The Golden Land

by Di Morrissey

  ‘The noise from the bathroom’s stopped. Let’s hope that’s the end of it, at least for a while.’

  ‘When can we have a bath again, Mummy?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Not till everything is back in place again, darling. There’s still lots to be done in there before it gets back to normal. But I’m glad the jackhammering has finished. Okay, let’s finish planting our carrots.’

  The vegetable plot in the backyard had started when Natalie planted some herbs. The children had then wanted to grow something they liked eating and since carrots were one of their favourite vegetables, Natalie decided they could plant some. She showed Charlotte how to pat the earth down around the seedlings as they planted them, and managed to convince Adam not to yank the carrots up just to see how they were growing.

  Natalie straightened up and rubbed her aching back. ‘Let’s go inside and make ourselves a milkshake.’

  As she came into the house, her phone was ringing.

  ‘Hi, Thi. How’re you?’

  ‘Natalie, put the TV on. There’s something happening in Burma. The midday news reported it. There seems to be some sort of demonstration happening. It sounds terrible.’

  ‘What? I’ll turn it on now.’

  But by the time Natalie turned on the TV, she only caught the tail end of the report, which mentioned a crisis in the economy in Burma due to the escalation of fuel prices. That didn’t seem to be momentous, so when the newsreader moved on to the next story, she turned the TV off.

  Later, while Charlotte and Adam napped, Natalie tried to clear up the dust that had spread throughout the house from the reconstruction of the bathroom. Even as she was doing it, she knew it was a pointless effort as the builders still had much more to do.

  That evening, the children had finished dinner and were bathed and playing with some puzzles as they waited for Mark’s phone call, so Natalie sat down and turned on the evening TV news. As soon as she realised that the headline story was about Burma, she switched to SBS, knowing that the multicultural channel would cover the story in depth. The images seemed to jump out at her. She felt so surrounded by the noise and colours on the screen that she gasped.

  Hundreds of red-robed monks were massed along a street, shouting through loudhailers, waving their arms, their faces contorted in anger. Blocking their way were rows of soldiers in steel helmets holding large shields in front of their bodies, on which they banged their truncheons. People hung from balconies and windows and stood on top of the old wooden buildings that lined the street.

  Natalie watched the blurry, shaking footage. She could see a stream of Burmese people, young and old, men and women, coming into the street, linking arms or holding hands to form a ring around the massed monks. They all seemed to be singing. There was no mistaking their intent to form a living barrier between the revered monks and the ominous green military at the far end of the street. A few young men dashed into the space between the two groups, hurling stones in the direction of the impassive soldiers.

  Whoever was holding the camera was in the thick of the action, racing beside the crowd, trying to grab a few breathless comments, which were translated in subtitles at the bottom of Natalie’s TV screen: ‘There is no democracy in Burma.’ ‘Where are the rights of the Burmese people?’

  Natalie heard the phone but ignored it. She knew it would be Mark to talk to the children and Charlotte ran to answer it but Natalie was swept up by the scenes from the streets of Rangoon. Suddenly she glimpsed a breathtaking shot of a huge golden pagoda in the background. Then she could see an old bus disgorging even more monks into the demonstration, some carrying flags and loudhailers.

  Many of the bystanders bowed and clasped their hands together in reverence as the monks strode purposefully past them, while others cheered and clapped. A small boy fell to his knees and touched his forehead onto the ground. As the surging crowd jostled him, someone quickly helped him to his feet.

  Suddenly there was the sound of shots. Natalie realised the protestors were now facing soldiers armed with rifles, shields and truncheons. Puffs of smoke began to blossom from the guns.

  ‘Oh, god, they’re shooting real bullets!’ she exclaimed aloud.

  The children, talking to Mark, took no notice of their mother’s comments.

  Then, through the crowd, from the distance where the camera operator stood, she saw a wild surge. The crowd was breaking up, fleeing from gunfire and tear gas. People were running, some bent double, others covering their mouths as they fled down the streets in panic. There were people falling over and then being hurriedly dragged away by other demonstrators. All the time the unmistakable sound of gunfire continued in the background. The camera jerked wildly, as the person holding it also ran.

  ‘They’re shooting the monks!’ cried Natalie, tears beginning to stream down her face. She could not believe the horrific scenes she was watching. The frightened faces of women, men and young people, the defiant expression of monks, some with bloodied shaved heads, still waving their flags in protest, flashed like a collage over the screen. A picture of a stream of blood running across the cobblestones towards a monk’s solitary sandal ended the shaky footage.

  The TV presenter summed up what little was known of the events they’d just shown.

  These pictures of this violent demonstration have been smuggled out of Burma and at this stage we have few other details of what has happened in Rangoon today. It is known that unrest has been building for several weeks, ever since the junta suddenly removed fuel subsidies. Fuel prices have doubled and food prices have also jumped, creating great hardships for the people of Burma who are already living at a subsistence level. For the first time in many years, unrest has brought the people onto the streets in a show of civil disobedience. For the monks to break their vows by engaging in politics and calling for reform is an indication of the deep resentment felt by the people in this repressed and poor country.

  Natalie didn’t move; tears slid down her face. The story about Burma had taken only a few minutes of air time but to Natalie it seemed like an age, and the pain and anguish she felt about the shocking scenes had frozen her to the spot. She continued to stare at the TV screen even though the program had moved on to another story. She could still hear the cries of the crowd and the sound of gunshots as the military fired on their own people, including the monks, the spiritual leaders of the country.

  ‘Mummy, what’s wrong?’ Charlotte tugged at her arm. ‘Daddy wants to talk now.’

  ‘Give me the phone then, please, sweetie,’ said Natalie, brushing her cheeks, not wanting the children to see how upset she was. And not wanting to explain to them what she’d just seen.

  ‘Hey, Nat, are you okay? Charlotte said you’re crying.’ Mark sounded concerned.

  ‘I just saw the most shocking thing on TV. See if you can catch it on the late news. There’s been a major demonstration in Rangoon. The monks, hundreds of them, took to the streets and thousands of ordinary people joined them, trying to protect them, and then the soldiers started firing at them. They’re monks, holy men, pacifists! Can you believe it?’

  ‘Slow down, Nat. You really are worked up. From what you’ve told me this is a very troubled country. There’s a lot of unrest.’

  ‘How can people just stand by and watch helpless unarmed people mown down because they want basic rights – like food! They were mostly monks, Mark! It’s tragic.’

  ‘I understand you’re upset, but remember, Nat, you are already doing something for Burma. It does sound terrible though. I’ll catch it on the late news. Now, tell me about Charlotte’s ballet concert. She sounds pretty excited about it.’

  Later when the children were in bed, Natalie automatically began cleaning up the kitchen. But she felt distracted and still disturbed. She glanced outside at the lights glittering on the calm water of the canal. In the brightly lit houses opposite she could see people moving around, a TV screen flickering; she could hear the faint sound of music as families settled into their evening
at home, safe and comfortable.

  Her phone rang and she was surprised to hear Vicki’s voice.

  ‘Hi, Natalie, I’m at your front door. I didn’t want to alarm you or wake the children. Did you see the news? I’m so upset. Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course. I’m so glad you’re here,’ Natalie said in a rush of sudden relief.

  Natalie put the kettle on as Vicki pulled out a kitchen chair.

  ‘It’s shocking, just dreadful.’

  ‘Vicki, I burst into tears, I couldn’t believe innocent people could be shot in cold blood like that, and the monks! Even I understand the extent to which they’re held in such esteem and reverence by the Burmese people. How could the soldiers do that?’

  ‘The generals have made the military into machines. But even so, I am really surprised that they took action against the monks.’

  ‘Surely there has to be some retribution. Now that the international community has seen what went on,’ said Natalie.

  ‘I doubt it. The generals never take any notice of what the outside world thinks. They’re a law unto themselves. Things must be very bad for people to come out onto the streets to protest. They are so afraid of the military junta and they know that if they protest, they risk their own lives and those of their families. That’s how the regime gets back at you – they punish your family,’ said Vicki. ‘I’ve been trying to reach friends there, but the whole country seems to be blacked out. I couldn’t get through to anyone on the phone.’

  ‘Those pictures on the TV were like a terrible movie,’ said Natalie. ‘So many young people seem to be involved, even though they only had stones and sticks. Do you think the protests will make any difference?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s been protests for some time, all over the country, as people object to the way the economy is run. But when you see situations like this it’s so depressing. I guess it means that people like us have to work even harder to tell people about the plight of Burma. But it’s not easy.’

  Natalie nodded. ‘I’m thinking about my kid’s safely tucked up in there, and this little baby on the way, and how lucky we are. What would it be like struggling to feed your family, worrying about a knock on the door in the middle of the night and having your husband or mother taken away?’ Natalie sighed. ‘I wish I could do more . . .’

  She poured their tea, then said, ‘Vicki, it’s just struck me. Maybe I could send the kammavaca back to Burma. To Princess Aye Aye. It belonged to her family. Uncle Andrew felt that returning it was the right thing to do, because it should not have been taken in the first place, and I think that King Thibaw’s kammavaca is part of Burmese culture. It belongs to that country and I think I should make sure that it goes back to its rightful owners.’ She gave Vicki a worried, querying look.

  Vicki nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I’m sure its return would mean a lot. The princess would never ask you for it, but, really, to you it’s just a curio with a connection to a relative you never knew, an exotic family footnote. To her it has more relevance. It was cherished by her grandfather and it’s a link to her family’s powerful past. Returning it would be a very selfless act on your part.’

  ‘Seeing for myself those shattering pictures on TV has made me want to help the Burmese in a more tangible way than just turning up at rallies. This is one way I can do it.’

  ‘What will Mark say? You could do a lot with the money that dealer in London offered,’ said Vicki.

  ‘Can you put a price on the suffering and sacrifice of those people? It’s not just Aung San Suu Kyi and her pro-democracy followers, it’s all the Burmese people,’ exclaimed Natalie vehemently. ‘I see that now. Maybe sending the kammavaca back is symbolic, but I want to do it. Otherwise I’ll feel so helpless. I know there are people here in Australia who are suffering but in Burma it’s everyone! The whole country is being repressed!’

  ‘You are so right.’ Vicki raised her tea mug.

  ‘I’ll write to Aye Aye tonight.’

  ‘I’m so glad I came by,’ said Vicki. ‘I was devastated. Well, I still am, but it’s nice to know I’m not alone. I’ll talk to Mi Mi and Thi tomorrow, but I just had to talk to someone straight away. Thanks, Natalie.’

  ‘No, I should thank you. You’ve helped me crystallise my thoughts. The kammavaca has sent me on a bit of a trip. Now I understand so much more not just about Burma, but funnily enough, about myself as well. I’m seeing what’s really important in life.’ Natalie grasped for words as she tried to articulate these new thoughts occurring to her.

  ‘How are you going to get the kammavaca to Aye Aye? I wouldn’t risk posting it,’ said Vicki.

  ‘No, you’re right. Don’t you go back there sometimes? When are you going back to Burma? Could you return it?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘I hadn’t planned on going to Burma any time soon,’ said Vicki. ‘But I will be going, of course, and as soon as I am, I’ll let you know and I’ll make sure that your precious gift gets into the hands of the princess.’

  ‘Thank you for that. That’s settled then,’ said Natalie. She put down her cup, went over to her desk and returned with the little teak box. ‘I guess that my gesture won’t change the political landscape in Burma, but I feel that I’m completing a journey that started more than eighty years ago. This kammavaca rightfully belongs in Burma, not on the top of my desk.’

  After Vicki left, Natalie sat down and wrote a letter to Princess Aye Aye, trying to formulate the words to express her decision to return the kammavaca.

  The sight of those monks, surrounded by unarmed citizens trying to protect them, touched me deeply. I’m learning about the desire of the Burmese people to have the freedom we all take for granted in Australia. The repression and poverty they suffer makes me very aware of the importance of the basic human rights denied to the Burmese. I wish I could do more to help. I have been working with like-minded people trying to raise awareness of the plight of Burma. But this is not enough, and now I would like to do something more.

  I have been thinking a lot about my great-great-uncle, Andrew Hancock, who was determined to return your grandfather’s kammavaca to Princess Tipi Si. He died while trying to fulfil his promise to her. Now I realise that my family has just been the caretaker of your kamma-vaca, which was wrongly taken in the first place, and that its importance to you is far greater than any attachment I might have. Therefore I have decided to send the kammavaca back to you for safekeeping. I have a friend who makes irregular trips to Burma and she has agreed that the next time she travels to your country she will bring the kammavaca with her and see that it reaches you. I hope this small gesture will complete the circle that links our forebears, and in a small way show you that the Burmese people are not alone.

  The following morning, after she posted the letter, she felt her heart lift.

  When Natalie told Mark that evening what she had done he seemed surprised.

  ‘Are you sure? You seemed so attached to it. The family connection and so on. You sure you’re thinking straight and it’s not some pregnancy whim? A rush of blood to the head?’

  ‘No. I feel really good about it. Those scenes on TV were horrific, you saw them. I know in the scheme of things returning the kammavaca’s a small gesture, but it just feels right,’ said Natalie.

  ‘It’s a nice gesture and a very generous one, giving away all that money. Are you going to let that dealer in London know? How’re the kids today? Charlotte still excited about the ballet concert?’

  ‘"Concert" makes it sound pretty grand. The girls are dancing a little story about Bambi being lost in the forest. I think it’s the costumes they’re most excited about. I’ll take lots of photos for you.’

  The end-of-term ballet concert was a great success although Adam didn’t find it very entertaining, and Natalie had quite a job distracting him while the older children performed onstage. Jodie’s daughter was also in the concert and Natalie and Jodie sat next to each other to watch the performance.

  ‘Aren’t t
he girls cute? They just love dressing up. It’s as though they were born to perform,’ said Jodie. ‘How are things with you? You look tired.’

  ‘Situation normal. I stayed up a bit late last night writing a letter to Burma, I was so horrified by the news there. And then this morning I tripped over one of Adam’s toys and fell into the washing basket. Lucky it was a soft landing, but I just felt like staying in the basket and going back to sleep. Once I’m horizontal, my eyes close.’

  ‘Yes, that footage from Burma was shocking. It made me sit up and take notice. Listen, Nat, you’re not overdoing things, are you?’ Jodie put her arm around her friend and gave her a little squeeze. ‘You don’t have to make sure everything is perfect. There’s a limit to what you can do when your house is being renovated. Leave as much of the housework as you can. When the kids are resting, have a nap or read a magazine.’

  ‘The house is so chaotic with the builders, and with Mark away I guess I overcompensate,’ said Natalie. ‘But you’re right. After all the excitement of this morning, I think we’ll head home and hopefully we’ll all have a good nap.’

  That evening when Natalie spoke to Mark she thought he sounded tired, too.

  ‘Is there something wrong? You sound very down,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Just a bit overworked. These hours can be a killer. I think that we both need a holiday, though who knows when we’ll be able to do that!’

  ‘When this place is finished, living here will be a holiday!’ said Natalie, trying to make Mark feel happier.

  ‘I’m trying to get there, sweetheart. You know that.’

  ‘Mark, I wasn’t criticising you,’ said Natalie quickly. ‘Just trying to look on the bright side, when all these renos are eventually finished.’

  They changed the subject and after she’d hung up, Natalie decided against sorting out the washing piled in the basket and to forgo a TV program she had planned to watch, and went straight to bed. She read only two pages of her book before she fell asleep.