by Di Morrissey
‘I was born on a Wednesday morning, which animal am I?’ asked Natalie.
‘The elephant,’ said Connie. ‘If you were born in the morning your elephant would have tusks, but if you were born in the afternoon your elephant wouldn’t.’
‘I like elephants,’ said Natalie, thinking of the picture of the white elephant on the kammavaca.
‘And,’ added Win, ‘your planet would be Mercury.’
‘It’s just breathtaking,’ said Natalie, looking around her. ‘Despite the lavishness of all the gold, it’s not like a church. It seems comfortable and respected but everybody uses it, and it feels very peaceful. I love the way people of all ages and even children are involved. It seems very informal, but everyone knows what they’re doing. It seems so much a part of everyday life. How old is this pagoda?’
‘There is supposed to have been a stupa on this site for around two thousand six hundred years, according to myths, but there’s no evidence of any actual building until much later. This pagoda assumed its present size and shape in the late eighteenth century,’ replied Win. ‘A long time ago, the story goes, two Burmese brothers, who were merchants, went to India and gave the Buddha some gifts. In return the Buddha plucked hairs from his head and gave them to the brothers, who then became his first Burmese converts. These hairs became sacred relics and the Shwedagon was supposedly built to house them. There have been ongoing donations, gilding, new buildings and renovations at this place for years.’
‘I don’t think the history or precise age of the pagoda matters to worshippers. They just accept that in the time of Buddha the relics of his hair were enshrined here,’ added Connie. ‘That small tale in the life of the Buddha certainly captured the Burmese imagination.’
‘The details of the story are a bit vague but the sanctity of the Shwedagon is enough for the people to revere this place,’ said Win. ‘Even the generals come here to demonstrate what good Buddhists they are.’
Win pointed to a family praying at a shrine, their offering of food and flowers before them. ‘These people are so poor and yet they try to donate whatever they can, even gold, in order to become rich in their next lives.’
Connie lowered her voice even though they weren’t close to anyone. ‘They say that General Ne Win helped himself to a big diamond and some of the generals stole jewels and other valuables when the Shwedagon was repaired in the 1970s.’
‘That’s shocking,’ exclaimed Natalie. ‘Who looks after the pagodas and the temples? The monks?’
‘The military controls every pagoda and temple. The generals even put their own photos in the pagodas. They use the people’s religion to support their rule,’ said Win, shaking his head. ‘That is why the Saffron Revolution was so important. It showed the generals that the monks do not always support their actions.’
‘I can’t believe they’d steal from such an important place. Are there valuable relics in other temples and pagodas?’ asked Natalie.
‘There are thousands of sacred sites with Buddha’s relics, real or replicas, all over Burma,’ said Win. ‘And they are all held in reverence.’
‘U Phyu Myint will tell you all about it as you travel,’ said Connie.
‘He has a hard name to remember.’
‘U is the respectful honorific, like mister,’ explained Connie. ‘Burmese don’t have formal family names. If you like you can just call him Mr P.’
They paused as they turned a corner and an avenue of shrines spread out before them.
‘It’s incredible. Is it all right for me to take some photos? This will be impossible to describe to Mark,’ said Natalie.
‘This is the prettiest time to be here,’ said Connie, nodding. ‘There’s a place where you can sometimes see the sunset rays hit the huge diamond on top of the hti, which sits at the very top of the dome. The diamond is seventy-six carats and the hti is also encrusted in rubies, emeralds and diamonds. The generals didn’t get those,’ she added in a very quiet whisper.
As they turned to leave, the deep sweet tones of a giant bell being struck by a devotee throbbed behind them.
‘That’s the Great Bell, which was donated to the temple by a Burmese king about three hundred years ago. Ringing the bell is said to spread merit. The British tried to carry it away, but it fell into the river,’ said Win. ‘A monk eventually came up with a solution to raise it. He tied cables to it and floated it up with the tide. Thousands of Burmese pulled it out, throwing flowers over it, singing and dancing as they dragged it back to the Shwedagon.’
‘Look, the moon is rising over the dome. That’s auspicious,’ said Connie, smiling at Natalie. ‘Let’s walk a bit more. But you need more than a day to see the Shwedagon, so I hope you can come back.’
Natalie was at a loss to describe all she’d seen to Mark once they made phone contact that evening. After the children had regaled her with their stories, Natalie tried hard to explain to Mark all that she’d seen and done that day.
‘Mark, I just can’t believe how amazing, stunning, fascinating it is here! I’m trying to remember to take pictures when I’m not picking my jaw up off the floor. Win and Connie are so generous and lovely. I so want to explore this city, you can’t believe the stunning old colonial buildings, all empty and falling down! What you could do with them . . .’
‘Slow down . . . It sounds pretty incredible. Is your thing still safe?’
‘Yes, yes. Never out of my sight. I’m really overwhelmed with so many things to plan and do. You sure everything is all right with you? Give Mum my love, won’t you. ’
‘Nat! We love you and everything is fine —’
The line suddenly went dead and Natalie slowly replaced the receiver.
She told Connie what had happened. Connie shrugged and suggested that she try to ring again in a few minutes.
‘Phones are so unreliable in Burma, I’m afraid.’
‘No, it’s fine. I spoke to them all, everything is good. I just wanted them to know I’d arrived safely and everything is so exciting and comfortable, thanks to you both.’
‘Our pleasure. After that big lunch, I’ve organised some soup for dinner, a simple mohinga. You must be very tired, so perhaps we’ll have an early night. Tomorrow will also be busy, I’m sure.’
As Natalie lay in bed, with images spinning in her head like a technicolour movie, she tried to plan the next day, but she was sound asleep before she’d decided what else she wanted to do and see in this enchanting city.
NATALIE AND CONNIE SAT in the early morning sunshine at the rear of the house, sipping Connie’s Italian coffee. Draped across a nearby cushion was a beautiful shawl. Intrigued by its softness and earthy colours, Natalie asked, ‘What is that gorgeous shawl made from?’
‘Would you believe that it’s made from the lotus plant? Feel it. Keeps you warm in the winter and cool in the summer.’
Natalie gently ran her hands over the textured cloth.
‘The fibres are taken from inside the lotus stems. They are as fine as a spider’s web. It takes a lot of them just to make one thread. It’s woven by the people who live on Inle Lake,’ said Connie. ‘Such a beautiful place to visit.’
‘I’d love to see them making this fabric. It’s exquisite. Are the shawls very expensive?’ asked Natalie.
‘Very,’ replied Connie. ‘It takes so long to make them and because tourists carry so little money, it is difficult for them to find customers.’
Connie assured Natalie that Win’s old friend was trustworthy and reliable. ‘He hopes that, one day, the world will want to come to Burma to appreciate its culture,’ Connie said. ‘Mr P also works with archaeological groups, helping to preserve important sites.’
They had just finished their coffee when U Phyu Myint arrived. Natalie guessed that he was about fifty. He was slim and had warm brown eyes, a shy smile and a respectful demeanour. He was dressed in a longyi and crisp shortsleeved shirt and carried a small leather folder. He looked professional yet friendly. Connie greeted him warmly and introd
uced him to Natalie, who was relieved to find that although Mr P spoke softly, his English was good.
‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,’ said Connie.
‘Do you like the modern art my friend Win champions, Natalie?’ Mr P asked after he had shaken her hand.
‘Some of the paintings in the gallery are terrific. Very interesting.’
Mr P nodded. ‘Yes, but to me they are like a foreign language. I have been schooled in traditional Buddhist art and I spend most of my time in the world of temples, murals, Buddhist imagery and architecture. I hope I can show some of these things to you.’
Natalie returned Mr P’s smile. ‘I hope so, too. I’ve been told about the amazing temples and Burmese art. I know that it takes a lifetime of study to understand it, but if you could help me to just get a basic sense, that would be wonderful. I feel very privileged that you’re looking after me,’ said Natalie enthusiastically.
‘That is excellent. We want people who have a genuine interest in our culture, like you, to come here and see it for themselves,’ said Mr P.
‘I certainly want to see all that I can, but I need to do other things as well. I have some other priorities, too.’
‘Perhaps we can walk to the tea shop down the road and talk. Have you been to a Burmese tea shop yet? It will be an experience.’
‘No. I’d love to do that.’
Not far from Connie and Win’s house, Natalie and Mr P turned onto the main road. Along it stood a row of shops and a tea shop. Natalie could see people sitting outside on tiny, brightly coloured plastic stools. Mr P ushered her inside and they sat at a small wooden table.
‘I think that this will be more comfortable for you,’ he said.
The room wasn’t crowded, but the atmosphere was steamy from the boiling urns and the air was heavy with the fragrance of tea. A young boy put two small bowls in front of them and then stood, holding a large teapot.
‘He wants to know if you would like green or black tea,’ explained Mr P as the boy waited.
‘Black, please, with milk, like that.’ Natalie pointed to the glasses of thick, milky tea being sipped at the next table.
‘I’ll order laphet to eat. It’s a very traditional snack. This is known as tea shop sitting,’ said Mr P as Natalie looked around. ‘Everyone likes to come and to talk about, well, everything, like football and politics. But there are often spies in the tea shops, so it wouldn’t be wise to be too critical in public.’
‘I understand,’ said Natalie. Two women sat at another table and she could see an older woman preparing food at the rear of the tiny shop. ‘Have you known Connie and Win a long time?’
‘Many years now. Win is a very good artist. He has studied abroad and perhaps he and Connie would be more comfortable living in Italy, but he is helping Burmese artists by providing them with opportunities they wouldn’t have otherwise. He and Connie are good people. Now, you said that you had certain priorities. Can you tell me where you would like to go?’
‘I want to locate a friend’s family. They used to live here, in Yangon, and I also want to go to a place called Pyin Oo Lwin because I have arranged to meet someone there.’
‘Pyin Oo Lwin is an interesting place, an old British hill station. Where are you meeting your friend?’
‘I don’t know exactly where. We’ve written letters, so I have her address. She’s not young, but I am really looking forward to meeting her.’ Natalie lowered her voice to add, ‘She is a descendant of King Thibaw. She’s his granddaughter. Do you think the military would be watching her?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Mr P. ‘There is no royal family anymore and if, as you say, she is old, she would pose no threat.’ He stopped talking when their tea was put in front of them. When the young boy walked away, Mr P continued. ‘Please, try the laphet. It’s made of pickled tea leaves, nuts, ginger, beans, garlic and a little spice and salt. Very tasty.’
Natalie spooned some of the mixture into the palm of her hand, and, using her fingers, nibbled at it. ‘Unusual flavour, tangy. My husband would like some of this with beer!’
‘Yes, it is very good with beer,’ agreed Mr P. ‘You can buy the pickled leaves in the market. Maybe you can take some home to him.’
‘Australian customs won’t let you bring food into the country,’ said Natalie. ‘But I’ll tell Mark, my husband, about it anyway.’
‘Can you tell me the name of the person you want to visit in Pyin Oo Lwin?’ asked Mr. P.
‘I have been writing to Princess Aye Aye. Now I’m here I would very much like to meet her.’
‘I have heard about her. I believe she’s quite a personality!’ he said smiling. ‘So I’ll look forward to taking you to meet her. Do you like your tea?’
‘It’s sweet! It’s half condensed milk, but it somehow works with the smoky taste of the tea.’ She took another sip. ‘Connie told me that you also help to preserve and restore archaeological sites.’
‘Yes. There are many places in my country that are falling into disrepair and we need expertise to restore them. I am not happy that some of the restoration work has been done by the military. It’s no business for soldiers. Their work is very poor and often it results in even greater destruction, but they want the publicity. They also use the opportunity to steal valuable antiquities.’
‘Yes, Connie told me about that when we went to the Shwedagon Pagoda.’
Mr P dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘We have lost so much of our culture to invaders, looters, the British, and now our own government steals it. No-one has treated this country’s heritage as badly as this current regime. Of course, not all the British were insensitive. I believe that you had a relative who was here,’ he said diplomatically.
‘Yes. My great-great-uncle was in Burma before the two World Wars. I know that he didn’t approve of the British taking what they pleased,’ said Natalie.
‘Then he must have been a good man,’ Mr P said in a quiet voice. ‘Now we come to the matter of locating your friend’s family. What can you tell me about them?’
Natalie explained that the last time her friend Mi Mi had heard anything about her parents, they had been planning to go to the delta region. That was just before Cyclone Nargis. Since then Mi Mi had heard nothing.
‘This could be very difficult. Many families were separated when that terrible disaster occurred. So many people were killed or displaced, and it has not been easy to trace all the victims. It’s very sad. If you give me their last known address, I’ll make some enquiries. I shall ask one of my students to see what he can find out.’
‘I don’t want to put you out,’ said Natalie.
‘We can only do our best. Now I think we should discuss the places that I think you will find really interesting, starting with Bagan.’
After they had finished their tea, Mr P walked Natalie back to Connie’s place.
‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow, to let you know if I have found out anything about your friend’s parents,’ he said as he shook her hand in parting.
As Natalie walked into the house, Connie called out to her, ‘You’re just in time. I’m taking some paintings over to one of the hotels. A few of the hotels put them on display and sometimes tourists buy them. Would you like to come with me?’
Ko Wai Yan was waiting for them with his taxi. When they got in Connie told him that she needed to call in to a nearby shopping complex.
‘I have to pick up some art supplies,’ she told Natalie. ‘You could look around, if you like. I won’t be long.’
The centre was modest, with a small food market as well as clothing, jewellery, home products and electrical stores. All the goods were inexpensive and the majority of the merchandise seemed to have come from China. Natalie browsed for a few minutes before picking up a sturdy plastic shopping basket similar to one she remembered her grandmother having, years before.
‘It’s made from recycled plastic,’ said Connie as she rejoined her. ‘The plastic is sent to Thailand, a
nd it comes back like that. It’s pretty stiff. If you want to carry things, you’d be better off with a monk’s bag. They’re made of soft cloth and worn on your shoulder or across your body, and they carry a lot. I love mine,’ said Connie. ‘Now there’s something you should buy, a little cheap radio. Then you can pick up the overseas news while you travel.’
‘What a good idea! I’ll get it,’ said Natalie. She had already discovered that the local TV coverage was in Burmese and foreign programs were limited.
After they had delivered the bulk of the paintings to one of the more modern Yangon hotels, Connie explained that she had one painting she had to deliver to the British Embassy. ‘It won’t take long. The Strand Hotel is next door to the Australian Embassy, half a block down there. Go and have a look round the hotel. It’s a lovely old lady. You could order us both a coffee, if you like.’
‘What a great idea.’
While Connie dashed into the embassy, Natalie walked down to the elegant white building with its grand colonnade facing the waterfront. The doorman in traditional Burmese dress gave her a warm smile and opened the door to the lobby. As soon as she saw it, Natalie could imagine great-great-uncle Andrew sitting in a rattan chair beneath the slowly turning ceiling fans. A broad, majestic staircase curved upwards to a huge mezzanine floor. The formal dining room and bar were closed, but a large airy restaurant to her left looked inviting, so she went and sat down.
