IN THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST.IN THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST.
Bewilderment and wonder grow upon anyone riding through the forest for the first time, but after a few days one gradually becomes accustomed to these luxuriant surroundings, and is able to appreciate the forest in detail.
How beautiful the undergrowth is! Palms and bamboos wave gracefully above a mass of flowering plants, among and over which climb convolvuli of many kinds, tropæolum, honeysuckle, and a variety of other creepers, forming natural arbours, with whose blossoms mingle those of the festoons hanging from the trees.
Teak, india-rubber, and cutch trees rise high above the undergrowth, and in turn are dwarfed by such giants as the pyingado and the cotton-tree. These grow to an enormous size. The pyingado, straight and smooth, often rises 150 feet before it puts forth a branch, and I have seen ponies stabled between the natural buttresses which support the huge trunk of the silk-cotton tree, sometimes 250 feet in height.
Orchids of great size grow upon the boughs, and add to the wealth of foliage, in which the large-leafed teak or rubber trees contrast with the feathery pepper or acacia; and it is interesting to notice that most of the feathery kinds bear thorns.
Though generally straight and tall, the trees are often twisted into curious joints and elbows, which give them a very fantastic appearance; but most strange of all arethe creepers which bind these forest growths. Some are very large, and stretch for immense distances, linking tree to tree in twining loops, from which their hanging tendrils reach the ground, or perhaps crossing some forest glade or stream to form an aerial bridge for the lemurs or the monkeys.
One creeper in particular I must tell you about. This is called "Nyoung-bin" by the natives, and is a very strange plant. It very often springs from a seed dropped by some bird into the fork of a tree, where, taking root, it sends its suckers downwards until they become firmly bedded in the ground, then, growing upwards again, it slowly envelops the parent tree until it is entirely enclosed by the new growth, which kills it, but which in its stead becomes anewtree, larger and more lofty than the one which first supported it. This is one of the many species of ficus, of which its equally strange cousin, the many-trunked banyan, is another common feature of a Burmese forest.
Naturally these forests are alive with birds. Parrots and parakeets live among the tree-tops, and doves and pigeons, jays and mynahs, and a great variety of small birds, find their home here. Woodpeckers are busy among the tree-trunks, sharing their spoil of insects with the lizards and the tree-frogs, and among the lesser growths tits, finches, and wagtails rear their young broods.
The birds are not the only occupants of these wilds, however, for in no country is there a larger variety of game than in Burma. Herds of wild elephants roam the forests, in which are also tigers, panthers, and bears.Many kinds of deer are there, to be preyed upon by man or beast, from the pretty little gyi or barking deer to the lordly sambur. Wild pig also are very numerous, and lurking in the dank undergrowth or fissures of the rocks are many venomous snakes and large pythons.
But though so abundant, all these wild creatures are shy, and one may travel many days without adventure, and any sense of danger is soon lost in admiration of the beauties of these wilds.
Riding through such a forest is very fascinating in the early winter months. Then the ground is fairly hard, and riding would be easy were it not for the thorny vines and fallen tree-trunks which lie among the thickets. At this time, also, foliage and flowers are still luxuriant, and all kinds of wild life abundant.
But from May to October the south-west monsoon, bringing in the heavily-laden rain-clouds from the sea, pours upon the country its torrential rains, which change this beautiful forest into a swamp. The quiet creeks become turbid rivers, while the hill-sides are torn by innumerable torrents, which, washing away the earth from the roots of the trees, cause them to fall crashing among the dripping undergrowth. Bridges are swept away, and the paths become morasses. Travelling in the forest is then wellnigh impossible, though it is this time that the native woodman and the large number of young Englishmen engaged in forest-work find the busiest of the year.
Gradually the rains cease, and with the return of sunshine birds and flowers spring into renewed life,more beautiful than ever, and at no time of the year is the forest more lovely than immediately after the monsoon rains.
Presently the hot weather of March and April comes to strip the trees of their leaves, while the dak and other flowering trees are a blaze of crimson among the autumn tints. Then, when everything is dry and withered, forest fires break out in many parts of the country, consuming all but the larger trees, and leaving a blackened waste where once was a paradise of flowers. It is sad to ride in the track of such a fire, but this is no doubt Nature's way ofcleaningthe country, and destroying a vast amount of decaying vegetable matter and keeping in check many venomous insects and reptiles. The forest appears to be dead until the advent of the next monsoon restores to the sun-bleached skeleton its usual luxuriant vegetation.
But I hear some one asking, How do you live and travel in such a country? All through India and Burma at intervals along the main routes of travel dâk bungalows have been erected for the use of travellers. These are small houses, containing two or three rooms, raised on poles above the ground. They are built of timber, with matting walls and thatched roof, much like the Burmese dwellings I have described. Native custodians are in charge of them, and although specially intended for the use of Government servants, any traveller may use them. In the forest similar houses, called "tais," smaller and often built of bamboo, are erected, though sometimesvery small huts indeed, formed of bamboo and reeds, are the only shelter available. These are draughty dwellings, and even the best-built "tai" is partly open to the air, and affords little protection from the night cold, which is often so intense that sleep is almost impossible.
After a scanty breakfast by candlelight, a start is made in the early dawn, when the air is cold and damp, and the heavy dew dripping from the reeds and kine-grass quickly soaks you to the skin. The sunrise is curiously sudden, and very soon the sun is hot enough to compel the traveller to leave the open glades and seek the shelter of the denser portions of the forest. Hardy little ponies, sure-footed and willing, are our mounts, while elephants carry the stores and provisions, cooking utensils, and bedding, which every traveller must take with him.
In distinction to the working elephants, those employed on a journey are called "travellers," and are used for no other purpose. Their drivers are called "ouzies," and sit astride the animals' necks, with their legs hanging down behind their ears. There are several ways of mounting, each pretty: sometimes the elephant will hold up its fore-foot to form a step for its driver, or will drop upon its knees and bend its trunk to form a step, by which the "ouzie" is able to reach his seat.
When travelling they have a shambling sort of gait, half walk, half amble, but manage to get over the ground very quickly, and for such cumbersome animals are very nimble-footed. It is almost ludicrous to seethe huge beasts picking their way along a narrow "bund" or crossing some ditch by a bridge of fallen logs, but they always do so successfully.
Soft and boggy land, however, is a great trouble to them, their great weight causing them to sink deep into the mud; and elephants will often show their dread of such places by loud trumpeting and great unwillingness to attempt the passage. Occasionally they will tear up tufts of reeds or boughs of trees to make a foothold for themselves, and I heard quite recently of a case where a friend of mine, while out shooting from elephants, came to such a marshy place, which at first they refused to cross. Then, before anything could be done to prevent it, his elephant seized the driver with his trunk and, placing him in the mud, used the poor native's body as a "stepping-stone." The driver was, of course, crushed to death, and my friend only escaped a similar fate by scrambling off his elephant by the tail. Generally elephants are docile enough, but are not always fond of Europeans and very much dislike a rider to approach too closely; but they rarely give trouble to their drivers, for whom they often have a genuine affection.
Roads in the forest are few, and at best are only bridle-tracks, difficult to ride over, and through which a way has often to be cut with knives, so rapid is the growth.
Travelling is slow and often difficult, and towards the great heat of midday men and animals are glad to rest, while another march in the afternoon brings us, towards sunset, to our next halting-place. Thenfuel for the fires must be collected to prepare the evening meal, beds made ready, and the animals attended to. The ponies are tethered underneath the "tai," while the elephants, wearing a wooden bell called "kalouk," are turned loose into the forest, where their drivers quickly track them down again in the morning by the sound of their bell.
About sundown a strange hush comes over the forest, and the leaves hang limply after the great heat of the day. Insects and birds give up their activities, and are preparing to roost or lying in the various hiding-places they frequent. All Nature seems to betired, and little wonder when the thermometer has shown 105° of moist heat!
Suddenly with the cooling of the air a shiver and a rustle passes over the tree-tops as the sundown breeze brings relief to the tired world. Immediately the forest is alive again, but with new inhabitants. The dancing fireflies weave rings of bluish light around the tree-trunks, already half lost in the gathering darkness; crickets and tree-frogs contribute to the growing sounds of the woody solitude; while the stealthy tread of some prowling animal is faintly heard among the withered debris of the undergrowth. It is no longer safe to wander from the camp-fire, whose flames, shooting upwards in straight tongues, light up the nearer trees in contrast to the blackness beyond, in which many a dangerous wild beast lurks. Within the circle which our camp-fire lights is safety, and in the now cold night air its warmth is grateful. No one who has not experienced it can at all appreciate the romantic pleasureof a forest camp, never more enjoyable than in the hour before "turning in," when, in the light of our blazing logs and surrounded by the dark mystery beyond, the last pipe is smoked while listening to many exciting tales of adventure, before we stretch our tired limbs in bed.
A DAK BUNGALOW. Page 60.A DAK BUNGALOW.Page 60.
Though human habitations are not often met with in the forest, little native settlements occur from time to time, where, surrounded by small clearings, over which a primitive scarecrow mounts guard, sufficient rice is grown for their needs. These little hamlets are occupied by woodmen, or little communities of Chins, a kindred race to the Burmans, though differing from them in many customs, most curious of which is their habit of tattooing the faces of their young womenblack.
Here and there one meets a fowler, who, with primitive snare or decoy-bird, seeks to take his toll of the forest; and in the most remote districts may be met some picturesque Burmese travelling-cart, toiling laboriously over tracks which would almost seem to be impossible for wheels. I have already mentioned the creaking of the cart-wheels which no Burman would oil, for they believe that the horrible groanings they produce, together with their own loud voices, serve to ward off the evil spirits of the woods; for the Burman is superstitious, and at frequent intervals may be seen tiny wicker-work representations of pagodas and "zeyats" erected to propitiate the forest "nats," andpassers-by will deposit in these diminutive shrines some offering of food or ornament, and in the Shan States I remember seeing one whose enclosing fence was hung with spears and "dahs," and other weapons of considerable interest and some value.
By the wayside the lonely grave of some traveller or woodman, marked by its simple fence of twigs, gives a touch of pathos to the forest; and among its natural wonders are the giant ant-hills, often 9 feet or more in height.
Ants are probably the most destructive of all insects in Burma. Voracious wood-eaters, they will attack fallen logs or growing trees, which they will entirely consume till only the hollow bark remains. This is one great reason why the wood of the teak-tree is so highly valued, as it is the only timber these ants will not touch, and consequently is the one of which all the more important buildings and dwellings are constructed.
In many districts, within reach of some beautiful forest creek, teak-cutting may be seen in full operation; and it is interesting to watch the elephants at work, hauling logs or loading them on to the little trollies, by which they are carried down to the water, where, floundering along the muddy bank, they launch them in the stream.
Some of these creeks are very lovely, fringed as they are by flowering grasses, behind which the forest rises tier on tier above the shimmering water and gleaming sand-banks.
On the banks are the footprints of many wild animals who have come down to water during thenight. In the water are fish and water-snakes, which alert herons constantly harass, and, strange as it may seem, in the river-bed itself are the marks of cart-wheels, for the Burmans often make a highway of these forest streams, which in the dry season are generally easier to travel than the roads.
The forest itself is never monotonous, its growths varying according to the levels of the hills. Sometimes the enormous trees and heavy foliage I have already described produce a depth of gloom which might well excuse the superstitious fear of the Burmans, and often recalls to me the pictures in our fairy-books, where some bold knight is depicted entering the depths of an enchanted wood, in search of the dragon that well might dwell there. Descending the hill-side with a suddenness which is almost startling, you may find yourself in a bamboo forest, which is a veritable fairyland for beauty. From a carpet of sand, on which lilies grow, these giant bamboos spring, fern-like, in enormous clumps, spreading their arms and feathery crests in all directions, and, meeting overhead, form avenues and lanes, which remind one of some beautiful cathedral aisle.
Different in many ways from the forests I have described are those of the cooler plateaus and mountain ranges of Northern Burma. On the higher levels oak and pines are found among the other trees, and bracken grows around the wild plums on the more open slopes. Sparkling rivulets spring from the mountain-side, and, overhung by ferns and mosses, flow gurgling over their pebbly beds to the deep valley below, there to join theswiftly-flowing river, which, by many waterfalls and rapids, eventually reaches the level of the plains.
From the river's edge, where reeds and wild bananas grow, the purple wistaria spreads itself over the mass of vegetation which covers the precipitous hills from base to summit.
Bamboos of many kinds wave among the trees or grow in masses by themselves, and climbing geranium and ferns mount from one foothold to another over tree-trunks or rocks, rooting as they go.
Nests of wasps and weaver birds hang from the canes. Jungle-fowl and pheasant, snipe and partridge, are there to provide the traveller with food, and often, flying heavily from tree to tree, a peacock offers a welcome addition to your larder.
The forest is dense, and in places almost impenetrable, and as you ride or cut your way through the thick undergrowth, monkeys of large size follow you through the tree-tops, scolding and chattering at your intrusion; and lemurs, fear overcome by curiosity, approach you closely, as though to see what kind of creature is this that penetrates these wilds.
Wildness best describes these leafy solitudes in which roads are almost unknown, and which the larger beasts as well as men appear to shun.
Along the river-bank, however, are many little hamlets, where in dug-out canoes the natives fish the rivers, using many ingenious nets and traps, or weirs which stretch from bank to bank.
Carts are never used here, and such traffic as is carried on must be done by means of pack-ponies,whose loads are so contrived that, should they stumble on their rugged path, they can easily free themselves of their burden.
We are now near to the Chinese frontier, and many straggling groups of Chinese, Shans, and Shan-tilok (which is a mixture of the two) may be met bearing bales or baskets of produce on their backs to some distant settlement; or occasionally a family party, bent upon some pilgrimage or journey, carry their household goods and young children in baskets slung from bamboo poles, which cross their shoulders.
On the lower levels, where paths are more frequent, little bridges of picturesque design cross the streams, from which rise warm miasmic mists. In the early morning dense fogs fill the valleys, often accompanied by frost; but as the sun gains power and the mists are sucked up, the heat is intense; and these extremes of heat and cold, combined with the smell of rotting vegetation and exhalations from the ground, render this region a perfect fever-den, in which no white man can safely live.
Though the general character of the country consists of lofty mountains and deep valleys, through which wide rivers flow, there are at intervals considerable stretches of flat land, which are under partial cultivation. Here villages of some size are found, and among the people which inhabit them are strange types we have not previously seen in Burma, and customs which are curious. The Shans, for instance, have the habit of tattooing their faces and legs and centre of their chests, while, their scanty clothing not permitting the use ofpockets, they carry upon their backs little baskets of wicker-work, in which are placed their knives, tobacco, and such other articles as a pocket might have accommodated. The Yunnanese, wearing huge plaited hats of straw and curious slippers of the same material, but whose other garments are so thin and baggy as to mark them indifferent to the cold, are in marked contrast to the Kachins, who wear an elaborate costume of heavy woollen material of many colours. The men, whose hair is long and tied in a knot on the top of the head, after the manner of the Burmese, wear a simple scarf tied round the head in place of a hat, while the women, who wear a costume much like the men, have as their head-covering a handkerchief or scarf folded flat upon the head. All have their ears bored, the lobes being so large as not only to enable them to wear ear ornaments of unusual size, but often to serve as a handy receptacle for a cigar! When travelling the Kachins usually carry in their hands double-ended spears, whose shafts are covered with a kind of red plush from which large fringes hang; but these are only ceremonial weapons, and show that their intentions are pacific. Like the Shans, they dispense with pockets in their clothing, but instead wear suspended under their arm a cloth bag, which is often prettily embroidered.
Though, as I have mentioned, the forests of Mid-Burma—and, indeed, generally throughout the country—abound in game, which ranges from elephant and rhinoceros down to the smallest deer, and while every tree and thicket is a home for birds, all forms of animallife appear to avoid the fever-infested highlands of North-East Burma. In some places, however, strange freaks of Nature occur. On the high plateau through which the Myit-nge River flows, though the forest and jungle is more or less deserted, scattered over the plain are conical limestone crags, which are alive with monkeys; and while the innumerable species of insects which infest the warmer forests are absent, nowhere in all Burma have I seen butterflies more numerous or more beautiful than here. It is singular, also, to notice how human habitations will attract certain forms of animal life, and in some mysterious manner, though the surrounding forest may be otherwise deserted, pigeons and doves and the various kinds of crow quickly install themselves in the neighbourhood of a newly-established settlement or camp.
It is impossible in two short chapters to describe the infinite variety and charm of these Burmese forests—the rushing mountain torrents, the sweeping rivers, and noble waterfalls; the sluggish streams, which reflect the glories of the surrounding forest; its teeming life, its solitude, and the wonderful effects of light and colour; but perhaps I have said enough to convey to you some idea of that wealth of exuberant beauty which has forced upon me the conclusion that nothing in all the world is quite so beautiful as a tropical forest.
So far I have not given you any example of the many adventures which may befall a traveller in such wilds, but they are naturally of frequent occurrence.
Often while painting, and quite unarmed, I have found myself in unpleasantly close proximity to wildbeasts of many kinds, and on more than one occasion I have narrowly escaped the fatal bite of some deadly snake which I have killed. Every one has a natural horror of poisonous snakes, but sometimes an adventure with them has its element of amusement. I remember an instance where one of my companions, having come into camp from his work in the forest, lay down outside his tent to rest, and, the better to enjoy it, took off his riding-boots and loosened his breeches at the knee. While his "tiffin" was being prepared he went to sleep, but presently awoke with a horrible sensation of something lying cold against his thigh. To his alarm, he discovered this to be a large cobra, which had sought shelter from the sun. Remaining quite still, he called his native servant, and explained the position, and the snake was soon secured and dispatched, while my friend suffered nothing worse than a fright.
THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN MONASTERY, MANDALAY. Page 79.THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN MONASTERY, MANDALAY.Page 79.
Though so docile as a rule when tamed, elephants in their wild state are most dangerous, and I have heard of many narrow escapes from them in Burma. Panthers, also, though shy of human beings, are fierce when at bay, and I have been told that a scratch from their claws nearly always results in fatal blood-poisoning.
It is the tiger, however, which is most to be feared. General throughout the country, a traveller through jungle or forest must be ever alert, so stealthy are its movements, and so audacious is it in its depredations. Its great strength, however, which is not so generally recognized, the following will serve to show. Close beside our lonely camp on the Nan-Tu River a tiger killed a sambur, upon which the natives saw himfeeding. Being unarmed themselves, they ran for the "Sahib" to come and shoot him; but, on regaining the spot, they found that the tiger had gone, carrying the huge carcass with him. Following the trail, they came up with their quarry at the river's bank; but the tiger, still retaining its hold upon its prey, took to the water, and, although impeded by its heavy burden, succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. The sad part of the story is that a native, armed with a "dah," who had followed the tiger into the river, though an extremely powerful swimmer, was swept away by the current, and drowned in the rapids below.
Burma has been called the "Land of Pagodas," and nothing could be more true, for from Syriam, below Rangoon, to Myitkyina, in the far north, is one long succession of these beautiful temples. Not only on the river-banks do these pagodas crown the hills, but in every town and village throughout the country; and in many remote districts, far from present habitations, some shrine, however simple, has been raised.
We have seen something of the great Shwe Dagon pagoda in Rangoon, but there are many others almost equally beautiful, if not so large: the exquisite Shwe Tsan Daw at Prome, the Arracan near Mandalay, while in old Pagan, Pegu, Moulmein, and a host of other places, are temples which one might well think could not be surpassed for beauty. I have told you that these pagodas are usually bell-shaped—a delicate and most elegant form of design, which gains very much in effect from the habit the Burmese have of building their temples on a hill, so that the gradually ascending ground, on the different levels of which the pinnacles of the "kyoungs" are visible above the trees, leads gradually upward from one point to another until the temple itself is reached, towering gracefully abovethe other forms of beauty with which the hill is sometimes covered. Another pretty effect is gained by building them close to the water, either on the river-bank or beside some artificial pool or "tank," in which they are reflected. Nothing could be more beautiful than the effect of these golden piles glittering in the sunshine among the deep green of the trees, especially when repeated in some placid sheet of water, dotted over perhaps with pink and purple lotus.
And, then, the little bells which hang from every "ti"—how they tinkle as they swing in the breeze, in their numbers forming one general harmonious note, most musical, and with a strange sensation of joy and contentment in its sound.
These little bells are not the only ones in the temples, however, for in all of them are others of very large size, which, raised a foot or more from the ground, hang between two posts set in the platform which surrounds the "zedi," as the bell-shaped temple is called.
These are used by the worshippers, who, with a stag's horn, strike the bell after praying, to call the attention of the "nats" of the upper and lower worlds to the fact that they have done so. You will see these bells in one of the pictures, but there are some others of immense size, that at Mingun weighing eighty tons; but, as a rule, the tone of the very large bells is poor, and not to be compared with that of those of more moderate size.
There are one or two places in Burma particularly rich in pagodas—Pagan, Sagaing, and Mandalay. I want to tell you just a little about each.
Let us go to Mandalay first, for I have no doubt that you have been wondering why I have not already told you something about the capital of Burma.
As a matter of fact, Mandalay is little better than an enlarged village, and is built much in the same way as the towns I have already described, and has really only two points of great interest—its religious buildings and the "fort."
I am referring, of course, to theBurmesetown, for surrounding the fort are a large number of well-built bungalows, and streets of shops built of stone or brick; but these are for the use of Europeans and Indian or Chinese traders, the Burmans here, as elsewhere, contenting themselves with their thatched houses of timber. It may appear surprising that a people who could erect their marvellous temples should be satisfied with such poor dwellings. The reason is to be found in their custom of removing their capital on each change of dynasty, and sincea.d.1740 the capital of Burma has been moved no less than eight times! Mandalay itself is only fifty years old, so that it hardly appeared to them worth their while to build more substantial dwellings, which might so soon have to be deserted; and in this way they came to regard their homes as temporary, expending their energies and wealth in the building of temples and monasteries instead.
The streets of Mandalay are wide, and laid out in rectangles, as in Rangoon, and, like all towns in Burma, the roads are heavily shaded by trees. Foreign types are common in Mandalay, but the Burmese life here is very pretty. Nowhere else are the people betterdressed, and the ladies rival the silk bazaar in the variety and beautiful colour of their clothing. Until recently this was a royal city, and the ladies pay great attention to the demands of fashion, whether it is in their delicately-tinted garments, their embroidered sunshades or fan, or the lace handkerchief with which they love to toy; and nothing in the way of crowd could be nicer than these daintily-dressed and usually prepossessing men and women. Fashion, however, has alwayssomedrawback. The ladies in many cases smear their faces with a paste called "thannakah," which has the effect of whitening the skin. The result is very unfortunate, for it is not always put on evenly, and only serves to make the ugly more forbidding, while it destroys the soft warmth of colour and skin texture which so often makes these women beautiful. Another unfortunate custom is their habit of smoking such huge cheroots, which no mouth of ordinary size could possibly hold without distortion.
All roads in Mandalay lead to the fort, lately the residence of the Court. This consists of a huge square, 1-1/4 miles each way, entirely surrounded by battlemented walls, and further protected by a wide and deep moat. Quaint bridges cross the moat, and lead to gateways, each surmounted by a "pyathat." Within the walls are the palace of the King, and many other buildings of highly ornate and purely Burmese character. Many of them have lately been destroyed by fire; but what will interest us most is the rambling but most picturesque palace, the lofty "pyathat" which is erected over Thebaw's throne being the finest in the country,and so much admired by the Burmans as to be called "the centre of the universe."
All these buildings are of timber, only the finest teak being used, and the many columns which support the roofs of the halls of audience consist of single tree-trunks of unusual size and great value.
The moat serves to supply Mandalay with its drinking-water, and is fed by a conduit from the hills. I am afraid the water is not very clean, but it is a very pretty sight to see the people coming to fill their jars from the little stages which jut from the banks, while the whole surface is at some seasons of the year a mass of purple lotus and white water-lily, and, although in the middle of the city, paddy-birds and other ibis wade about its margins.
Mandalay is a station for our troops, who are quartered inside the fort, which was only captured after severe fighting. The stockade, which offered so great an obstacle to our men, has been swept away, and "Tommy Atkins," as well as Indian troops, now inhabit the palaces of King Thebaw's time! But it is an unhealthy station, and nowhere in Burma have I seen such crowds of mosquitoes, the common cause of fever in Europeans.
The most beautiful of Mandalay's pagodas, "the Incomparable," has been destroyed by fire; but a large number remain, one of which is very interesting. This is the "Kuthodaw," a temple built by Mindon Min, King Thebaw's father. The central dome is not remarkable, but on each side of the large flagged space which surrounds it are rows and rows of miniaturetemples, each with an ornamental cupola, supported upon pillars. Each of these 729 cupolas contains a slab of alabaster, on which is inscribed a chapter of the Pali Bible. The entrance-gates, also, are large, and unusually ornate in design.
Each quarter of the town has one or more large pagodas, and others surround its outskirts from the river-bank to the top of Mandalay Hill; but these differ from the others we have noticed in one respect, being covered by carved plaster-work, each stage of which is beautified by some elaborate or striking pattern, so that the dome of pure white, broken by sharp contrast of light and shade, is quite as rich in effect as the gilded temples of Rangoon or Prome.
Most remarkable of all the buildings in Mandalay, however, are the monasteries, of which there are a large number, many of great interest, the principal one being the "Queen's Golden Monastery," for beauty of design and elaborate embellishment unquestionably the finest structure of its kind in Burma.
Across the river from Mandalay is a very pretty scene. Low conical hills rise from the banks of the river, each crowned by a pagoda, around which are many "kyoungs" and "zeyats." Scattered over the hill-sides are many others, gleaming white against the warm earth tints and the foliage which surround them. This is old Sagaing, once a capital of Burma; but the city has gone, and only its temples now remain. Crossing the river in sampans painted red, blue, and yellow, or landing on the pearly shingle of the beach, are crowds of well-dressed Burmans from Mandalay and Ava, benton a pilgrimage to one or other of the many shrines, which are reached by long flights of steps, whose entrance is guarded by enormous leogryphs.
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A pretty legend gives the origin of these monsters, which, often of enormous size, invariably guard the entrance to a temple. Long ago in the dim past a Princess was stolen by "nats," and hidden away in the dark recesses of the forest. The King made every effort to find the hiding-place of his daughter, but without success, until one day a lioness rescued the Princess, and restored her to her home. Ever since then the lion, which in the course of centuries has gradually become changed into the leogryph (or half-lion, half-griffin), has been accepted by the people as the emblem of protecting watchfulness.
Close to Mandalay on the south is Amarapura, another of Burma's many capitals, and though we cannot hope to see all the many interesting monuments that remain, it has one pagoda in particular which well repays us for our long and dusty journey.
This is the Arracan pagoda, one of the most famous shrines in Burma, and the one most frequented by the Shans and other hill tribes, whose time of pilgrimage occurs "between the reaping and the sowing."
There is no ascent to this temple, which, through a series of ornamented doorways, is approached by a long flat corridor, which, as usual, serves the purpose of a bazaar. Here perhaps the best Burmese gongs may be purchased, and the stalls for cut flowers display a rich profusion of blooms, whose scent fills the whole temple precincts. The temple itself is different in design fromany others we have seen, being built in the form of a square tower, above which rises a series of diminishing terraces, each beautified by carved battlements and corner pinnacles, the whole being richly gilt.
Beneath the central tower is the shrine, before which a constant stream of devotees succeed each other in prayer. This contains an enormous brass image of Buddha, 12 feet in height, thickly plastered with the pilgrims' offerings of gold-leaf. Behind the temple are the sacred tanks, whose green and slimy water is alive with turtles, too lazy or too well fed to eat the dainty morsels thrown to them by the onlookers, but which are pounced upon by hundreds of hawks, who often seize the tit-bits before they reach the water.
The courtyards are, as usual, thronged, and pastry-cooks and story-tellers, soothsayers and musicians, provide refreshment and amusement to the ever-moving crowd of happy people, at whom we never tire of looking.
And now, having seen something of the principal pagodas, with their crowds of worshippers or loiterers, let us take one glimpse of the ancient city of Pagan.
Splendidly placed upon a commanding site on the river-bank, Pagan was at one time a populous and wealthy centre. To-day it is the city of the dead, and the domes and pinnacles of its temples, which cover an area of 16 square miles, remain silent monuments to its former greatness. Save for a few priests and scattered families of the poorest of the people, its population has disappeared centuries ago, and the land, once fertile, is now covered with aloe, cactus, and thorn, while anair of weary heat and desolation envelops it. Some idea of its size may be formed when I tell you that a thousand of its pagodas are known by name, while as many more are little but a heap of ruinous brickwork.
Many of its temples are of the greatest historical interest. The Ananda, built 800 years ago, is larger than St. Paul's, and its elongated dome and innumerable pinnacles render it as graceful as it is imposing. There are other temples even larger, while the picture facing page 80 will give you some little idea of the beauty and interest of the Shwe Zigon.
Throughout the country temples abound, and in lonely places where no temple has been built, the lofty "tagundaing" marks some holy spot. You will find no statues to her Kings in Burma, but in every temple, in little wayside shrines, and even in the most unfrequented wilds, the Burmans have erected images of Buddha, founder of their faith.
Nearly one-third of the world's population are Buddhists, and this fact alone would seem to show how beautiful is the religion they profess. Buddhism was founded by an Indian Prince called Gautama, about 600 years before the birth of Christ. This Prince, though heir to a kingdom, and surrounded by every luxury, left his palace and his beautiful wife and their little son, to become a wanderer in the search for truth, and for six years he lived as a hermit in the wilderness, attended only by a few disciples. One day, while seated beneath a "bo" tree, lost in contemplation, revelation came to him, and from that time he becamea preacher, striving to raise men and women to his own lofty and pure standard of what life should be.
Few Europeans really understand Buddhism, but many of its principles we can all appreciate. Thus, men are taught truthfulness, purity, obedience, and kindness, which forbids the giving of pain to any living creature. Charity, patience, humility, and the habit of meditation are early instilled into the minds of the boys, who, without exception, spend at least a portion of their lives as inmates of a monastery, and with the priests and novices are not ashamed to collect the daily offering of food.
In their consideration for animals, their love for their children, and great respect for age, as well as in their consideration for each other, the Burmans act well up to the beauty of their faith; for a beautiful religion it is, beautifully expounded in Arnold's "Light of Asia," which I hope many of you will presently read.
It is not difficult to understand how their religion, combined with their own happy, contented natures, and the enervating effect of climate, renders the Burmans little able to withstand the pressure from without which has lately been brought to bear upon them.
Largely content with what Nature provides for them, and without social grades to spur them to ambition, their sports and races and amusements of many kinds occupy the chief attention of the men, who quickly succumb to their more energetic and businesslike rivals from India or China. The women, more capable and rather despising the idleness of the men, are more and more prone to marry among other races, whileWestern civilization also is doing much to destroy the primitive charm of the people.
Sad it is to think that the Burman as a pure race is slowly disappearing, and there are few, I think, who know them but will view this prospect with sincere regret. But if it is inevitable that this picturesque and lovable people must be in time replaced by others, at least their beautiful country always will remain.
And now, as I close this chapter, there recurs to my mind a pretty picture which embodies so much of the spirit of the country that it may well form our last peep at Burma.
Far away in the jungle on the crest of a lonely hill stands a ruined pagoda. The white ornamental plaster-work which once beautified it has long since disappeared, and in the rents and fissures which seam its rich red brickwork venomous serpents hide.
The niche which formerly contained a Buddha is unoccupied, but, as though to soften its decay, kindly creepers have covered its rugged exterior with a bower of foliage and flowers, while the leogryphs which once marked the entrance to its enclosure are buried in vegetation. All around are trees of many kinds, which tower above the jungle, among which large and beautiful butterflies flit among the flowers, while birds of gay plumage gambol among the tree-tops to the distant song of the bulbul. It was a pretty scene, but sad in its loneliness, to which a touch of pathos was added by the figure of a solitary priest praying before the empty shrine. Wondering what had brought him so far from any known habitation, I watched him long as heprayed. Just as the sun set and the day closed he plucked a lovely flower from the scrub and placed it reverently on the shrine where Buddha once had stood, and as I turned my pony's head in the direction of my distant camp, the slowly-retreating figure of the "hpungi" became lost in the glory of the sunset.
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