Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

  “My mother’s words coincided with me looking up and seeing the face of a young Japanese soldier holding a rifle. He was staring down at us with that quizzical yet sad look they have. I was almost paralyzed with fear. I was holding your hand. This Jap had been tied to the tree and was covered in small branches. There must have been others but we dare not look up again. My mother stopped right below them and began to collect small sticks of kindling. I was on tenterhooks. I bent down and whispered to you, ‘we need sticks for a fire,’ you always liked that job. I think you realized our fear and the urgency in my voice; for once you did not disobey me. This was a terrifying moment; walking beneath the snipers seemed to take forever. Having progressed through the trees, we were now out in direct sunshine out in the open. My heart was in my mouth, I expected to hear a shot ring out at any moment. The Japanese snipers were facing in the direction we were going. I worried they might shoot us as we were now heading towards the British advance and could give their position away. My mother continued picking up small kindling sticks and I followed suit.

  “Turning onto a well-worn path Mother led us towards a village. I prayed that these snipers would think we were retuning to our village but we dreaded reaching it, as there could be more Japanese soldiers garrisoned there – or Burmese who could betray us for reward. My mother’s face was red, something that always happened when she was afraid for our lives.”

  I remember this incident; I had heard my grandmother’s warning, looked up immediately and saw a Jap soldier looking down from a tree directly above us. I can still see his face through the mists of my distant memory. Looking back as an adult, the sniper’s expression was probably anxious resignation to his coming fate. Not all the sons of Nippon believed that death was as light as a feather. I did what all children did when first making contact with any Japanese soldiers: grin. I don’t remember him grinning back. Thinking back, the snipers had probably been ordered to kill British soldiers and not foraging Burmese villagers (both my guardians wore Burmese longyis). Japanese soldiers followed orders to the letter; however it must have been a terrifying moment for my guardians. In these kinds of desperate situations logic remains elusive: it hides behind panic.

  “The trauma of our situation added to our thirst, and the energy drained from our legs. We were so tired. Finally we reached a screen of trees that would hide us from the snipers. Quickly leaving the village path we cut through some tall grass and headed for a grove of bamboo. Continuing we came to another path that crossed a small stream via a palm trunk bridge. We could hear the water. The temptation to drink water was too great. Placing everything on the ground, using the side of the log bridge to support us, we made our way down to the water through the thick undergrowth praying there were no snakes lurking there. We began drinking the clear water, filled our vessels then quickly continued on our way. We kept following this small stream stopping to drink every now and then until it turned and headed back in the direction of Tada u. It was then that we suddenly saw a group of people in the distance walking towards us so we were forced to re-cross the stream and hide in the tall reeds on the other side. Looking back I could see our passage through the reeds was obvious. We crouched in the reeds and waited, our hearts thumping. The group of people passed by noisily laughing and talking in Burmese, but we weren’t sure if they were dacoits or Burmese villagers. Once they had left, we carried on until we reached dense bushes where we slept for the night not daring to light a fire to prepare food. Waking early the following morning, we continued our journey in the direction of Shwebo hoping to meet up with the British Army, only stopping in the afternoon by a small pool fed from an underground spring. We were so hungry.”

  I can remember this vividly. For once I was also hungry and thirsty, despite being given most of the water carried by my guardians. I watched my grandmother holding on to the long reeds as she struggled to enter the pool. With the hem of longyi in her hands she began to catch tiny fish in the shadows of the bank, while my mother sat down and husked handfuls of gram and I watched large metallic green glazed dragonflies darting above the reeds. Within half an hour Grandmother was frying the small fish and boiling gram.

  “We ate our food and moved on, hidden by a screen of trees. The sun was slowly sinking in the west and we searched for a place to sleep for the night. Under the dense tree canopy, we bedded down while listening to the frogs calling for rain. Early the following morning we walked towards the sound of the big guns in the distance. Passing another stand of bamboo my mother saw a stem of rare male bamboo; she needed a stick to protect us from snakes. Male bamboo is thinner than female bamboo, but is solid and does not split. She began to cut it. I was so nervous that the sound of her cutting would bring Japanese soldiers to investigate. We reached open dry ground before nightfall. My mother chose a deep soft sandy depression to sleep in, first laying down the waterproof sheet and then the blankets. We were now out of sight. As usual jackals began calling as the sun went down. I was exhausted and went to sleep as soon as it got dark, but woke up later because of a strange noise that penetrated my dreams. It sounded like someone gasping for breath. I woke my mother up. She said it must be some kind of nocturnal lizard or bird and told me to go back to sleep and not disturb her again. I could not sleep. I could hear whatever it was stealthily approach then stop. I was too afraid to stand up and investigate. I was exhausted and finally fell asleep only to be woken up with a start. Looking up I saw a dark face with light rings around its eyes staring down at me. The face was on a long neck. I screamed and the face quickly disappeared.

  “My mother woke up clutching her large dah. I was trying to describe what I had seen when the face reappeared again. My mother threw a stone at the animal and said it was a hyena. I was worried it was going to sneak in and grab you, but my mother said it must have been attracted by the fermented fish paste that we had brought with us. I still could not sleep though because not long after I noticed bats flying low above our heads.

  “After several days of travelling, the countryside became more open and dry; again water would become a daily problem until the mango showers began. In the distance lay the Kachin Hills. Ahead we saw a village enclosed by a cactus hedge that had been partly destroyed by fire. We knew it would have a well, but where were the people and the village dogs? If it wasn’t for our raging thirst we would have bypassed this village, but we were desperate. We approached cautiously but stopped when we saw faces peering at us through the cactus screen. It was then that a group of men holding long dahs approached us. We anticipated danger from these unsmiling villagers. Your grandmother greeted them politely in Burmese and asked for water. We noticed that most of the men had some kind of eye disease. One of the men also had a large goitre; this man began asking my mother questions. She said we were from Tada u and the Japanese there had informed us that we could find water here; she also added that a party of Jap troops were following not far behind us.

  “The mention of Japanese seemed to alarm these men. My mother showed them the out-of-date official form written in Japanese that allowed her to travel and collect Victor. Not wanting to enter the cactus-enclosed village, my mother gave the man with the goitre a few coins that she had at hand and our tin water container to fill at the well. All the men returned to the village talking amongst themselves. Sensing danger we began to move away but the men quickly came out again with the water demanding the rest of our money, which my mother gave them. Thank God she had hidden the majority of our money elsewhere. As we hurried away through a gap in a cactus hedge, we saw a black shrivelled body of a man hanging from a tree by a hook through his jaw. The lips had shrivelled, exposing the man’s teeth, and he looked as though he was grinning at us. These men must have been afraid of cutting the corpse down which was forbidden by Japanese law.

  “Once we had placed some distance between us and the village we quickly changed direction, in case we were followed, and drank the water as we walked; we dared not stop to boil it. Despite being exhausted, we travelle
d as far as we could. I lost track of the days but my mother always thought she knew when it was Sunday and we said our prayers. Sometimes it did not feel like a Sunday. We both missed attending church. One afternoon, as we sat resting in the shade of a big bush enjoying the cool breeze and birdsong, my mother suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence. I knew something ominous was about to happen. Time hung suspended, the breeze and birdsong ceased abruptly. A complete silence then descended over us. We were paralyzed with fear. Suddenly a shimmering fleeting haze and a rush of air swept passed us. The spell only lasted a few heartbeats; then the spell was broken and the faint breeze returned followed by the sound of birdsong: an Outoasan had passed.”

  This occurrence is widely accepted throughout the east, and is thought to be a spell weaved by a spirit as it passes unseen. This spirit, called a Sherrill in India, and to the followers of the Prophet in Malaya an evil Djinn, is part of eastern folklore. Since then I have met others who have had the same experiences. It is possible at that time of day when the heat is at its most overpowering, the brain is distorted, allowing our vivid imagination to short-circuit, and turn superstition and hearsay into reality. Although I don’t remember this occasion, this sensation is real enough. I have heard several people talk of it and it is not restricted to Burma. This occurrence often happens when certain circumstances and conditions prevail prior to the monsoon, for example, on hot still afternoons between 12pm and 2pm in quiet lonely places away from human habitation. Perhaps it is a natural phenomenon that occurs at certain latitudes in the east where heat hazes are more visible. The shimmering fleeting haze could just have been that, a distorted heat haze; the rest of the illusion could be the fruit of a vivid human imagination.

  “We were now running out of food, but water was all we could think of. In the distant hills we could see dark clouds and sometimes rain, but the clouds always dispersed by the time they reached us. We knew there would be water in the jungle-covered hills but this would take us in the wrong direction. As our energy levels were low, we only walked in the early mornings and late afternoons; during midday we just sat in the shade and listened to the distant sounds of war. The countryside here was open and gave me the sense of being safe. I was beginning to get used to sleeping on the ground again. At night we just spread our ground sheet and blankets on the clean soft sand and slept.

  “We woke up the following morning demented by thirst and could think of nothing but water. Even though we were very weak we had to carry on. About an hour before nightfall we came to a deserted village which had been burnt to the ground, but we knew there would be a well there. The water in the well was very low and there was no bucket. We took items of clothing and tied them together, and then tied them to my mother’s bamboo stick and lowered this into the well. By doing this we were able to reach the water. By squeezing the end of the material we managed to fill a tin pot. This was only enough for one good drink each. I prayed there were no dead bodies in the well. That night we slept on soft sand well away from the village; it was now cool but our throats were still parched and speaking was difficult.

  “The next day we saw Burmese people in the distance. We were so desperate we tried to call out to them, but our throats were too dry. We followed them as quickly as we could and finally arrived at their village. Alerted by the dogs, curious people appeared from their huts and watched our approach. We were given fresh well water immediately. Mother told the villagers that we had walked out of Tada u because of the bombing and showed them the Japanese document with the official stamp. Of course, like other Burmese, they could not read Japanese.

  “This village called Pelubum [spelt phonetically] belonged to cattle herders. We got the feeling these villagers had once been part of the Burma Independence Army as many of the men guarding the cattle were armed. Sun-flags and Burmese national flags were on display. These men must have helped the Japs on their sweeps against the hill tribes. Perhaps they were now in fear of retribution by the British. But like many other Burmese they were quickly willing to change sides. Some even began killing small groups of retreating Japanese soldiers. The Burmese National Army led by Aung San was now attacking its former allies. The villagers told us the British were now fighting the Japs near Mount Poppa [Cobra Mountain] a sacred place to the Burmese. The villagers were worried that the retreating Japs would requisition their cattle. We also found out that a large body of Japanese troops had been camped nearby only a few days ago. These Japs had been ordered to reinforce Meiktila and fight the British on the Shwebo plain and told the villagers that they would return. This worried us.

  “Mother informed the villagers that we hoped to travel around Meiktila and head towards Yinday then Pagan to avoid the fighting. They said Pagan was no longer deserted and was full of Indian National Army troops who were robbing the surrounding Burmese villages and raping their women. Pagan was now out of the question. The villagers announced that the men who had asked payment for water at the village where the desiccated mummy was hanging, were escapees from the civil jail in Meiktila which had been bombed by the British. The headman agreed that we could stay the night and sleep on his bamboo platform porch a few feet off the ground. This village had plenty of chickens. It would have been lovely to buy and cook a chicken but we were starving so instead my mother bought eggs and made us a big omelette with tomatoes, pimentos, a little chilli and garlic.

  “Lying down on the open platform that night we prayed the Japanese would not suddenly arrive; they can be so brutal when angry. Getting up the next morning we noticed all the sun flags had disappeared. The villagers could never be trusted completely and like blades of grass bent with the wind. We decided it would be too dangerous to stay. We bought a chicken and a few supplies with the last of our money and made a lovely chicken curry before we left in the afternoon. We were given a dried hollow vegetable gourd filled with water and told that a small stream could be followed to the outskirts of Meiktila. This stream did not completely dry out, as it was fed by rains in the hills.

  “On the second day after we left the village it suddenly grew dark and began to rain. We sheltered under our waterproof sheet in the overhang of low bushes huddled together for warmth. A heavy storm was coming from the hills and forked lightning began to fill the sky. I placed our big tin pot outside our shelter to catch rainwater. Just as night began to fall, I reached out to retrieve the vessel to fill the gourd and place it out again when I saw several men in capes coming our way; only Japs wore these rain capes. My mother ordered me to retrieve the empty tin pot quickly, which was making a noise as the raindrops hit it. My heart was in my mouth as I reached out again. Pulling it in I looked in the direction of the Japanese soldiers, they were keeping to the contours of the ridge we were on; they were sure to see us. We froze at their approach and listened as they chatted with excited voices. Watching their shadowy figurers pass we could see they were driving a bullock. Shivering and cold we stayed in our hideout until the next morning. Mercifully, you slept throughout.

  “After another day’s travel we found the stream. The flow was not continuous despite the rain storm; water was collecting in small pools that looked relatively clean except for the small frogs and mosquito larvae. We boiled the water. Where there are frogs there are snakes, but thank God we saw none. It crossed my mind that having survived the war all these years then have one of us die from snake bite at this stage of our escape to freedom would be tragic.”

  Our journey to get behind the fighting by bypassing Meiktila must have continued without incident, as Mother did not speak of it and I can’t remember any significant events. We just followed the line of trees along the trickling river to keep in the shade and near cover.

  “After many days of travelling we must have been somewhere near Meiktila, for the noise of fighting grew louder. We stopped near a pool surrounded by trees that provided us with shade. Here, we waited to ponder our next move. Not long after we were joined by a group of people who had come from Thazie, which was also being bombed by
Allied planes. Among them were a mother and son, an uncle and his Burmese wife; they had been on their way to the oilfields where they worked. Their Burmese escort had abandoned them. They were an Anglo-Indian family and their name was Rawlings; the woman had a son your age. She told us that their lives had been saved by her husband being an expert in oil extraction. They were all well dressed compared to us and had bags full of food; they gave us some rice. Before we knew it, you and the Rawlings boy were rolling around in the dust wrestling. We had to prise you apart before they moved some way from us and settled down. The rest of the group carried on their journey.”

  I remember these people and their son. Together we collected dry sticks for the fire but after cooking and eating, these people kept away from us. We must have looked like down and outs.

  “We stayed here for a while as there was nowhere else to go and the country ahead looked very dry, despite the mango showers. One afternoon we were discussing moving on when suddenly we heard the heavy mechanical noise of tanks and saw plumes of dust. To our horror, the tanks were coming from the wrong direction. Instead of coming from the west as we expected, they were approaching from the east. These had to be Japanese tanks – we would be trapped. There was nothing we could do as the noise grew louder. The tanks stopped near to us and several dusty men climbed down stretching their legs. To our joy, we heard English voices.

  “’Are there any Japs around here?’

  “’No,’ we answered, ‘but there is a garrison in Tada u many miles away.’

  “’They would have been dealt with by now’, answered a man in a Jeep. The man took off his cap and introduced himself. He was a Major and his first name was Frank. Many other transport vehicles began to arrive. I told the soldiers that my husband Jack was in the Royal Scots. They said the First Royal Scots were now fighting in Burma. It was a wonderful feeling to know that finally we had been liberated and our wanderings were over. We were now protected by the British Army.”