annas an acre, and as assistant collector in revenue work, Mr Cooper
had to put things right.
He went on to tell me about a question of property concerning two
golden heads. There is a mountain called Popa (5000 feet high)
standing right in the middle of the plain. We could see it from the
back of the house. It is an extinct volcano and is the home of two
of the most important Nats in all Burmah. They have lived on Popa
ever since about 380 A.D. They were brother and sister, and used to
have a festival held on this mountain every year in their honour.
About the middle of the eighteenth century one of the kings of
Ava--Bodawpaya--presented to the Popa villagers two golden heads,
intended to represent these Nats. At that time Popa village, for
some reason, was a separate jurisdiction outside the jurisdiction of
the Pagan governor. What happened was that these heads were kept in
the Royal Treasury at Pagan for safety, and taken up to Popa every
year for the festival and brought back again. Subsequently, Popa
came under the jurisdiction of the Pagan governor. Then apparently
the Pagan people began to think that these heads really belonged to
them, and they were kept in Pagan until the annexation in 1886.
After this, our Government, thinking they were very valuable relics
{66} which ought to be preserved, sent them down to the Bernard Free
Library in Rangoon, where they have been lodged ever since.
Some time ago the Popa villagers sent in a petition that they might
be allowed to have their heads back, as they wanted them for the
festival. Investigations were started and about a month before my
visit Mr Cooper had been up to Popa and there dictated a written
guarantee, signed by the principal men of the village (the Lugyis, as
they are called), that they would undertake the responsibility of
looking after these heads if they were given back to them. Then Mr
Cooper came to Pagan and had a meeting of the Pagan _Lugyis_, asking
them to sign a written repudiation of claim, and that's where the
matter rested.
I asked Mr Cooper to tell me the story of these famous Nats, in whose
honour a coconut is hung up in houses in this part of Burmah just as
regularly as we do for the tomtits at home, so that they can eat when
they like, and here is the story in his own words as he told it to me
at Pagan.
These Nats have a good many names, but their proper names are
Natindaw and Shwemetyna, and they used to live in a place up the
river called Tagaung, a thousand years ago. Natindaw, the man, was a
blacksmith. He was very strong indeed--so strong that the King of
Tagaung was afraid of him and gave orders that he should be arrested.
The man (he had not {67} become a Nat then) was afraid and ran away,
but his sister remained and the king married her. After some time
the king thought of Natindaw again and believed that although in
exile he might be doing something to stir up rebellion. So the king
offered Natindaw an appointment at the Court, and when Natindaw came
he had him seized by guards and bound to a champak tree near the
palace. Then the King had the tree set on fire, and Natindaw
proceeded to burn up. Just at that moment the queen (Natindaw's
sister) came out of the palace and saw her brother being burnt. She
rushed into the fire and tried to save him, and failing, decided to
share his fate.
The king then tried to pull her out by her back hair but was too
late, and both the brother and sister were utterly consumed except
their heads. That finished them as human beings, but they became
Nats and lived up another champak tree at Tagaung, and there, because
they had been so shockingly treated, they made up for it after death.
They used to pounce on everyone who passed underneath--cattle and
people. At last the king had the tree with the brother and sister on
it cut down, and it floated down the river and eventually stranded at
Pagan. Well, the King of Pagan, who was at that time Thurligyaung,
had a dream the night before that something very wonderful would come
to {68} Pagan the next day by river. In the morning he went down to
the bank and there he found the tree with the human heads of Natindaw
and Shwemetyna sitting on it, and they told him who they were and how
badly they had been treated. The king became very frightened and
said he would build them a place to live in on Popa. So they thanked
him and he built them Natsin, a little sort of hut on Popa, and there
they have lived ever since.
Every year the kings of Pagan used to go in state and offer sacrifice
to Natindaw and Shwemetyna of the flesh of white bullocks and white
goats, and the Popa Nat story is still going on because of the latest
development about the golden heads.
It is a Burmese saying that no one can point in any direction at
Pagan in which there is not a pagoda, and on many of them in the
mornings I saw vultures--great bare-necked creatures--thriving
apparently on barrenness.
Lack of water is the great trouble to the villages. The average
rainfall in this dry zone (which extends roughly from south of the
Magwe district to north of Mandalay) is fifteen to twenty inches.
Tenacious of life, these Thaton villagers of Pagan and Nyaungoo, led
into captivity by King Naurata, whose zeal as a religious reformer
had been fired by one of their own priests, {69} survived their
conquerors. They became, nine hundred years ago, slaves attached to
the pagodas, and under a ban of separation, if not of dishonour, they
have kept unmixed the blood of their ancestors, are the only Burmese
forming anything like a caste, and still include some direct
descendants of their famous king.
In the villages there is some weaving and dyeing of cloth, and quite
a large industry in the making of lacquer bowls and boxes.
It was not far to walk from the Circuit House to one of the
villages,--across the dry baked, brick-strewn earth, past great
groves of cactus and through the tall bamboo fence that surrounds the
village itself. I passed a couple of carts with primitive solid
wheels, and under some trees in the middle of the collection of
thatched huts with their floors raised some feet above the ground, a
huge cauldron was sending up clouds of steam. Some women were
boiling dye for colouring cloth. This was Mukolo village. I called
at the house of U Tha Shein, one of the chief lacquer makers, and he
took me about to different huts to see the various stages of the work.
First, a "shell" is made of finely-plaited bamboo; this is covered
with a black pigment and "softened" when dry by turning it on a
primitive lathe and rubbing it with a piece of sand-stone. Then the
red lacquer is put upon {70} the black box with the fingers, which
stroke and smear it round very carefully. In Burmese the red colour
is called _Hinthabada_, from a stone I was told they buy in Mandalay.
The bowls now red are set to dry in the sun, and next are placed in a
hole in the ground for five days,--all as careful a process as that
of making the wine of Cos described in Sturge Moore's _Vinedresser_.
When they are exhumed after hardening, a pattern is finally engraved
or scratched on the lacquer with a steel point and a little gold
inlaid on the more expensive bowls.
I was going from house to house to see the different stages of the
work, when I heard a pitiful wailing and came upon the saddest sight
I had yet seen on my journey. The front of a thatched hut was quite
open. A mangy yellow pariah dog was skulking underneath, and some
children were huddled silent upon the steps leading up to the
platform floor. There lay a little boy dead, and his mother and
grandmother were sorrowing for him. The grandmother seemed to be
wrinkled all over. Her back was like a withered apple. She moaned
and wailed, and tears poured from her eyes. "Oh! my grandson," she
cried--"where shall I go and search for you again?"
She was squatting beside the little corpse and pinching its cheeks
and moving its jaws up and down. "You have gone away to any place
{71} you like--you have left me alone without thinking of me--I
cannot feel tired of crying for you."
And a Burman told me that the child had died of fever, and that the
father had gone to buy something for the funeral. He added, "The
young woman will never say anything--she will only weep for the
children. It is the old woman only that will say something."
{72}