Round the Wonderful World Part 19

The monks are standing in a solemn group near their staircase when we go back, and when I suggest to Ramaswamy we should give them something he disagrees vigorously. "Not touching money, Master, only food and rice, no money." All right, we won't tempt them, and I put back the rupee I had taken out. You must have noticed already that the money here is the same as in India. Then we climb into the miserable little box on wheels which is waiting for us; it is the only cab we can get here, and calls itself a ticca-gharry. The little rat of a pony seems a very long way off; it is a tight squeeze for us inside, and there is certainly no room on the box beside the hairy-legged native for Ramaswamy, but he hops up on a board there is behind for the purpose, and hangs on as we jolt away to the Golden PaG.o.da.

The first thing we see when we arrive at it are two enormous monsters, not like any animal in existence, made of white plaster with glaring red eyes. They have dragons' heads and tigers' bodies and are most terribly ferocious. These guard the entrance to the paG.o.da and are called leogryphs. Between them there is a long ascent rising to the paG.o.da platform. The place is like a bazaar with people in their gay clothes coming and going, and the sun glinting through between the pillars at the open s.p.a.ces. It is difficult to tell the difference between men and women, for all alike wear skirts and jackets, and you never see a man with a beard, hardly ever with a moustache. But the true distinction is that the men have a gay handkerchief called a _goungbaung_ wound round their heads, and the women wear no head covering, and, as you have seen, they never think of veiling their faces, like the Mohammedan women. The men's head-gear is very different from that we saw in India; it is not a huge and heavy erection, but just a silk or cotton scarf twisted up and tucked in, and very often there is a "bird's nest" of dark hair sticking out in the middle of it, for the men's hair is long as well as the women's, but they roll it up so that it is not seen.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LEOGRYPH.]

Everyone is very bright and friendly, and the girls who are selling all sorts of little tawdry things on the stalls by the stairs call out to us persuasively to buy from them. On the whole the place is clean, and there is no bazaar smell, only a certain sharp wood-smoke flavour and the scent of many flowers. But at the foot of every white column are horrible deep-red stains that look as if some little animal had been slaughtered there. It is not so bad as that. You remember we saw a man whose mouth was stained red with chewing betel-nut, which he did in the same way that some of the roughest men in England chew tobacco? These are the stains of that betel-nut, for nearly everyone here has the nasty habit.

Up the steps we pa.s.s, higher and higher, and come out on to a great platform which looks like a street, for it is lined with buildings on all four sides and in the middle too; but rising above those in the middle is the great paG.o.da, the Shwe Dagon,--_shwe_ means golden,--and this is the most wonderful thing in Burma.

It is so wide at the base that it takes quite a long time to walk round it, and then it goes up in a bell-like curve, tapering to a steeple little less than the height of St. Paul's Cathedral. At the very top of all, so high that we can only see it by cricking our necks, is an iron cage called a _htee_, meaning "umbrella," decorated with swinging bells.

Listen for a moment and perhaps you can hear them as the wind sways them about. No, the air is too still to-day. Deep in the innermost chamber of the paG.o.da are no less than eight hairs of Buddha, besides other relics of other Buddhas who lived before the last.

The marvel of it is that this great monument is pure gold from top to bottom. Much of it is covered with thin plates of real gold, and the rest, yards and yards of it, is plastered with gold-leaf.

Did you see that red glint from the top as the sun caught the htee at an angle? That was probably a real ruby, for it flashed out like a sword blade. There are many real stones set up there, and the htee alone cost 50,000!

Coming back to earth, look at the glitter on all these shrines that line the platform on both sides. Though it looks like a street it isn't really, for there are no houses, only shrines and temples. That one close to us is dazzling to look at. No, those blue and red flashes are not from real jewels; examine them and see. The shrine is encased with little pieces of looking-gla.s.s, some red and some blue and some plain, all fitted in together like mosaic.

The next is made of the wonderful carved woodwork the Burmans do so well, and it is gilded all over; for my own part I prefer the dark teak ungilded, but still this looks very handsome among the rest. That tall post like a flagstaff, with streamers flying from it, is a praying-post; can you make out the figure like a weather-c.o.c.k at the top? It is a goose instead of a c.o.c.k, and doesn't tell the direction of the wind. It is the sacred goose. The brilliance of all this detail takes one's breath away. On every side we see the people wors.h.i.+pping, and yet it is not a festival day, for then we should hardly be able to move for the crowds on the platform--where there are tens now there would then be thousands. The wors.h.i.+ppers drop down quite simply on the pavement before a favourite shrine and hold up their hands toward it, sometimes with an offering of flowers in them, or even a big taper. There is a woman pa.s.sing smoking a monstrous "green" cigar. It is a huge thick roll of light-coloured stuff like shavings, about as long as your arm from elbow to wrist, and as thick as a man's finger. She has to open her little round mouth wide to get the end in. It is not filled with pure tobacco, but a chopped mixture of all sorts; even you could smoke it without any harm. Why yes, women smoke here almost all day, and children too. They do say the mothers give the babies-in-arms a whiff, but I haven't seen that myself!

Set up everywhere are coloured umbrellas with fringes of coloured beads, as large as those used for tents on lawns sometimes. We peer into numberless shrines as we pa.s.s and see Buddhas of every sort peeping at us out of the dim interiors; there are Buddhas of bra.s.s, Buddhas of marble, Buddhas of alabaster, Buddhas coated with white paint, and Buddhas covered with gold. Most of them are seated, always exactly in the same position as the one we saw far away in Ceylon. This is supposed to signify Buddha as he sat under the Bo tree meditating.

Others show him standing with one hand upraised, and this is to show Buddha as he was when teaching, and others are lying down, but these are the least common. They are supposed to show Buddha when he pa.s.sed into eternal calm.

Pink is by far the favourite colour for the people's clothes, and it is very vivid, like the colour seen in striped coco-nut cream, but white is also much worn, and there is some yellow in orange shades. Many of the Burmese wear a s.h.i.+rt of maroon check, just like a check duster; these are their workaday clothes, on festivals they generally manage to come out in silks.

Come round now to the back of the shrines that line the platform on the outer side, here there is another open s.p.a.ce, and on it are bells as large as church bells; they hang between two posts. Take up one of those deer's horns lying beside that one and stroke it hard. It gives out a clear musical note. Try now the piece of wood, that sounds different.

Everyone who pa.s.ses stops to strike one or the other of the bells, they want to call the attention of the "good nats," or spirits, to the fact that they are at the paG.o.da! In this shed is an enormous bell large enough to hold half a dozen men. I don't think you'll be able to make much effect with a deer's horn on that. It is the third largest in the world, and once was in the bottom of the Rangoon River, for the English were carrying it away when it toppled over and sank. Engineers tried to raise it, but failed, because of its enormous weight; but the Burmans, after some time, were allowed to try, and somehow managed to succeed, and not only so, but they hauled it right up here! It does look as though there were something weird about its positive refusal to be carried away!

Along the edge of this part of the paG.o.da are a number of wooden platforms raised a foot or two from the ground, for the use of those who come from long distances, and on them many families are lying or sitting. On one sits a tiny boy with a quizzical intelligent little face. His top-knot sticks up like an out-of-curl feather. Beside him is a still smaller mite who cannot be more than two; he has little silver bangles on his fat wrists and ankles, and a strip of cotton rolled round his dumpy body, while papa and mamma and numerous aunts are seated on the platform behind gravely smoking.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE PLATFORM OF A PAG.o.dA.]

I stop to light a cigarette close to this family, and in an instant the elder lad holds out his hand timidly. Just to see what he will do I give him a cigarette; he takes it with a self-possessed courtesy and looks at me, politely waiting for a light. I hand him the box and he strikes a match and bows a little as he returns it; even the children have excellent manners. Drawing in a great whiff of smoke he sends it out through his little round nose in keen enjoyment. But the fat baby has suddenly become alive to what is going on, and crawling on the top of his brother clamorously demands a smoke more loudly than if he were asking for sweets. The bigger boy hands him the cigarette. He knows quite enough not to put the lighted end in his mouth, and in a second is puffing so vigorously that the cigarette burns away like a furnace; when his brother sees this he makes a desperate effort to recover it, but the fat baby pushes him off with one hand, while he clings to the cigarette with the other, and, turning away his head, smokes harder than ever.

We are both reduced to fits of laughter by this time, and the family on the platform are enjoying the joke too. Seeing that there are likely to be difficulties, I solve them by producing another cigarette for the elder boy, and the fat baby is left in full possession of the first one.

The last sight we have of him is as he violently resists a grown-up sister who is trying to take away the stub!

CHAPTER XXII

THE KING'S REPRESENTATIVE

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE GOVERNMENT SERVANT.]

We are lucky! No sooner have we returned to the hotel than a gorgeous man, over six feet high, dressed in white, with a red sash, in which is stuck a ta.s.selled dagger, greets us. He is a _chupra.s.sie_, or messenger, and has come from Government House with a note inviting us to a garden-party there this afternoon. What a day of it! This is the result of my having been up there yesterday to write our names in the book kept for the purpose, while I left you to rest. That is the way people do here instead of leaving cards, so that His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor may know who has come to the country. I thought perhaps he would take some notice of us, because his younger brother was my great friend at the 'Varsity, but this is very prompt. I am glad you will have a chance of seeing something of Government House, as most people in England have not an idea how things are run here. Burma is counted as one of the provinces of India, and is under the Viceroy of all India, but within his own borders the Lieutenant-Governor is the ruler and representative of the King.

It is about four o'clock, when, having had a rest and made ourselves as smart as we can, we crawl up the long drive leading to Government House in one of the ridiculous small ticca-gharries which are the only conveyances one can get.

We are one of a long procession of vehicles going at a foot's pace, stopping and starting again. Some are private carriages, there are a few motors, a few dog-carts, and ours is not the only little box on wheels.

Lean out a little and you will see a flash of jewels and satiny silk in that one in front of us; evidently some wealthy natives are among the guests. The long line of vehicles comes up to the door, and when the occupants have alighted the drivers curve on round the lawn and go away.

At last our turn comes. A pleasant-looking man, all in white, with a red sash and sword, and a wonderful bunch of ta.s.sels and plaits in gold, called an aiguillette, on his breast, greets us as cordially as if we were old friends. Notice the plume of rose-pink feathers on his helmet!

He seems to know all about us without our saying a word, and as he leads the way across the short gra.s.s lawn to where our host and hostess stand ready to greet their guests, he tells me that His Excellency's brother, my old friend, is actually staying here now.

His Excellency is in English costume, with a star on his breast; he shakes hands kindly and calls out to summon his brother, who is not far off, and we pa.s.s on to make way for the stream of newcomers.

We could not be in better hands. Claude and I have not met for years, but that makes no difference; we greet each other as if we had parted only yesterday. He takes us over to the tables for tea and fruit. And when he hears this is your first visit he insists on your eating a mango, which is the most famous fruit in the country and just ripe.

These are a specially good sort, not very large, with pink "cheeks"; when you have stripped off the tough skin you find you get down to the big stone very soon, and there isn't much room for the fruity part between, still, what there is of it is excellent, and I see you furtively using your handkerchief to get rid of the stickiness afterwards!

Then we sit in basket-chairs, not too near the band, and Claude tells us "all about it." It is a much more brilliant scene than an ordinary garden-party at home, because in addition to the Europeans there are a number of high-cla.s.s Burmese. Those little ladies near us standing in a group are most gorgeously attired in much-embroidered fussy little jackets with short wings, or lappets, sticking out behind, and their skirts, or tameins, are woven of the richest silk. As that one turns you see that beside the flowers in her hair she has two big pins with heads the size of small walnuts; those are real diamonds, not perhaps of the first water, but still of great value. The ladies' faces are smooth with yellow powder, and there is something very neat about their movements. A little way off is a Burman with a pink goungbaum and very rich silk skirt. The gra.s.s, kept green by plentiful early morning watering, is quite vivid in colour, and the clear cloudless sky is of a thrilling blue. Government House itself is a great palace, not beautiful, as it is built of yellow brick and pink terra-cotta, but imposing and dignified.

Burman attendants wearing turbans and skirts, called _lyungis_, of purest mauve, and dainty white jackets, glide about with the refreshments. Burmans will seldom take service with anyone, generally they leave that to the natives of India, but they make a distinction in the case of anyone so important as the Lieutenant-Governor.

"It's all rather overwhelming to me," says my friend. "You know I am a quiet man; a well-seasoned pipe and a den full of books are about my mark. I had no idea till I came out here that my brother was such a boss; it makes me want to run away."

"Tell us about some of the guests," I suggest. "Why does that man in the saffron-coloured robe have yards too much of it?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: A LITTLE BURMESE LADY.]

"That's his best garment, called a _putso_, I understand. The more stuff the better, all bunched up; to show he can afford it, I suppose. Doesn't leave much room for the tailor to display his cut. He's a prominent Government man. I don't know him personally. Those two ladies in the fussy little jackets are royalties; they wear that sort of thing because they're of the old royal blood, though otherwise you only see it in the _pwes_, or plays. They are of the house of Theebaw, the king we dethroned in 1885 when we took over Upper Burma. He's living still in India, where he was sent into exile. I don't know what relation these two are to him, but when every king had at least thirty sons, there was no scarcity of relations! It was the custom for the son who mounted the throne in the old days to kill off all his brothers if he could lay hands on them, as a precaution in case of accidents. I take it some of the ladies were spared, which would make for the inequality of the s.e.xes."

"I suppose your brother is like a king out here?"

"He is the representative of the King. You should see him driving in state with outriders in scarlet liveries. People in England don't realise it. I always say how he will suffer when he retires and goes to England, where no one will s.h.i.+ko to him!"

At that moment he springs to his feet to shake hands with a dignified short Burman in beautiful native dress, to whom he introduces us. This is the Sawbwa, or chief, of Hsipaw, one of the native states. The Sawbwa has been educated in England and speaks perfectly correct English. He has a pa.s.sion for travel and wants to go round the world, he says, but he has to get permission from the Viceroy before leaving the country, as the English Government doesn't like the native princes leaving their territory. So long as he stays at home and governs his people well he is not interfered with, but when he wants to go away he feels the hand of Britain over him!

After talking a little while he asks us if we have seen the football--he calls it football, but, as he explains, it is a native game called _chin-lon_, which is not quite the same.

We saunter across the lawn and find that a sort of exhibition game for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the guests is going on. The ball is made of wicker-work and is kept in the air by the knees or feet of the players very cleverly, in fact, so cleverly that it looks quite easy to do. The young men who are playing turn and twist and always catch it just right, sending it spinning upwards very neatly. This is a game played by every village lad, but if you tried it you'd find it uncommonly difficult.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BOXING."]

A little farther on two men are boxing with their feet, raising their legs in the high kick and sometimes smacking each other's faces with the soles; the way they balance is extraordinary, there are roars of laughter when one nearly goes over but just recovers himself. He is a bit of a clown, that fellow, and does it on purpose now and again, though really he is perfectly balanced. Then we walk on with Claude toward the house, where the marble steps are lined by chupra.s.sies, like the one who brought us our invitation this morning; we pa.s.s into the hall, with its high white columns and airy s.p.a.ciousness, and then we see ma.s.ses of wood-carving like that at the choung, deeply undercut, and a huge pair of elephant tusks. Everywhere are tall vases with great orange and red flags, something of the same kind as those that grow by riversides, only much larger.

The pa.s.sages are in the form of great arcades, and the ballroom behind is vast. It is indeed a palace fit for a king!

His Excellency is very gracious, and when he is free for a few minutes he talks to us and asks us to stay with him and his wife on our way back from up-country, an invitation we gladly accept. He also promises to make everything easy for us on our tour. As we go away, after having taken our leave, I hear you say thoughtfully--

"I think I'd like to be a Lieutenant-Governor when I grow up!"

It is a good ambition, but you will have to be clever and very hard working to achieve it, and even then you will want a bit of luck. You must go into the Indian Civil Service first, and after all, of course, you may never get there, but with a bit of luck----

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PALACE.]