SOME ASPECTS OF BURMESE LIFE AND CHARACTER
One of the odd jobs which fell to my lot in my first year was to
consult the Elders of Bassein on the opium question. They were
unanimous in their condemnation of opium in every shape. Some races
consume opium in moderation, as Englishmen drink beer, without visible
harm. Indians, Chinese, Shans, Kachins, may be consumers of opium,
and none the worse in health or morals. The Burman is differently
constituted. Perhaps by temperament he lacks restraint, doing nothing
without overdoing it. Whenever a Burman takes to opium, he drifts
into excess and becomes an outcast from decent society. The feeling
of the better classes is perfectly consistent on this point. The term
“bein-sa” (opium-eater) is among the most opprobrious epithets that
can be applied to anyone. Among other races people of decent standing
use opium as a relaxation without loss of caste. Among Burmans it is
not so. Throughout my service I knew only one man of position who was
reputed to be a bein-sa. Even in his case the reputation may have been
undeserved. In Upper Burma, in the King’s time, the use of opium by
Burmans was strictly prohibited, and I believe the prohibition was
generally enforced. Exceptions were made in the case of Chinese and
others. But the suggestion that when we occupied Upper Burma we found
a flourishing though illicit opium traffic in full swing is quite
unsupported by facts. As a race, it may be said that Burmans are
singularly free from the opium vice. The more difficult it is made for
Burmans to procure this drug, the better it will be for the country.
Similarly, but in a less marked degree, intoxicating drinks are avoided
by good Buddhists. I was many years in Burma before I saw a drunken
Burman. I am afraid that the habit of drinking is on the increase. The
most popular liquor is what is vulgarly called “toddy,” no relation
to the concoction dear to Britons. It is not a spirit, but a juice
extracted from the tari palm, and should rightly be called tan-ye,
or tari. Unfermented, freshly drawn from the tree in the cool of the
morning, it is a pleasant and refreshing drink, if somewhat oversweet.
It ferments rapidly of its own accord. Fermented, it is a heady liquor,
stealing away men’s brains. In dry tracts, where the tari palm abounds,
the consumption of tari is very common, though still, I think, not
among the better classes. The Burman has no head, and succumbs at
once to a comparatively small quantity of liquor. In his cups he is a
quarrelsome, truculent savage, one of the most dangerous of created
beings. Hence, in districts where palm-groves decorate the landscape,
violent crimes, murders, cuttings, stabbings, are lamentably frequent.
It has been suggested that if all tari and kindred palms were
destroyed, the golden age would come again. Besides tari, country-made
spirits are consumed in large quantities, and illicit distillation is
commonly practised, a lucrative trade which fine or imprisonment fails
to suppress. For European liquors, except, perhaps, bottled beer, as
yet little taste has been acquired. I should like to say that the habit
of drinking is confined to labourers and peasants; but it cannot be
denied that many people of position, who should set an example, indulge
in it. Yet, on the whole, to drink is the exception; to abstain is the
rule.
Let us turn to pleasanter topics. The amusements of the people are
many and various. In the village street you will see men sitting over
a chess-board playing a game very much like the chess known in Europe.
The moves and rules are similar, though the shape of the pieces and
their names are different. A bad habit prevails of finishing each
move by thumping the piece loudly on the board. Card games are also
in high favour, the most esteemed being the game called “ko-mi,”
literally, “catch the nine.” Of course, cards are played for money.
The Burman is a born gambler, and indulges his propensity on every
available occasion. We have austerely set our faces against gambling
in every form, especially gambling with cards, and interfere not a
little with this fascinating pastime. Perhaps, contrary to the current
opinion derived from tales of travellers and legends from the hills,
the real defect of the Englishman in Burma is that he is too serious,
too little inclined to make allowances for a joyous, light-hearted
people. Public gambling is sternly discountenanced. For many years the
Legislature has been occupied in devising measures for its suppression,
meeting by fresh enactments the ingenious efforts of the Courts to find
means to rescue the gambler from the meshes of the law, of the gambler
to sail as near to the wind as possible without capsizing. To the
impartial observer these alternate struggles of the Legislature to make
its prohibitions effective, of the Courts to provide loopholes for the
gambler to escape, afford much healthy amusement. I have taken a hand
in the game on both sides in progressive stages of a varied career. Let
me not be thought too flippant. If Burmans would be content to have
quiet little ko-mi parties of friends in their own houses, I for one
should be the last to object. But it is a well-known fact that gambling
parties are not conducted on these principles. Practically it may be
said that in every gambling party someone makes a profit apart from
the chances or skill of the game. This is the essential distinction of
a common gaming-house, and the practice is properly discouraged. When
it is added that gaming parties constantly lead to brawls, affrays,
violent assaults, and indirectly to thefts and embezzlements, perhaps
the attitude of the earnest official may be regarded with sympathy.
Pitch-and-toss and other forms of gambling in public places are
prohibited, as in most civilized countries. Lotteries are exceedingly
popular; they are for the most part promoted by the intelligent
Chinaman, to the detriment of the guileless Burman. A pleasing form
is that known as the “thirty-six animal” lottery. The punter stakes
on any of the animals on the board; the winning animal, having been
previously secretly determined, is disclosed when the stakes have been
made. There is room here for deception. King Thebaw is supposed to have
ruined half Mandalay by State lotteries established for the purpose
of raising revenue. No one will be surprised to hear that lotteries
on races, to which the authorities are discreetly blind, are warmly
supported by Burmans of all classes; they are of a mild description,
tickets are cheap, and really hurt no one, like the capitation tax.
It is almost superfluous to record that cock-fighting is a favourite
pastime; this, too, is against the law, but it is hardly on this
account less popular. I have heard of, but never seen, fights between
buffaloes and even elephants.
[Illustration: CHIN-LÔN.]
An innocent game in which so far no one has found the taint of sin
is Burmese football (chin lôn). It is played in the village street
or any open space, with a light, open-worked bamboo ball, by any
number of players. Some Burmans attain great proficiency, kicking
the ball with toe or heel, catching it on their shoulders, making
it leap unexpectedly by mere exertion of the muscles. Real football
is, of course, an exotic, but has attained great popularity. It is
seldom that the introducer of a national game can be identified, but
in this case due credit can be given to the right person. British
football was introduced into Burma some forty years ago by Sir George
Scott. When his statue adorns Fytche Square, among other trophies
a football must be carved at his feet. The game is played with zeal
and enthusiasm by countless Burman boys and young men. To see Burmans
kicking a football with naked feet is a lesson in the hardness of the
human sole. Football matches attract great crowds of Burmans in Rangoon
and elsewhere. Mercifully the adoption of the Association form of the
game has been ordained. To think of hot-headed Burmans engaged in the
rough-and-tumble of Rugby excites lurid imaginings. As it is; the
referee has an arduous and anxious time. For the most part, however,
good-humour and a sporting spirit prevail.
Pony-races, races of trotting bullocks drawing light carts, elephant-
races, boat-races, are among the most popular sports. These also,
here as elsewhere, give opportunities for gambling; but, apart from
this, great interest is taken in them. In one of my subdivisions on one
day of every week a local pony race-meeting was held, attended by the
whole population of the small headquarter town, and often graced by the
presence of the leading officials. In those parts of the country which
are comparatively or absolutely dry Burmans are good riders, accustomed
to ponies from their childhood. Their saddle is horribly uncomfortable
to a European, their stirrups short, their knees near their noses. The
favourite pace is a smooth amble, untiring, it is thought, both to
rider and to steed. I have seen a Burman, to avoid a soft place, ride
a pony for some yards along the parapet of a bridge with a good drop
below.
As might be expected in a country where the waterways are many, Burmans
are an amphibious race, good swimmers, at home in the water, and expert
in the management of boats with oars and sails. Wherever there is a
stream, the whole population bathes either at dawn or dusk. Men, women,
and children swim about together, and perfect decorum is observed.
Of course, boat-races are a popular amusement. Long shallow canoes,
paddled by twenty or thirty men, all shouting a boastful song, contend
in these races. At the goal is a wand suspended through a hollow
bamboo. The man in the bow of the leading boat carries off the wand.
There is thus never any dispute as to the winner. The pace is pretty
good, but not nearly so fast as that of a good English four or eight.
As strict Buddhists, Burmans are supposed to abstain from animal food,
or, at least, from taking life for the purpose of providing food. For
fishermen, who must break this precept daily, special uncomfortable
hells are reserved. Hunting and shooting are practised at grave risk
of future disaster, and usually by the younger men who think they have
time to make up for these derelictions, or are giddily thoughtless
of the hereafter. A pious friend of mine in Upper Burma used to be
much scandalized at the levity of his aged father, who persisted in
coursing hares when he ought to have been making his soul. But as
regards the consumption of flesh of birds, beasts, and fish, there
seems to be no practical restraint among any class. So long as you
are not instrumental in causing death, you may safely eat the flesh.
Beef and poultry are freely eaten when available. Often stolen cattle
are slaughtered and eaten. The flesh of no creature which has died a
natural death, except perhaps dogs and tigers, is despised. Things
which to our taste have weird scent and flavour are highly appreciated.
The most popular article of food is ngapi, a composition of fish
suffered to decompose and prepared in many ways, all equally malodorous
in result. This is universally used as seasoning of rice at all meals.
Then there is a dreadful fruit which grows in the south, called a
“durian,” a large green fruit, bigger than an average cocoanut, with
a thick rind, containing big seeds embedded in a sort of custard. It
emits a disgusting odour, which cannot be described in polite language.
Of this fruit Burmans are inordinately fond. In the King’s time, every
year as the season came round, His Majesty used to charter a steamer
solely to bring up a cargo of durians. When, in later years, I told
the Ministers that we were about to build a railway to Mandalay, the
Prime Minister’s first remark was: “Excellent; then we shall be able to
get our durians fresh.” To my mind the taste is worse than the smell.
Yet many Europeans regard this fruit as a delicacy, and eat it freely,
even greedily. My theory is that the taste was painfully acquired by
officers stationed in remote places where durians grow, and where there
is nothing to do. By these pioneers others were persuaded to essay the
high adventure. Of a habit so difficult of acquisition and so morbid,
the devotees are naturally a little proud. One might suppose that
the nostrils of people who love ngapi and durians were proof against
any smell. On the contrary, Burmans are very sensitive to the smell
of oil burnt in cooking, which they regard as _odor nervis inimicus_,
particularly hurtful to the sick, but grievous to anyone. The third
characteristic article of diet in Burma is let-pet (pickled tea). So
far as I know, this is the ordinary tea of commerce, grown almost
entirely in the Northern Shan State of Taungbaing. It is not used to
make an infusion; the leaf is prepared for use as a condiment. The
trade and cultivation are entirely in the hands of Shans and Palaungs.
Let-pet was brought down from the hills packed in long baskets borne
on bullocks, now more commonly by train. It was formerly an article
monopolized by the King. I have not heard of any European professing to
like the taste of let-pet.
The Burman is first of all an agriculturist. He is only a moderately
good carpenter, though he can put the bamboo to many uses. As a
boat-builder he excels, fashioning large boats on lines of grace and
beauty. Also he can, of course, make his own flimsy house of mat and
thatch, or a more substantial dwelling of teak or jungle-wood. But the
few manual industries in which Burmans really shine are those which
have an artistic basis. Where the secret of a glaze is known, as at
Bassein in the delta, and at Kyaukmyaung, the port of Shwebo, pottery
is practised as an hereditary art, and many gracious shapes and designs
are fashioned out of ductile clay. Silk is grown by an obscure race
called Yabeins. But it is as dangerous to cultivate the silkworm as
to be a fisherman. More often, therefore, imported silk is used on
Burmese looms, where cloths of lovely mingled colours and delicious
wavy patterns are still produced. Alas! this charming domestic industry
is on the wane, and both silks and cottons are now as a rule imported
from Europe. The fine natural taste of the people is deteriorating.
One of the saddest signs of this degeneracy is the substitution of the
ugly gingham or silk umbrella for the darling, bright-coloured little
tis,[42] which used to preserve the complexions of Burmese maids.
This cruel sacrifice to economy and utility has almost succeeded in
spoiling the incomparable dazzling glory of mingled colour which used
to characterize a Burmese crowd. On the occasion of a royal visit to
Mandalay, when boat-races were being held on the Moat amid the most
picturesque surroundings, the delightful effect of rows upon rows of
gaily dressed Burmans lining the farther edge was marred by a forest of
imported umbrellas reared hideous to the sky. However, word was sent
along the line that it was disrespectful to raise an umbrella in the
presence of royalty. And as if at the touch of an enchanter’s wand, the
horrible excrescences disappeared and light and beauty reigned once
more.
[Illustration: THE POTTER.]
[Illustration: THE MYO-ÔK-GADAW.]
An extraordinarily effective art is the lacquer-work of Pagan. Bowls
of exquisite shape, boxes for sacred books or for carrying the
necessary betel, offer choice specimens of the artist’s skill. The
designs in rich colouring on these lovely works are full of vigour
and originality. Lacquering is a laborious art. A really fine box or
bowl takes months to complete. The most elaborate work is based on a
foundation of horsehair, the finished product so flexible and supple
that a bowl can be bent till the opposite sides meet without the fabric
cracking. I confess that, as regards my own treasured specimens, I
am content to know that this can be done without putting them to the
test. Even at Pagan the hateful modern spirit has begun to shed baleful
influence. Mingled with bowls and boxes, consecrated by use and wont,
may be seen cigar cases of Western shapes and other signs of decadence.
Burmese silver-work and wood-carving are world-renowned. These fine
arts are still flourishing. Besides fashioning portable articles, such
as figures of men and elephants, or ornamented boxes, wood-carvers show
their skill and taste in elaborate designs on monasteries and other
public buildings. Some of the carving on monasteries in Mandalay, the
Queen’s Monastery in A Road, and others of earlier date, is of the
highest æsthetic merit. The specimens of wood-carving in the Palace
have never appealed to me so intensely. In the presentation of figures
the execution is bold and dignified. Wood-carving seems to me to have
preserved its native simplicity, to have been less affected than other
arts by devastating Western contact. Silver-workers still produce
fabrics of grace and beauty in the best indigenous fashion; but too
often degenerate teapots and decadent toilet-sets give evidence of
debasing utilitarian propaganda. I grieve to hear that electric light
has been installed on the Great Pagoda in Rangoon as well as in the
temple of the Yakaing Paya.[43] Much have we done for Burma. But it
is sad to think that we have sullied and smirched the tender bloom of
Burmese art and artistic ideals.
Of the national character, indications will be found scattered over
these pages. It is a mass of apparent inconsistencies. Kindness
and compassion are noticeable virtues. Children are treated with
indulgence, not always according to discretion. You will see a
constable come off a long spell of sentry duty, and straightway
walk about with a child perched on his shoulder. No orphan is left
desolate. No stranger asks in vain for food and shelter. Yet these
good people have a full mixture of original sin. They produce dacoits
who perpetrate unspeakable barbarities on old men and women. Sudden
and quick in quarrel, the use of the knife is lamentably common. Gay,
careless, light-hearted, with a strong if uncultured sense of humour,
they can be cruel and revengeful. The statistics of the Courts reveal
a mass of criminality as shocking as it is surprising. Murders,
dacoities, robberies, violent assaults, are far too numerous. I can
understand the prevalence of crimes of passion and impulse; but in a
land flowing with milk and honey, a fair and fertile land where there
are work and food enough for everyone, I cannot understand why there
should be any such sordid crimes as theft and embezzlement.
Two characteristics distinguish Burmans from most other Eastern races.
They have no caste, and there is no seclusion of women. Socially,
therefore, we can meet on equal terms. A Burman does not shrink from
eating and drinking in our company, or need to undergo elaborate and
expensive purification if by accident or design he is sullied by our
contact. If I go to visit a Burman, I am received by his wife and
daughters, and in turn when, often with the ladies of his house, he
comes to see me, he is welcome to associate on friendly terms with
my family. The absence of caste does much to facilitate the task of
administration. Partly owing to the intelligence and docility of the
people, but mainly on account of this lack of caste, we were able,
for instance, to carry out, with no serious trouble, measures for
suppressing plague. Our real difficulty, I may say parenthetically, was
to find the right measures to take. In the end what some people call
the disgusting practice of inoculation seems to have been found most
beneficial. In some places people were encouraged to be inoculated by
making the occasion a festival; pwès were held, small presents given
to children, prizes distributed by lotteries in which the chances were
free. In Sagaing last year, out of a population of ten thousand, eight
thousand were inoculated. The local officers and their wives underwent
the operation, often more than once, by way of inspiring confidence,
as for the same purpose my wife and I were vaccinated years before at
Pantanaw. Among those inoculated there were no cases of plague. The
ridiculous suggestion that inoculation tends to spread plague has
been, we might almost say, disproved by specific experiments in Burma
and, I doubt not, elsewhere.
To resume. Burmese women hold a position as dignified and assured as
in any country of the world. Every Buddhist believes that women are
inferior to men, that a really good woman may have the luck to be born
a man in a future incarnation. Every Burman knows that a woman is as
good as a man, and often better. It was in my experience that occurred
the pleasing incident elsewhere told not quite correctly. A young woman
came to me for a reduction of her income-tax. She said she earned her
living by selling in the bazaar.
“What does your husband do?” I asked.
“He stays at home and minds the children.”
This was an exceptional case, but it illustrates the relative position.
Burmese women take an active part in the business of the country. Most
of the retail trade is in their hands; sometimes they manage more
important commercial affairs. The control of a stall in bazaar or
market is regarded as a very desirable occupation. Is it indiscreet
to suggest that opportunity for gossip is an attraction? Often a wife
takes great interest in her husband’s official or private work. If one
has business with a police-sergeant or Thugyi, and finds him absent,
one does not seek a subordinate, but discusses and settles the matter
with the Sazin-gadaw or the Thugyi-gadaw.[44] It is on record that,
prisoners being brought to a police-station in the absence of any of
the force, the sergeant’s wife put them in the cage, and, herself
shouldering a da, did sentry-go till relieved. After these instances
it need hardly be said that in her own household the Burmese woman is
supreme. Her position is equalled only by that of a French mother.
Girls may not go to monasteries for instruction, so elementary
education is not universal among women as among men. But many girls,
especially of the richer classes, learn to read and write. I think more
women are literate than among other Eastern people. Practice in the
bazaar, at any rate, makes them ready at mental arithmetic. One day I
was holding an amateur examination of a monastic school. The mothers
sat round, admiring the academic gymnastics of their infant prodigies.
Presently I set in Burmese form a variation of the old theme of a
herring and a half. All the boys and all their teachers took slates
and began to figure laboriously. Almost before they had begun the
bazaar women in the circle laughed and gave the answer. One pleasing
characteristic of Burmese ladies, rare among people of warm climates,
may be mentioned. Those who have not lived roughly, but have been
properly housed and tended, preserve a youthful appearance in the most
surprising manner quite to mature age. Very rare among women of all
classes is the aged appearance of comparatively young women.
An admirable trait is the remarkable absence of serious crime among
women. It is quite rare to find a woman in prison, and I remember no
instance of the execution of a woman. While gaols in Burma provide
quarters for 15,000 men, they can accommodate only 354 women. These
seem to me very remarkable figures. There is no crowding on the women’s
side of the gaol. Indeed, if imprisonment of women were abolished in
Burma, no harm would be done. I suppose Burmese women produce fewer
criminals than any other civilized race. Not that they are all angels;
they are apt to be hasty and to offend with their tongues. Sometimes
the bazaar is the scene of actual conflict between angry fair ones. But
on the whole Burmese women are strikingly innocent and well-behaved.
Good mothers and honest wives, light-hearted and sociable, they are
justly held in high esteem.
Burmese girls enjoy much freedom. You may see them laughing and talking
at the village well, sitting at the domestic loom, walking in the
roads, engaged on household duties. Infant marriage is unknown; no
Burmese girl marries except to please herself. Like other Orientals,
girls come early to maturity, and marriages at fourteen or fifteen are
not uncommon; but as often as not a Burmese maiden does not marry till
she is eighteen or nineteen, or even older. She must not wait too long,
or she will be laughed at as an old maid.[45] The relations between the
sexes are much the same as in Western countries. Boys and girls and men
and women fall in and out of love and break one another’s hearts after
the best traditions of romance. Jealousy is a prevalent vice, and many
die for love.
[Illustration: SNAKE PAGODA.]
[Illustration: BURMESE GIRL WORSHIPPING.]
Buddhism recognizes and allows polygamy, and it is incorrect to say
that plurality of wives is uncommon. Several different kinds of wives
are described in the Law of Manu, which contains even an account of the
popular modern character, the wife like a mother. But many, probably
most, men live happily with one wife all their lives. In any case,
the first or principal wife has a distinct and honoured place in the
household. No ceremony of marriage is necessary or, among the mass
of the people, usual. The high Buddhist theory, how different from
the practice of this joyous people, regards life as a mistake, this
world as a vale of tears, transitory existence as the supreme evil,
and bids us all aim at the goal of eternal rest. Therefore no Burmese
monk would bless a marriage; he is more at home at a funeral. Mutual
consent is the sole essential of a marriage. Similarly, divorce is
easy. No Court need intervene. Ordinarily, separation is effected by
arrangement between the parties, sometimes in the presence of the
village elders. Although the Courts have not, perhaps, said the last
word on the law of the subject, it is commonly accepted that, even
without fault on either side, one party to the marriage can insist
on divorce against the wish of the other party to the contract. In
this respect men and women are on equal terms. The safeguard against
capricious divorce is supplied by strict rules for the division of
property at the dissolution of a marriage. In the case mentioned above,
the one who insists on separation must abandon all property to the
reluctant partner. Though so easy, divorce is far less common than
might be expected. Most married people live together till death parts
them. It is not unusual for divorced people to come together again. An
appreciable proportion of the crimes of violence is due to the refusal
of a woman to rejoin her divorced husband. I do not suggest that the
Burmese law and practice of divorce would be suitable in communities of
a more complex type. The comparatively even distribution of wealth, the
fertility of the soil and the scantiness of the population, the absence
alike of great fortunes and of abject, pinching poverty, the kindly
disposition of the race, probably combine with more obscure elements to
render somewhat primitive conditions possible. It is quite certain that
in the stage which Burmese civilization has reached the simple marriage
law works well and produces no obviously ill-effects. It need hardly be
said that there is no bar to the marriage of widows.