_THE JOURNEY TO MANDALAY._
It was in the month of January 1887 that I left Calcutta, in company
with my old friend and former colleague, the Rev. J. Brown, of Calcutta,
for Burma. We were on a prospecting expedition with a view to the
establishment of a Mission in Upper Burma. On reaching Rangoon we were
cordially received by the members of the American Baptist Mission, and
spent a few days there. Rangoon is one of the most remarkable cities in
the East for rapid growth and commercial prosperity. It was only after
the second Burmese war in 1852-53 that it became British territory. Since
then it has grown to be a city of 180,324 inhabitants. This population
is by no means all Burman, but is largely English and Eurasian, Indian
and Chinese. Its railways, steam tramways, public buildings, sawmills,
ricemills, the shipping at anchor in the river, its banks, warehouses,
public buildings and shops, at once proclaim it the busy capital of
Burma, and in all probability a place destined to see a still greater and
more prosperous future as the resources of the country develop.
After a day or two spent in Rangoon and a visit to Toungoo, we proceeded
by rail to Prome, which is some 150 miles from Rangoon, and there we
embarked on the Irrawaddy by one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s
splendid river steamers for Mandalay. It was then a time of great demand
for transport, on account of the military operations for the pacification
of Upper Burma, so that there were, in addition to a large number of
Burman and Indian passengers, many military men coming and going. On
that occasion we had over a thousand passengers on board. Not long after
leaving Prome we passed what was formerly the British frontier station
and port of Thayetmyo. Henceforth the contrast between the trim neatness
of the towns under British rule and those of the Upper country was
sufficiently apparent; and for many a long day after, the frequent sound
of the bugle, and after dark the challenge of the sentries, together with
the very warlike state of the news, and the constant sight of soldiers
and police, always fully armed, and of gangs of dacoits being brought in
manacled, kept us in mind of the fact that we had come to a land where
the security of life and property we were accustomed to was only in
course of being established.
Towards sunset we reached Minhla, on the right bank of the Irrawaddy;
and as we made fast for the night right opposite, we had time before it
was dark to step ashore and climb the precipitous bank and look over the
redoubt, the taking of which was the only action worth mentioning in the
expedition. It is a square-built stone fort, and was well manned with
Burmese troops. The British force went round by the jungle, and got to
the back of the fort, where there was a way leading up to the ramparts;
and having fought their way up to the summit, the Burmans inside were
at their mercy, as the machine guns in the armed steamers on the river
covered the exit by the front. Thus the place was taken.
Next morning saw us steaming away again up the river. The scenery varies
much. Now the banks of the river are flat, showing the country for miles,
and again high banks and rolling hills diversify the scene. Further up,
near Bhamo, in the defiles, the mighty river has forced its way between
high mountains which rise suddenly from the water’s edge, and the scenery
there is majestic. Numbers of villages and small towns are seen on the
banks of the river, for here, as elsewhere, the fresh water of the river
means life to man and beast, and verdure and freshness to the crops
irrigated from it.
Almost every hill and knoll for much of the way has one or more of the
dazzling white, bell-shaped, brickwork pagodas so common all over this
Buddhist land, in most cases surmounted with the “htee” or “umbrella,”
a large iron framework of that shape, richly covered with gold leaf; and
at various points the pagoda is hung with numbers of bells, that tinkle
musically with every breeze. The number of pagodas is truly astonishing,
and the amount they must have cost is one of the marvels of this strange
and interesting country.
Pagodas are seen everywhere and in large numbers. Not only is there
hardly a village without them, but they are to be seen on lonely
hillsides and hilltops in abundance, and sometimes in almost inaccessible
places, on some crag or ledge of rock overlooking the plain. The reason
for this vast multiplication of pagodas is not far to seek. Of all works
of merit none is so effectual as the building of a pagoda.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE ON THE IRRAWADDY.]
The following day, in the early morning twilight, we passed Pagân, a most
remarkable place on the left bank of the river. It is one of the many
former capitals of Burma, being the Royal City in the thirteenth century,
but is now practically deserted, except for a few hundreds of pagoda
slaves—an outcast class, condemned under Burmese rule to lifelong and
hereditary service about the religious buildings.
“It is practically,” says a recent writer, “a city of the dead; but as a
religious city, it is certainly the most remarkable and interesting in
the world, not excepting Mecca, Kieff or Benares. For eight miles along
the river bank, and extending to a distance of two miles inland, the
whole surface is thickly studded with pagodas of all sizes and shapes,
and the very ground is so thickly covered with crumbling remnants of
vanished shrines, that according to the popular saying, you cannot
move foot or hand without touching a sacred thing. A Burmese proverb
says there are 9,999. This may or may not be true; but in any case it
is certain that an area of sixteen square miles is practically covered
with holy buildings. They are of every form of architecture and in every
stage of decay, from the newly built fane glittering in white and gold,
with freshly bejewelled umbrella on its spire, to the mere tumulus of
crumbling brick, hardly to be distinguished now from a simple mound of
earth.”
They are also of very various sizes, some of them being fine and
imposing buildings, and others very small. What a weird sight it was,
in the dim twilight of the early morning, to see from the upper deck
of the steamer, passing before us like a panorama for eight miles, the
towering growths of many centuries of vain offerings, of useless and
unavailing endeavours. All was dark and gloomy; mist and the dim twilight
covered everything. It was the abode of the dead. Those pagodas were
the memorials of a dead faith, and all the self-sacrifice that produced
them was but elaborate self-seeking. The buildings seen in the distance
put me in mind of a cathedral city, but it was a chilling thought that
amid all that grim and solitary vastness there were neither worshippers
nor worship—nothing, in fact, but a dreary waste of pagodas, most of
them in various stages of decay. A subsequent visit to Pagân, and the
more leisurely survey of this marvellous place, made one feel still more
the sadness of the spectacle of this untold expenditure of property and
labour, and the result neither honour to God nor benefit to man. Such is
human “merit,” and such are all attempts to accumulate a store of it.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO A BURMESE PAGODA.]
It is a curious feature about pagodas that though so many are seen going
to decay they still continue to build. The explanation of this is that
the work of special merit is to build a pagoda, and no special merit
attaches to the work of restoration or repair, except in the cases of the
few pagodas of great renown, which are greatly resorted to by worshippers
and pilgrims.
On the morning of the fourth day from Prome we reached Mandalay. Here we
met the Rev. J. H. Bateson, who had arrived three weeks before, having
come out from England in the capacity of Wesleyan chaplain to the Upper
Burma Field Force.
The first thing to attend to after we had looked round a little was to
find a place to lodge. This matter was soon settled by our Army chaplain
taking us to the quarters which had been assigned to him by the military
authorities. This lodging was novel, for it consisted of one of the
buildings belonging to a large Buddhist monastery, substantially built of
teak, and with the usual highly quaint, ornamental and fantastic-looking
roof, richly decorated with most elaborate carving all over, and tapering
at one end into the form of a spire. There were many other buildings
of a similar kind around us, some of them really grand and imposing.
Within a very short distance of us, in buildings of a similar kind, which
are quite different from the ordinary Burmese houses, the whole of the
2nd Battalion of the Hampshire Regiment, several hundreds strong, were
lodged. It was said by the chief Buddhist authorities about the time of
the annexation that there were close upon six thousand monks in Mandalay,
but there are monastery buildings to accommodate many times that number.
In addition to all the monks, the entire British force of English troops,
Native Indian Sepoy troops, and military police in Mandalay, altogether
several thousands strong, were lodged in monastery buildings, and still
there was plenty of room to spare.
Mandalay has been well styled the Vatican of Buddhism. So numerous are
the religious buildings they seem almost endless, and it is evident that
no small portion of the resources of the country must have gone in these
works of merit. Within a day or two of our arrival, when we began to look
about, we found that we were in close proximity to many remarkably fine
religious buildings, and many startling contrasts were brought into view
by the exigencies of the times. Close by the quarters of the Hampshire
Regiment was a pagoda of fantastic shape. Being a brick building, and not
liable to catch fire, it had been put in use as the armourer’s shop, and
there the regimental blacksmith was at work with his anvil and tools, his
portable fireplace and bellows, and close beside him, as he worked, was
the beautiful marble image of Buddha for which the pagoda was erected.
The regimental canteen, from whence proceeded of an evening the loud
laughter of the soldiers in their cups, and the singing of many a
long-drawn-out song in the true English vernacular, was originally a
building consecrated to Buddhist meditation, asceticism and prayer. The
regimental guard-room—and in those days they had to keep good watch and
ward, for the country was in a state of great disturbance—was a Burmese
zayat or resting-place, built by the piety of some one for the benefit
of frequenters of these holy places, who little imagined that his zayat
would ever be used as a place of detention for drunken and refractory
British soldiers.
But the great sight of the place is the “Incomparable Pagoda,” as the
Burmans proudly style it, situated close by the guard-room, and directly
facing the beautiful monastery building then used as the officers’ mess.
This remarkable structure is a huge pile of building raised upon vast
masonry pillars. It measures fully 300 feet in length, is proportionately
broad, and rises in the form of a pyramid to such a height as to be
visible several miles off. Its sumptuously carved and gilded teak-wood
doors, forty-four in number, are quite a sight to see in themselves, as
is also the magnificent decorative plaster work all around and over the
building, and rising to its very summit. At that time, in the absence of
churches and chapels, for want of a better place with sufficient space
for hundreds to assemble together, the Hampshire Regiment used to have
“church parade” in the vast expanse amongst the pillars at the basement
of the Incomparable Pagoda. It was a cool, airy, comfortable place, and
open on all sides to the breeze, so that it answered very well in such a
hot climate.
There also many other meetings were held in those days of “Field
Service,” when we had all to be satisfied with such accommodation as we
could get. It was there our prayer-meetings and class-meetings were held
for the soldiers, and there, amidst that wilderness of pillars, under
that vast heathen shrine, we had the joy of directing anxious penitents
to the Saviour, and there, too, we held, in company with Major Yates of
the Royal Artillery, the first temperance meeting ever held in Mandalay.
Leaving this Bethel of ours at the basement of the Incomparable Pagoda,
and ascending by one of the fine broad flights of steps, the visitor
comes to the wooden platform of the pagoda, and on being ushered in by
the polite old abbot or presiding monk, he sees a very fine, spacious
building, very lofty, with many images of Buddha, sheltered under great
white canopies, besides some curiosities of European manufacture, such as
mirrors of vast size, and gigantic coloured glass chandeliers, that must
have been imported at immense cost.
But _the_ sight of the place is the hall which contains the marvellous
wood carvings in relief, all of Burmese workmanship, representing most
clearly all manner of sacred histories and incidents, the whole of
this elaborate and ingenious work being overlaid with gold leaf. Truly
Mandalay is a wonderful place for religious buildings.
Close beside the Incomparable Pagoda are to be seen the Ku-tho-daw or
Royal Merit pagodas, forming a unique and truly wonderful piece of work.
They consist of a triple square of sets of little white pagodas, each
of which is amply large enough to form a shrine for one large slab of
Burmese marble, which stands up in the middle, like a cemetery headstone,
enshrined each in its own neat, bell-shaped pagoda building. Each slab of
marble is covered completely with a most accurately executed inscription
in the Pali language, in letters about three-eighths of an inch in
length. I have never counted these pagodas, but I am told by those who
have that there are 730 of them in all. They are arranged in perfect
symmetry, forming three squares one within another, each square being
surrounded by a wall with handsomely carved gates. In the centre of the
innermost square is a large pagoda, and ascending the steps of that the
spectator can obtain a good view of the whole, extending over many acres
of ground. The whole space between the rows of pagodas is carefully paved
with bricks. Every part of the work has been most thoroughly carried
out, utterly regardless of expense, and everything is of the best. There
is no crowding, but ample space is given everywhere. Is there to be
found anywhere or in any religion a more striking, impressive and unique
example of thoughtful devotion and loving care of those writings supposed
to contain the sacred truth? These 730 pagodas contain 730 tables of
stone covered with inscriptions, and it is considered to be the best
edition extant of the text of the three Pitakahs, and the three Pitakahs
are the scriptures of Buddhism, acknowledged as authoritative wherever
Buddhism is the people’s faith.
Close by the Ku-tho-daw we found another marvel. In a tall brick building
is an immense marble sitting figure of Buddha, 25 feet high, scores of
tons in weight, and thought to be perhaps the largest monolith in the
world.
But it is time we returned to the three men who, after a long, hot and
tiring day in the dusty streets of Mandalay, had taken refuge in the
little monastery, and were preparing to pass the night. Though little was
said about it, we were well aware that we ran some risks in being there
at that time. Upper Burma was still in the throes of the revolution which
had taken place, and life and property were unsafe. Any day a rising
might take place. We were practically in an enemy’s country. The military
were then, and for more than a year after, on the footing of a Field
Force, and had constantly to patrol the country in small columns, and to
go in all directions in pursuit of dacoits. Conflicts with dacoits were
of daily occurrence, and bulletins were published daily by the military
authorities describing what took place.
With all this military and police activity there were still bands of
dacoits of considerable numbers; crimes of violence and dacoit raids were
constantly taking place, often with circumstances of revolting cruelty
and outrage. The state of the country was such that English ladies and
children were in official circles forbidden to come to live in Upper
Burma, and in unofficial circles dissuaded from it as much as possible;
the authorities could not undertake to protect them. No Englishman was
allowed then, and for two years after that time, to travel outside
the towns without military escort. Those were days when everybody who
possessed a revolver kept it handy in case he should need to defend
himself, and Government was glad to supply to every Englishman in the
country a rifle and ammunition to be ready in case of need.
Under these circumstances, with so much that was new and strange, it is
not much to wonder at if we committed ourselves that night to Divine
protection with more than usual fervency of petition. Our monastery was
not built to meet such an emergency, and had no proper fastenings to the
doors. Our carnal weapons consisted of one revolver and several stout
bamboos, which having disposed to the best advantage, we lay down on our
camp beds, and rested as well as the circumstances permitted.
Happily this state of things has now passed away, and Upper Burma is as
quiet as any other part of our Eastern possessions. During the few days
Mr. Brown remained with us in Mandalay we came to the conclusion that
this city, from its size and population (about ten times as large as any
other town in Upper Burma), and from its general importance, was by far
the best place to fix upon for the headquarters of the mission. Having
settled this point, we reported to the committee in London accordingly,
and Mr. Brown returned to Calcutta. After spending a fortnight in our
monastery we found that, as it was on the extreme east of the town and a
couple of miles from the centre, it was a very inconvenient place to live
in. We therefore moved to a more central position, and rented for the
time being a house belonging to an elderly Italian, who had been settled
in Mandalay for many years as a weaver of velvet in the service of the
king. Here we lived for a period of a year, by which time the new mission
house was built, and we removed to our permanent quarters.