The Golden Land

by Di Morrissey

  Natalie took a photocopy of Andrew Hancock’s letter from her handbag. ‘This is a letter my great-great-uncle wrote to his sister, my great-grandmother.’

  Adele read the letter and solemnly handed it back to Natalie.

  ‘How very interesting.’ She turned the kammavaca over, gently refolded it and put it back into its box, finally saying, ‘If this was made specifically as a gift for King Thibaw, it gives it some value and interest over and above an ordinary kammavaca, even one as beautifully decorated as this. But I wouldn’t like to speculate on its value without further research.’

  ‘Yes. I see. I’m not planning on selling it,’ said Natalie. ‘But my husband was interested in a valuation for insurance purposes.’

  ‘Yes.’ Adele gave a small smile. ‘I’m curious as to why this piece was never returned to the princess, as your relative seemed intent on doing?’

  ‘I found the answer to that. It’s quite sad. He was killed before he could return it and it was among his possessions, which were forwarded to his sister, my great-grandmother.’

  ‘A fascinating story. I do know of a dealer in London who might be able to help you more than I can. I will put you in contact with him if you like. He’s an expert on all things Burmese and he would be interested in your kammavaca, especially as I think it is of museum quality. He could give you a reliable valuation.’

  ‘Great, I will email photographs of the kammavaca and get his opinion,’ said Natalie. ‘Now I’ve started, I want to go on.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find him helpful. I know he has connections in Burma and he would be intrigued by the colourful provenance of your piece. I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help myself.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve been very helpful. Would you give me the details of the dealer, so that I can contact him?’

  ‘Of course. His name is Peter Michaelson. I’ll write out his email address for you.’

  Mark linked his arm through Natalie’s as they walked out of the doctor’s rooms.

  ‘How do you feel after seeing your ultrasound?’

  ‘Strange to think that the funny little peanut we could see in the ultrasound is going to be a person one day. Seeing it makes it feel very real,’ she said. ‘I wish the kids could understand. I suppose Charlotte will soon enough, but I think Adam’s a bit young.’

  ‘I hate being away from you and the kids, especially now. I wish there was another way,’ said Mark.

  ‘I know. These conversations go round in circles. All we ever seem to do is talk about the kids and money. Do you know what the other workers at the mine are doing with their money?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘Not really, we don’t talk about stuff like that. It’s not like you and your friends at Jodie’s preschool telling each other everything,’ Mark said with a smile. ‘I don’t think they’re doing anything very original with the money. They seem to be buying homes, paying off mortgages, planning holidays, moving to flash places on the Gold Coast and one bloke is talking about buying a place in Bali.’

  Natalie sighed. She patted her curved belly. ‘What Mum said the other day really made me start thinking. I worry about what we’re doing to the environment. Do you really think that ripping the heart out of the land for minerals, iron, coal whatever, is a totally good thing?’

  ‘Hey, it’s paying our mortgage,’ began Mark, and then stopped. ‘But you’re right. Perhaps we should question things. I’m like everyone else, thinking of my family, my hip pocket first. But, think of what’s happening in other countries. I mean, what kind of a life would our children have if we were living in Afghanistan or Burma? I know that our country isn’t perfect and there are always ways to do things better but, overall, we’re pretty lucky to be living here.’

  ‘I know. Wouldn’t it be awful to live in a place like North Korea? And Thi told me some terrible things about living in Burma, but what do we really know about it? In Uncle Andrew’s letters, he talked about its people and the beautiful countryside, but life there now seems hard. We do live on a bit of an island, here in Australia, isolated from those sorts of troubles, don’t we?’ said Natalie thoughtfully.

  ‘And a bloody good thing, too,’ said Mark cheerfully. ‘Come on, let’s have a coffee before we pick the kids up.’

  As they walked down the sunny street to a café, Natalie was still trying to identify the disquiet she felt. She put her tendency to be reflective, protective and concerned about the future down to being pregnant. Bringing new life into the world made her consider what sort of place this child would inherit. And, strangely, Mark’s mention of life in Burma also had her thinking. She was so wrapped up in her day-to-day existence, worrying about what colour to paint a chair but, even though they had the expenses of the renovations hanging over their heads, she knew her children would never go hungry. What was it like for the mothers of Burma? She’d never thought about such things. And, she was sure, neither had any of their friends. They made sympathetic noises over coffee at the preschool when tragic world events broke through their daily bubble: tsunamis, cyclones, bushfires, floods. They helped with fundraisers and made donations but generally money flowed more readily if the cause was for something closer to home – a new soccer field, equipment for the school or the hospital, books for the library, things that were tangible and part of their lives.

  The ongoing impact of events in far-off countries quickly faded from their consciousness. And the actual knowledge of conditions, glimpsed through news bulletins, newspapers or the occasional documentary, shocking as they might be, were sometimes difficult to comprehend. Famines, wars, political upheaval, climate-change disasters, mistreated and threatened animals – they were all part of a depressing parade that elicited momentary sympathy, or even a donation, before Natalie and her friends moved back to focusing on immediate personal issues.

  ‘I know nothing about other countries, really,’ she told Mark over their coffee. ‘And I haven’t really cared enough to find out.’

  She continued to mull over new and complex thoughts during the next few days. After Mark had returned to the mine, she rang Thi.

  ‘It is lovely to hear from you again, Natalie. When are you coming back to see us?’ said Thi.

  ‘Soon, I hope. Charlotte is pestering me for another pony ride and if you have any more figs I’d love to buy some,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Oh, just come out to the house then. You don’t have to wait till market day; the kids can help you pick them off the tree. There are still plenty.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Did you find out anything about your kammavaca?’ asked Thi.

  ‘A bit. I went to see a dealer in Brisbane and she’s put me in touch with an expert in London.’

  ‘I’ll be interested to hear what he tells you. Are you thinking of selling it now?’

  ‘No. I’m just curious. The more I can’t find out, the more interested I become!’ Natalie said with a laugh.

  ‘Interested just in the history of your little kammavaca, or curious about the place it came from?’ asked Thi.

  Natalie paused. ‘Funny you should say that. It crossed my mind how little I know about Burma. I never dreamed such a place would ever cross my radar. But now I feel I have a personal connection and I’m meeting people who are also connected with Burma. What do you think that means?’

  ‘I could give you a very Buddhist answer!’ Thi said laughing. ‘Or simply say, life is a series of coincidences. It makes sense that you’ve rung me today.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘I’m arranging a get-together of a group, the Friends of Burma. Why don’t you come, too?’

  ‘Sounds interesting. What goes on?’

  ‘Lots of things. We have a program of plans to raise awareness in the Australian community about Burma’s plight. Most Aussies have no idea what’s going on over there because Burma is so closed to the outside world. Apart from occasional small items in the newspaper, hardly anyone in Australia really understands what’s
happening there and how oppressed everyone is. Our group also tries to help the Burmese people. Now that you know what it’s about, come along. Maybe you can help us.’

  ‘What could I do?’

  ‘You decide. Talk to our people, listen to their stories.’ Thi’s voice was enthusiastic. ‘Read some of the material we have about Burma. You’re already one or two steps ahead of most Australians. You have a relative who lived there! How many of your friends would even know what a Burmese kammavaca is? Then, once you know more, you can tell them about the plight of the Burmese.’

  Natalie laughed. ‘You’re right. I can do that.’

  ‘You must come! You’ll meet some lovely people. We meet on the coast, not so far for you to drive. Just come along and meet everyone, hear some of their stories. You can’t really understand Burma until you know what has happened to its people,’ said Thi.

  The meeting was held in a room at the rear of a large house that served as a skin clinic. There was a flat above the clinic, while this back room opened onto a garden and was for private hire. From the notices adorning the walls, it seemed to be generally used for classes for origami and bridge as well as for small community meetings and social groups. A dozen chairs had been drawn up around a table, and other chairs lined a wall. There was a kitchenette to one side. Natalie came in with Charlotte and Adam shyly clutching her hands. Their eyes lit up when they spotted a woman carrying a plate of small cakes.

  Thi bustled forward, embraced Natalie and greeted the children. ‘Hello, little ones. It’s nice to see you again. Would you like a cold drink and a little cake, or a sandwich? A cheese stick?’

  Thi gave the children a sandwich each, and introduced Natalie to the other people there. Natalie struggled to remember the unfamiliar names.

  She was surprised that the Friends of Burma was such a small group. From the way Thi had spoken, she had expected there to be more people. Tea and coffee were served straightaway and the meeting was very informal and friendly. There were a couple of older Burmese men who were very charming. The children took to them immediately, especially when they commandeered a plate of food and shared it with Charlotte and Adam. There were no other children, except for a baby being held by a young Burmese woman who explained that her other children were at school.

  ‘It’s lovely to have your children here,’ Thi said.

  ‘They would normally be at their preschool but everyone there has been sick and I didn’t want them to bring home another bug. It’s hard dealing with two sick children on your own,’ said Natalie. ‘And it’s worse when you get sick, too.’

  ‘You’re on your own? That must be hard.’

  ‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. My husband has a job where he works away from home for weeks at a time.’

  ‘It’s difficult when your husband is away a lot,’ agreed another woman. ‘When you have children, it is a demanding job on your own.’

  Natalie looked across the room and saw a familiar face. She realised that it belonged to a woman she had regularly seen walking her dog past their house. She went over and introduced herself.

  ‘I’m Vicki Fletcher,’ the blond woman responded. ‘So you live in Taylor Street, too? It’s trite, but true: it is a small world, and it’s great to see a new face in this group.’

  ‘Have you been coming to the Friends of Burma meetings for very long or are you new like me?’

  ‘I’ve been coming for a couple of years now,’ Vicki replied. ‘The trouble is, the group doesn’t seem to get any bigger. The Burmese are lovely people but they are not very good at selling themselves. What I’d like them to do is broaden their horizons. You wouldn’t like to help, would you?’

  Before Natalie could commit herself, Vicki greeted another woman entering the room.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you here, Mi Mi!’ she exclaimed. ‘Natalie, I’d like you to meet Mi Mi Rao,’ Vicki added.

  Natalie smiled at the attractive Burmese woman who was probably in her early forties. Unlike Thi’s unruly greying curls, Mi Mi had smooth jet-black hair pulled back in a tight coil at the nape of her neck. Natalie shook the woman’s hand.

  ‘Mi Mi is a doctor. She donates her time to a clinic in Sydney,’ said Thi, who came over to join them. ‘We have a clinic there to help migrants. It started out assisting the Burmese community in Sydney but as the number of new arrivals and refugees grew, more volunteers were needed to help guide people through the settlement process. The health of the refugees also became an issue, so Mi Mi decided to help out.’

  ‘I fly down every two weeks, just for the day. But there is always more help needed,’ said Mi Mi.

  ‘This get-together is to finalise our plans for our information day,’ said Thi. ‘I agree with Vicki that we need to get the message out there about what’s happening in Burma, and that it’s been happening for a long time. Mi Mi, tell Natalie your story. Then she will understand what I mean.’

  ‘It’s such a long story, Thi. I’m not sure Natalie wants to hear it right now,’ began the doctor.

  ‘It’s the reason I asked her along!’ said Thi forthrightly.

  ‘I’m really interested, Mi Mi. I would like to know more about Burma,’ said Natalie. ‘When did you come to Australia? Did you come with your family?’

  ‘My family? No.’ Mi Mi looked down, her face creased in pain. ‘I haven’t seen my Burmese family in a very long time. I can’t go back to see them. It would be too risky because of my activism. The authorities, the military junta, might detain me and I couldn’t take that chance – of being kept in Burma and not being able to see my children.’

  ‘You mean like Aung San Suu Kyi?’ asked Natalie, remembering what Thi had told her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old were you when you came here?’

  ‘I was in my twenties. I’ll tell you as briefly as I can how I arrived in your country, although now it is my country, too.’

  Thi stood up. ‘I’ll leave you two for a bit. Have another coffee. I can see Vicki trying to get the committee together to talk about the information day. Don’t worry about Charlotte and Adam, Natalie, it looks as though they’re enjoying themselves.’

  Natalie glanced at her children as they sat with a group of Burmese, and she smiled. ‘Who is that man?’ she asked Thi, nodding to the man in the group.

  ‘That’s Thomas. He’s a lovely man who’s suffered a lot and also has an amazing story to tell,’ replied Thi as she moved away towards the other committee members, who were seated around the table.

  ‘What happened to you, Mi Mi? Why did you leave Burma?’ asked Natalie, who now realised that the people in this room had stories and it was important for them to share them with outsiders. So she felt no shyness in asking Mi Mi for hers.

  ‘I left not long after the 1988 uprising. You have heard of it?’ Mi Mi started.

  Natalie shook her head.

  ‘The uprising was due to one man, General Ne Win. He was the head of the junta that had ruled Burma since 1962, when the army staged a coup. Under him, Burma became isolated from the rest of the world, politically and economically. Ne Win retired in 1981, but still effectively governed the country because Burma is a one-party state and he controlled the party. Then, in 1987, he made a decision that made the poor economy of the country even worse. He was a very superstitious man and he was told that nine was a lucky number, so he had all the denominations of money that weren’t divisible by the number nine cancelled. The only notes that he wanted to keep were the forty-five and ninety kyat note. All others had to be destroyed. Because most people held notes of other values, their savings were destroyed. Burma was bankrupted. My parents lost all their money and my mother had to sell her jewellery to survive.’

  Natalie looked at Mi Mi in disbelief.

  ‘Have I got this right? General Ne Win destroyed people’s savings and bankrupted his country because he believed that nine was a lucky number? That’s insane.’

  ‘Then students started to revolt around the University
of Rangoon and the whole country grew restless, especially after a student, Phone Maw, was shot. Ordinary people, workers, housewives, people from all levels of society and even the monks began to join in the protests. In August 1988 there was a general strike and thousands marched demanding change. Aung San Suu Kyi addressed the crowds and called for democracy. Suddenly there was general euphoria throughout the country, a belief that things would get better.

  ‘Despite its natural riches everyone in Burma, except the members of the junta, was poor. We had been ruled by a one-party regime that was worse than the Soviet government under Stalin. People had been very downtrodden and afraid to speak out. They’d felt they had to accept that this was how things were done in Burma, and just hope that one day change would come and they would be allowed to speak freely, mix with whomever they wanted, and even openly criticise the government. But the army had no intention of changing anything and during one protest march, they started to shoot the protestors. At least three thousand pro-democracy supporters were killed.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ said Natalie. ‘How could the army fire on their own people?’

  ‘Who was there to stop them?’ Mi Mi asked. ‘I was there. I tried to help the injured. Doctors, nurses, even medical students like me, all tried to help those who were wounded. My parents were very concerned for me, but they also wanted to stand against the government. Many people were arrested.’

  She looked away and Natalie asked quietly. ‘You were arrested, too?’

  Mi Mi lowered her voice and spoke in an unemotional tone, as though she had told this story many times before. ‘I was detained for several months with no charges brought against me. It was a difficult time, not just for me, but for everyone who was locked up without justification. Men were beaten and psychologically and physically tortured. Women were raped.’ She stopped and looked at Natalie, who understood that this had happened to Mi Mi.