A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

PATH FOR A RAILWAY—LAWA SIVAS—LEGENDS OF POO-SA AND YA-SA, AND OF ME-LANG-TA THE LAWA KING—STORY OF A YAK—DESCENT FROM THE BAU PLATEAU—A COURAGEOUS LADY—WEIRD COUNTRY—RUBY-MINES—REACH MUANG HAUT—CABBAGES—TOBACCO-CUTTING—A BOBBERY—FABLE OF THE PEACOCK AND THE CROW—SKETCHING THE COUNTRY—CONVERSING BY SIGNS—INTERVIEWING THE HEAD-MAN—BOAT-HIRE ON THE MEH NAM—COST OF CARRIAGE—RAINFALL—PRODUCE OF FIELDS—A SHAN TEMPLE—METHOD OF MAKING IMAGES—BARGAIN FOR BOATS—TEMPERATURE IN SUN AND SHADE.

Leaving Bau, we continued along the undulating plateau for two and a half miles through the pine-forests, shallow valleys at times commencing on either side. After passing some springs and large white-ant hills, and catching a glimpse of Loi Pah Khow, a great dome-shaped hill ten miles distant to the north, we came to the edge of the plateau, where a great trough or undulation separates it from Loi Kom, the Golden Mountain. Through this pass, which is about 1000 feet lower than the Bau plateau, I consider a railway might be carried from Maing Loongyee to Zimmé.

Loi Kom stands considerably higher than the Bau plateau, or appeared to do so. Looking sideways across the valley, the hill resembles a very long roof sloped at the ends as well as at the sides.

This mountain forms a link in the Zimmé chain of hills, and is the seat of the celebrated Lawa Yak or “genius” Poo-Sa, whose wife Ya-Sa inhabits Loi Soo Tayp, the great hill behind the city of Zimmé.

These genii are said to be the spirits of an ancient Lawa king and queen, who at their deaths became the guardian spirits of the hills. Previous to the advent of Gaudama Buddha to the Lawa country, Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa were devourers of mankind, insisting upon receiving human sacrifices. On his arrival, Gaudama exhorted them to give up this evil practice; since then they are said to be content with buffaloes. The people, however, have doubts on this point, and at times fear that these powerful spirits, who can prevent the water from coursing down the hill-streams to irrigate their fields, have still a hankering after their old diet. The missionaries at Zimmé told me that the previous year the people had petitioned the King of Zimmé to hasten the execution of some malefactors in order to induce Poo-Sa to allow a larger supply of water to flow from the hills, as their fields were suffering from drought.

There is an annual sacrifice of animals to these genii, every house in the region being obliged to pay two annas, or twopence, towards the expenses. The money is kept in the court-house until June, when the sacrifices are made.^[1]

Another legend of the local genii runs as follows: On the Shans’ first entering the Zimmé country, they found the city of La-Maing, which had recently been founded by Me-lang-ta, the king of the Lawas, deserted. At that time the whole of the country to the south of the Burmese Shan States belonged to the Lawas, who resided in the hills in the dry season and cultivated the plains in the rainy season. Overrunning the plains at a time when cultivation was not going on, the Shans occupied La-Maing, the ruins of which adjoin the present city of Zimmé, as well as Lapoon and other similarly deserted Lawa towns.

The Lawa king gathered a great army in the hills to drive the Shans out of his country, but finding them strongly intrenched and in great force, he offered to form an alliance with them if they would cement it by giving him in marriage Nang Sam-ma-tay-we, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the Shan Prince of Lapoon.

The Shan chief haughtily rejected the offer of the Lawa king, and marched with a great host into the hills, attacked Me-lang-ta, scattered his army, and slew him. The place where he was killed is known as La-wat, “the Lawa destroyed”; and the king became the Pee Hluang, or tutelary deity of the region, and resides in a cave at Loi Kat Pyee, a hill to the north-east of Zimmé. Unlike Poo-Sa and Ya-Sa, he is not a reputed cannibal, but is satisfied with sacrifices of pigs every third year and fowls in the intervening period.

The Yaks of Indo-China are close kin to the giants in our nursery tales, and the Buddhist stories relating to them and other mythical beings would compare well with our own nursery tales. To show what fearful beings they are, I take the following story from ‘Nontuk Pakaranam,’ the translation of which appeared in the ‘Siam Repository’ for 1873:—

STORY OF A YAK.

“Aupata Racha Tirat, a son of royalty, went forth to conquer a kingdom. He had four servants to accompany him. A Yak, taking the form of a beautiful woman, beset his path. She enticed the servants one by one to leave their master, and ate them. She purposed to entrap the royal heir, but failed. She then went on before to the royal city, found favour in the sight of the king, and killed and ate all the people in the palace—ladies, nobility, and the king himself. The people saw the bones, and came together to see whence came all this desolation. The king’s son came forward and told the story how the Yak ate his servants and wished to eat him, but was not allowed. The king had been taken with her beauty, and so lost his life and the lives of all who had died with him. They took Aupata Racha Tirat and made him king.”

The ridge bordering the Bau plateau on the north-east continues at the same level for three miles, gradually turning into a great spur. The path which we descended follows a broad plateau sloping gradually down alongside the north slope of the spur, and bordered by the valley of the Huay Sai, which lies between it and Loi Kom. Descending rapidly for the first fifty feet, with granite outcropping on both sides, we crossed the Huay Pa-lat, a small stream five feet broad and one foot deep, flowing in a granite bed.

The slope then became easy, but granite masses were still exposed. Continuing through the pine-forest, we crossed two small brooks, the first flowing over a bed of white granite, and the latter dry. The pine and other trees here commenced to be moss-laden, and zi, cotton, and evergreen trees began to appear in the forest. Reaching Pang Eemoon, a swampy shallow valley, we halted for the night. Our camp, 142 miles from Hlineboay, lay 2685 feet above sea-level. The temperature at 5 P.M. was 78°, and at 6 A.M. 45½°, or considerably higher than on the other side of the table-land. Near the camp are the ruins of an old pagoda, and a small stream flowing over a tough rock, which is used by the people for making hones to sharpen their knives and weapons. Still following the sloping plateau, I noticed that pine ceased to be seen in the forest at the point, a mile from the camp, where the plateau commences to throw off spurs on either side, and a steep descent amongst outcrops of granite and boulders begins. The top of the descent lies 2545 feet above the sea.

Small valleys gradually formed and deepened on either side of us as we descended slowly, halting at times for caravans of laden cattle to pass us. After crossing a torrent 40 feet broad and 3 feet deep, flowing from the great spur on the north, we camped for breakfast on the bank of the Meh Pa-pai, at the corner of the elbow-bend where it turns east. At our crossing, 145½ miles from Hlineboay and 1672 feet above the sea, this stream flows in a solid bed of granite, 82 feet broad, with banks 6 feet high.

When halting at this spot with Dr Cushing, his wife had a narrow escape. During the heat of the day she was startled from sleep by feeling something crawling over her. She at once suspected that it was a snake, and had the courage and presence of mind to remain perfectly still while it crawled up her arm, and over her face, and away from her temple. Then, unable to restrain herself longer, she jumped up and screamed as she watched the large spotted viper disappearing in the grass.

After breakfast we followed along the flat slopes on the side of the stream—the crests of the undulations of the rolling plain we had descended to being at times 50 and 60 feet above us, and small hills occasionally jutted in from both sides. In places where, in order to cut the bends of the stream, we crossed the undulating plateau, which was evidently part of an old lake-bottom, the elephants had worn the path down as deep as themselves, exposing the earth formation, which is mixed with small rounded gravel.

The country was weird in the extreme, the grass parched up; the trees, the bamboos, and even the great creepers strangling the trees, leafless; and the stream looking like burnished steel in its lavender-coloured granite bed. There was a dead stillness about the scene; the orange-red flowers of the pouk trees seemed to flame out of the forest.

After following the stream for five miles, we left it flowing to our right, and proceeding over the undulating ground, crossed a low hillock lying between it and the Huay Sai, a stream 30 feet broad and 5 feet deep. Crossing this stream, we entered the ruby-mine district. The ground as far as the Huay Bau Kyow is covered with sharp fragments of quartz, sandstone, and granite, which have been broken by people in search of the gems. Many of great value are said to have been found here. The workings have been merely on the surface and in the banks of the stream; if scientifically worked, the mines might prove very valuable.

Beyond the Huay Bau Kyow—“the stream of the ruby-mines”—we entered the rice-fields of Muang Haut, and crossing the Meh Haut, 60 feet wide and 5 feet deep, were cheered by the sight of trees once more in leaf. The bright red flowers of Pin-leh-Ka-thyt, the tree under which the Devas dance in Indra’s heaven until intoxicated with pleasure, now flamed in rivalry of the pouk, and the banks of the Meh Ping were fringed with orchards and noble clumps of graceful, plume-like bamboos. Passing through the fields, which are bounded on the west by five little knolls, each crested by a pagoda, we skirted the monastery, temple, and pagoda at the entrance of the town, and passing through it, halted for the night at a fine sala, or rest-house, built near the bank of the river.

Muang Haut lies 154 miles from Hlineboay, and 743 feet above the sea. The river opposite the sala was 600 feet broad, the water 3 feet deep, and the banks 12 feet high.

After we had been thoroughly inspected by all the loafers about the place, who had luckily had the edge of their appetite taken off by the Bombay Burmah party, which had only left on the previous day, we were able to stroll about whilst dinner was being got ready. Seeing some fine cabbages in a Chinaman’s garden near our sala, we stopped to bargain for some. Imagine our surprise when he would not part with them under a rupee each. Expostulation was in vain—one of the gentlemen who had left the day before had paid him that price for one; that was the value, and no less would be taken for one. Cabbage-growing in the Shan States must be a lucrative business. In the gardens about the town I noticed cocoa-nut and Palmyra palms, custard-apple, guava, orange, citron, pummelo, plantains, and mango trees and sugar-cane, tobacco, turmeric, chillies, onions, pumpkins, and other ordinary plants seen in gardens. A woman was cutting up green tobacco-leaves for use by forcing them through a hole in a plank at the end of a small table, and slicing the leaves at the other side of the orifice.

On returning to the sala, Ramasawmy, Dr Cushing’s servant, came to interview him, and raised a bobbery. He was indignant. In the course of conversation with my boys, he had found out that each of them was receiving five rupees a month more wages than he had bargained for. Here was fat in the fire. It was shameful; he would not be treated so; he would leave that moment and return to Maulmain. It was useless Dr Cushing’s remarking that my boys were not in the same position as his boy, being only hired for the journey, whilst he had been with him for years, and had accompanied him on former journeys at the same wages. It was unjust. He would not stand it. He had told Portow and Loogalay, and they had laughed at him. He would not stop. He would go at once. Blubbering with passion, he proceeded to pack up his pah, sleeping-mat, and blanket, and would have left the sala with them if Dr Cushing, who remained as cool as a cucumber, had not told Portow and Shway Wai to prevent him from moving the things, and despatched a note to the head-man asking that the boy might not be allowed to leave the village with the elephant-men whom I had just paid off. The boy was bound to give him a month’s notice before leaving, and he must do what he was bound to do. The storm was merely a passing gust of temper, and Ramasawmy was at work again the next day as cheery as a lark and as brisk as a sparrow.

We were pleased to see our old acquaintances the sparrows and crows again. These birds are only seen in the neighbourhood of large villages and towns, where people most do congregate. I cannot better depict the strong sense of humour existing amongst the Shans than by relating their fable of the peacock and the crow, which runs as follows:—

STORY OF THE PEACOCK AND CROW.

In days of yore when time was young, and birds conversed as well as sung, the peacock and the crow were both grey birds. One day, at the suggestion of the peacock, they mutually agreed each to do its utmost to improve the personal appearance of the other. The crow, taking a paintbrush, some fine feathers, and beautiful colours, in an artistic manner performed his part of the bargain. Then handing the brush to the peacock, who was admiring himself in a placid pool, asked that bird to decorate him. The peacock, excited with admiration and conceit at his splendid appearance, for a long time turned a deaf ear to the remonstrances and pleadings of the crow. At length, taking the brush, he laid on the crow a layer of black as a ground-work for the other colours. Then strutting off to the pool he had another look at himself. Returning, he shrieked with laughter at the contrast, and dancing round the crow, displaying his lovely plumage, assured the justly incensed bird that he was such fun, he could not think of spoiling his appearance by further use of the brush.

Before dinner I clambered up the southern hillock at the back of the town, and sketched the country from the base of a pagoda. To the south, fourteen miles distant, appeared Loi Kern, the northern flank of the great bulwark of hills and table-land through which the Meh Ping tears its way in stupendous gorges to the plains of Siam. One of its eastern peaks is crested by a pagoda of much sanctity, to which pilgrims from all parts gather. Between us and Loi Kern lay a great forest-clad plain, with short spurs jutting into it from the Bau plateau. The narrow rice-plain of Muang Haut could be seen winding like a large river through the forest. Turning to the west, Loi Kom loomed above the spurs, and between it and Loi Kern stretched Loi Pang Ma, the eastern flank of the Bau plateau. The pagoda on the hillock to the north and west of the one that I was sketching from is called Tat Oo-kyow, or the pagoda of the gemmed offering-box. Another pagoda cresting a neighbouring peak at the end of a spur is named Tat Loi Som.

In the evening I was amused by watching Veyloo and Jewan having a long conversation with a Zimmé Shan about the prices of things in that place. Every day they had learned a few words and sentences of Shan from Portow, and now, with the aid of expressive signs and gestures, were prepared to do battle with the stall-keepers in the bazaars.

The next morning we sent for the head-man of the town to arrange for a fresh supply of elephants to take us to Zimmé, and to obtain what information we could from him. He came followed by several of the villagers, and ascending the stairs, crouched shekoing on the threshold. On our asking him to approach to our temporary table, he came half crawling and half hopping in on his hands and feet like a huge toad. This is the ordinary mode of courtesy shown by an inferior to a superior in the Shan States and Siam. Not only the common people and village head-men use this form of ceremony, but a prince visiting another of higher social rank either prostrates himself on the ground, or squats down, places the palms of his hands together, and raises them up to his face.

He said elephants were not procurable in the neighbourhood of Muang Haut, and to procure boats to convey us and our things to Zimmé might take him two or three days. The ordinary hire for an elephant from Zimmé to Muang Haut was 30 rupees. The hire of a boat, including a steersman and three polers, from Muang Haut to Zimmé was 60 rupees, and two boats would be required for our party.

The wages of each boatman to Bangkok varied between 70 and 80 rupees; to Raheng, from 24 to 25 rupees; to Paknam Po, 30 rupees; and to Zimmé, 15 rupees. The time taken by a boat in going to Bangkok averaged fifteen days in the rains, and thirty days in the dry season. From Bangkok to Muang Haut took forty-five days in the rains, and two months in the dry season. From Zimmé to Muang Haut took two days in the rains, and from four to five in the dry season. From Muang Haut to Zimmé, six days in the dry season; in the rains the journey was always done by elephant.

A caravan-man conducting eight to ten laden bullocks from Zimmé to Muang Haut and back received 10 rupees with food, or 15 rupees without food, the journey there taking him eight days. From Zimmé to Maulmain and back he got 20 rupees with food, or 30 rupees without food, the journey there taking thirty days. A good bullock carries 40 viss; a small one, 30 viss: no load is ever placed on a cow.

A porter carrying 20 viss—66⅔ lb.—receives 2 rupees a viss going to Maulmain, and the same returning to Zimmé, or at the rate of Rs. 1344 a ton carried either way. The journey for a quick travelling porter from Zimmé to Maulmain takes fifteen days, and the same back.

The rainfall at Muang Haut and Zimmé was less than at Maing Loongyee. Sometimes for a whole month in the rains it only drizzled now and then. The previous year the crops on the higher ground had suffered through deficient rainfall. The rice-fields yielded a hundred-fold on the best land, and from fifty-fold upwards on the poorest. The town contained fifty houses; its inhabitants were traders and cultivators, chiefly the former.

Having pumped the head-man dry, we wandered through the town and inspected the religious buildings. The temple was a fine building 54 feet long, varying in breadth from 17 feet at the porch, 21 feet at the two ends, to 24 feet in the central portion. The roofs were in two tiers, leaving a space of 2 or 3 feet between the tiers. The roof of the centre portion rose higher than that of each end, and the roof of the porch was lower. Leading up to the porch was a plastered brick staircase. The floor and walls were likewise of plastered brickwork, and stopped some distance from the roof, which was supported by teak posts, those on the outside being built into the wall. In the centre portion, and the end next the porch, wooden gratings were let into the walls to aid in lighting the buildings. The interior posts which supported the upper tiers of the central portion were painted black, with an ornamental band of gilding 4½ feet from the ground. The two posts in the chancel were painted red, with a similar gilded band at the same height from the ground. Inside the chancel was a sitting image of Gaudama 10 feet high, and six others 4 feet high, besides a dozen smaller ones.

When at Maing Longyee some large images were being made, and in my walks I watched the process from day to day. A core of clay is first accurately carved into the required shape. It is then plastered over with a layer of cloth. Over this is spread a thick coating of thyt-si varnish mixed with sawdust. Other coatings are then added until the required stiffness is acquired. The casting is then removed from the core by slitting it up along the sides. It is then carried to the temple and erected on the pedestal that has been prepared for it. The halves being placed together, other coatings are applied which cause the halves to adhere. The whole is then perfected with a layer of gold-leaf. Some of the larger idols are made of bricks plastered over, others of stone, and some of bronze.

Under a shed in the temple grounds were several musical instruments—amongst them two large tapering drums, one 2 feet 9 inches long, 11 inches in diameter at the larger head, and 9 inches in diameter at the smaller head. The other drum was of the same size, but had only a single head; its tapered end was fixed in a hollowed-out pedestal of padouk wood, which was so resonant as to be nearly a drum in itself.

After visiting the abbot, who had a few novices with him in the monastery, and trying to bargain with him for some of his palm-leaf documents, we returned to the sala. On our way back we noticed two boats discharging their cargoes of rice, and at once hired them for our journey to Zimmé. They were flat-bottomed, and each about 40 feet long. When all the luggage and men were on board, we had only space enough to sit in a cramped position on a mat, the mat roof nearly touching our heads.

At 6 A.M. the temperature was 54° in the shade; at 2 P.M., 89° in the shade, and 118° in the sun; at 3 P.M., 92° in the shade; and at 8 P.M., 77° in the shade.