Burma Part 2

Very beautiful indeed are some of these panoramas disclosed in the early sunlight.

Close beside the high and clear-cut bank, crowned with flowering kine-gra.s.s, our steamer lies, the silently-flowing river gurgling and bubbling under our keel. The water is quite still, and repeats every detail of the opposite sh.o.r.e, behind which, rising terrace upon terrace, are the wooded "Yomas," in whose ravines and valleys still hangs some remnant of the fog. The foliage is of many kinds, the feathery tamarind and acacia contrasting well with the more heavily leaved banyan; betel-nut and toddy-palm rise above the mulberry or mimosa, and conspicuous among the varied tints of the forest is the delicate green of the bamboo, to the Burman the most useful perhaps of all the forest growths, and everywhere abounding.

Life awakens with the sun. Herds of cattle roam along the sh.o.r.e, while in the fields from raised platforms half-nude men and boys scare wild-fowl from the ripening crops. The smoke of many fires on sh.o.r.e and from the craft upon the water rises perpendicularly in the still air, as the frugal morning meal is being prepared ere another day's work begins.

Between its banks the Irrawaddy sweeps in splendid curves, producing an ever-growing sense of bigness and dignity. Some of its reaches are very wide, and have more the appearance of an inland lake than a river. On such sand-banks as are not already occupied by fishermen, flocks of wild-goose, storks, and other waders are roosting or fishing in the shallow pools. Kingfishers dart hither and thither after their prey, and wild-duck in great numbers settle upon its smooth surface, to feast upon the teeming fish with which the river abounds.

In general the scene is one of placid beauty: even the rugged mountain sides are smoothed and softened by their covering of greenery, and the warm air and limpid water combine to produce an effect of quietude and repose, which the contented character of the Burman does little to disturb.

At certain places, however, as in the defile above Mandalay, the scenery is of a more vigorous character.

Here the river narrows considerably, and in its deep and silent flow winds for many miles between high hills which closely confine it, and in one place rise in a perpendicular cliff 800 feet sheer above the water.

I was fortunate in approaching the defile in the early dawn, when the morning mists still hung heavy upon the hills of lurid blackness which marked its entrance. Between them was an impenetrable gloom, which seemed to promise no means of egress, and as we steamed rapidly towards it, one unconsciously felt that here was the end of all things, and that nothing could possibly lie beyond. It was a most weird sensation, which the river, so darkly flowing between banks we could hardly see, served to emphasize.

Presently the rising sun lit up the clouds of vapour piled high above the hills, and then for half an hour continued the most beautiful and ever-changing play of colour imaginable, as the slowly-moving fog wreaths wound about the mountain tops, now rosy in the sunlight, or again in pearly shade, while alternate gloom and gleam tipped the hills with gold or enveloped them in a purple mystery.

By the time our steamer entered the defile full daylight better enabled us to observe our surroundings.

Here, as elsewhere, the vegetation was luxuriant; every crevice in the rocks afforded foothold for some tree or creeper, while the hilltops and more sloping sides were densely covered with forest trees.

The pa.s.sage of the defile occupies about two hours, and the course of the river is very tortuous.

At the bends little beaches of bright shingle lie against the tree-roots. Fishing cradles, such as I have described, are frequent, and cormorants in great numbers share with the fishermen the spoils of the river, for nowhere on the Irrawaddy are the fish of better quality than here.

Altogether, in the impressiveness of its scenery, the quiet, irresistible flow of the river, and the bright tints and varied growths of the forest, the lower defile of the Irrawaddy forms one of the most striking scenes I have ever enjoyed; and if the river had no other beauty than this to show, it alone would amply repay the traveller for his journey.

Though in general so fertile, there is one part of the river where the hills which lie on its western side are entirely barren, and the reddish-yellow rocks appear very hot and uninviting by comparison. Yet this forbidding district is one of the busiest and richest of all Burma, for this is the great oil-field of the country, and the chimneys of pumping stations which stretch for miles along the hills and river-bank show how actively the trade is being worked. Formerly Burma was obliged to import all her lamp-oil from America, but now, although a certain amount of American oil is still imported, Burma not only produces sufficient for their own use, but is able to export a considerable quant.i.ty to other countries, and many of the steamers on the river use the crude or unrefined oil as fuel.

Here and there in the river are moored curious-looking dredgers engaged in pumping up the river sand, from which is separated the gold dust with which it is so freely mixed. The gold comes from unknown veins hundreds of miles away, and is to be found in greater or less quant.i.ties all down the river, and though the natives have always been in the habit of "washing for gold," it is only within the last few years that any real attempt has been made to work it on a large scale.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE IRRAWADDY. _Chapters IV and V._]

The Irrawaddy has many tributaries, but though the larger streams, such as the Chindwin and Mu Rivers, are always flowing, most of the smaller forest streams are dry, excepting during the monsoon, which continues from May until September. At this season, swelled into torrents by the rains, they pour into the Irrawaddy, quickly raising its level 40 to 50 feet, and the peaceful river which I have described becomes a mighty flood, in places 2 miles in width, full to the top of its banks and overflowing the fields and flooding the village streets, and sweeping away from its sand-banks those huts and paG.o.das and other temporary buildings we have noticed, while the mud which its turbid waters carry each year adds a little to the delta at its mouth.

Very often crossing the mouth of these tributaries you may see a framework of bamboo, over which fishing-nets are spread as the river rises, and in the pools of slack water which lie at the mouths of the forest creeks a great collection of logs lie floating. These logs have been cut in the forest long before, and have gradually been collected at some such convenient spot, where a large number of natives are busily engaged in building them into one of those huge rafts so constantly met with on the river. These rafts have a long journey before them, and constantly grounding as they do, no ropes would hold them together through all the wear and tear of their weeks upon the water, so instead of ropes rattan is used. This is a peculiarly long, tough, and flexible cane, which grows all over the forests, and is often a hundred yards or more in length. The logs are mostly of teak (about which I will tell you more presently) and pyingado or iron-wood, which is so heavy that it sinks in the water, and consequently rafts of bamboo are first built, and beneath them the pyingado logs are slung.

An interesting place is Bhamo, the last station for the river steamers and close to the frontier of China. The town is more Chinese than Burman in character, though on the banks of the River Taiping are the remains of paG.o.das and other buildings of purely Burmese origin.

Then, again, there are other defiles on the river beside the one I have already described, and many other points of interest which I might mention. Thabeitkyan, the landing-place for the ruby-mines, three days' journey inland; the rocky island with its monastery and paG.o.da, whose priests are said to be able to tame the fish in the river, which they feed by hand; the great bell at Mingoon, or the water-side fair at Shwegu, and a host of others. It would be impossible for me to tell you about everything of interest that the Irrawaddy has to show, but perhaps I have said enough to give you some little idea of how beautiful and interesting a river it is.

CHAPTER VI

VILLAGE LIFE

Leaving the river, let us go ash.o.r.e at one of the many villages on its banks, and see how the Burmese live.

Our steamer lies alongside of the bank while the cargo is being landed, and its fuel of eng-wood is put on board. This is hard work, and is generally done by girls, who are paid by piece-work, and generally lose no time in the operation. Bales and cases lie upon the bank, and are being loaded into bullock-carts or carried to the top of the "bund," as the bank is called, where pack-ponies are waiting to carry them to more distant destinations.

The villagers "shikoh"[4] as we land, and swarms of youngsters follow us on our tour of the village; but though greatly interested in ourselves and our hardly-concealed curiosity, they are always polite and never annoy us in any way.

[Footnote 4: The Burmese form of salute.]

The village lies close beside the river, and is, as usual, bowered in trees, which overhang the bank. Its other three sides are enclosed by a stockade of thorns or wooden palings as a protection against wild beasts or attack by dacoits, bands of robbers who until recently lurked in the jungles, and often raided outlying and unprotected villages.

The stockade is nearly always overgrown with creeping plants, yellow convolvulus, tropaeolum, and a charming little climber like canariensis. On each side is a gate built of balks of timber, and so heavy that it must run on wheels. This gate is always shut at nightfall, so that no one can enter the village unknown to the watchman, who is called "kinthamah" and keeps his "kin" in a little booth called "kinteaine" erected close beside the gate.

By the gates and at intervals along the roadside are little cupboards raised above the ground and thatched with gra.s.ses called "yaiohzin"; these contain jars of drinking water for the use of wayfarers, and are always kept replenished by the villagers. The drinking cup is usually made of a polished coco-nut sh.e.l.l with a long handle of some hard wood, and it is noticeable that the water is never spilled or wasted, for Burma is a thirsty land and some of these watering-places are far from the river, and every one drinks with due regard to the necessities of the next comer.

Entering the large compound which the stockade encloses we are in the village itself. Here the houses of the Burmans are pleasantly situated among rows of toddy-palm, mango, padouk, and other trees, among which the peepul, or sacred ficus, is almost always found.

The houses are more or less arranged so as to leave a lane or street between them, and are generally built of bamboo, though many have their princ.i.p.al timbers of teak or eng-wood. The floors are usually of split bamboo, and the roof of elephant-gra.s.s, or "thekka," as the thatch of dried leaves is called, forms a good protection against the summer sun or monsoon rains, while the walls are formed of bamboo mats, often coloured and woven into some pretty though simple design.

As the front of the house is generally more or less open, we are able to see much of the interior arrangements. Sleeping mats of gra.s.ses supply the place of beds, and no chairs are to be seen. On a low stand of carved wood is the tray upon which their simple meals are served, and cooking-pots of bronze or earthenware lie about the "chatties"

which contain the fire. Painted and carved boxes contain the family wardrobe, and in one corner is the stand for the large jars in which their supply of drinking-water is kept. Mat part.i.tions perhaps screen inner rooms which we cannot see, but all the domestic appliances visible are of the simplest character, but ample for the needs of the people.

All the buildings are raised several feet above the ground as a protection against snakes, floods, and malaria, and the s.p.a.ce below often forms a stable for the cattle and a useful storing-place for agricultural or other implements. These simple homes of the Burmans are often very pretty as they lie among the trees which cast their broad shadows across the straggling lane, gra.s.s grown and deeply rutted by the cart-wheels. Bougainvillaea and other creepers spread luxuriantly over the roofs, or drop their festoons of flowers from the eaves. Bananas wave their broad leaves gracefully above the houses, in cool contrast to the richer foliage of the larger trees, and among all this greenery, alternately in sunlight or shadow, move the brightly-costumed villagers themselves, most interesting of all.

Here comes a pretty young mother clad in "lungyi" of apple-green and dainty white jacket. Cross-legged over her shoulder is her infant, to whom she talks softly and endearingly as she walks. Presently her home is reached, and all the joy of motherhood shines in her happy face as she gently swings her child to sleep in its cradle of rattan which is slung from the roof above.

Again, an old man pa.s.ses, guided by a little boy, who is proud to a.s.sist his grandfather; for respect for the aged, no less than love for their children, is a dominant trait in the character of the Burman.

While many are working in the paddy-fields, other of the villagers find their occupation nearer home, and employ themselves in such work as mat and basket making (in which the children a.s.sist), the weaving of silk, and the manufacture of pottery. In sheds made for the purpose oil or sugar mills are being turned by bullocks, while in some few villages is made that pretty red and gold lacquer-work we know so well in England. Notice also the village blacksmith, who, with primitive tools, hammers out those curiously shaped "dahs" and knives used by the wood-cutters, while beside him, with equally simple implements, the carpenter puts the finishing touches to the carved yoke of a gharry.

In the streets the naked youngsters are playing at their games. Many are like our own, and marbles, peg-tops, leap-frog or kite-flying each have their turn, while in the ditches and puddles the boys hold miniature regattas with their toy sailing-boats.

In the monastery or some private dwelling in the village the children go to school, and as they become older some occupation employs their time. While the boys are engaged with the cattle or about the boats, the girls are occupied in cutting firewood in the jungle, or from the pools in the forest collect the crude oil which they burn in their lamps.

Roaming at will through the village are pigs and poultry, geese and cattle, and the inevitable "pi dog" of the country. These dogs are peculiar, being wild, yet attaching themselves to some particular house, whose interests they seem to make their own, and which, by vigorous barking, they make a pretence of guarding. In some villages, also, the pigs, which are long-legged and fleet of foot, seem to act in the same capacity, strongly objecting to the intrusion of strangers, and even when riding my pony I have been attacked by them and forced to retire.

During the day many of the villagers have been busy in the rice-fields, for rice is their staple food and the only crop generally cultivated; even infants of a day old are fed upon it, the rice being first chewed by the mother, and each tiny mouthful washed down by a few drops of water. Towards evening, when the tired cattle draw their creaking carts homewards, the streets are thronged with the labourers returning from their work, ready for the simple meal of rice and "ngapi" their wives have prepared for them.

It is a simple, happy life which these villagers lead, graced by many pretty customs of domesticity.

Rising with the sun, with it also they retire to rest, and as the last sweet tones of many gongs from the village monastery proclaim the close of their evening prayer the stockade-gates are closed, and, save for the howling of jackals outside, or the yapping of a dog, silence reigns throughout the village.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENTRANCE TO A BURMESE VILLAGE. _Page 10._]

CHAPTER VII

TOWN LIFE