The Long Path to Wisdom

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  Although she scarcely had the means to raise a child, the widow took the wailing infant into her care without a second thought. She nourished him on buffalo milk from her herd and gradually the weakened foundling regained his strength. In the end he grew into a healthy boy who followed his foster mother’s every step as she led her herd through the trackless border territories. From daily experience and observation he learned not only how to care for the animals in his charge, but also to appreciate the countless wonders of nature. As the boy developed into a young man, Nankarai encouraged him to master the martial arts just as her Karen and Mon forefathers had done. The years of wandering across jagged terrain with the herd had shaped and toughened the boy’s body and mind. It was no surprise, then, when he proved to be an extraordinarily gifted and disciplined student who readily mastered the basics and showed a special talent for the traditional art of Burmese boxing known as Lethwei. This particular type of fighting was one of the most important for single combat, and was practiced by nearly all men regardless of their heritage or social class.

  As soon as he had mastered the various fighting techniques, the young man returned to his foster mother in the countryside, where he resumed the more peaceful occupation of tending the herd. As Nankarai grew older, the physical strain of scrambling across the rocky landscape began to take its toll. She was finding it increasingly difficult to tend the animals. Kwan Eet Thar assumed responsibility for the herd so that his foster mother could stay home and rest.

  The young man enjoyed his work as a herder wandering lazily alongside the buffalo through the soft hillsides. One day as he strode along, Kwan Eet Thar met a hunter who had lately come from the palace, where he had heard rumors that he now shared with the young herdsman. A group of rabble-rousers was preparing an insurrection in hopes of forcing King Vimala to abdicate. The man pulling the strings and stoking the flames went by the name “Lumbar,” which meant something like “giant,” because by all accounts he was well over six feet tall. The hunter reported that Lumbar and his band would soon be arriving in seven large ships in order to declare war on the king. Kwan Eet Thar listened enthralled, for it was seldom he met anyone at all while tending the herd, never mind someone with tidings of an impending palace revolt. The young man begged the hunter to take him along so that he might do his part defending the palace and the realm. He asserted that he had attained mastery in the martial arts and that he was therefore prepared to be the king’s champion in single combat against the giant. The hunter eyed this youth on the brink of manhood and could see for himself that he was in outstanding physical condition, well built and brimming with vigor.

  When they parted ways the hunter promised to deliver the young man’s offer to the king. When he reached the palace he described his encounter with the young herdsman, remarking on his obvious strength, his presumed abilities, and his readiness to defend the king against the overgrown marauder. The king, filled with dread by the impending confrontation, accepted the hunter’s offer to bring the young man to the palace.

  Upon his arrival, everyone was duly impressed by Kwan Eet Thar’s bearing and his obvious physical strength. The king was grateful that the young herdsman was eager to accept the challenge to fight the giant. In return he offered him the hand of his daughter and so also the prospect, as crown prince, of being next in line for the throne. Being loath to commit to an undertaking of such consequence without consulting his foster mother, Kwan Eet Thar asked for some time to think it over and for permission to visit her.

  The king consented, and upon his return to the borderlands between the Karen and the Mon, Kwan Eet Thar told his foster mother all that had transpired. Nankarai listened closely and encouraged him to return to the palace and accept the challenge. After giving him her blessing, she offered him one more piece of important advice for the road: Knowing that the hulking figure would have the advantage in a hand-to-hand contest, she recommended the following trick. If he found himself in trouble, Kwan Eet Thar should cry out: “Here comes your mother!” As soon as his opponent turned to look whether it was true, he must topple him with his spear. Reflecting on Nankarai’s parting words, Kwan Eet Thar set off on the long journey back to the palace.

  When he arrived he found his opponent already waiting impatiently for him. The giant was truly of unprecedented stature. His limbs appeared to have no end, and his head was perched so high that it seemed to block the sun. A man of lesser honor and resolve might have had grave misgivings about going toe-to-toe with this human colossus. Not so Kwan Eet Thar, who immediately prepared for battle. A bitter struggle ensued. Despite the difference in size Kwan Eet Thar proved to be a worthy opponent, even after several skirmishes when both parties were starting to show signs of weariness. In the heat of the battle, as a last resort, Kwan Eet Thar deployed his foster mother’s ruse. His cry, “Here comes your mother,” had the exact effect that Nankarai had foreseen, and he seized on the momentary distraction to vanquish his foe. The throne was safe, and the grateful king, as promised, gave him his daughter’s hand and promoted him to crown prince.

  On the occasion of the wedding, Kwan Eet Thar’s foster mother revealed to him how she had found him long ago in the borderlands, wrapped in fine vestments the like of which were seldom seen in her remote corner of the land. When the king got wind of this story he recognized at once that his daughter’s husband was none other than the infant nephew he had banished from the realm along with his mother.

  The king realized straightaway that this was no mere chance: Kwan Eet Thar’s return and triumphant defense of the kingdom were a clear omen. And so Vimala immediately handed over power to the rightful heir to the throne.

  It happened at a time when the newly founded kingdom of Ava was in an uproar. The king was deeply concerned about the conditions in the country; strife and dissension were flaring up everywhere. In many places even the teachings of the Buddha seemed no longer to hold sway. Therefore the king sent his monks out to all the villages to listen to the people and urge them not to forget the words of the Enlightened One.

  One of these monks and his escorts arrived in a village in the northeast, near the border with China. The people there greeted him kindly, but were quick to tell him that they considered his presence unnecessary. In their village the religious duties had never been neglected; the monastery had always been in the hands of capable monks and abbots. Thus the villagers received this missionary from the distant capital with respect, but also with a certain reticence.

  Finally, they came to the visitor with a question. “We do not believe that you are as learned and pious as our abbot, Your Honor,” they said to the monk. “Would you be willing to settle this question in a religious debate?”

  The monk agreed and the villagers made preparations for the competition. The plan was for the scholars to ask each other questions about their religion. The opponent would have one minute to answer. Whoever exceeded the allotted time or failed to give a satisfactory answer would be the loser.

  When the appointed day came, the villagers led their visitor into a specially prepared hall. The abbot was ceremoniously ushered in and the spectators cheered. They sat face-to-face on two ornate chairs adorned with velvet and gold. The village chief sounded a loud gong, and in the solemn silence that followed he said: “Let the dispute between our abbot and the monk from the royal city begin! The host will ask the first question.”

  The king’s delegate leaned back in his chair tensely and waited with furrowed brow for a difficult first question. After a short silence the abbot leaned forward and said in a loud voice: “How do you spell the word ‘buffalo’?”

  Surprised and speechless, the monk shook his head. Were these people really expecting an answer to such an elemental, ridiculously simple question? He could not believe it. He stared at the abbot, expecting an explanation or a further question, but the man across from him remained silent. His gaze wandered over to his escorts from Ava, but they looked just as surprised.
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br />   The monk smiled and cleared his throat as he racked his brain in search of a clever answer to this stupid question. Just as he finally started to speak, the chief’s gong rang out. The allotted time had expired, he announced. He declared the abbot the winner.

  While the villagers boisterously celebrated their victory and carried the abbot back to his monastery, the monk and his companions left the village, unsure what to tell the king.

  Long, long ago a poor old woman lived with her granddaughter in a little house beside a river on the outskirts of a village. The family had once been very well-off and had been counted among the most respected members of the community, but those days were long past. Apart from a few shabby pieces of furniture, the house was now bare. At night the wind whistled through the drafty walls, and their kitchen was little more than an old rusty pot over a makeshift fireplace. A bronze cup was their only possession of any value, but they did not appreciate just how precious it truly was. To the old woman and her granddaughter it was just another cup.

  One day two peddlers came across the river to sell cheap baubles in the village. The first merchant came to the house and gradually brought out necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and more. He spoke glowingly of his wares, and the young girl was soon enraptured. Oh, how they glittered and sparkled! She had seen some of the other girls with necklaces like these, and she asked her grandmother to buy something for her. Sadly the grandmother confessed that they had no money and nothing of value that they might offer as payment.

  At that moment the peddler spotted the bronze cup. He asked to see it and examined it thoroughly in order to assess its value. This merchant was very greedy, and though he wanted the cup, he did not wish to trade fairly for it, so he threw it carelessly into the mud and claimed that it was worthless. Privately he was hoping that the two would leave it lying there, where he might snatch it up on a second round through the village. Then he packed up his jewelry and left.

  The two women were puzzled. Had the stranger not asked explicitly to examine the cup? Why would he leave it lying in the mud? They picked it up, confused and thinking they might ask for a second opinion.

  Shortly thereafter the second merchant paid a call to the grandmother and granddaughter, and they showed him the piece in question. Now, this merchant was an upright and honest man. After examining the cup he declared that it was a remarkable object worth more than all of his jewelry together. He polished a corner of the dull metal and the women marveled at its radiance.

  What joy this news brought to the granddaughter! The grandmother praised the man’s integrity, and in the end they traded the cup for all the man’s trinkets. Both sides took satisfaction from the exchange. The peddler packed up his cup, got back into his boat, and made for the other side. The first, deceitful merchant rounded the corner just in time to see the honest peddler going ashore with his new possession, and he turned pale with envy.

  High at the top of a mountain near Bagan lived a young woman named Zanthi. She was actually a naga princess, a descendent from a malicious family of dragon-like serpent beings who lived in a distant underground kingdom. There she had grown tired of the ruthless and lawless life of the naga, and desired a more virtuous existence. Time and again she had begged her father for permission to leave the underworld to join the world of men in human form. In the end she managed to convince her father of the seriousness of her intentions, and he let her go her way in peace. Zanthi settled at the top of a high mountain surrounded by an abundance of unspoiled nature.

  In her new home the princess would rise each morning at dawn as soon as the first rays of sunlight fell across the ragged contours of the mountains. She would immediately begin her meditation exercises, to which she devoted a considerable part of her day.

  One day, as she was deeply immersed in contemplative thought, she was suddenly torn from her reveries by a deafening noise that thundered up from the forest around the lower slopes of the mountain. Having spent so much time alone in the wild, Zanthi had grown familiar with the behaviors and habits of the other animals that called the mountain home and could recognize each and every species by its individual language. She also knew the sound of the wind in the trees and many other natural phenomena, but the present din was nothing of the sort. Who or what was behind this dreadful clamor? It sounded like the pounding hooves of a great number of horses breaking through the undergrowth as they passed through the forest. The rhythm and gait suggested that it was by no means a wild herd, but rather a mounted guard of some kind. The thought made her uneasy.

  But as the horses and riders emerged from the trees her apprehension vanished. At the front of the pack rode a handsome young prince with sun-kissed skin and a kind face. Zanthi knew immediately that she had nothing to fear. As the troops approached, the prince spied the lovely princess staring intently down at him from her rocky ledge. He had never before encountered a woman of such exquisite beauty; even the splendor of the pristine natural world that surrounded her paled in comparison. The young leader, mesmerized, called an immediate halt and ordered his troops to pitch their tents and rest. He would not for any price let slip the chance to pass some time with this enchanting mountain dweller. For several blissful days the prince and Zanthi were inseparable. Eventually, despite the pleasure of her company and the unexpectedly deep feelings he felt for her, he knew that he would soon have to leave this gentle beauty. He could not forever neglect his responsibilities to the people and the royal household. But before he bid her a reluctant farewell, the prince swore to his beloved Zanthi that he would be forever faithful to her. He swore to bring her to the royal palace as soon as he was able so they could be united once and for all.

  Zanthi watched with a heavy heart as the men broke camp, mounted their horses, and set off on the long ride down to the valley, led by her beloved prince. But she took solace in his declaration of love and the promise he made before his departure. She did not take her eyes off the troops for a moment as they made their way over the rocky terrain, not until the forest once again swallowed them up and took them away from her. Even then she lingered awhile at her post on the edge of the cliff, listening to the sounds of the riders as they tramped through the underbrush. Zanthi was sure that her prince would soon be sending for her.

  As the days passed without a single word from him she began to worry. Perhaps he had met with some misfortune on his journey to the palace. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, the princess became increasingly discouraged. In the meantime she had discovered that she was carrying the Sun Prince’s child, and as her time drew nearer and she had still not heard from him she asked a bird to bring the prince the message that she would soon bring his child into the world. From all the many feathered beasts of the mountain she chose as messenger the white crow, for she would be visible by day or night. Her feathers would both shimmer in the sunlight and glow in the soft glimmer of the moon as she flew through the sky on her important mission. Zanthi instructed the crow to return only after she was sure that the prince had received her message.

  With the note tightly in her grasp the crow soared out over the mountains. She could see the mighty Irrawaddy far below her and set her course by following the bends in the river. Soon she reached the foothills that surrounded the prince’s royal palace, and it was not long before the residents of the castle noticed the unfamiliar bird sitting on the palace wall clutching a scroll. They lured her down from the rampart and took her to the prince. As he read the message he was instantly transported back to the blissful time he had spent with the beautiful mountain princess.

  His numerous duties and pursuits had kept the prince from sending for her as he had promised, and after a few months had passed, the memories of their time together began to fade. But this message about the impending birth of his child caused all the feelings of happiness and love that he had felt in Zanthi’s presence to come flooding back. The prince regretted deeply that his day-to-day duties had driven his promise from his mind
. In order to alleviate his guilt and to express his utter happiness at receiving her message, the prince selected his most valuable ruby ring, a crimson glittering stone, as a symbol of his deep love for the beautiful princess. He wrapped the ring carefully in a soft silk handkerchief and asked the crow to deliver it to the princess for him.

  The crow set off on the long journey home to the mountains with the precious package. But no sooner had she left the palace behind than she noticed a harbor where merchants and sailors from all the different regions of the country had apparently gathered to buy goods, sell their wares, and barter.

  Knowing that she had a long and difficult flight ahead of her, the crow thought it might be wise to find a bit of nourishment. She spotted a group of merchants sitting together lustily eating and drinking and thought she might be able to nick some scraps from their sumptuous meal. The packet with the ring made it hard to hop around collecting tidbits, so she deposited it at the foot of a nearby tree where she could keep an eye on it and reach it quickly when she was ready to head home. Under the table where the merchants boisterously ate and conversed lay morsels of every imaginable delicacy. For the crow, this was a marvelous feast and she soon became so swept up in the delights of the meal that she completely forgot about the treasure that lay only a few steps away. Meanwhile, one of the merchants, passing by the tree, happened to spy the carefully wrapped package. Curious what it might contain, he opened it and looked inside.