by Di Morrissey
Aye Aye nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment.
With the tea and scones finished, Mr P rose and excused himself. ‘I know you two have much to talk about. I shall walk back into town – it’s not far and I shall enjoy the air – but Soe Soe will wait for you, Natalie. It has been an honour to meet you,’ he said to Aye Aye.
After Mr P quietly left the room, the attendant removed the afternoon tea cups and plates.
Natalie shook her head. ‘I never imagined that we’d be sitting down to scones and tea.’
‘Perhaps you would like to move out onto the terrace? It is pleasant out there and the view is spectacular,’ said Aye Aye.
They crossed the room and opened the door that led to the main dining room. It had a vaulted, moulded ceiling and an elaborate bar reminiscent of an English pub, as well as a dance floor.
‘What is that?’ asked Natalie, peering through the gloom at what looked like a polished length of glass ringed by Grecian columns. As they walked closer Natalie exclaimed, ‘It’s a swimming pool! In the middle of the dining room floor? It looks fabulous.’
‘Indeed. And look above. See how cleverly the roof opens up!’
They skirted the art deco pool and went out onto a stone terrace. Aye Aye selected a low lounge and settled herself gracefully at one end before she took out a long slim cheroot and lit it.
Natalie looked at her bag. ‘I feel there should be a little ceremony when I give you this.’
Aye Aye nodded. ‘Yes, we Burmese like ceremonies.’
Natalie took her bag off her shoulder and suddenly held it tightly to her chest. Through it she could feel every item she’d carried; her wallet, notebook, a small toiletries bag, the camera Mr P had lent her and the kammavaca, a solid shape securely tucked at the very bottom.
‘I’m a bit nervous about taking it out. I’ve been so afraid of losing it or having it stolen. It’s been close to me for so long. It’s such a responsibility. I really can’t believe that this is the big moment.’ Natalie slowly reached into her bag and pulled out the box wrapped in her silk scarf. She looked at it and shook her head. ‘Do you know, Aye Aye, that this little thing was among a lot of junk in my mother’s shed? It could so easily have been thrown out.’
Aye Aye didn’t take her eyes from Natalie’s face as Natalie held the kammavaca in both hands.
Slowly Natalie continued. ‘But the minute I really looked at it, I felt as though I was transported, as if I was in the grounds of that beautiful old monastery with the white elephant. It was a place totally strange and unknown to me, but I felt so drawn to it. That must seem odd to you. And then I learned about its connection with my uncle and its association with your family. I knew that I had to finish what he had started and see that the kammavaca was returned. Of course, never in my wildest dreams did I expect to be the one to complete the journey. To be here . . .’ She stopped, suddenly at a loss.
Aye Aye nodded. ‘The kammavaca could have been returned to me in other ways, but it is right that it comes from your hands to mine. I hoped that you could fulfill your offer to return the kammavaca to me, but I would not have blamed you if you had changed your mind. And when I knew you were on your way, I prayed that your journey would be a safe one. So here you are.’ Suddenly there was no mistaking the excitement and joy in her face.
Natalie held the kammavaca out to her and their hands touched as they both briefly held the small box. Natalie released her grip and sat back in her chair to watch Aye Aye’s face as she began to unwrap the silk scarf. At first Aye Aye simply smoothed her hands over the little polished wood box. Natalie tried to imagine the thoughts running through her mind. She understood her deliberation and hesitation in opening it. Aye Aye was savouring each moment.
‘I wonder about the people who held and revered this small object before it reached me? People long gone, but now your gift has closed the circle,’ said Aye Aye. Slowly she slid the box open, took out the kammavaca, unrolled it and studied each section. Natalie had no idea how much time elapsed as she watched Aye Aye carefully examining the treated cloth and delicate binding, absorbing all the illustrations. She turned it over several times and looked intently at the old script.
‘I cannot read this. As I suppose it was meant to be. But the paintings, they are beautiful. A labour of love. I’m sure there is a meaning in each of these.’ She put her glasses on and peered at the little pictures Natalie knew by heart.
‘I’m very fond of the white elephant,’ said Natalie.
‘A symbol of peace, prosperity, good fortune. You’re right. It is lovely.’ Aye Aye returned to studying each of the sections of the kammavaca. ‘It seems to have an almost feminine appeal, don’t you think?’ Slowly she refolded the kammavaca, placed it on the table and looked at Natalie. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
Natalie felt tears spring to her eyes, and struggled to keep her feelings in check. ‘I never imagined when I found the kammavaca it would lead to such a strange journey. I know your grandfather thought that the kammavaca was very important, so it’s good that it’s come back into his family.’
‘This kammavaca has certainly been a legend. King Thibaw always kept it with him. Some contend that is because it was the last gift he received before he was deposed, but I am inclined to believe another rumour that I heard from some of my relatives. It is said that the monks who gave Thibaw the kammavaca incorporated a message in it.’
Natalie stared at the princess. ‘What sort of message?’ she asked.
‘The monks sometimes had knowledge that they would pass on, but the messages were written in such a way that they needed to be deciphered by scholars. Sometimes these messages might be prophecies or special instructions, or sometimes they might be about more tangible things, such as where certain relics had been hidden or where treasure or riches could be found. These secret messages vary a lot.’
‘That’s incredible. I thought about trying to get the writing on the kammavaca deciphered, but everyone told me that they were most likely religious texts,’ said Natalie.
‘That may well be right, but the rumours that circulated in my family make me think that there might be more here than just the usual religious texts. Thibaw made it clear that on his death, the kammavaca should go to his half sister Tipi Si because she was a strong woman. He seemed to think it was important for the women of my family to protect it and keep it safe.’
‘Then why didn’t he give it to Queen Supayalat? She seemed to be strong, too.’
‘Perhaps he thought she was too strong. She was a very brutal and cruel woman and had made many enemies. Tipi Si was far better liked, so he decided to bequeath it to her. Such a pity she was forced to sell it. I believe she regretted that action for the rest of her life,’ said Aye Aye.
‘Is there any way that you can find out if anything important is written in the kammavaca?’ asked Natalie.
Aye Aye looked at the steep hills surrounding the old hotel. ‘There is only one way to find out. And that is to take the kammavaca to the old monastery. I am as curious as you!’
‘Where is the monastery?’ asked Natalie.
She was unprepared for Aye Aye’s answer. ‘It’s not far from Mandalay, close to the Irrawaddy River. I recognised it at once from the paintings here in the kammavaca. I went there first as a child, on a steamer up the river, and I have been there on my travels around Myanmar several times since.’ She paused briefly before looking intently at Natalie. ‘I think it is only right that you accompany me.’
Natalie didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m sure Uncle Andrew would want me to go back to where it all began.’
After Natalie left Aye Aye, she met Soe Soe, who had been waiting patiently for her.
As they drove back to her hotel, Soe Soe asked if she had enjoyed her time with Aye Aye.
‘It was wonderful,’ Natalie replied. ‘She knows the monastery where the kammavaca come from. She wants you to drive us there so she can find out what’s written in it.’
Mr P surpris
ed her when he met her later that night at her hotel for dinner by arriving in jeans and a neat T-shirt.
‘There are quite a few nice places to eat in Pyin Oo Lwin. Do you have a preference?’ he asked.
‘I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Then we’ll have traditional Shan noodles, vegetables and pickles in rice wine, soup and rice. Followed by fresh local strawberries,’ said Mr P.
Soe Soe drove them into town and left them at the restaurant Mr P had chosen. It featured a lot of timber decoration and Natalie thought that it could be mistaken for a small hunting lodge. As they settled at the table, Natalie told Mr P about Aye Aye’s reaction to the kam-mavaca, and the fact that she had recognised the old monastery where it had been made.
‘She wants to take the kammavaca back and try to get the script translated. She thinks that there may be something important hidden among the sacred texts. She wants me to go with her. Can Soe Soe take us?’
‘Of course. I will wait here unless you’d like me to accompany you,’ said Mr P politely after he ordered them glasses of the local damson wine.
‘I wouldn’t go without you! Aren’t you curious, too?’ exclaimed Natalie incredulously. She smiled.
He returned her smile. ‘I would indeed like to know the fate of the little object you have protected and carried about with us. It’s been quite an honour to be part of this.’
‘I couldn’t have done all this or had such a wonderful time without your help,’ said Natalie, suddenly feeling teary as she realised that their time together was coming to an end. Mr P’s gentle manners, warm heart and calm demeanour had been her rock. She felt they had an empathy that had grown through their shared experiences. ‘You really opened my eyes to what Myanmar is all about, and I want you to know how much I value your patience and knowledge. And friendship.’
He nodded modestly. ‘Initially, when Win and Connie asked me if I would travel with you, I thought you were just a friend and a tourist. Then I learned that you wanted to find your friend’s family and I thought you had a kind spirit. But when I learned about this kammavaca and your wish to return it, after so many years, to come here alone, well, that is … very meritorious,’ he finished.
‘You mean I was very naive?’ said Natalie with a quizzical expression.
‘But you wanted to learn. You were interested and enjoyed the places and things we saw. You are respectful and open to knowing how we Burmese think and do things. To understand the people of Myanmar you have to know our history and what people here are suffering while they wait for change to come. Not all visitors are like you,’ he added. ‘You are a friend to us now.’
Natalie nodded. ‘It’s strange but I feel so strongly about this place. Everyone I’ve met has been so warm and kind, apart from a couple of exceptions. And isn’t Aye Aye amazing,’ said Natalie, her eyes shining.
‘Yes. Princess Aye Aye is inspirational. We have some wonderful women in our country. One day maybe people will look up to you in your country.’ He lifted his glass of wine in a toast.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Natalie, nevertheless feeling flattered and pleased by his words.
They clinked glasses.
Soe Soe seemed agitated, as though unsure of the best way to get to the old monastery. They seemed to have been travelling for hours. Aye Aye and Natalie sat in the back of the car. It bumped along a sandy track. Feathery stands of bamboo bent lithely in a gentle breeze. They created a pale green light, which was sometimes darkened by a solid grove of trees. To one side they could see the shining coppery surface of the Irrawaddy River. The softness of the track’s surface made it difficult for Soe Soe to drive further. Mr P spoke to him and he stopped the car.
Mr P turned to the women in the back seat. ‘We are on a side track. It will be quicker to walk, although Soe Soe can drive the long way around to the river landing if you prefer.’
‘Walking’s all right with me,’ said Aye Aye.
Mr P opened the car door for her.
They were not isolated on the track. As the car reversed away, they heard the jangle of a cowbell and the crow of a rooster. Ahead of them a wooden cart with a huge dripping cask on top was being drawn by a plodding ox and driven by a young boy.
‘He’s delivering water to a village,’ said Mr P.
The boy, filled with importance before the strangers, hit the ox with a bamboo pole and it broke into a lumbering trot.
They came to a small village where leaning fences surrounded some small thatched buildings. An old man was bent beneath the weight of a bamboo pole which held buckets at both ends. A woman winnowed rice, throwing up the grain from a large flat basket so that the wind could blow away the lighter husks. Each small dwelling had chickens, a goat or a pig in its yard. A young woman was cooking in a wok over an open fire. Washing was draped in the sun and children played in the dust.
The strangers, strolling along the village lane, were given curious glances. Natalie was fascinated by this panorama of rural life seemingly unchanged for decades. She smiled at a young mother sitting in the shade with two small children.
Mr P called out to the young woman, who lifted the toddler onto her hip, held the shy child by the hand and came over to the fence.
‘How old are her children?’ asked Natalie.
Mr P and Aye Aye exchanged a few words with the girl. Natalie saw she must be barely twenty.
‘They are two and four years,’ said Mr P as he pulled his backpack off his shoulder and rummaged in a side pocket.
‘I have children almost the same age,’ said Natalie, suddenly overwhelmed with longing for Charlotte, Adam and Andrew.
Mr P found a packet of sweets and gave some of them to the children.
‘The mother says she is twenty-two. She thinks you are very beautiful,’ Aye Aye told Natalie. ‘She will have more children. She probably didn’t have much education but hopefully it will be different for her little ones, but since they don’t have running water or even a decent well in the village, a proper school out here seems a remote possibility. But it is places like this where our country needs to make changes if there is to be any progress.’
‘She has such a sweet face,’ said Natalie.
The toddler, cheeks full of the chewy sweet from Mr P, reached out to Natalie. Natalie leaned over the low fence as his smiling mother handed the chubby boy, dressed only in cotton pants, to her. Natalie closed her eyes, smelling his sweet hair, feeling the softness of baby skin.
‘Do you want a photo?’ Mr P asked.
Natalie nodded. ‘Yes, please. Of all of us.’
After they had waved goodbye and continued through the village to the path that led to the monastery, Natalie asked Aye Aye, ‘Do you think that young mother would know who you were? Your family?’
Aye Aye shook her head. ‘No. That was old Burma. I am not important now. But I’m sure she knows who The Lady is.’
Natalie noticed that as they walked, Aye Aye continually looked around, even occasionally glancing upwards into the trees. Suddenly she stopped and pointed into a thicket. Natalie saw what she had spotted: flashes of white between the green lushness.
‘Come and see these . . . such lovely gingers.’ They followed Aye Aye and Natalie recognised the flower she’d seen in the markets, or as offerings at pagodas and in vases in restaurants and shops. The cascade of delicate miniature orchid-like white blooms contained explosions of golden stamens.
‘This was my husband’s favourite flower,’ said Aye Aye. She showed Natalie the jewelled pin she wore in her hair.
‘It’s the same,’ said Natalie, seeing the white and gold clusters of drooping blooms recreated in glittering gemstones.
Aye Aye plucked sprays of the ginger blooms and put them into Natalie’s hair. ‘These often grow near monasteries,’ said Aye Aye.
Soon the spire of the monastery appeared and the path widened into a clearing. At the sight of the monastery, Natalie caught her breath. While it was not the magnificent, glittering gold of th
e Shwedagon, or the stylised symmetry of the ancient Ananda Temple, Natalie thought this monastery was one of the loveliest places she’d seen in Myanmar. Not only that, but she had looked at the little kammavaca so often and knew it so well that she had little trouble recognising the monastery.
Its intricately carved and weathered teak had a soft warmth. The moss-covered tiles on the roof, and the columns of faded gilt and vermilion spoke of venerable age but there was no ostentation. Here, for years, the lives of the monks had been played out in simple rituals upholding the traditions and beliefs of the Buddha, and this practice would continue.
A flight of stone steps flanked by elephants carved in stone led to the main building.
‘They’re like the ones on the kammavaca,’ said Natalie.
‘They guard each of the four entrances to the monastery,’ said Aye Aye. ‘As a little girl I loved them.’
They all paused to admire the monastery buildings. A novice monk appeared with a broom that was twice his height and began brushing and smoothing the white sand at the base of the steps. Mr P stepped forward and asked if it would be possible for them to speak with the abbot.
‘He says the abbot is sleeping off his meal,’ said Mr P. ‘But we can speak with him when he is awake.’
As they walked, they continued to admire the monastery and its mythical carved figures, the elephants and strange bird-like creatures upon whose backs the monastery buildings rested. Several sleepy dogs lay in the shade beneath the buildings.
‘It’s deserted,’ said Natalie.
‘It is not a well-known monastery,’ said Mr P.
‘It’s always been a quiet place,’ said Aye Aye. ‘We used to stay in one of the rest houses.’
They walked to the rear of the monastery where a village woman was cooking small pancakes in hot oil on a wok over a wood fire. An iron pot of Burmese tea was steeping over the coals beside it.
‘Natalie, one of your favourites, I believe,’ said Mr P.
‘I love these pancakes, with just a sprinkle of pickle and sometimes dried shrimp,’ she said.
