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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29527-8.txt b/29527-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..02d5086 --- /dev/null +++ b/29527-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8829 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a People, by H. Fielding + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Soul of a People + +Author: H. Fielding + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29527] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + +[Illustration: Publisher's logo] + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + + +BY + +H. FIELDING + + +'For to see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth' + +MATTHEW ARNOLD + + +London +MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED +NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +1899 + + +_First Edition, 1898_ +_Second Edition, 1898_ +_Third Edition, 1899_ + + + + +DEDICATION TO SECOND EDITION + + +_I dedicate this book to you about whom it is written. It has been made +a reproach to me by the critics that I have only spoken well of you, +that I have forgotten your faults and remembered only your virtues. If +it is wrong to have done this, I must admit the wrong. I have written of +you as a friend does of a friend. Where I could say kind things of you I +have done so, where I could not I have been silent. You will find plenty +of people who can see only your faults, and who like to tell you of +them. You will find in the inexorable sequence of events a corrector of +these faults more potent than any critics can be. But I am not your +critic, but your friend. If many of you had not admitted me, a stranger, +into your friendship during my many very solitary years, of what sort +should I be now? How could I have lived those years alone? You kept +alive my sympathies, and so saved me from many things. Do you think I +could now turn round and criticise you? No; but this book is my tribute +of gratitude for many kindnesses._ + + + + +PREFACE + + +In most of the quotations from Burmese books containing the life of the +Buddha I am indebted, if not for the exact words, yet for the sense, to +Bishop Bigandet's translation. + +I do not think I am indebted to anyone else. I have, indeed, purposely +avoided quoting from any other book and using material collected by +anyone else. + +The story of Ma Pa Da has appeared often before, but my version is taken +entirely from the Burmese song. It is, as I have said, known to nearly +every Burman. + +I wanted to write only what the Burmese themselves thought; whether I +have succeeded or not, the reader can judge. + +I am indebted to Messrs. William Blackwood and Sons for permission to +use parts of my article on 'Burmese Women'--_Blackwood's Magazine_, May, +1895--in the present work. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I. LIVING BELIEFS 1 + + II. HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--I. 17 + + III. HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--II. 34 + + IV. THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE 46 + + V. WAR--I. 56 + + VI. WAR--II. 77 + + VII. GOVERNMENT 87 + + VIII. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 102 + + IX. HAPPINESS 116 + + X. THE MONKHOOD--I. 127 + + XI. THE MONKHOOD--II. 153 + + XII. PRAYER 158 + + XIII. FESTIVALS 166 + + XIV. WOMEN--I. 185 + + XV. WOMEN--II. 205 + + XVI. WOMEN--III. 224 + + XVII. DIVORCE 228 + +XVIII. DRINK 242 + + XIX. MANNERS 248 + + XX. 'NOBLESSE OBLIGE' 256 + + XXI. ALL LIFE IS ONE 277 + + XXII. DEATH, THE DELIVERER 302 + +XXIII. THE POTTER'S WHEEL 322 + + XXIV. THE FOREST OF TIME 342 + + XXV. CONCLUSION 348 + + + + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +LIVING BELIEFS + + 'The observance of the law alone entitles to the right of belonging + to my religion.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +For the first few years of my stay in Burma my life was so full of +excitement that I had little care or time for any thought but of to-day. +There was, first of all, my few months in Upper Burma in the King's time +before the war, months which were full of danger and the exhilaration of +danger, when all the surroundings were too new and too curious to leave +leisure for examination beneath the surface. Then came the flight from +Upper Burma at the time of the war, and then the war itself. And this +war lasted four years. Not four years of fighting in Burma proper, for +most of the Irrawaddy valley was peaceful enough by the end of 1889; but +as the central parts quieted down, I was sent to the frontier, first on +the North and then on the East by the Chin mountains; so that it was not +until 1890 that a transfer to a more settled part gave me quiet and +opportunity for consideration of all I had seen and known. For it was in +those years that I gained most of whatever little knowledge I have of +the Burmese people. + +Months, very many months, I passed with no one to speak to, with no +other companions but Burmese. I have been with them in joy and in +sorrow, I have fought with them and against them, and sat round the +camp-fire after the day's work and talked of it all. I have had many +friends amongst them, friends I shall always honour; and I have seen +them killed sometimes in our fights, or dead of fever in the marshes of +the frontier. I have known them from the labourer to the Prime Minister, +from the little neophyte just accepted into the faith to the head of all +the Burmese religion. I have known their wives and daughters; have +watched many a flirtation in the warm scented evenings; and have seen +girls become wives and wives mothers while I have lived amongst them. So +that although when the country settled down, and we built houses for +ourselves and returned more to English modes of living, I felt that I +was drifting away from them into the conventionality and ignorance of +our official lives, yet I had in my memory much of what I had seen, much +of what I had done, that I shall never forget. I felt that I had +been--even if it were only for a time--behind the veil, where it is so +hard to come. + +In looking over these memories it seemed to me that there were many +things I did not understand, acts of theirs and customs, which I had +seen and noted, but of which I did not know the reason. We all know how +hard it is to see into the heart even of our own people, those of our +flesh and blood who are with us always, whose ways are our ways, and +whose thoughts are akin to ours. And if this be so with them, it is ten +thousand times harder with those whose ways are not our ways, and from +whose thoughts we must be far apart. It is true that there are no dark +places in the lives of the Burmese as there are in the lives of other +Orientals. All is open to the light of day in their homes and in their +religion, and their women are the freest in the world. Yet the barriers +of a strange tongue and a strange religion, and of ways caused by +another climate than ours, is so great that, even to those of us who +have every wish and every opportunity to understand, it seems sometimes +as if we should never know their hearts. It seems as if we should never +learn more of their ways than just the outside--that curiously varied +outside which is so deceptive, and which is so apt to prevent our +understanding that they are men just as we are, and not strange +creations from some far-away planet. + +So when I settled down and sought to know more of the meaning of what I +had seen, I thought that first of all I must learn somewhat of their +religion, of that mainspring of many actions, which seemed sometimes +admirable, sometimes the reverse, and nearly always foreign to my ideas. +It is true that I knew they were Buddhists, that I recognized the +yellow-robed monks as followers of the word of Gaudama the Buddha, and +that I had a general acquaintance with the theory of their faith as +picked up from a book or two--notably, Rhys Davids' 'Buddhism' and +Bishop Bigandet's book--and from many inconsequent talks with the monks +and others. But the knowledge was but superficial, and I was painfully +aware that it did not explain much that I had seen and that I saw every +day. + +So I sent for more books, such books as had been published in English, +and I studied them, and hoped thereby to attain the explanations I +wanted; and as I studied, I watched as I could the doings of the people, +that I might see the effects of causes and the results of beliefs. I +read in these sacred books of the mystery of Dharma, of how a man has no +soul, no consciousness after death; that to the Buddhist 'dead men rise +up never,' and that those who go down to the grave are known no more. I +read that all that survives is the effect of a man's actions, the evil +effect, for good is merely negative, and that this is what causes pain +and trouble to the next life. Everything changes, say the sacred books, +nothing lasts even for a moment. It will be, and it has been, is the +life of man. The life that lives tomorrow in the next incarnation is no +more the life that died in the last than the flame we light in the lamp +to-day is the same that went out yesternight. It is as if a stone were +thrown into a pool--that is the life, the splash of the stone; all that +remains, when the stone lies resting in the mud and weeds below the +waters of forgetfulness, are the circles ever widening on the surface, +and the ripples never dying, but only spreading farther and farther +away. All this seemed to me a mystery such as I could not understand. +But when I went to the people, I found that it was simple enough to +them; for I found that they remembered their former lives often, that +children, young children, could tell who they were before they died, and +remember details of that former existence. As they grew older the +remembrance grew fainter and fainter, and at length almost died away. +But in many children it was quite fresh, and was believed in beyond +possibility of a doubt by all the people. So I saw that the teachings of +their sacred books and the thoughts of the people were not at one in +this matter. + +Again, I read that there was no God. Nats there were, spirits of great +power like angels, and there was the Buddha (the just man made perfect), +who had worked out for all men the way to reach surcease from evil; but +of God I saw nothing. And because the Buddha had reached heaven +(Nirvana), it would be useless to pray to him. For, having entered into +his perfect rest, he could not be disturbed by the sharp cry of those +suffering below; and if he heard, still he could not help; for each man +must through pain and sorrow work out for himself his own salvation. So +all prayer is futile. + +Then I remembered I had seen the young mother going to the pagoda on the +hilltop with a little offering of a few roses or an orchid spray, and +pouring out her soul in passionate supplication to Someone--Someone +unknown to her sacred books--that her firstborn might recover of his +fever, and be to her once more the measureless delight of her life; and +it would seem to me that she must believe in a God and in prayer after +all. + +So though I found much in these books that was believed by the people, +and much that was to them the guiding influence of their lives, yet I +was unable to trust to them altogether, and I was in doubt where to seek +for the real beliefs of these people. If I went to their monks, their +holy men, the followers of the great teacher, Gaudama, they referred me +to their books as containing all that a Buddhist believed; and when I +pointed out the discrepancies, they only shook their heads, and said +that the people were an ignorant people and confused their beliefs in +that way. + +And when I asked what was a Buddhist, I was told that, to be a Buddhist, +a man must be accepted into the religion with certain rites, certain +ceremonies, he must become for a time a member of the community of the +monks of the Buddha, and that a Buddhist was he who was so accepted, and +who thereafter held by the teachings of the Buddha. + +But when I searched the life of the Buddha, I could not find any such +ceremonies necessary at all. So that it seemed that the religion of the +Buddha was one religion, and the religion of the Buddhists another; but +when I said so to the monks, they were horror-struck, and said that it +was because I did not understand. + +In my perplexity I fell back, as we all must, to my own thoughts and +those of my own people; and I tried to imagine how a Burman would act if +he came to England to search into the religion of the English and to +know the impulses of our lives. + +I saw how he would be sent to the Bible as the source of our religion, +how he would be told to study that if he would know what we believed and +what we did not--what it was that gave colour to our lives. I followed +him in imagination as he took the Bible and studied it, and then went +forth and watched our acts, and I could see him puzzled, as I was now +puzzled when I studied his people. + +I thought of him reading the New Testament, and how he would come to +these verses: + +'27. But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them +which hate you, + +'28. Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use +you. + +'29. And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the +other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid him not to take thy +coat also. + +'30. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away +thy goods ask them not again.' + +He would read them again and again, these wonderful verses, that he was +told the people and Church believed, and then he would go forth to +observe the result of this belief. And what would he see? He would see +this: A nation proud and revengeful, glorying in her victories, always +at war, a conqueror of other peoples, a mighty hater of her enemies. He +would find that in the public life of the nation with other nations +there was no thought of this command. He would find, too, in her inner +life, that the man who took a cloak was not forgiven, but was terribly +punished--he used to be hanged. He would find---- But need I say what he +would find? Those who will read this are those very people--they know. +And the Burman would say at length to himself, Can this be the belief of +this people at all? Whatever their Book may say, they do not think that +it is good to humble yourself to your enemies--nay, but to strike hard +back. It is not good to let the wrong-doer go free. They think the best +way to stop crime is to punish severely. Those are their acts; the Book, +they say, is their belief. Could they act one thing and believe another? +Truly, _are_ these their beliefs? + +And, again, he would read how that riches are an offence to +righteousness: hardly shall a rich man enter into the kingdom of God. He +would read how the Teacher lived the life of the poorest among us, and +taught always that riches were to be avoided. + +And then he would go forth and observe a people daily fighting and +struggling to add field to field, coin to coin, till death comes and +ends the fight. He would see everywhere wealth held in great estimation; +he would see the very children urged to do well, to make money, to +struggle, to rise in the world. He would see the lives of men who have +become rich held up as examples to be followed. He would see the +ministers who taught the Book with fair incomes ranking themselves, not +with the poor, but with the middle classes; he would see the dignitaries +of the Church--the men who lead the way to heaven--among the wealthy of +the land. And he would wonder. Is it true, he would say to himself, that +these people believe that riches are an evil thing? Whence, then, come +their acts, for their acts seem to show that they hold riches to be a +good thing? What is to be accepted as their belief: the Book they say +they believe, which condemns riches, or their acts, by which they show +that they hold that wealth is a good thing--ay, and if used according to +their ideas of right, a very good thing indeed? + +So, it seemed to me, would a Burman be puzzled if he came to us to find +out our belief; and as the Burman's difficulty in England was, _mutatis +mutandis_, mine in Burma, I set to work to think the matter out. How +were the beliefs of a people to be known, and why should there be such +difficulties in the way? If I could understand how it was with us, it +might help me to know how it was with them. + +And I have thought that the difficulty arises from the fact that there +are two ways of seeing a religion--from within and from without--and +that these are as different as can possibly be. It is because we forget +there are the two standpoints that we fall into error. + +In every religion, to the believers in it, the crown and glory of their +creed is that it is a revelation of truth, a lifting of the veil, behind +which every man born into this mystery desires to look. + +They are sure, these believers, that they have the truth, that they +alone have the truth, and that it has come direct from where alone truth +can live. They believe that in their religion alone lies safety for man +from the troubles of this world and from the terrors and threats of the +next, and that those alone who follow its teaching will reach happiness +hereafter, if not here. They believe, too, that this truth only requires +to be known to be understood and accepted of all men; that as the sun +requires no witness of its warmth, so the truth requires no evidence of +its truth. + +It is to them so eternally true, so matchless in beauty, so convincing +in itself, that adherents of all other creeds have but to hear it +pronounced and they must believe. So, then, the question, How do you +know that your faith is true? is as vain and foolish as the cry of the +wind in an empty house. And if they be asked wherein lies their +religion, they will produce their sacred books, and declare that in them +is contained the whole matter. Here is the very word of truth, herein is +told the meaning of all things, herein alone lies righteousness. This, +they say, is their faith: that they believe in every line of it, this +truth from everlasting to everlasting, and that its precepts, and none +other, can be held by him who seeks to be a sincere believer. And to +these believers the manifestation of their faith is that its believers +attain salvation hereafter. But as that is in the next world, if the +unbeliever ask what is the manifestation in this, the believers will +answer him that the true mark and sign whereby a man may be known to +hold the truth is the observance of certain forms, the performance of +certain ceremonies, more or less mystical, more or less symbolical, of +some esoteric meaning. That a man should be baptized, should wear +certain marks on his forehead, should be accepted with certain rites, is +generally the outward and visible sign of a believer, and the badge +whereby others of the same faith have known their fellows. + +It has never been possible for any religion to make the acts and deeds +of its followers the test of their belief. And for these reasons: that +it is a test no one could apply, and that if anyone were to attempt to +apply it, there would soon be no Church at all. For to no one is it +given to be able to observe in their entirety all the precepts of their +prophet, whoever that prophet may be. All must fail, some more and some +less, but generally more, and thus all would fall from the faith at some +time or another, and there would be no Church left. And so another test +has been made necessary. If from his weakness a man cannot keep these +precepts, yet he can declare his belief in and his desire to keep them, +and here is a test that can be applied. Certain rites have been +instituted, and it has been laid down that those who by their submission +to these rites show their belief in the truth and their desire to follow +that truth as far as in them lies, shall be called the followers of the +faith. So in time it has come about that these ceremonial rites have +been held to be the true and only sign of the believer, and the fact +that they were but to be the earnest of the beginning and living of a +new life has become less and less remembered, till it has faded into +nothingness. Instead of the life being the main thing, and being +absolutely necessary to give value and emphasis to the belief, it has +come to pass that it is the belief, and the acceptance of the belief, +that has been held to hallow the life and excuse and palliate its +errors. + +Thus of every religion is this true, that its essence is a belief that +certain doctrines are revelations of eternal truth, and that the fruit +of this truth is the observance of certain forms. Morality and works +may or may not follow, but they are immaterial compared with the other. +This, put shortly, is the view of every believer. + +But to him who does not believe in a faith, who views it from without, +from the standpoint of another faith, the whole view is changed, the +whole perspective altered. Those landmarks which to one within the +circle seem to stand out and overtop the world are to the eyes of him +without dwarfed often into insignificance, and other points rise into +importance. + +For the outsider judges a religion as he judges everything else in this +world. He cannot begin by accepting it as the only revelation of truth; +he cannot proceed from the unknown to the known, but the reverse. First +of all, he tries to learn what the beliefs of the people really are, and +then he judges from their lives what value this religion has to them. He +looks to acts as proofs of beliefs, to lives as the ultimate effects of +thoughts. And he finds out very quickly that the sacred books of a +people can never be taken as showing more than approximately their real +beliefs. Always through the embroidery of the new creed he will find the +foundation of an older faith, of older faiths, perhaps, and below these, +again, other beliefs that seem to be part of no system, but to be the +outcome of the great fear that is in the world. + +The more he searches, the more he will be sure that there is only one +guide to a man's faith, to his soul, and that is not any book or system +he may profess to believe, but the real system that he follows--that is +to say, that a man's beliefs can be known even to himself from his acts +only. For it is futile to say that a man believes in one thing and does +another. That is not a belief at all. A man may cheat himself, and say +it is, but in his heart he knows that it is not. A belief is not a +proposition to be assented to, and then put away and forgotten. It is +always in our minds, and for ever in our thoughts. It guides our every +action, it colours our whole life. It is not for a day, but for ever. +When we have learnt that a cobra's bite is death, we do not put the +belief away in a pigeon-hole of our minds, there to rust for ever +unused, nor do we go straightway and pick up the first deadly snake that +we see. We remember it always; we keep it as a guiding principle of our +daily lives. + +A belief is a strand in the cord of our lives, that runs through every +fathom of it, from the time that it is first twisted among the others +till the time when that life shall end. And as it is thus impossible for +the onlooker to accept from adherents of a creed a definition of what +they really believe, so it is impossible for him to acknowledge the +forms and ceremonies of which they speak as the real manifestations of +their creed. + +It seems to the onlooker indifferent that men should be dipped in water +or not, that they should have their heads shaved or wear long hair. Any +belief that is worth considering at all must have results more +important to its believers, more valuable to mankind, than such signs as +these. It is true that of the great sign of all, that the followers of a +creed attain heaven hereafter, he cannot judge. He can only tell of what +he sees. This may or may not be true; but surely, if it be true, there +must be some sign of it here on earth beyond forms. A religion that fits +a soul for the hereafter will surely begin by fitting it for the +present, he will think. And it will show that it does so otherwise than +by ceremonies. + +For forms and ceremonies that have no fruit in action are not marks of a +living truth, but of a dead dogma. There is but little thought of forms +to him whose heart is full of the teaching of his Master, who has His +words within his heart, and whose soul is full of His love. It is when +beliefs die, and love has faded into indifference, that forms are +necessary, for to the living no monument is needed, but to the dead. +Forms and ceremonies are but the tombs of dead truths, put up to their +memory to recall to those who have never known them that they lived--and +died--long ago. + +And because men do not seek for signs of the living among the graveyards +of the dead, so it is not among the ceremonies of religions that we +shall find the manifestations of living beliefs. + +It is from the standpoint of this outsider that I have looked at and +tried to understand the soul of the Burmese people. When I have read or +heard of a teaching of Buddhism, I have always taken it to the test of +the daily life of the people to see whether it was a living belief or +no. I have accepted just so much as I could find the people have +accepted, such as they have taken into their hearts to be with them for +ever. A teaching that has been but a teaching or theory, a vain breath +of mental assent, has seemed to me of no value at all. The guiding +principles of their lives, whether in accordance with the teaching of +Buddhism or not, these only have seemed to me worthy of inquiry or +understanding. What I have desired to know is not their minds, but their +souls. And as this test of mine has obliged me to omit much that will be +found among the dogmas of Buddhism, so it has led me to accept many +things that have no place there at all. For I have thought that what +stirs the heart of man is his religion, whether he calls it religion or +not. That which makes the heart beat and the breath come quicker, love +and hate, and joy and sorrow--that has been to me as worthy of record as +his hopes of a future life. The thoughts that come into the mind of the +ploughman while he leads his team afield in the golden glory of the +dawn; the dreams that swell and move in the heart of the woman when she +knows the great mystery of a new life; whither the dying man's hopes and +fears are led--these have seemed to me the religion of the people as +well as doctrines of the unknown. For are not these, too, of the very +soul of the people? + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--I + + 'He who pointed out the way to those that had lost it.' + _Life of the Buddha._ + + +The life-story of Prince Theiddatha, who saw the light and became the +Buddha twenty-five centuries ago, has been told in English many times. +It has been told in translations from the Pali, from Burmese, and from +Chinese, and now everyone has read it. The writers, too, of these books +have been men of great attainments, of untiring industry in searching +out all that can be known of this life, of gifts such as I cannot aspire +to. There is now nothing new to learn of those long past days, nothing +fresh for me to tell, no discovery that can be made. Yet in thinking out +what I have to say about the religion of the Burmese, I have found that +I must tell again some of the life of the Buddha, I must rewrite this +ten-times-told tale, of which I know nothing new. And the reason is +this: that although I know nothing that previous writers have not known, +although I cannot bring to the task anything like their knowledge, yet +I have something to say that they have not said. For they have written +of him as they have learned from books, whereas I want to write of him +as I have learned from men. Their knowledge has been taken from the +records of the dead past, whereas mine is from the actualities of the +living present. + +I do not mean that the Buddha of the sacred books and the Buddha of the +Burman's belief are different persons. They are the same. But as I found +it with their faith, so I find it with the life of their teacher. The +Burmese regard the life of the Buddha from quite a different standpoint +to that of an outsider, and so it has to them quite a different value, +quite a different meaning, to that which it has to the student of +history. For to the writer who studies the life of the Buddha with a +view merely to learn what that life was, and to criticise it, everything +is very different to what it is to the Buddhist who studies that life +because he loves it and admires it, and because he desires to follow it. +To the former the whole detail of every portion of the life of the +Buddha, every word of his teaching, every act of his ministry, is sought +out and compared and considered. Legend is compared with legend, and +tradition with tradition, that out of many authorities some clue to the +actual fact may be found. But to the Buddhist the important parts in the +great teacher's life are those acts, those words, that appeal directly +to him, that stand out bravely, lit with the light of his own +experiences and feelings, that assist him in living his own life. His +Buddha is the Buddha he understands, and who understood and sympathized +with such as him. Other things may be true, but they are matters of +indifference. + +To hear of the Buddha from living lips in this country, which is full of +his influence, where the spire of his monastery marks every village, and +where every man has at one time or another been his monk, is quite a +different thing to reading of him in far countries, under other skies +and swayed by other thoughts. To sit in the monastery garden in the +dusk, in just such a tropic dusk as he taught in so many years ago, and +hear the yellow-robed monk tell of that life, and repeat his teaching of +love, and charity, and compassion--eternal love, perfect charity, +endless compassion--until the stars come out in the purple sky, and the +silver-voiced gongs ring for evening prayers, is a thing never to be +forgotten. As you watch the starlight die and the far-off hills fade +into the night, as the sounds about you still, and the calm silence of +the summer night falls over the whole earth, you know and understand the +teacher of the Great Peace as no words can tell you. A sympathy comes to +you from the circle of believers, and you believe, too. An influence and +an understanding breathes from the nature about you--the same nature +that the teacher saw--from the whispering fig-trees and the scented +champaks, and the dimly seen statues in the shadows of the shrines, that +you can never gain elsewhere. And as the monks tell you the story of +that great life, they bring it home to you with reflection and comment, +with application to your everyday existence, till you forget that he of +whom they speak lived so long ago, so very long ago, and your heart is +filled with sorrow when you remember that he is dead, that he is entered +into his peace. + +I do not hope that I can convey much of this in my writing. I always +feel the hopelessness of trying to put on paper the great thoughts, the +intense feeling, of which Buddhism is so full. But still I can, perhaps, +give something of this life as I have heard it, make it a little more +living than it has been to us, catch some little of that spirit of +sympathy that it holds for all the world. + +Around the life of the Buddha has gathered much myth, like dust upon an +ancient statue, like shadows upon the mountains far away, blurring +detail here and there, and hiding the beauty. There are all sorts of +stories of the great portents that foretold his coming: how the sun and +the stars knew, and how the wise men prophesied. Marvels attended his +birth, and miracles followed him in life and in death. And the +appearance of the miraculous has even been heightened by the style of +the chroniclers in telling us of his mental conflicts: by the +personification of evil in the spirit Man, and of desire in his three +beautiful daughters. + +All the teacher's thoughts, all his struggles, are materialized into +forms, that they may be more readily brought home to the reader, that +they may be more clearly realized by a primitive people as actual +conflicts. + +Therefore at first sight it seems that of all creeds none is so full of +miracle, so teeming with the supernatural, as Buddhism, which is, +indeed, the very reverse of the truth. For to the supernatural Buddhism +owes nothing at all. It is in its very essence opposed to all that goes +beyond what we can see of earthly laws, and miracle is never used as +evidence of the truth of any dogma or of any doctrine. + +If every supernatural occurrence were wiped clean out of the chronicles +of the faith, Buddhism would, even to the least understanding of its +followers, remain exactly where it is. Not in one jot or tittle would it +suffer in the authority of its teaching. The great figure of the teacher +would even gain were all the tinsel of the miraculous swept from him, so +that he stood forth to the world as he lived--would gain not only to our +eyes, but even to theirs who believe in him. For the Buddha was no +prophet. He was no messenger from any power above this world, revealing +laws of that power. No one came to whisper into his ear the secrets of +eternity, and to show him where truth lived. In no trance, in no +vision, did he enter into the presence of the Unknown, and return from +thence full of the wisdom of another world; neither did he teach the +worship of any god, of any power. He breathed no threatenings of revenge +for disobedience, of forgiveness for the penitent. He held out no +everlasting hell to those who refused to follow him, no easily gained +heaven to his believers. + +He went out to seek wisdom, as many a one has done, looking for the laws +of God with clear eyes to see, with a pure heart to understand, and +after many troubles, after many mistakes, after much suffering, he came +at last to the truth. + +Even as Newton sought for the laws of God in the movement of the stars, +in the falling of a stone, in the stir of the great waters, so this +Newton of the spiritual world sought for the secrets of life and death, +looking deep into the heart of man, marking its toil, its suffering, its +little joys, with a soul attuned to catch every quiver of the life of +the world. And as to Newton truth did not come spontaneously, did not +reveal itself to him at his first call, but had to be sought with toil +and weariness, till at last he reached it where it hid in the heart of +all things, so it was with the prince. He was not born with the +knowledge in him, but had to seek it as every other man has done. He +made mistakes as other men do. He wasted time and labour following wrong +roads, demonstrating to himself the foolishness of many thoughts. But, +never discouraged, he sought on till he found, and what he found he +gave as a heritage to all men for ever, that the way might be easier for +them than it had been for him. + +Nothing is more clear than this: that to the Buddhist his teacher was +but a man like himself, erring and weak, who made himself perfect, and +that even as his teacher has done, so, too, may he if he do but observe +the everlasting laws of life which the Buddha has shown to the world. +These laws are as immutable as Newton's laws, and come, like his, from +beyond our ken. + +And this, too, is another point wherein the parallel with Newton will +help us: that just as when Newton discovered gravitation he was obliged +to stop, for his knowledge of that did not lead him at once to the +knowledge of the infinite, so when he had attained the laws of +righteousness, Gaudama the Buddha also stopped, because here his +standing-ground failed. It is not true, that which has been imputed to +the Buddha by those who have never tried to understand him--that he +denied some power greater than ourselves; that because he never tried to +define the indefinite, to confine the infinite within the corners of a +phrase, therefore his creed was materialistic. We do not say of Newton +that he was an atheist because when he taught us of gravity he did not +go further and define to us in equations Him who made gravity; and as we +understand more of the Buddha, as we search into life and consider his +teaching, as we try to think as he thought, and to see as he saw, we +understand that he stopped as Newton stopped, because he had come to the +end of all that he could see, not because he declared that he knew all +things, and that beyond his knowledge there was nothing. + +No teacher more full of reverence, more humble than Gaudama the Buddha +ever lived to be an example to us through all time. He tells us of what +he knows; of what he knows not he is silent. Of the laws that he can +see, the great sequences of life to death, of evil to sorrow, of +goodness to happiness, he tells in burning words. Of the beginning and +the end of the world, of the intentions and the ways of the great +Unknown, he tells us nothing at all. He is no prophet, as we understand +the word, but a man; and all that is divine in him beyond what there is +in us is that he hated the darkness and sought the light, sought and was +not dismayed, and at last he found. + +And yet nothing could be further from the truth than to call the Buddha +a philosopher and Buddhism a philosophy. Whatever he was, he was no +philosopher. Although he knew not any god, although he rested his claims +to be heard upon the fact that his teachings were clear and +understandable, that you were not required to believe, but only to open +your eyes and see, and 'his delight was in the contemplation of +unclouded truth,' yet he was far from a philosopher. His was not an +appeal to our reason, to our power of putting two and two together and +making five of them; his teachings were no curious designs woven with +words, the counters of his thought. He appealed to the heart, not to the +brain; to our feelings, not to our power of arranging these feelings. He +drew men to him by love and reverence, and held them so for ever. Love +and charity and compassion, endless compassion, are the foundations of +his teachings; and his followers believe in him because they have seen +in him the just man made perfect, and because he has shown to them the +way in which all men may become even as he is. + +He was a prince in a little kingdom in the Northeast of India, the son +of King Thudoodana and his wife Maia. He was strong, we are told, and +handsome, famous in athletic exercises, and his father looked forward to +the time when he should be grown a great man, and a leader of armies. +His father's ambition for him was that he should be a great conqueror, +that he should lead his troops against the neighbouring kings and +overcome them, and in time make for himself a wide-stretching empire. +India was in those days, as in many later ones, split up into little +kingdoms, divided from each other by no natural boundary, overlooked by +no sovereign power, and always at war. And the king, as fathers are, was +full of dreams that this son of his should subdue all India to himself, +and be the glory of his dynasty, and the founder of a great race. + +Everything seemed to fall in with the desire of the king. The prince +grew up strong and valiant, skilled in action, wise in counsel, so that +all his people were proud of him. Everything fell in with the desire of +the king except the prince himself, for instead of being anxious to +fight, to conquer other countries, to be a great leader of armies, his +desires led him away from all this. Even as a boy he was meditative and +given to religious musings, and as he grew up he became more and more +confirmed in his wish to know of sacred things, more and more an +inquirer into the mysteries of life. + +He was taught all the faith of those days, a faith so old that we do not +know whence it came. He was brought up to believe that life is immortal, +that no life can ever utterly die. He was taught that all life is one; +that there is not one life of the beasts and one life of men, but that +all life was one glorious unity, one great essence coming from the +Unknown. Man is not a thing apart from this world, but of it. As man's +body is but the body of beasts, refined and glorified, so the soul of +man is but a higher stage of the soul of beasts. Life is a great ladder. +At the bottom are the lower forms of animals, and some way up is man; +but all are climbing upwards for ever, and sometimes, alas! falling +back. Existence is for each man a great struggle, punctuated with many +deaths; and each death ends one period but to allow another to begin, to +give us a new chance of working up and gaining heaven. + +He was taught that this ladder is very high, that its top is very far +away, above us, out of our sight, and that perfection and happiness lie +up there, and that we must strive to reach them. The greatest man, even +the greatest king, was farther below perfection than an animal was below +him. We are very near the beasts, but very far from heaven. So he was +taught to remember that even as a very great prince he was but a weak +and erring soul, and that unless he lived well, and did honest deeds, +and was a true man, instead of rising he might fall. + +This teaching appealed to the prince far more than all the urging of his +father and of the courtiers that he should strive to become a great +conqueror. It entered into his very soul, and his continual thought was +how he was to be a better man, how he was to use this life of his so +that he should gain and not lose, and where he was to find happiness. + +All the pomp and glory of the palace, all its luxury and ease, appealed +to him very little. Even in his early youth he found but little pleasure +in it, and he listened more to those who spoke of holiness than to those +who spoke of war. He desired, we are told, to become a hermit, to cast +off from him his state and dignity, and to put on the yellow garments of +a mendicant, and beg his bread wandering up and down upon the world, +seeking for peace. + +This disposition of the prince grieved his parents very much. That their +son, who was so full of promise, so brave and so strong, so wise and so +much beloved by everyone, should become a mendicant clad in unclean +garments, begging his daily food from house to house, seemed to them a +horrible thing. It could never be permitted that a prince should +disgrace himself in this way. Every effort must be taken to eradicate +such ideas; after all, it was but the melancholy of youth, and it would +pass. So stringent orders were given to distract his mind in every way +from solemn thoughts, to attempt by a continued round of pleasure and +luxury to attract him to more worldly things. And when he was eighteen +he was married to his cousin Yathodaya, in the hope that in marriage and +paternity he might forget his desire to be a hermit, might feel that +love was better than wisdom. And if Yathodaya had been other than she +was--who can tell?--perhaps after all the king might have succeeded; but +it was not to be so. For to Yathodaya, too, life was a very solemn +thing, not to be thrown away in laughter and frivolity, but to be used +as a great gift worthy of all care. To the prince in his trouble there +came a kindred soul, and though from the palace all the teachers of +religion, all who would influence the prince against the desires of his +father, were banished, yet Yathodaya more than made up to him for all he +had lost. For nearly ten years they lived together there such a life as +princes led in those days in the East, not, perhaps, so very different +from what they lead now. + +And all that time the prince had been gradually making up his mind, +slowly becoming sure that life held something better than he had yet +found, hardening his determination that he must leave all that he had +and go out into the world looking for peace. Despite all the efforts of +the king his father, despite the guards and his young men companions, +despite the beauty of the dancing-girls, the mysteries of life came home +to him, and he was afraid. It is a beautiful story told in quaint +imagery how it was that the knowledge of sickness and of death came to +him, a horror stalking amid the glories of his garden. He learnt, and he +understood, that he too would grow old, would fall sick, would die. And +beyond death? There was the fear, and no one could allay it. Daily he +grew more and more discontented with his life in the palace, more and +more averse to the pleasures that were around him. Deeper and deeper he +saw through the laughing surface to the depths that lay beneath. +Silently all these thoughts ripened in his mind, till at last the change +came. We are told that the end came suddenly, the resolve was taken in a +moment. The lake fills and fills until at length it overflows, and in a +night the dam is broken, and the pent-up waters are leaping far towards +the sea. + +As the prince returned from his last drive in his garden with resolve +firmly established in his heart, there came to him the news that his +wife had borne to him a son. Wife and child, his cup of desire was now +full. But his resolve was unshaken. 'See, here is another tie, alas! a +new and stronger tie that I must break,' he said; but he never wavered. + +That night the prince left the palace. Silently in the dead of night he +left all the luxury about him, and went out secretly with only his +faithful servant, Maung San, to saddle for him his horse and lead him +forth. Only before he left he looked in cautiously to see Yathodaya, the +young wife and mother. She was lying asleep, with one hand upon the face +of her firstborn, and the prince was afraid to go further. 'To see him,' +he said, 'I must remove the hand of his mother, and she may awake; and +if she awake, how shall I depart? I will go, then, without seeing my +son. Later on, when all these passions are faded from my heart, when I +am sure of myself, perhaps then I shall be able to see him. But now I +must go.' + +So he went forth very silently and very sadly, and leapt upon his +horse--the great white horse that would not neigh for fear of waking the +sleeping guards--and the prince and his faithful noble Maung San went +out into the night. He was only twenty-eight when he fled from all his +world, and what he sought was this: 'Deliverance for men from the misery +of life, and the knowledge of the truth that will lead them unto the +Great Peace.' + +This is the great renunciation. + +I have often talked about this with the monks and others, often heard +them speak about this great renunciation, of this parting of the prince +and his wife. + +'You see,' said a monk once to me, 'he was not yet the Buddha, he had +not seen the light, only he was desirous to look for it. He was just a +prince, just a man like any other man, and he was very fond of his wife. +It is very hard to resist a woman if she loves you and cries, and if you +love her. So he was afraid.' + +And when I said that Yathodaya was also religious, and had helped him in +his thoughts, and that surely she would not have stopped him, the monk +shook his head. + +'Women are not like that,' he said. + +And a woman said to me once: 'Surely she was very much to be pitied +because her husband went away from her and her baby. Do you think that +when she talked religion with her husband she ever thought that it would +cause him to leave her and go away for ever? If she had thought that, +she would never have done as she did. A woman would never help anything +to sever her husband from her, not even religion. And when after ten +years a baby had come to her! Surely she was very much to be pitied.' +This woman made me understand that the highest religion of a woman is +the true love of her husband, of her children; and what is it to her if +she gain the whole world, but lose that which she would have? + +All the story of Yathodaya and her dealings with her husband is full of +the deepest pathos, full of passionate protest against her loss, even in +order that her husband and all the world should gain. She would have +held him, if she could, against the world, and deemed that she did well. +And so, though it is probable that it was a great deal owing to +Yathodaya's help, to her sympathy, to her support in all his +difficulties, that Gaudama came to his final resolve to leave the world +and seek for the truth, yet she acted unwittingly of what would be the +end. + +'She did not know,' said the woman. 'She helped her husband, but she did +not know to what. And when she was ill, when she was giving birth to her +baby, then her husband left her. Surely she was very much to be pitied.' + +And so Yathodaya, the wife of the Prince Gaudama, who became the Buddha, +is held in high honour, in great esteem, by all Buddhists. By the men, +because she helped her husband to his resolve to seek for the truth, +because she had been his great stay and help when everyone was against +him, because if there had been no Yathodaya there had been perchance no +Buddha. And by the women--I need not say why she is honoured by all +women. If ever there was a story that appealed to woman's heart, surely +it is this: her love, her abandonment, her courage, her submission when +they met again in after-years, her protest against being sacrificed upon +the altar of her husband's religion. Truly, it is all of the very +essence of humanity. Whenever the story of the Buddha comes to be +written, then will be written also the story of the life of Yathodaya +his wife. If one is full of wisdom and teaching, the other is full of +suffering and teaching also. I cannot write it here. I have so much to +say on other matters that there is no room. But some day it will be +written, I trust, this old message to a new world. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--II + + 'He who never spake but good and wise words, he who was the light + of the world, has found too soon the Peace.'--_Lament on the death + of the Buddha._ + + +The prince rode forth into the night, and as he went, even in the first +flush of his resolve, temptation came to him. As the night closed behind +he remembered all he was leaving: he remembered his father and his +mother; his heart was full of his wife and child. + +'Return!' said the devil to him. 'What seek you here? Return, and be a +good son, a good husband, a good father. Remember all that you are +leaving to pursue vain thoughts. You, a great man--you might be a great +king, as your father wishes--a mighty conqueror of nations. The night is +very dark, and the world before you is very empty.' + +The prince's heart was full of bitterness at the thought of those he +loved, of all that he was losing. Yet he never wavered. He would not +even turn to look his last on the great white city lying in a silver +dream behind him. He set his face upon his way, trampling beneath him +every worldly consideration, despising a power that was but vanity and +illusion; he went on into the dark. + +Presently he came to a river, the boundary of his father's kingdom, and +here he stopped. Then the prince turned to Maung San, and told him that +he must return. Beyond the river lay for the prince the life of a holy +man, who needed neither servant nor horse, and Maung San must return. +All his prayers were in vain; his supplications that he might be allowed +to follow his master as a disciple; his protestations of eternal faith. +No, he must return; so Maung San went back with the horse, and the +prince was alone. + +As he waited there alone by the river, alone in the dark waiting for the +dawn ere he could cross, alone with his own fears and thoughts, doubt +came to him again. He doubted if he had done right, whether he should +ever find the light, whether, indeed, there was any light to find, and +in his doubt and distress he asked for a sign. He desired that it might +be shown to him whether all his efforts would be in vain or not, whether +he should ever win in the struggle that was before him. We are told that +the sign came to him, and he knew that, whatever happened, in the end +all would go well, and he would find that which he sought. + +So he crossed the river out of his father's kingdom into a strange +country, and he put on the garment of a recluse, and lived as they did. + +He sought his bread as they did, going from house to house for the +broken victuals, which he collected in a bowl, retiring to a quiet spot +to eat. + +The first time he collected this strange meal and attempted to eat, his +very soul rose against the distastefulness of the mess. He who had been +a prince, and accustomed to the very best of everything, could not at +first bring himself to eat such fare, and the struggle was bitter. But +in the end here, too, he conquered. 'Was I not aware,' he said, with +bitter indignation at his weakness, 'that when I became a recluse I must +eat such food as this? Now is the time to trample upon the appetite of +nature.' He took up his bowl, and ate with a good appetite, and the +fight had never to be fought again. + +So in the fashion of those days he became a seeker after truth. Men, +then, when they desired to find holiness, to seek for that which is +better than the things of this world, had to begin their search by an +utter repudiation of all that which the world holds good. The rich and +worldly wore handsome garments, they would wear rags; those of the world +were careful of their personal appearance, they would despise it; those +of the world were cleanly, the hermits were filthy; those of the world +were decent, and had a care for outward observances, and so hermits had +no care for either decency or modesty. The world was evil, surely, and +therefore all that the world held good was surely evil too. Wisdom was +to be sought in the very opposites of the conventions of men. + +The prince took on him their garments, and went to them to learn from +all that which they had learnt. He went to all the wisest hermits of the +land, to those renowned for their wisdom and holiness; and this is what +they taught him, this is all the light they gave to him who came to them +for light. 'There is,' they said, 'the soul and the body of man, and +they are enemies; therefore, to punish the soul, you must destroy and +punish the body. All that the body holds good is evil to the soul.' So +they purified their souls by ceremonies and forms, by torture and +starvation, by nakedness and contempt of decency, by nameless +abominations. And the young prince studied all their teaching, and +essayed to follow their example, and he found it was all of no use. Here +he could find no way to happiness, no raising of the soul to higher +planes, but, rather, a degradation towards the beasts. For +self-punishment is just as much a submission to the flesh as luxury and +self-indulgence. How can you forget the body, and turn the soul to +better thoughts, if you are for ever torturing that body, and thereby +keeping it in memory? You can keep your lusts just as easily before your +eyes by useless punishment as by indulgence. And how can you turn your +mind to meditation and thought if your body is in suffering? So the +prince soon saw that here was not the way he wanted. His soul revolted +from them and their austerities, and he left them. As he fathomed the +emptiness of his counsellors of the palace, so he fathomed the emptiness +of the teachers of the cave and monastery. If the powerful and wealthy +were ignorant, wisdom was not to be found among the poor and feeble, and +he was as far from it as when he left the palace. Yet he did not +despair. Truth was somewhere, he was sure; it must be found if only it +be looked for with patience and sincerity, and he would find it. Surely +there was a greater wisdom than mere contempt of wealth and comfort, +surely a greater happiness than could be found in self-torture and +hysteria. And so, as he could find no one to teach him, he went out into +the forest to look for truth there. In the great forest where no one +comes, where the deer feed and the tiger creeps, he would seek what man +could not give him. They would know, those great trees that had seen a +thousand rains, and outlived thirty generations of men; they would know, +those streams that flashed from the far snow summits; surely the forest +and the hills, the dawn and the night, would have something to tell him +of the secrets of the world. Nature can never lie, and here, far away +from the homes of men, he would learn the knowledge that men could not +give him. With a body purified by abstinence, with a heart attuned by +solitude, he would listen as the winds talked to the mountains in the +dusk, and understand the beckoning of the stars. And so, as many others +did then and afterwards, he left mankind and went to Nature for help. +For six years he lived so in the fastnesses of the hills. + +We are told but very little of those six years, only that he was often +very lonely, often very sad with the remembrance of all whom he had +left. 'Think not,' he said many years later to a favourite +disciple--'think not that I, though the Buddha, have not felt all this +even as any other of you. Was I not alone when I was seeking for wisdom +in the wilderness? And yet what could I have gained by wailing and +lamentation either for myself or for others? Would it have brought to me +any solace from my loneliness? Would it have been any help to those I +had left?' + +We are told that his fame as a solitary, as a a man who communed with +Nature, and subdued his own lower feelings, was so great that all men +knew of it. His fame was as a 'bell hung in the canopy of the skies,' +that all nations heard; and many disciples came to him. But despite all +his fame among men, he himself knew that he had not yet come to the +truth. Even the great soul of Nature had failed to tell him what he +desired. The truth was as far off as ever, so he thought, and to those +that came to him for wisdom he had nothing to teach. So, at the end of +six years, despairing of finding that which he sought, he entered upon a +great fast, and he pushed it to such an extreme that at length he +fainted from sheer exhaustion and starvation. + +When he came to himself he recognised that he had failed again. No +light had shone upon his dimmed eyes, no revelation had come to him in +his senselessness. All was as before, and the truth--the truth, where +was that? + +For this man was no inspired teacher. He had no one to show him the way +he should go; he was tried with failure, with failure after failure. He +learnt as other men learn, through suffering and mistake. Here was his +third failure. The rich had failed him, and the poor; even the voices of +the hills had not told him of what he would know; the radiant finger of +dawn had pointed to him no way to happiness. Life was just as miserable, +as empty, as meaningless, as before. + +All that he had done was in vain, and he must try again, must seek out +some new way, if he were ever to find that which he sought. + +He rose from where he lay, and took his bowl in his hands and went to +the nearest village, and ate heartily and drank, and his strength came +back to him, and the beauty he had lost returned. + +And then came the final blow: his disciples left him in scorn. + +'Behold,' they said to each other, 'he has lived through six years of +mortification and suffering in vain. See, now, he goes forth and eats +food, and assuredly he who does this will never attain wisdom. Our +master's search is not after wisdom, but worldly things; we must look +elsewhere for the guidance that we seek.' + +They departed, leaving him to bear his disappointment alone, and they +went into the solitude far away, to continue in their own way and pursue +their search after their own method. He who was to be the Buddha had +failed, and was alone. + +To the followers of the Buddha, to those of our brothers who are trying +to follow his teachings and emulate his example to attain a like reward, +can there be any greater help than this: amid the failure and despair of +our own lives to remember that the teacher failed, even as we are doing? +If we find the way dark and weary, if our footsteps fail, if we wander +in wrong paths, did not he do the same? And if we find we have to bear +sufferings alone, so had he; if we find no one who can comfort us, +neither did he; as we know in our hearts that we stand alone, to fight +with our own hands, so did he. He is no model of perfection whom it is +hopeless for us to imitate, but a man like ourselves, who failed and +fought, and failed and fought again, and won. And so, if we fail, we +need not despair. Did not our teacher fail? What he has done, we can do, +for he has told us so. Let us be up again and be of good heart, and we, +too, shall win in the end, even as he did. The reward will come in its +own good time if we strive and faint not. + +Surely this comes home to all of our hearts--this failure of him who +found the light. That he should have won--ah, well, that is beautiful; +but that he should have failed--and failed, that is what comes home to +us, because we too have failed many times. Can you wonder that his +followers love him? Can you wonder that his teaching has come home to +them as never did teaching elsewhere? I do not think it is hard to see +why: it is simply because he was a man as we are. Had he been other than +a man, had truth been revealed to him from the beginning, had he never +fought, had he never failed, do you think that he would have held the +love of men as he does? I fear, had it been so, this people would have +lacked a soul. + +His disciples left him, and he was alone. He went away to a great grove +of trees near by--those beautiful groves of mango and palm and fig that +are the delight of the heart in that land of burning, flooding +sunshine--and there he slept, defeated, discredited, and abandoned; and +there the truth came to him. + +There is a story of how a young wife, coming to offer her little +offerings to the spirit of the great fig-tree, saw him, and took him for +the spirit, so beautiful was his face as he rose. + +There are spirits in all the great trees, in all the rivers, in all the +hills--very beautiful, very peaceful, loving calm and rest. + +The woman thought he was the spirit come down to accept her offering, +and she gave it to him--the cup of curdled milk--in fear and trembling, +and he took it. The woman went away again full of hope and joy, and the +prince remained in the grove. He lived there for forty-nine days, we +are told, under the great fig-tree by the river. And the fig-tree has +become sacred for ever because he sat there and because there he found +the truth. We are told of it all in wonderful trope and imagery--of his +last fight over sin, and of his victory. + +There the truth came to him at last out of his own heart. He had sought +for it in men and in Nature, and found it not, and, lo! it was in his +own heart. + +When his eyes were cleared of imaginings, and his body purified by +temperance, then at last he saw, down in his own soul, what he had +sought the world over for. Every man carries it there. It is never dead, +but lives with our life, this light that we seek. We darken it, and turn +our faces from it to follow strange lights, to pursue vague glimmers in +the dark, and there, all the time, is the light in each man's own heart. +Darkened it may be, crusted over with our ignorance and sin, but never +dead, never dead, always burning brightly for us when we care to seek +for it. + +The truth for each man is in his own soul. And so it came at last, and +he who saw the light went forth and preached it to all the world. He +lived a long life, a life full of wonderful teaching, of still more +marvellous example. All the world loved him. + +He saw again Yathodaya, she who had been his wife; he saw his son. Now, +when passion was dead in him, he could do these things. And Yathodaya +was full of despair, for if all the world had gained a teacher, she had +lost a husband. So it will be for ever. This is the difference between +men and women. She became a nun, poor soul! and her son--his son--became +one of his disciples. + +I do not think it is necessary for me to tell much more of his life. +Much has been told already by Professor Max Müller and other scholars, +who have spared no pains to come to the truth of that life. I do not +wish to say more. So far, I have written to emphasize the view which, I +think, the Burmese take of the Buddha, and how he came to his wisdom, +how he loved, and how he died. + +He died at a great age, full of years and love. The story of his death +is most beautiful. There is nowhere anything more wonderful than how, at +the end of that long good life, he entered into the Great Peace for +which he had prepared his soul. + +'Ananda,' he said to his weeping disciple, 'do not be too much concerned +with what shall remain of me when I have entered into the Peace, but be +rather anxious to practise the works that lead to perfection; put on +those inward dispositions that will enable you also to reach the +everlasting rest.' + +And again: + +'When I shall have left life and am no more seen by you, do not believe +that I am no longer with you. You have the laws that I have found, you +have my teachings still, and in them I shall be ever beside you. Do +not, therefore, think that I have left you alone for ever.' + +And before he died: + +'Remember,' he said, 'that life and death are one. Never forget this. +For this purpose have I gathered you together; for life and death are +one.' + +And so 'the great and glorious teacher,' he who never spoke but good and +wise words, he who has been the light of the world, entered into the +Peace. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE + + 'Come to Me: I teach a doctrine which leads to deliverance from all + the miseries of life.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +To understand the teaching of Buddhism, it must be remembered that to +the Buddhist, as to the Brahmin, man's soul is eternal. + +In other faiths and other philosophies this is not so. There the soul is +immortal; it cannot die, but each man's soul appeared newly on his +birth. Its beginning is very recent. + +To the Buddhist the beginning as well as the end is out of our ken. +Where we came from we cannot know, but certainly the soul that appears +in each newborn babe is not a new thing. It has come from everlasting, +and the present life is merely a scene in the endless drama of +existence. A man's identity, the sum of good and of evil tendencies, +which is his soul, never dies, but endures for ever. Each body is but a +case wherein the soul is enshrined for the time. + +And the state of that soul, whether good predominate in it or evil, is +purely dependent on that soul's thoughts and actions in time past. + +Men are not born by chance wise or foolish, righteous or wicked, strong +or feeble. A man's condition in life is the absolute result of an +eternal law that as a man sows so shall he reap; that as he reaps so has +he sown. + +Therefore, if you find a man's desires naturally given towards evil, it +is because he has in his past lives educated himself to evil. And if he +is righteous and charitable, long-suffering and full of sympathy, it is +because in his past existence he has cultivated these virtues; he has +followed goodness, and it has become a habit of his soul. + +Thus is every man his own maker. He has no one to blame for his +imperfections but himself, no one to thank for his virtues but himself. +Within the unchangeable laws of righteousness each man is absolutely the +creator of himself and of his own destiny. It has lain, and it lies, +within each man's power to determine what manner of man he shall be. +Nay, it not only lies within his power to do so, but a man _must_ +actually mould himself. There is no other way in which he can develop. + +Every man has had an equal chance. If matters are somewhat unequal now, +there is no one to blame but himself. It is within his power to retrieve +it, not perhaps in this short life, but in the next, maybe, or the next. + +Man is not made perfect all of a sudden, but takes time to grow, like +all valuable things. You might as well expect to raise a teak-tree in +your garden in a night as to make a righteous man in a day. And thus not +only is a man the sum of his passions, his acts and his thoughts, in +past time, but he is in his daily life determining his future--what sort +of man he shall be. Every act, every thought, has its effect, not only +upon the outer world, but upon the inner soul. If you follow after evil, +it becomes in time a habit of your soul. If you follow after good, every +good act is a beautifying touch to your own soul. + +Man is as he has made himself; man will be as he makes himself. This is +a very simple theory, surely. It is not at all difficult to understand +the Buddhist standpoint in the matter. It is merely the theory of +evolution applied to the soul, with this difference: that in its later +stages it has become a deliberate and a conscious evolution, and not an +unconscious one. + +And the deduction from this is also simple. It is true, says Buddhism, +that every man is the architect of himself, that he can make himself as +he chooses. Now, what every man desires is happiness. As a man can form +himself as he will, it is within his power to make himself happy, if he +only knows how. Let us therefore carefully consider what happiness is, +that we may attain it; what misery is, that we may avoid it. + +It is a commonplace of many religions, and of many philosophies--nay, +it is the actual base upon which they have been built, that this is an +evil world. + +Judaism, indeed, thought that the world was really a capital place, and +that it was worth while doing well in order to enjoy it. But most other +faiths thought very differently. Indeed, the very meaning of most +religions and philosophies has been that they should be refuges from the +wickedness and unhappiness of the world. According to them the world has +been a very weary world, full of wickedness and of deceit, of war and +strife, of untruth and of hate, of all sorts of evil. + +The world has been wicked, and man has been unhappy in it. + +'I do not know that any theory has usually been propounded to explain +why this is so. It has been accepted as a fact that man is unhappy, +accepted, I think, by most faiths over the world. Indeed, it is the +belief that has been, one thinks, the cause of faiths. Had the world +been happy, surely there had been no need of religions. In a summer sea, +where is the need of havens? It is a generally-accepted fact, accepted, +as I have said, without explanation. But the Buddhist has not been +contented to leave it so. He has thought that it is in the right +explanation of this cardinal fact that lies all truth. Life suffers from +a disease called misery. He would be free from it. Let us, then, says +the Buddhist, first discover the cause of this misery, and so only can +we understand how to cure it.' It is this explanation which is really +the distinguishing tenet of Buddhism, which differentiates it from all +other faiths and all philosophies. + +The reason, says Buddhism, why men are unhappy is that they are alive. +Life and sorrow are inseparable--nay, they are one and the same thing. +The mere fact of being alive is a misery. When you have clear eyes and +discern the truth, you shall see this without a doubt, says the +Buddhist. For consider, What man has ever sat down and said: 'Now am I +in perfect happiness; just as I now am would I like to remain for ever +and for ever without change'? No man has ever done so. What men desire +is change. They weary of the present, and desire the future; and when +the future comes they find it no better than the past. Happiness lies in +yesterday and in to-morrow, but never in to-day. In youth we look +forward, in age we look back. What is change but the death of the +present? Life is change, and change is death, so says the Buddhist. Men +shudder at and fear death, and yet death and life are the same +thing--inseparable, indistinguishable, and one with sorrow. We men who +desire life are as men athirst and drinking of the sea. Every drop we +drink of the poisoned sea of existence urges on men surely to greater +thirst still. Yet we drink on blindly, and say that we are athirst. + +This is the explanation of Buddhism. The world is unhappy because it is +alive, because it does not see that what it should strive for is not +life, not change and hurry and discontent and death, but peace--the +Great Peace. There is the goal to which a man should strive. + +See now how different it is from the Christian theory. In Christianity +there are two lives--this and the next. The present is evil, because it +is under the empire of the devil--the world, the flesh, and the devil. +The next will be beautiful, because it is under the reign of God, and +the devil cannot intrude. + +But Buddhism acknowledges only one life--an existence that has come from +the forever, that may extend to the forever. If this life is evil, then +is all life evil, and happiness can live but in peace, in surcease from +the troubles of this weary world. If, then, a man desire happiness--and +in all faiths that is the desired end--he must strive to attain peace. +This, again, is not a difficult idea to understand. It seems to me so +simple that, when once it has been listened to, it may be understood by +a child. I do not say believed and followed, but understood. Belief is a +different matter. 'The law is deep; it is difficult to know and to +believe it. It is very sublime, and can be comprehended only by means of +earnest meditation,' for Buddhism is not a religion of children, but of +men. + +This is the doctrine that has caused Buddhism to be called pessimism. +Taught, as we have been taught, to believe that life and death are +antagonistic, that life in the world to come is beautiful, that death +is a horror, it seems to us terrible to think that it is indeed our very +life itself that is the evil to be eradicated, and that life and death +are the same. But to those that have seen the truth, and believed it, it +is not terrible, but beautiful. When you have cleansed your eyes from +the falseness of the flesh, and come face to face with truth, it is +beautiful. 'The law is sweet, filling the heart with joy.' + +To the Buddhist, then, the end to be obtained is the Great Peace, the +mighty deliverance from all sorrow. He must strive after peace; on his +own efforts depends success or failure. + +When the end and the agent have been determined, there remains but to +discover the means, the road whereby the end may be reached. How shall a +man so think and so act that he shall come at length unto the Great +Peace? And the answer of Buddhism to this question is here: good deeds +and good thoughts--these are the gate wherein alone you may enter into +the way. Be honourable and just, be kind and compassionate, truth-loving +and averse to wrong--this is the beginning of the road that leads unto +happiness. Do good to others, not in order that they may do good to you, +but because, by doing so, you do good to your own soul. Give alms, and +be charitable, for these things are necessary to a man. Above all, learn +love and sympathy. Try to feel as others feel, try to understand them, +try to sympathize with them, and love will come. Surely he was a +Buddhist at heart who wrote: 'Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.' +There is no balm to a man's heart like love, not only the love others +feel towards him, but that he feels towards others. Be in love with all +things, not only with your fellows, but with the whole world, with every +creature that walks the earth, with the birds in the air, with the +insects in the grass. All life is akin to man. Man's life is not apart +from other life, but of it, and if a man would make his heart perfect, +he must learn to sympathize with and understand all the great world +about him. But he must always remember that he himself comes first. To +make others just, you must yourself be just; to make others happy, you +must yourself be happy first; to be loved, you must first love. Consider +your own soul, to make it lovely. Such is the teaching of Buddha. But if +this were all, then would Buddhism be but a repetition of the +commonplaces of all religions, of all philosophies. In this teaching of +righteousness is nothing new. Many teachers have taught it, and all have +learnt in the end that righteousness is no sure road to happiness, to +peace. Buddhism goes farther than this. Honour and righteousness, truth +and love, are, it says, very beautiful things, but are only the +beginning of the way; they are but the gate. In themselves they will +never bring a man home to the Great Peace. Herein lies no salvation from +the troubles of the world. Far more is required of a man than to be +righteous. Holiness alone is not the gate to happiness, and all that +have tried have found it so. It alone will not give man surcease from +pain. When a man has so purified his heart by love, has so weaned +himself from wickedness by good acts and deeds, then he shall have eyes +to see the further way that he should go. Then shall appear to him the +truth that it is indeed life that is the evil to be avoided; that life +is sorrow, and that the man who would escape evil and sorrow must escape +from life itself--not in death. The death of this life is but the +commencement of another, just as, if you dam a stream in one direction, +it will burst forth in another. To take one's life now is to condemn +one's self to longer and more miserable life hereafter. The end of +misery lies in the Great Peace. A man must estrange himself from the +world, which is sorrow. Hating struggle and fight, he will learn to love +peace, and to so discipline his soul that the world shall appear to him +clearly to be the unrest which it is. Then, when his heart is fixed upon +the Great Peace, shall his soul come to it at last. Weary of the earth, +it shall come into the haven where there are no more storms, where there +is no more struggle, but where reigns unutterable peace. It is not +death, but the Great Peace. + + + 'Ever pure, and mirror bright and even, + Life among the immortals glides away; + Moons are waning, generations changing, + Their celestial life flows everlasting, + Changeless 'midst a ruined world's decay.' + + +This is Nirvana, the end to which we must all strive, the only end that +there can be to the trouble of the world. Each man must realize this for +himself, each man will do so surely in time, and all will come into the +haven of rest. Surely this is a simple faith, the only belief that the +world has known that is free from mystery and dogma, from ceremony and +priestcraft; and to know that it is a beautiful faith you have but to +look at its believers and be sure. If a people be contented in their +faith, if they love it and exalt it, and are never ashamed of it, and if +it exalts them and makes them happy, what greater testimony can you have +than that? + +It will seem that indeed I have compressed the teaching of this faith +into too small a space--this faith about which so many books have been +written, so much discussion has taken place. But I do not think it is +so. I cannot see that even in this short chapter I have left out +anything that is important in Buddhism. It is such a simple faith that +all may be said in a very few words. It would be, of course, possible to +refine on and gloze over certain points of the teaching. Where would be +the use? The real proof of the faith is in the results, in the deeds +that men do in its name. Discussion will not alter these one way or +another. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +WAR--I + + 'Love each other and live in peace.' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +This is the Buddhist belief as I have understood it, and I have written +so far in order to explain what follows. For my object is not to explain +what the Buddha taught, but what the Burmese believe; and this is not +quite the same thing, though in nearly every action of their life the +influence of Buddhism is visible more or less strongly. Therefore I +propose to describe shortly the ideas of the Burmese people upon the +main objects of life; and to show how much or how little Buddhism has +affected their conceptions. I will begin with courage. + +I think it will be evident that there is no quality upon which the +success of a nation so much depends as upon its courage. No nation can +rise to a high place without being brave; it cannot maintain its +independence even; it cannot push forward upon any path of life without +courage. Nations that are cowards must fail. + +I am aware that the courage of a nation depends, as do its other +qualities, upon many things: its situation with regard to other nations, +its climate, its food, its occupations. It is a great subject that I +cannot go into. I wish to take all such things as I find them, and to +discuss only the effect of the religion upon the courage of the people, +upon its fighting capabilities. That religion may have a very serious +effect one way or the other, no one can doubt. I went through the war of +annexation, from 1885 to 1889, and from it I will draw my examples. + +When we declared war in Upper Burma, and the column advanced up the +river in November, 1885, there was hardly any opposition. A little fight +there was at the frontier fort of Minhla, but beyond that nothing. The +river that might have been blocked was open; the earthworks had no +cannon, the men no guns. Such a collapse was never seen. There was no +organization, no material, no money. The men wanted officers to command +and teach them; the officers wanted authority and ability to command. +The people looked to their rulers to repel the invaders; the rulers +looked to the people. There was no common intelligence or will between +them. Everything was wanting; nothing was as it should be. And so +Mandalay fell without a shot, and King Thibaw, the young, incapable, +kind-hearted king, was taken into captivity. + +That was the end of the first act, brief and bloodless. For a time the +people were stupefied. They could not understand what had happened; +they could not guess what was going to happen. They expected that the +English would soon retire, and that then their own government would +reorganize itself. Meanwhile they kept quiet. + +It is curious to think how peaceful the country really was from +November, 1885, till June, 1886. Then the trouble came. The people had +by that time, even in the wild forest villages, begun to understand that +we wanted to stay, that we did not intend going away unless forced to. +They felt that it was of no further use looking to Mandalay for help. We +had begun, too, to consider about collecting taxes, to interfere with +the simple machinery of local affairs, to show that we meant to govern. +And as the people did not desire to be governed--certainly not by +foreigners, at least--they began to organize resistance. They looked to +their local leaders for help, and, as too often these local governors +were not very capable men, they sought, as all people have done, the +assistance of such men of war as they could find--brigands, and +freelances, and the like--and put themselves under their orders. The +whole country rose, from Bhamo to Minhla, from the Shan Plateau to the +Chin Mountains. All Upper Burma was in a passion of insurrection, a very +fury of rebellion against the usurping foreigners. Our authority was +confined to the range of our guns. Our forts were attacked, our convoys +ambushed, our steamers fired into on the rivers. There was no safety for +an Englishman or a native of India, save within the lines of our +troops, and it was soon felt that these troops were far too few to cope +with the danger. To overthrow King Thibaw was easy, to subdue the people +a very different thing. + +It is almost impossible to describe the state of Upper Burma in 1886. It +must be remembered that the central government was never very strong--in +fact, that beyond collecting a certain amount of taxes, and appointing +governors to the different provinces, it hardly made itself felt outside +Mandalay and the large river towns. The people to a great extent +governed themselves. They had a very good system of village government, +and managed nearly all their local affairs. But beyond the presence of a +governor, there was but little to attach them to the central government. +There was, and is, absolutely no aristocracy of any kind at all. The +Burmese are a community of equals, in a sense that has probably never +been known elsewhere. All their institutions are the very opposite to +feudalism. Now, feudalism was instituted to be useful in war. The +Burmese customs were instituted that men should live in comfort and ease +during peace; they were useless in war. So the natural leaders of a +people, as in other countries, were absent. There were no local great +men; the governors were men appointed from time to time from Mandalay, +and usually knew nothing of their charges; there were no rich men, no +large land-holders--not one. There still remained, however, one +institution that other nations have made useful in war, namely, the +organization of religion. For Buddhism is fairly well +organized--certainly much better than ever the government was. It has +its heads of monasteries, its Gaing-dauks, its Gaing-oks, and finally +the Thathanabaing, the head of the Burmese Buddhism. The overthrow of +King Thibaw had not injured any of this. This was an organization in +touch with the whole people, revered and honoured by every man and woman +and child in the country. In this terrible scene of anarchy and +confusion, in this death peril of their nation, what were the monks +doing? + +We know what religion can do. We have seen how it can preach war and +resistance, and can organize that war and resistance. We know what ten +thousand priests preaching in ten thousand hamlets can effect in making +a people almost unconquerable, in directing their armies, in +strengthening their determination. We remember La Vendée, we remember +our Puritans, and we have had recent experience in the Soudan. We know +what Christianity has done again and again; what Judaism, what +Mahommedanism, what many kinds of paganism, have done. + +To those coming to Burma in those days, fresh from the teachings of +Europe, remembering recent events in history, ignorant of what Buddhism +means, there was nothing more surprising than the fact that in this war +religion had no place. They rode about and saw the country full of +monasteries; they saw the monasteries full of monks, whom they called +priests; they saw that the people were intensely attached to their +religion; they had daily evidence that Buddhism was an abiding faith in +the hearts of the people. And yet, for all the assistance it was to them +in the war, the Burmese might have had no faith at all. + +And the explanation is, that the teachings of the Buddha forbid war. All +killing is wrong, all war is hateful; nothing is more terrible than this +destroying of your fellow-man. There is absolutely no getting free of +this commandment. The teaching of the Buddha is that you must strive to +make your own soul perfect. This is the first of all things, and comes +before any other consideration. Be pure and kind-hearted, full of +charity and compassion, and so you may do good to others. These are the +vows the Buddhist monks make, these are the vows they keep; and so it +happened that all that great organization was useless to the patriot +fighter, was worse than useless, for it was against him. The whole +spectacle of Burma in those days, with the country seething with strife, +and the monks going about their business calmly as ever, begging their +bread from door to door, preaching of peace, not war, of kindness, not +hatred, of pity, not revenge, was to most foreigners quite inexplicable. +They could not understand it. I remember a friend of mine with whom I +went through many experiences speaking of it with scorn. He was a +cavalry officer, 'the model of a light cavalry officer'; he had with him +a squadron of his regiment, and we were trying to subdue a very troubled +part of the country. + +We were camping in a monastery, as we frequently did--a monastery on a +hill near a high golden pagoda. The country all round was under the sway +of a brigand leader, and sorely the villagers suffered at his hands now +that he had leapt into unexpected power. The villages were half +abandoned, the fields untilled, the people full of unrest; but the +monasteries were as full of monks as ever; the gongs rang, as they ever +did, their message through the quiet evening air; the little boys were +taught there just the same; the trees were watered and the gardens swept +as if there were no change at all--as if the king were still on his +golden throne, and the English had never come; as if war had never burst +upon them. And to us, after the very different scenes we saw now and +then, saw and acted in, these monks and their monasteries were difficult +to understand. The religion of the Buddha thus professed was strange. + +'What is the use,' said my friend, 'of this religion that we see so many +signs of? Suppose these men had been Jews or Hindus or Mussulmans, it +would have been a very different business, this war. These yellow-robed +monks, instead of sitting in their monasteries, would have pervaded the +country, preaching against us and organizing. No one organizes better +than an ecclesiastic. We should have had them leading their men into +action with sacred banners, and promising them heaven hereafter when +they died. They would have made Ghazis of them. Any one of these is a +religion worth having. But what is the use of Buddhism? What do these +monks do? I never see them in a fight, never hear that they are doing +anything to organize the people. It is, perhaps, as well for us that +they do not. But what is the use of Buddhism?' + +So, or somewhat like this, spoke my friend, speaking as a soldier. Each +of us speaks from our own standpoint. He was a brilliant soldier, and a +religion was to him a sword, a thing to fight with. That was one of the +first uses of a religion. He knew nothing of Buddhism; he cared to know +nothing, beyond whether it would fight. If so, it was a good religion in +its way. If not, then not. + +Religion meant to him something that would help you in your trouble, +that would be a stay and a comfort, a sword to your enemies and a prop +for yourself. Though he was himself an invader, he felt that the Burmans +did no wrong in resisting him. They fought for their homes, as he would +have fought; and their religion, if of any value, should assist them. It +should urge them to battle, and promise them peace and happiness if +dying in a good cause. His faith would do this for him. What was +Buddhism doing? What help did it give to its believers in their +extremity? It gave none. Think of the peasant lying there in the ghostly +dim-lit fields waiting to attack us at the dawn. Where was his help? He +thought, perhaps, of his king deported, his village invaded, his friends +killed, himself reduced to the subject of a far-off queen. He would +fight--yes, even though his faith told him not. There was no help there. +His was no faith to strengthen his arm, to straighten his aim, to be his +shield in the hour of danger. + +If he died, if in the strife of the morning's fight he were to be +killed, if a bullet were to still his heart, or a lance to pierce his +chest, there was no hope for him of the glory of heaven. No, but every +fear of hell, for he was sinning against the laws of +righteousness--'Thou shalt take no life.' There is no exception to that +at all, not even for a patriot fighting for his country. 'Thou shalt not +take the life even of him who is the enemy of thy king and nation.' He +could count on no help in breaking the everlasting laws that the Buddha +has revealed to us. If he went to his monks, they could but say: 'See +the law, the unchangeable law that man is subject to. There is no good +thing but peace, no sin like strife and war.' That is what the followers +of the great teacher would tell the peasant yearning for help to strike +a blow upon the invaders. The law is the same for all. There is not one +law for you and another for the foreigner; there is not one law to-day +and another to-morrow. Truth is for ever and for ever. It cannot change +even to help you in your extremity. Think of the English soldier and the +Burmese peasant. Can there be anywhere a greater contrast than this? + +Truly this is not a creed for a soldier, not a creed for a fighting-man +of any kind, for what the soldier wants is a personal god who will +always be on his side, always share his opinions, always support him +against everyone else. But a law that points out unalterably that right +is always right, and wrong always wrong, that nothing can alter one into +the other, nothing can ever make killing righteous and violence +honourable, that is no creed for a soldier. And Buddhism has ever done +this. It never bent to popular opinion, never made itself a tool in the +hands of worldly passion. It could not. You might as well say to +gravity, 'I want to lift this stone; please don't act on it for a time,' +as expect Buddhism to assist you to make war. Buddhism is the +unalterable law of righteousness, and cannot ally itself with evil, +cannot ever be persuaded that under any circumstances evil can be good. + +The Burmese peasant had to fight his own fight in 1885 alone. His king +was gone, his government broken up, he had no leaders. He had no god to +stand beside him when he fired at the foreign invaders; and when he lay +a-dying, with a bullet in his throat, he had no one to open to him the +gates of heaven. + +Yet he fought--with every possible discouragement he fought, and +sometimes he fought well. It has been thrown against him as a reproach +that he did not do better. Those who have said this have never thought, +never counted up the odds against him, never taken into consideration +how often he did well. + +Here was a people--a very poor people of peasants--with no leaders, +absolutely none; no aristocracy of any kind, no cohesion, no fighting +religion. They had for their leaders outlaws and desperadoes, and for +arms old flint-lock guns and soft iron swords. Could anything be +expected from this except what actually did happen? And yet they often +did well, their natural courage overcoming their bad weapons, their +passionate desire of freedom giving them the necessary impulse. + +In 1886, as I have said, all Burma was up. Even in the lower country, +which we held for so long, insurrection was spreading fast, and troops +and military police were being poured in from India. + +There is above Mandalay a large trading village--a small town +almost--called Shemmaga. It is the river port for a large trade in salt +from the inner country, and it was important to hold it. The village lay +along the river bank, and about the middle of it, some two hundred yards +from the river, rises a small hill. Thus the village was a triangle, +with the base on the river, and the hill as apex. On the hill were some +monasteries of teak, from which the monks had been ejected, and three +hundred Ghurkas were in garrison there. A strong fence ran from the hill +to the river like two arms, and there were three gates, one just by the +hill, and one on each end of the river face. + +Behind Shemmaga the country was under the rule of a robber chief called +Maung Yaing, who could raise from among the peasants some two hundred or +three hundred men, armed mostly with flint-locks. He had been in the +king's time a brigand with a small number of followers, who defied or +eluded the local authorities, and lived free in quarters among the most +distant villages. Like many a robber chief in our country and elsewhere, +he was liked rather than hated by the people, for his brutalities were +confined to either strangers or personal enemies, and he was open-handed +and generous. We look upon things now with different eyes to what we did +two or three hundred years ago, but I dare say Maung Yaing was neither +better nor worse than many a hero of ours long ago. He was a fairly good +fighter, and had a little experience fighting the king's troops; and so +it was very natural, when the machinery of government fell like a house +of cards, and some leaders were wanted, that the young men should crowd +to him, and put themselves under his orders. He had usually with him +forty or fifty men, but he could, as I have said, raise five or six +times as many for any particular service, and keep them together for a +few days. He very soon discovered that he and his men were absolutely no +match for our troops. In two or three attempts that he made to oppose +the troops he was signally worsted, so he was obliged to change his +tactics. He decided to boycott the enemy. No Burman was to accept +service under him, to give him information or supplies, to be his guide, +or to assist him in any way. This rule Maung Yaing made generally known, +and he announced his intention of enforcing it with rigour. He did so. +There was a head man of a village near Shemmaga whom he executed because +he had acted as guide to a body of troops, and he cut off all supplies +from the interior, lying on the roads, and stopping all men from +entering Shemmaga. He further issued a notice that the inhabitants of +Shemmaga itself should leave the town. They could not move the garrison, +therefore the people must move themselves. No assistance must be given +to the enemy. The villagers of Shemmaga, mostly small traders in salt +and rice, were naturally averse to leaving. This trade was their only +means of livelihood, the houses their only homes, and they did not like +the idea of going out into the unknown country behind. Moreover, the +exaction by Maung Yaing of money and supplies for his men fell most +heavily on the wealthier men, and on the whole they were not sorry to +have the English garrison in the town, so that they could trade in +peace. Some few left, but most did not, and though they collected +money, and sent it to Maung Yaing, they at the same time told the +English officer in command of Maung Yaing's threats, and begged that +great care should be taken of the town, for Maung Yaing was very angry. +When he found he could not cause the abandonment of the town, he sent in +word to say that he would burn it. Not three hundred foreigners, nor +three thousand, should protect these lazy, unpatriotic folk from his +vengeance. He gave them till the new moon of a certain month, and if the +town were not evacuated by that time he declared that he would destroy +it. He would burn it down, and kill certain men whom he mentioned, who +had been the principal assistants of the foreigners. This warning was +quite public, and came to the ears of the English officer almost at +once. When he heard it he laughed. + +He had three hundred men, and the rebels had three hundred. His were all +magnificently trained and drilled troops, men made for war; the Burmans +were peasants, unarmed, untrained. He was sure he could defeat three +thousand of them, or ten times that number, with his little force, and +so, of course, he could if he met them in the open; no one knew that +better, by bitter experience, than Maung Yaing. The villagers, too, +knew, but nevertheless they were stricken with fear, for Maung Yaing was +a man of his word. He was as good as his threat. + +One night, at midnight, the face of the fort where the Ghurkas lived on +the hill was suddenly attacked. Out of the brushwood near by a heavy +fire was opened upon the breastwork, and there was shouting and beating +of gongs. So all the Ghurkas turned out in a hurry, and ran to man the +breastwork, and the return fire became hot and heavy. In a moment, as it +seemed, the attackers were in the village. They had burst in the north +gate by the river face, killed the Burmese guard on it, and streamed in. +They lit torches from a fire they found burning, and in a moment the +village was on fire. Looking down from the hill, you could see the +village rushing into flame, and in the lurid light men and women and +children running about wildly. There were shouts and screams and shots. +No one who has never heard it, never seen it, can know what a village is +like when the enemy has burst in at night. Everyone is mad with hate, +with despair, with terror. They run to and fro, seeking to kill, seeking +to escape being killed. It is impossible to tell one from another. The +bravest man is dismayed. And the noise is like a great moan coming out +of the night, pierced with sharp cries. It rises and falls, like the +death-cry of a dying giant. It is the most terrible sound in the world. +It makes the heart stop. + +To the Ghurkas this sight and sound came all of a sudden, as they were +defending what they took to be a determined attack on their own +position. The village was lost ere they knew it was attacked. And two +steamers full of troops, anchored off the town, saw it, too. They were +on their way up country, and had halted there that night, anchored in +the stream. They were close by, but could not fire, for there was no +telling friend from foe. + +Before the relief party of Ghurkas could come swarming down the hill, +only two hundred yards, before the boats could land the eager troops +from the steamers, the rebels were gone. They went through the village +and out of the south gate. They had fulfilled their threat and destroyed +the town. They had killed the men they had declared they would kill. The +firing died away from the fort side, and the enemy were gone, no one +could tell whither, into the night. + +Such a scene of desolation as that village was next day! It was all +destroyed--every house. All the food was gone, all furniture, all +clothes, everything, and here and there was a corpse in among the +blackened cinders. The whole countryside was terror-stricken at this +failure to defend those who had depended on us. + +I do not think this was a particularly gallant act, but it was a very +able one. It was certainly war. It taught us a very severe lesson--more +severe than a personal reverse would have been. It struck terror in the +countryside. The memory of it hampered us for very long; even now they +often talk of it. It was a brutal act--that of a brigand, not a soldier. + +But there was no want of courage. If these men, inferior in number, in +arms, in everything, could do this under the lead of a robber chief, +what would they not have done if well led, if well trained, if well +armed? + +Of desperate encounters between our troops and the insurgents I could +tell many a story. I have myself seen such fights. They nearly always +ended in our favour--how could it be otherwise? + +There was Ta Te, who occupied a pagoda enclosure with some eighty men, +and was attacked by our mounted infantry. There was a long fight in that +hot afternoon, and very soon the insurgents' ammunition began to fail, +and the pagoda was stormed. Many men were killed, and Ta Te, when his +men were nearly all dead, and his ammunition quite expended, climbed up +the pagoda wall, and twisted off pieces of the cement and threw them at +the troops. He would not surrender--not he--and he was killed. There +were many like him. The whole war was little affairs of this kind--a +hundred, three hundred, of our men, and much the same, or a little more, +of theirs. They only once or twice raised a force of two thousand men. +Nothing can speak more forcibly of their want of organization than this. +The whole country was pervaded by bands of fifty or a hundred men, very +rarely amounting to more than two hundred, never, I think, to five +hundred, armed men, and no two bands ever acted in concert. + +It is probable that most of the best men of the country were against +us. It is certain, I think, that of those who openly joined us and +accompanied us in our expedition, very, very few were other than men who +had some private grudge to avenge, or some purpose to gain, by opposing +their own people. Of such as these you cannot expect very much. And yet +there were exceptions--men who showed up all the more brilliantly +because they were exceptions--men whom I shall always honour. There were +two I remember best of all. They are both dead now. + +One was the eldest son of the hereditary governor of a part of the +country called Kawlin. It is in the north-west of Upper Burma, and +bordered on a semi-independent state called Wuntho. In the troubles that +occurred after the deposition of King Thibaw, the Prince of Wuntho +thought that he would be able to make for himself an independent +kingdom, and he began by annexing Kawlin. So the governor had to flee, +and with him his sons, and naturally enough they joined our columns when +we advanced in that direction, hoping to be replaced. They were +replaced, the father as governor under the direction of an English +magistrate, and the son as his assistant. They were only kept there by +our troops, and upheld in authority by our power against Wuntho. But +they were desired by many of their own people, and so, perhaps, they +could hardly be called traitors, as many of those who joined us were. +The father was a useless old man, but his son, he of whom I speak, was +brave and honourable, good tempered and courteous, beyond most men whom +I have met. It was well known that he was the real power behind his +father. It was he who assisted us in an attempt to quell the +insurrections and catch the raiders that troubled our peace, and many a +time they tried to kill him, many a time to murder him as he slept. + +There was a large gang of insurgents who came across the Mu River one +day, and robbed one of his villages, so a squadron of cavalry was sent +in pursuit. We travelled fast and long, but we could not catch the +raiders. We crossed the Mu into unknown country, following their tracks, +and at last, being without guides, we camped that night in a little +monastery in the forest. At midnight we were attacked. A road ran +through our camp, and there was a picket at each end of the road, and +sentries were doubled. + +It was just after midnight that the first shot was fired. We were all +asleep when a sudden volley was poured into the south picket, killing +one sentry and wounding another. There was no time to dress, and we ran +down the steps as we were (in sleeping dresses), to find the men rapidly +falling in, and the horses kicking at their pickets. It was pitch-dark. +The monastery was on a little cleared space, and there was forest all +round that looked very black. Just as we came to the foot of the steps +an outbreak of firing and shouts came from the north, and the Burmese +tried to rush our camp from there; then they tried to rush it again from +the south, but all their attempts were baffled by the steadiness of the +pickets and the reinforcements that were running up. So the Burmese, +finding the surprise ineffectual, and that the camp could not be taken, +spread themselves about in the forest in vantage places, and fired into +the camp. Nothing could be seen except the dazzling flashes from their +guns as they fired here and there, and the darkness was all the darker +for those flashes of flame, that cut it like swords. It was very cold. I +had left my blanket in the monastery, and no one was allowed to ascend, +because there, of all places, the bullets flew thickest, crushing +through the mat walls, and going into the teak posts with a thud. There +was nothing we could do. The men, placed in due order about the camp, +fired back at the flashes of the enemy's guns. That was all they had to +fire at. It was not much guide. The officers went from picket to picket +encouraging the men, but I had no duty; when fighting began my work as a +civilian was at a standstill. I sat and shivered with cold under the +monastery, and wished for the dawn. In a pause of the firing you could +hear the followers hammering the pegs that held the foot-ropes of the +horses. Then the dead and wounded were brought and put near me, and in +the dense dark the doctor tried to find out what injuries the men had +received, and dress them as well as he could. No light dare be lit. The +night seemed interminable. There were no stars, for a dense mist hung +above the trees. After an hour or two the firing slackened a little, and +presently, with great caution, a little lamp, carefully shrouded with a +blanket, was lit. A sudden burst of shots that came splintering into the +posts beside us caused the lamp to be hurriedly put out; but presently +it was lit again, and with infinite caution one man was dressed. At last +a little very faint silver dawn came gleaming through the tree-tops--the +most beautiful sight I ever saw--and the firing stopped. The dawn came +quickly down, and very soon we were able once more to see what we were +about, and count our losses. + +Then we moved out. We had hardly any hope of catching the enemy, we who +were in a strange country, who were mounted on horses, and had a heavy +transport, and they who knew every stream and ravine, and had every +villager for a spy. So we moved back a march into a more open country, +where we hoped for better news, and two days later that news came. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WAR--II + + 'Never in the world does hatred cease by hatred. Hatred ceases by + love.'--_Dammapada._ + + +We were encamped at a little monastery in some fields by a village, with +a river in front. Up in the monastery there was but room for the +officers, so small was it, and the men were camped beneath it in little +shelters. It was two o'clock, and very hot, and we were just about to +take tiffin, when news came that a party of armed men had been seen +passing a little north of us. It was supposed they were bound to a +village known to be a very bad one--Laka--and that they would camp +there. So 'boot and saddle' rang from the trumpets, and in a few moments +later we were off, fifty lances. Just as we started, his old Hindostani +Christian servant came up to my friend, the commandant, and gave him a +little paper. 'Put it in your pocket, sahib,' he said. The commandant +had no time to talk, no time even to look at what it could be. He just +crammed it into his breast-pocket, and we rode on. The governor's son +was our guide, and he led us through winding lanes into a pass in the +low hills. The road was very narrow, and the heavy forest came down to +our elbows as we passed. Now and again we crossed the stream, which had +but little water in it, and the path would skirt its banks for awhile. +It was beautiful country, but we had no time to notice it then, for we +were in a hurry, and whenever the road would allow we trotted and +cantered. After five or six miles of this we turned a spur of the hills, +and came out into a little grass-glade on the banks of the stream, and +at the far end of this was the village where we expected to find those +whom we sought. They saw us first, having a look-out on a high tree by +the edge of the forest; and as our advanced guard came trotting into the +open, he fired. The shot echoed far up the hills like an angry shout, +and we could see a sudden stir in the village--men running out of the +houses with guns and swords, and women and children running, too, poor +things! sick with fear. They fired at us from the village fence, but had +no time to close the gate ere our sowars were in. Then they escaped in +various ways to the forest and scrub, running like madmen across the +little bit of open, and firing at us directly they reached shelter where +the cavalry could not come. Of course, in the open they had no chance, +but in the dense forest they were safe enough. The village was soon +cleared, and then we had to return. It was no good to wait. The valley +was very narrow, and was commanded from both its sides, which were very +steep and dense with forest. Beyond the village there was only forest +again. We had done what we could: we had inflicted a very severe +punishment on them; it was no good waiting, so we returned. They fired +on us nearly all the way, hiding in the thick forest, and perched on +high rocks. At one place our men had to be dismounted to clear a +breastwork, run up to fire at us from. All the forest was full of +voices--voices of men and women and even children--cursing our guide. +They cried his name, that the spirits of the hills might remember that +it was he who had brought desolation to their village. Figures started +up on pinnacles of cliff, and cursed him as he rode by. Us they did not +curse; it was our guide. + +And so after some trouble we got back. That band never attacked us +again. + +As we were dismounting, my friend put his hand in his pocket, and found +the little paper. He took it out, looked at it, and when his servant +came up to him he gave the paper back with a curious little smile full +of many thoughts. 'You see,' he said, 'I am safe. No bullet has hit me.' +And the servant's eyes were dim. He had been very long with his master, +and loved him, as did all who knew him. 'It was the goodness of God,' he +said--'the great goodness of God. Will not the sahib keep the paper?' +But the sahib would not. 'You may need it as well as I. Who can tell in +this war?' And he returned it. + +And the paper? It was a prayer--a prayer used by the Roman Catholic +Church, printed on a sheet of paper. At the top was a red cross. The +paper was old and worn, creased at the edges; it had evidently been much +used, much read. Such was the charm that kept the soldier from danger. + +The nights were cold then, when the sun had set, and after dinner we +used to have a camp-fire built of wood from the forest, to sit round for +a time and talk before turning in. The native officers of the cavalry +would come and sit with us, and one or two of the Burmans, too. We were +a very mixed assembly. I remember one night very well--I think it must +have been the very night after the fight at Laka, and we were all of us +round the fire. I remember there was a half-moon bending towards the +west, throwing tender lights upon the hills, and turning into a silver +gauze the light white mist that lay upon the rice-fields. Opposite to +us, across the little river, a ridge of hill ran down into the water +that bent round its foot. The ridge was covered with forest, very black, +with silver edges on the sky-line. It was out of range for a Burmese +flint-gun, or we should not have camped so near it. On all the other +sides the fields stretched away till they ended in the forest that +gloomed beyond. I was talking to the governor's son (our guide of the +fight at Laka) of the prospects of the future, and of the intentions of +the Prince of Wuntho, in whose country Laka lay. I remarked to him how +the Burmans of Wuntho seemed to hate him, of how they had cursed him +from the hills, and he admitted that it was true. 'All except my +friends,' he said, 'hate me. And yet what have I done? I had to help my +father to get back his governorship. They forget that they attacked us +first.' + +He went on to tell me of how every day he was threatened, of how he was +sure they would murder him some time, because he had joined us. 'They +are sure to kill me some time,' he said. He seemed sad and depressed, +not afraid. + +So we talked on, and I asked him about charms. 'Are there not charms +that will prevent you being hurt if you are hit, and that will not allow +a sword to cut you? We hear of invulnerable men. There were the +Immortals of the King's Guard, for instance.' + +And he said, yes, there were charms, but no one believed in them except +the villagers. He did not, nor did men of education. Of course, the +ignorant people believed in them. There were several sorts of charms. +You could be tattooed with certain mystic letters that were said to +insure you against being hit, and there were certain medicines you could +drink. There were also charms made out of stone, such as a little +tortoise he had once seen that was said to protect its wearer. There +were mysterious writings on palm-leaves. There were men, he said +vaguely, who knew how to make these things. For himself, he did not +believe in them. + +I tried to learn from him then, and I have tried from others since, +whether these charms have any connection with Buddhism. I cannot find +that they have. They are never in the form of images of the Buddha, or +of extracts from the sacred writings. There is not, so far as I can make +out, any religious significance in these charms; mostly they are simply +mysterious. I never heard that the people connect them with their +religion. Indeed, all forms of enchantment and of charms are most +strictly prohibited. One of the vows that monks take is never to have +any dealings with charms or with the supernatural, and so Buddhism +cannot even give such little assistance to its believers as to furnish +them with charms. If they have charms, it is against their faith; it is +a falling away from the purity of their teachings; it is simply the +innate yearning of man to the supernatural, to the mysterious. Man's +passions are very strong, and if he must fight, he must also have a +charm to protect him in fight. If his religion cannot give it him, he +must find it elsewhere. You see that, as the teachings of the Buddha +have never been able to be twisted so as to permit war directly, neither +have they been able to assist indirectly by furnishing charms, by +making the fighter bullet-proof. And I thought then of the little prayer +and the cross that were so certain a defence against hurt. + +We talked for a long time in the waning moonlight by the ruddy fire, and +at last we broke up to go to bed. As we rose a voice called to us across +the water from the little promontory. In the still night every word was +as clear as the note of a gong. + +'Sleep well,' it cried--'sleep well--sle-e-ep we-l-l.' + +We all stood astonished--those who did not know Burmese wondering at the +voice; those who did, wondering at the meaning. The sentries peered +keenly towards the sound. + +'Sleep well,' the voice cried again; 'eat well. It will not be for long. +Sleep well while you may.' + +And then, after a pause, it called the governor's son's name, and +'Traitor, traitor!' till the hills were full of sound. + +The Burman turned away. + +'You see,' he said, 'how they hate me. What would be the good of +charms?' + +The voice was quiet, and the camp sank into stillness, and ere long the +moon set, and it was quite dark. + +He was a brave man, and, indeed, there are many brave men amongst the +Burmese. They kill leopards with sticks and stones very often, and even +tigers. They take their frail little canoes across the Irrawaddy in +flood in a most daring way. They in no way want for physical courage, +but they have never made a cult of bravery; it has never been a +necessity to them; it has never occurred to them that it is the prime +virtue of a man. You will hear them confess in the calmest way, 'I was +afraid.' We would not do that; we should be much more afraid to say it. +And the teaching of Buddhism is all in favour of this. Nowhere is +courage--I mean aggressive courage--praised. No soldier could be a +fervent Buddhist; no nation of Buddhists could be good soldiers; for not +only does Buddhism not inculcate bravery, but it does not inculcate +obedience. Each man is the ruler of his life, but the very essence of +good fighting is discipline, and discipline, subjection, is unknown to +Buddhism. Therefore the inherent courage of the Burmans could have no +assistance from their faith in any way, but the very contrary: it fought +against them. + +There is no flexibility in Buddhism. It is a law, and nothing can change +it. Laws are for ever and for ever, and there are no exceptions to them. +The law of the Buddha is against war--war of any kind at all--and there +can be no exception. And so every Burman who fought against us knew that +he was sinning. He did it with his eyes open; he could never imagine any +exception in his favour. Never could he in his bivouac look at the +stars, and imagine that any power looked down in approbation of his +deeds. No one fought for him. Our bayonets and lances were no keys to +open to him the gates of paradise; no monks could come and close his +dying eyes with promises of rewards to come. He was sinning, and he must +suffer long and terribly for this breach of the laws of righteousness. + +If such be the faith of the people, and if they believe their faith, it +is a terrible handicap to them in any fight; it delivers them bound into +the hands of the enemy. Such is Buddhism. + +But it must never be forgotten that, if this faith does not assist the +believer in defence, neither does it in offence. What is so terrible as +a war of religion? There can never be a war of Buddhism. + +No ravished country has ever borne witness to the prowess of the +followers of the Buddha; no murdered men have poured out their blood on +their hearthstones, killed in his name; no ruined women have cursed his +name to high Heaven. He and his faith are clean of the stain of blood. +He was the preacher of the Great Peace, of love, of charity, of +compassion, and so clear is his teaching that it can never be +misunderstood. Wars of invasion the Burmese have waged, that is true, in +Siam, in Assam, and in Pegu. They are but men, and men will fight. If +they were perfect in their faith, the race would have died out long ago. +They have fought, but they have never fought in the name of their faith. +They have never been able to prostitute its teachings to their own +wants. Whatever the Burmans have done, they have kept their faith pure. +When they have offended against the laws of the Buddha they have done so +openly. Their souls are guiltless of hypocrisy--for whatever that may +avail them. They have known the difference between good and evil, even +if they have not always followed the good. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +GOVERNMENT + + 'Fire, water, storms, robbers, rulers--these are the five great + evils.'--_Burmese saying._ + + +It would be difficult, I think, to imagine anything worse than the +government of Upper Burma in its later days. I mean by 'government' the +king and his counsellors and the greater officials of the empire. The +management of foreign affairs, of the army, the suppression of greater +crimes, the care of the means of communication, all those duties which +fall to the central government, were badly done, if done at all. It must +be remembered that there was one difficulty in the way--the absence of +any noble or leisured class to be entrusted with the greater offices. As +I have shown in another chapter, there was no one between the king and +the villager--no noble, no landowner, no wealthy or educated class at +all. The king had to seek for his ministers among the ordinary people, +consequently the men who were called upon to fill great offices of state +were as often as not men who had no experience beyond the narrow limits +of a village. + +The breadth of view, the knowledge of other countries, of other +thoughts, that comes to those who have wealth and leisure, were wanting +to these ministers of the king. Natural capacity many of them had, but +that is not of much value until it is cultivated. You cannot learn in +the narrow precincts of a village the knowledge necessary to the +management of great affairs; and therefore in affairs of state this want +of any noble or leisured class was a very serious loss to the government +of Burma. It had great and countervailing advantages, of which I will +speak when I come to local government, but that it was a heavy loss as +far as the central government goes no one can doubt. There was none of +that check upon the power of the king which a powerful nobility will +give; there was no trained talent at his disposal. The king remained +absolutely supreme, with no one near his throne, and the ministers were +mere puppets, here to-day and gone to-morrow. They lived by the breath +of the king and court, and when they lost favour there was none to help +them. They had no faction behind them to uphold them against the king. +It can easily be understood how disastrous all this was to any form of +good government. All these ministers and governors were corrupt; there +was corruption to the core. + +When it is understood that hardly any official was paid, and that those +who were paid were insufficiently paid, and had unlimited power, there +will be no difficulty in seeing the reason. In circumstances like this +all people would be corrupt. The only securities against bribery and +abuse of power are adequate pay, restricted authority, and great +publicity. None of these obtained in Burma any more than in the Europe +of five hundred years ago, and the result was the same in both. The +central government consisted of the king, who had no limit at all to his +power, and the council of ministers, whose only check was the king. The +executive and judicial were all the same: there was no appeal from one +to the other. The only appeal from the ministers was to the king, and as +the king shut himself up in his palace, and was practically inaccessible +to all but high officials, the worthlessness of this appeal is evident. +Outside Mandalay the country was governed by _wuns_ or governors. These +were appointed by the king, or by the council, or by both, and they +obtained their position by bribery. Their tenure was exceedingly +insecure, as any man who came and gave a bigger bribe was likely to +obtain the former governor's dismissal and his own appointment. +Consequently the usual tenure of office of a governor was a year. Often +there were half a dozen governors in a year; sometimes a man with strong +influence managed to retain his position for some years. From the orders +of the governor there was an appeal to the council. This was in some +matters useful, but in others not so. If a governor sentenced a man to +death--all governors had power of life and death--he would be executed +long before an appeal could reach the council. Practically no check was +possible by the palace over distant governors, and they did as they +liked. Anything more disastrous and fatal to any kind of good government +than this it is impossible to imagine. The governors did what they +considered right in their own eyes, and made as much money as they +could, while they could. They collected the taxes and as much more as +they could get; they administered the laws of Manu in civil and criminal +affairs, except when tempted to deviate therefrom by good reasons; they +carried out orders received from Mandalay, when these orders fell in +with their own desires, or when they considered that disobedience might +be dangerous. It is a Burmese proverb that officials are one of the five +great enemies of mankind, and there was, I think (at all events in the +latter days of the kingdom) good reason to remember it. And yet these +officials were not bad men in themselves; on the contrary, many of them +were men of good purpose, of natural honesty, of right principles. In a +well-organized system they would have done well, but the system was +rotten to the core. + +It may be asked why the Burmese people remained quiet under such a rule +as this; why they did not rise and destroy it, raising a new one in its +place; how it was that such a state of corruption lasted for a year, let +alone for many years. + +The answer is this: However bad the government may have been, it had +the qualities of its defects. If it did not do much to help the people, +it did little to hinder them. To a great extent it left them alone to +manage their own affairs in their own way. Burma in those days was like +a great untended garden, full of weeds, full of flowers too, each plant +striving after its own way, gradually evolving into higher forms. Now +sometimes it seems to me to be like an old Dutch garden, with the paths +very straight, very clean swept, with the trees clipped into curious +shapes of bird and beast, tortured out of all knowledge, and many of the +flowers mown down. The Burmese government left its people alone; that +was one great virtue. And, again, any government, however good, however +bad, is but a small factor in the life of a people; it comes far below +many other things in importance. A short rainfall for a year is more +disastrous than a mad king; a plague is worse than fifty grasping +governors; social rottenness is incomparably more dangerous than the +rottenest government. + +And in Burma it was only the supreme government, the high officials, +that were very bad. It was only the management of state affairs that was +feeble and corrupt; all the rest was very good. The land laws, the +self-government, the social condition of the people, were admirable. It +was so good that the rotten central government made but little +difference to the people, and it would probably have lasted for a long +while if not attacked from outside. A greater power came and upset the +government of the king, and established itself in his place; and I may +here say that the idea that the feebleness or wrong-doing of the Burmese +government was the cause of the downfall is a mistake. If the Burmese +government had been the best that ever existed, the annexation would +have happened just the same. It was a political necessity for us. + +The central government of a country is, as I have said, not a matter of +much importance. It has very little influence in the evolution of the +soul of a people. It is always a great deal worse than the people +themselves--a hundred years behind them in civilization, a thousand +years behind them in morality. Men will do in the name of government +acts which, if performed in a private capacity, would cover them with +shame before men, and would land them in a gaol or worse. The name of +government is a cloak for the worst passions of manhood. It is not an +interesting study, the government of mankind. + +A government is no part of the soul of the people, but is a mere +excrescence; and so I have but little to say about this of Burma, beyond +this curious fact--that religion had no part in it. Surely this is a +very remarkable thing, that a religion having the hold upon its +followers that Buddhism has upon the Burmese has never attempted to +grasp the supreme authority and use it to its ends. + +It is not quite an explanation to say that Buddhism is not concerned +with such things; that its very spirit is against the assumption of any +worldly power and authority; that it is a negation of the value of these +things. Something of this sort might be said of other religions, and yet +they have all striven to use the temporal power. + +I do not know what the explanation is, unless it be that the Burmese +believe their religion and other people do not. However that may be, +there is no doubt of the fact. Religion had nothing whatever--absolutely +nothing in any way at all--to do with government. There are no +exceptions. What has led people to think sometimes that there were +exceptions is the fact that the king confirmed the Thathanabaing--the +head of the community of monks--after he had been elected by his +fellow-monks. The reason of this was as follows: All ecclesiastical +matters--I use the word 'ecclesiastical' because I can find no +other--were outside the jurisdiction of civil limits. By +'ecclesiastical' I mean such matters as referred to the ownership and +habitation of monasteries, the building of pagodas and places of prayer, +the discipline of the monkhood. Such questions were decided by +ecclesiastical courts under the Thathanabaing. + +Now, it was necessary sometimes, as may be understood, to enforce these +decrees, and for that reason to apply to civil power. Therefore there +must be a head of the monks acknowledged by the civil power as head, to +make such applications as might be necessary in this, and perhaps some +other such circumstances. + +It became, therefore, the custom for the king to acknowledge by order +the elect of the monks as Thathanabaing for all such purposes. That was +all. The king did not appoint him at all. + +Any such idea as a monk interfering in the affairs of state, or +expressing an opinion on war or law or finance, would appear to the +Burmese a negation of their faith. They were never led away by the idea +that good might come of such interference. This terrible snare has never +caught their feet. They hold that a man's first duty is to his own soul. +Never think that you can do good to others at the same time as you +injure yourself, and the greatest good for your own heart is to learn +that beyond all this turmoil and fret there is the Great Peace--so great +that we can hardly understand it, and to reach it you must fit yourself +for it. The monk is he who is attempting to reach it, and he knows that +he cannot do that by attempting to rule his fellow-man; that is probably +the very worst thing he could do. And therefore the monkhood, powerful +as they were, left all politics alone. I have never been able to hear of +a single instance in which they even expressed an opinion either as a +body or as individuals on any state matter. + +It is true that, if a governor oppressed his people, the monks would +remonstrate with him, or even, in the last extremity, with the king; +they would plead with the king for clemency to conquered peoples, to +rebels, to criminals; their voice was always on the side of mercy. As +far as urging the greatest of all virtues upon governors and rulers +alike, they may be said to have interfered with politics; but this is +not what is usually understood by religion interfering in things of +state. It seems to me we usually mean the reverse of this, for we are of +late beginning to regard it with horror. The Burmese have always done +so. They would think it a denial of all religion. + +And so the only things worth noting about the government of the Burmese +were its exceeding badness, and its disconnection with religion. That it +would have been a much stronger government had it been able to enlist on +its side all the power of the monkhood, none can doubt. It might even +have been a better government; of that I am not sure. But that such a +union would have meant the utter destruction of the religion, the +debasing of the very soul of the people, no one who has tried to +understand that soul can doubt. And a soul is worth very many +governments. + +But when you left the central government, and came down to the +management of local affairs, there was a great change. You came straight +down from the king and governor to the village and its headman. There +were no lords, no squires, nor ecclesiastical power wielding authority +over the people. + +Each village was to a very great extent a self-governing community +composed of men free in every way. The whole country was divided into +villages, sometimes containing one or two hamlets at a little distance +from each other--offshoots from the parent stem. The towns, too, were +divided into quarters, and each quarter had its headman. These men held +their appointment-orders from the king as a matter of form, but they +were chosen by their fellow-villagers as a matter of fact. Partly this +headship was hereditary, not from father to son, but it might be from +brother to brother, and so on. It was not usually a very coveted +appointment, for the responsibility and trouble were considerable, and +the pay small. It was 10 per cent. on the tax collections. And with this +official as their head, the villagers managed nearly all their affairs. +Their taxes, for instance, they assessed and collected themselves. The +governor merely informed the headman that he was to produce ten rupees +per house from his village. The villagers then appointed assessors from +among themselves, and decided how much each household should pay. Thus a +coolie might pay but four rupees, and a rice-merchant as much as fifty +or sixty. The assessment was levied according to the means of the +villagers. So well was this done, that complaints against the decisions +of the assessors were almost unknown--I might, I think, safely say were +absolutely unknown. The assessment was made publicly, and each man was +heard in his own defence before being assessed. Then the money was +collected. If by any chance, such as death, any family could not pay, +the deficiency was made good by the other villagers in proportion. When +the money was got in it was paid to the governor. + +Crime such as gang-robbery, murder, and so on, had to be reported to the +governor, and he arrested the criminals if he felt inclined, and knew +who they were, and was able to do it. Generally something was in the +way, and it could not be done. All lesser crime was dealt with in the +village itself, not only dealt with when it occurred, but to a great +extent prevented from occurring. You see, in a village anyone knows +everyone, and detection is usually easy. If a man became a nuisance to a +village, he was expelled. I have often heard old Burmans talking about +this, and comparing these times with those. In those times all big +crimes were unpunished, and there was but little petty crime. Now all +big criminals are relentlessly hunted down by the police; and the +inevitable weakening of the village system has led to a large increase +of petty crime, and certain breaches of morality and good conduct. I +remember talking to a man not long ago--a man who had been a headman in +the king's time, but was not so now. We were chatting of various +subjects, and he told me he had no children; they were dead. + +'When were you married?' I asked, just for something to say, and he +said when he was thirty-two. + +'Isn't that rather old to be just married?' I asked. 'I thought you +Burmans often married at eighteen and twenty. What made you wait so +long?' + +And he told me that in his village men were not allowed to marry till +they were about thirty. 'Great harm comes,' he said, 'of allowing boys +and girls to make foolish marriages when they are too young. It was +never allowed in my village.' + +'And if a young man fell in love with a girl?' I asked. + +'He was told to leave her alone.' + +'And if he didn't?' + +'If he didn't, he was put in the stocks for one day or two days, and if +that was no good, he was banished from the village.' + +A monk complained to me of the bad habits of the young men in villages. +'Could government do nothing?' he asked. They used shameful words, and +they would shout as they passed his monastery, and disturb the lads at +their lessons and the girls at the well. They were not well-behaved. In +the Burmese time they would have been punished for all this--made to +draw so many buckets of water for the school-gardens, or do some +road-making, or even be put in the stocks. Now the headman was afraid to +do anything, for fear of the great government. It was very bad for the +young men, he said. + +All villages were not alike, of course, in their enforcement of good +manners and good morals, but, still, in every village they were enforced +more or less. The opinion of the people was very decided, and made +itself felt, and the influence of the monastery without the gate was +strong upon the people. + +Yet the monks never interfered with village affairs. As they abstained +from state government, so they did from local government. You never +could imagine a Buddhist monk being a magistrate for his village, taking +any part at all in municipal affairs. The same reasons that held them +from affairs of the state held them from affairs of the commune. I need +not repeat them. The monastery was outside the village, and the monk +outside the community. I do not think he was ever consulted about any +village matters. I know that, though I have many and many a time asked +monks for their opinion to aid me in deciding little village disputes, I +have never got an answer out of them. 'These are not our affairs,' they +will answer always. 'Go to the people; they will tell you what you +want.' Their influence is by example and precept, by teaching the laws +of the great teacher, by living a life blameless before men, by +preparing their souls for rest. It is a general influence, never a +particular one. If anyone came to the monk for counsel, the monk would +only repeat to him the sacred teaching, and leave him to apply it. + +So each village managed its own affairs, untroubled by squire or priest, +very little troubled by the state. That within their little means they +did it well, no one can doubt. They taxed themselves without friction, +they built their own monastery schools by voluntary effort, they +maintained a very high, a very simple, code of morals, entirely of their +own initiative. + +All this has passed, or is passing away. The king has gone to a +banishment far across the sea, the ministers are either banished or +powerless for good or evil. It will never rise again, this government of +the king, which was so bad in all it did, and only good in what it left +alone. It will never rise again. The people are now part of the British +Empire, subjects of the Queen. What may be in store for them in the far +future no one can tell, only we may be sure that the past can return no +more. And the local government is passing away, too. It cannot exist +with a strong government such as ours. For good or for evil, in a few +years it, too, will be gone. + +But, after all, these are but forms; the soul is far within. In the soul +there will be no change. No one can imagine even in the far future any +monk of the Buddha desiring temporal power or interfering in any way +with the government of the people. That is why I have written this +chapter, to show how Buddhism holds itself towards the government. With +us, we are accustomed to ecclesiastics trying to manage affairs of +state, or attempting to grasp the secular power. It is in accordance +with our ideals that they should do so. Our religious phraseology is +full of such terms as lord and king and ruler and servant. Buddhism +knows nothing of any of them. In our religion we are subject to the +authority of deacons and priests and bishops and archbishops, and so on +up to the Almighty Himself. But in Buddhism every man is free--free, +subject to the inevitable laws of righteousness. There is no hierarchy +in Buddhism: it is a religion of absolute freedom. No one can damn you +except yourself; no one can save you except yourself. Governments cannot +do it, and therefore it would be useless to try and capture the reins of +government, even if you did not destroy your own soul in so doing. +Buddhism does not believe that you can save a man by force. + +As Buddhism was, so it is, so it will remain. By its very nature it +abhors all semblance of authority. It has proved that, under temptation +such as no other religion has felt, and resisted; it is a religion of +each man's own soul, not of governments and powers. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +CRIME AND PUNISHMENT + + 'Overcome anger by kindness, evil by good.' + _Dammapada._ + + +Not very many years ago an officer in Rangoon lost some currency notes. +He had placed them upon his table overnight, and in the morning they +were gone. The amount was not large. It was, if I remember rightly, +thirty rupees; but the loss annoyed him, and as all search and inquiry +proved futile, he put the matter in the hands of the police. + +Before long--the very next day--the possession of the notes was traced +to the officer's Burman servant, who looked after his clothes and +attended on him at table. The boy was caught in the act of trying to +change one of the notes. He was arrested, and he confessed. He was very +hard up, he said, and his sister had written asking him to help her. He +could not do so, and he was troubling himself about the matter early +that morning while tidying the room, and he saw the notes on the table, +and so he took them. It was a sudden temptation, and he fell. When the +officer learnt all this, he would, I think, have withdrawn from the +prosecution and forgiven the boy; but it was too late. In our English +law theft is not compoundable. A complaint of theft once made must be +proved or disproved; the accused must be tried before a magistrate. +There is no alternative. So the lad--he was only a lad--was sent up +before the magistrate, and he again pleaded guilty, and his master asked +that the punishment might be light. The boy, he said, was an honest boy, +and had yielded to a sudden temptation. He, the master, had no desire to +press the charge, but the reverse. He would never have come to court at +all if he could have withdrawn from the charge. Therefore he asked that +the magistrate would consider all this, and be lenient. + +But the magistrate did not see matters in the same light at all. He +would consider his judgment, and deliver it later on. + +When he came into court again and read the judgment he had prepared, he +said that he was unable to treat the case leniently. There were many +such cases, he said. It was becoming quite common for servants to steal +their employers' things, and they generally escaped. It was a serious +matter, and he felt himself obliged to make an example of such as were +convicted, to be a warning to others. So the boy was sentenced to six +months' rigorous imprisonment; and his master went home, and before +long had forgotten all about it. + +But one day, as he was sitting in his veranda reading before breakfast, +a lad came quickly up the stairs and into the veranda, and knelt down +before him. It was the servant. As soon as he was released from gaol, he +went straight to his old master, straight to the veranda where he was +sure he would be sitting at that hour, and begged to be taken back again +into his service. He was quite pleased, and sure that his master would +be equally pleased, at seeing him again, and he took it almost as a +matter of course that he would be reinstated. + +But the master doubted. + +'How can I take you back again?' he said. 'You have been in gaol.' + +'But,' said the boy, 'I did very well in gaol. I became a warder with a +cap white on one side and yellow on the other. Let the thakin ask.' + +Still the officer doubted. + +'I cannot take you back,' he repeated. 'You stole my money, and you have +been in prison. I could not have you as a servant again.' + +'Yes,' admitted the boy, 'I stole the thakin's money, but I have been in +prison for it a long time--six months. Surely that is all forgotten now. +I stole; I have been in gaol--that is the end of it.' + +'No,' answered the master, 'unfortunately, your having been in gaol +only makes matters much worse. I could forgive the theft, but the being +in gaol--how can I forgive that?' + +And the boy could not understand. + +'If I have stolen, I have been in gaol for it. That is wiped out now,' +he said again and again, till at last he went away in sore trouble of +mind, for he could not understand his master, nor could his master +understand him. + +You see, each had his own idea of what was law, and what was justice, +and what was punishment. To the Burman all these words had one set of +meanings; to the Englishman they had another, a very different one. And +each of them took his ideas from his religion. To all men the law here +on earth is but a reflection of the heavenly law; the judge is the +representative of his god. The justice of the court should be as the +justice of heaven. Many nations have imagined their law to be +heaven-given, to be inspired with the very breath of the Creator of the +world. Other nations have derived their laws elsewhere. But this is of +little account, for to the one, as to the other, the laws are a +reflection of the religion. + +And therefore on a man's religion depends all his views of law and +justice, his understanding of the word 'punishment,' his idea of how sin +should be treated. And it was because of their different religions, +because their religions differed so greatly on these points as to be +almost opposed, that the English officer and his Burman servant failed +to understand each other. + +For to the Englishman punishment was a degradation. It seemed to him far +more disgraceful that his servant should have been in gaol than that he +should have committed theft. The theft he was ready to forgive, the +punishment he could not. Punishment to him meant revenge. It is the +revenge of an outraged and injured morality. The sinner had insulted the +law, and therefore the law was to make him suffer. He was to be +frightened into not doing it again. That is the idea. He was to be +afraid of receiving punishment. And again his punishment was to be +useful as a warning to others. Indeed, the magistrate had especially +increased it with that object in view. He was to suffer that others +might be saved. The idea of punishment being an atonement hardly enters +into our minds at all. To us it is practically a revenge. We do not +expect people to be the better for it. We are sure they are the worse. +It is a deterrent for others, not a healing process for the man himself. +We punish A. that B. may be afraid, and not do likewise. Our thoughts +are bent on B., not really on A. at all. As far as he is concerned, the +process is very similar to pouring boiling lead into a wound. We do not +wish or intend to improve him, but simply and purely to make him suffer. +After we have dealt with him, he is never fit again for human society. +That was in the officer's thought when he refused to take back his +Burmese servant. + +Now see the boy's idea. + +Punishment is an atonement, a purifying of the soul from the stain of +sin. That is the only justification for, and meaning of, suffering. If a +man breaks the everlasting laws of righteousness and stains his soul +with the stain of sin, he must be purified, and the only method of +purification is by suffering. Each sin is followed by suffering, lasting +just so long as to cleanse the soul--not a moment less, or the soul +would not be white; not a moment more, or it would be useless and cruel. +That is the law of righteousness, the eternal inevitable sequence that +leads us in the end to wisdom and peace. And as it is with the greater +laws, so it should, the Buddhist thinks, be with the lesser laws. + +If a man steals, he should have such punishment and for such a time as +will wean his soul from theft, as will atone for his sin. Just so much. +You see, to him mercy is a falling short of what is necessary, a leaving +of work half done, as if you were to leave a garment half washed. Excess +of punishment is mere useless brutality. He recognizes no vicarious +punishment. He cannot understand that A. should be damned in order to +save B. This does not agree with his scheme of righteousness at all. It +seems as futile to him as the action of washing one garment twice that +another might be clean. Each man should atone for his own sin, _must_ +atone for his own sin, in order to be freed from it. No one can help +him, or suffer for him. If I have a sore throat, it would be useless to +blister you for it: that is his idea. + +Consider this Burman. He had committed theft. That he admitted. He was +prepared to atone for it. The magistrate was not content with that, but +made him also atone for other men's sins. He was twice punished, because +other men who escaped did ill. That was the first thing he could not +understand. And then, when he had atoned both for his own sin and for +that of others, when he came out of prison, he was looked upon as in a +worse state than if he had never atoned at all. If he had never been in +prison, his master would have forgiven his theft and taken him back, but +now he would not. The boy was proud of having atoned in full, very full, +measure for his sin; the master looked upon the punishment as +inconceivably worse than the crime. + +So the officer went about and told the story of his boy coming back, and +expecting to be taken on again, as a curious instance of the mysterious +working of the Oriental mind, as another example of the extraordinary +way Easterns argue. 'Just to think,' said the officer, 'he was not +ashamed of having been in prison!' And the boy? Well, he probably said +nothing, but went away and did not understand, and kept the matter to +himself, for they are very dumb, these people, very long-suffering, +very charitable. You may be sure that he never railed at the law, or +condemned his old master for harshness. + +He would wonder why he was punished because other people had sinned and +escaped. He could not understand that. It would not occur to him that +sending him to herd with other criminals, that cutting him off from all +the gentle influences of life, from the green trees and the winds of +heaven, from the society of women, from the example of noble men, from +the teachings of religion, was a curious way to render him a better man. +He would suppose it was intended to make him better, that he should +leave gaol a better man than when he entered, and he would take the +intention for the deed. Under his own king things were not much better. +It is true that very few men were imprisoned, fine being the usual +punishment, but still, imprisonment there was, and so that would not +seem to him strange; and as to the conduct of his master, he would be +content to leave that unexplained. The Buddhist is content to leave many +things unexplained until he can see the meaning. He is not fond of +theories. If he does not know, he says so. 'It is beyond me,' he will +say; 'I do not understand.' He has no theory of an occidental mind to +explain acts of ours of which he cannot grasp the meaning; he would only +not understand. + +But the pity of it--think of the pity of it all! Surely there is +nothing more pathetic than this: that a sinner should not understand the +wherefore of his sentence, that the justice administered to him should +be such as he cannot see the meaning of. + + +Certain forms of crime are very rife in Burma. The villages are so +scattered, the roads so lonely, the amount of money habitually carried +about so large, the people so habitually careless, the difficulty of +detection so great, that robbery and kindred crimes are very common; and +it is more common in the districts of the delta, long under our rule, +than in the newly-annexed province in the north. Under like conditions +the Burman is probably no more criminal and no less criminal than other +people in the same state of civilization. Crime is a condition caused by +opportunity, not by an inherent state of mind, except with the very, +very few, the exceptional individuals; and in Upper Burma there is, now +that the turmoil of the annexation is past, very little crime +comparatively. There is less money there, and the village system--the +control of the community over the individual--the restraining influence +of public opinion is greater. But even during the years of trouble, the +years from 1885 till 1890, when, in the words of the Burmese proverb, +'the forest was on fire and the wild-cat slapped his arm,' there were +certain peculiarities about the criminals that differentiated them from +those of Europe. You would hear of a terrible crime, a village attacked +at night by brigands, a large robbery of property, one or two villagers +killed, and an old woman tortured for her treasure, and you would +picture the perpetrators as hardened, brutal criminals, lost to all +sense of humanity, tigers in human shape; and when you came to arrest +them--if by good luck you did so--you would find yourself quite +mistaken. One, perhaps, or two of the ringleaders might be such as I +have described, but the others would be far different. They would be +boys or young men led away by the idea of a frolic, allured by the +romance of being a free-lance for a night, very sorry now, and ready to +confess and do all in their power to atone for their misdeeds. + +Nothing, I think, was more striking than the universal confession of +criminals on their arrest. Even now, despite the spread of lawyers and +notions of law, in country districts accused men always confess, +sometimes even they surrender themselves. I have known many such cases. +Here is one that happened to myself only the other day. + +A man was arrested in another jurisdiction for cattle theft; he was +tried there and sentenced to two years' rigorous imprisonment. Shortly +afterwards it was discovered that he was suspected of being concerned in +a robbery in my jurisdiction, committed before his arrest. He was +therefore transferred to the gaol near my court, and I inquired into the +case, and committed him and four others for trial before the sessions +judge for the robbery, which he admitted. + +Now, it so happened that immediately after I had passed orders in the +case I went out into camp, leaving the necessary warrants to be signed +in my absence by my junior magistrate, and a mistake occurred by which +the committal-warrant was only made out for the four. The other man +being already under sentence for two years, it was not considered +necessary to make out a remand-warrant for him. But, as it happened, he +had appealed from his former sentence and he was acquitted, so a warrant +of release arrived at the gaol, and, in absence of any other warrant, he +was at once released. + +Of course, on the mistake being discovered a fresh warrant was issued, +and mounted police were sent over the country in search of him, without +avail; he could not be found. But some four days afterwards, in the late +afternoon, as I was sitting in my house, just returned from court, my +servant told me a man wanted to see me. He was shown up into the +veranda, and, lo! it was the very man I wanted. He had heard, he +explained, that I wanted him, and had come to see me. I reminded him he +was committed to stand his trial for dacoity, that was why I wanted him. +He said that he thought all that was over, as he was released; but I +explained to him that the release only applied to the theft case. And +then we walked over half a mile to court, I in front and he behind, +across the wide plain, and he surrendered to the guard. He was tried +and acquitted on this charge also. Not, as the sessions judge said +later, that he had any doubt that my friend and the others were the +right men, but because he considered some of the evidence +unsatisfactory, and because the original confession was withdrawn. So he +was released again, and went hence a free man. + +But think of him surrendering himself! He knew he had committed the +dacoity with which he was charged: he himself had admitted it to begin +with, and again admitted it freely when he knew he was safe from further +trial. He knew he was liable to very heavy punishment, and yet he +surrendered because he understood that I wanted him. I confess that I do +not understand it at all, for this is no solitary instance. The +circumstances, truly, were curious, but the spirit in which the man +acted was usual enough. I have had dacoit leaders with prices on their +heads walk into my camp. It was a common experience with many officers. + +The Burmans often act as children do. Their crimes are the violent, +thoughtless crimes of children; they are as little depraved by crime as +children are. Who are more criminal than English boys? and yet they grow +up decent, law-abiding men. Almost the only confirmed criminals have +been made so by punishment, by that punishment which some consider is +intended to uplift them, but which never does aught but degrade them. +Instead of cleansing the garment, it tears it, and renders it useless +for this life. + +It is a very difficult question, this of crime and punishment. I have +not written all this because I have any suggestion to make to improve +it. I have not written it because I think that the laws of Manu, which +obtained under the Burmese kings, and their methods of punishment, were +any improvement on ours. On the contrary, I think they were much worse. +Their laws and their methods of enforcing the law were those of a very +young people. But, notwithstanding this, there was a spirit in their +laws different from and superior to ours. + +I have been trying to see into the soul of this people whom I love so +well, and nothing has struck me more than the way they regard crime and +punishment; nothing has seemed to me more worthy of note than their +ideas of the meaning and end of punishment, of its scope and its limits. +It is so very different from ours. As in our religion, so in our laws: +we believe in mercy at one time and in vengeance at another. We believe +in vicarious punishment and vicarious salvation; they believe in +absolute justice--always the same, eternal and unchangeable as the laws +of the stars. We purposely make punishment degrading; they think it +should be elevating, that in its purifying power lies its sole use and +justification. We believe in tearing a soiled garment; they think it +ought to be washed. + +Surely these are great differences, surely thoughts like these, +engraven in the hearts of a young people, will lead, in the great and +glorious future that lies before them, to a conception of justice, to a +method of dealing with crime, very different from what we know +ourselves. They are now very much as we were sixteen centuries ago, when +the Romans ruled us. Now we are a greater people, our justice is better, +our prisons are better, our morality is inconceivably better than +Imperial Rome ever dreamt of. And so with these people, when their time +shall come, when they shall have grown out of childhood into manhood, +when they shall have the wisdom and strength and experience to put in +force the convictions that are in their hearts, it seems to me that they +will bring out of these convictions something more wonderful than we +to-day have dreamt of. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +HAPPINESS + + 'The thoughts of his heart, these are the wealth of a man.' + _Burmese saying._ + + +As I have said, there was this very remarkable fact in Burma--that when +you left the king, you dropped at once to the villager. There were no +intermediate classes. There were no nobles, hereditary officers, great +landowners, wealthy bankers or merchants. + +Then there is no caste; there are no guilds of trade, or art, or +science. If a man discovered a method of working silver, say, he never +hid it, but made it common property. It is very curious how absolutely +devoid Burma is of the exclusiveness of caste so universal in India, and +which survives to a great extent in Europe. The Burman is so absolutely +enamoured of freedom, that he cannot abide the bonds which caste +demands. He will not bind himself with other men for a slight temporal +advantage; he does not consider it worth the trouble. He prefers +remaining free and poor to being bound and rich. Nothing is further +from him than the feeling of exclusiveness. He abominates secrecy, +mystery. His religion, his women, himself, are free; there are no dark +places in his life where the light cannot come. He is ready that +everything should be known, that all men should be his brothers. + +And so all the people are on the same level. Richer and poorer there +are, of course, but there are no very rich; there is none so poor that +he cannot get plenty to eat and drink. All eat much the same food, all +dress much alike. The amusements of all are the same, for entertainments +are nearly always free. So the Burman does not care to be rich. It is +not in his nature to desire wealth, it is not in his nature to care to +keep it when it comes to him. Beyond a sufficiency for his daily needs +money has not much value. He does not care to add field to field or coin +to coin; the mere fact that he has money causes him no pleasure. Money +is worth to him what it will buy. With us, when we have made a little +money we keep it to be a nest-egg to make more from. Not so a Burman: he +will spend it. And after his own little wants are satisfied, after he +has bought himself a new silk, after he has given his wife a gold +bangle, after he has called all his village together and entertained +them with a dramatic entertainment--sometimes even before all this--he +will spend the rest on charity. + +He will build a pagoda to the honour of the great teacher, where men +may go to meditate on the great laws of existence. He will build a +monastery school where the village lads are taught, and where each +villager retires some time in his life to learn the great wisdom. He +will dig a well or build a bridge, or make a rest-house. And if the sum +be very small indeed, then he will build, perhaps, a little house--a +tiny little house--to hold two or three jars of water for travellers to +drink. And he will keep the jars full of water, and put a little +cocoanut-shell to act as cup. + +The amount spent thus every year in charity is enormous. The country is +full of pagodas; you see them on every peak, on every ridge along the +river. They stand there as do the castles of the robber barons on the +Rhine, only with what another meaning! Near villages and towns there are +clusters of them, great and small. The great pagoda in Rangoon is as +tall as St. Paul's; I have seen many a one not three feet high--the +offering of some poor old man to the Great Name, and everywhere there +are monasteries. Every village has one, at least; most have two or +three. A large village will have many. More would be built if there was +anyone to live in them, so anxious is each man to do something for the +monks. As it is, more are built than there is actual need for. + +And there are rest-houses everywhere. Far away in the dense forests by +the mountain-side you will find them, built in some little hollow by +the roadside by someone who remembered his fellow-traveller. You cannot +go five miles along any road without finding them. In villages they can +be counted by tens, in towns by fifties. There are far more than are +required. + +In Burmese times such roads and bridges as were made were made in the +same way by private charity. Nowadays, the British Government takes that +in hand, and consequently there is probably more money for rest-house +building than is needed. As time goes on, the charity will flow into +other lines, no doubt, in addition. They will build and endow hospitals, +they will devote money to higher education, they will spend money in +many ways, not in what we usually call charity, for that they already +do, nor in missions, as whatever missions they may send out will cost +nothing. Holy men are those vowed to extreme poverty. But as their +civilization (_their_ civilization, not any imposed from outside) +progresses, they will find out new wants for the rich to supply, and +they will supply them. That is a mere question of material progress. + +The inclination to charity is very strong. The Burmans give in charity +far more in proportion to their wealth than any other people. It is +extraordinary how much they give, and you must remember that all of this +is quite voluntary. With, I think, two or three exceptions, such as +gilding the Shwe Dagon pagoda, collections are never made for any +purpose. There is no committee of appeal, no organized collection. It is +all given straight from the giver's heart. It is a very marvellous +thing. + +I remember long ago, shortly after I had come to Burma, I was staying +with a friend in Toungoo, and I went with him to the house of a Burman +contractor. We had been out riding, and as we returned my friend said he +wished to see the contractor about some business, and so we rode to his +house. He came out and asked us in, and we dismounted and went up the +stairs into the veranda, and sat down. It was a little house built of +wood, with three rooms. Behind was a little kitchen and a stable. The +whole may have cost a thousand rupees. As my friend and the Burman +talked of their business I observed the furniture. There was very +little; three or four chairs, two tables and a big box were all I could +see. Inside, no doubt, were a few beds and more chairs. While we sat, +the wife and daughter came out and gave us cheroots, and I talked to +them in my very limited Burmese till my friend was ready. Then we went +away. + +That contractor, so my friend told me as we went home, made probably a +profit of six or seven thousand rupees a year. He spent on himself about +a thousand of this; the rest went in charity. The great new monastery +school, with the marvellous carved façade, just to the south of the +town, was his, the new rest-house on the mountain road far up in the +hills was his. He supported many monks, he gave largely to the gilding +of the pagoda. If a theatrical company came that way, he subscribed +freely. Soon he thought he would retire from contracting altogether, for +he had enough to live on quietly for the rest of his life. + +His action is no exception, but the rule. You will find that every +well-to-do man has built his pagoda or his monastery, and is called +'school-builder' or 'pagoda-builder.' These are the only titles the +Burman knows, and they always are given most scrupulously. The builder +of a bridge, a well, or a rest-house may also receive the title of +'well-builder,' and so on, but such titles are rarely used in common +speech. Even the builder of a long shed for water-jars may call himself +after it if he likes, but it is only big builders who receive any title +from their fellows. But the satisfaction to the man himself, the +knowledge that he has done a good deed, is much the same, I think. + +A Burman's wants are very few, such wants as money can supply--a little +house, a sufficiency of plain food, a cotton dress for weekdays and a +silk one for holidays, and that is nearly all. + +They are still a very young people. Many wants will come, perhaps, later +on, but just now their desires are easily satisfied. + +The Burman does not care for a big house, for there are always the great +trees and the open spaces by the village. It is far pleasanter to sit +out of doors than indoors. He does not care for books. He has what is +better than many books--the life of his people all about him, and he has +the eyes to see it and the heart to understand it. He cares not to see +with other men's eyes, but with his own; he cares not to read other +men's thoughts, but to think his own, for a love of books only comes to +him who is shut always from the world by ill-health, by poverty, by +circumstance. When we are poor and miserable, we like to read of those +who are happier. When we are shut in towns, we love to read of the +beauties of the hills. When we have no love in our hearts, we like to +read of those who have. Few men who think their own thoughts care much +to read the thoughts of others, for a man's own thoughts are worth more +to him than all the thoughts of all the world besides. That a man should +think, that is a great thing. Very, very few great readers are great +thinkers. And he who can live his life, what cares he for reading of the +lives of other people? To have loved once is more than to have read all +the poets that ever sang. So a Burman thinks. To see the moon rise on +the river as you float along, while the boat rocks to and fro and +someone talks to you--is not that better than any tale? + +So a Burman lives his life, and he asks a great deal from it. He wants +fresh air and sunshine, and the great thoughts that come to you in the +forest. He wants love and companionship, the voice of friends, the low +laugh of women, the delight of children. He wants his life to be a full +one, and he wants leisure to teach his heart to enjoy all these things; +for he knows that you must learn to enjoy yourself, that it does not +always come naturally, that to be happy and good-natured and +open-hearted requires an education. To learn to sympathize with your +neighbours, to laugh with them and cry with them, you must not shut +yourself away and work. His religion tells him that the first of all +gifts is sympathy; it is the first step towards wisdom, and he holds it +true. After that, all shall be added to you. He believes that happiness +is the best of all things. + +We think differently. We are content with cheerless days, with an +absence of love, of beauty, of all that is valuable to the heart, if we +can but put away a little money, if we can enlarge our business, if we +can make a bigger figure in the world. Nay, we go beyond this: we +believe that work, that drudgery, is a beautiful thing in itself, that +perpetual toil and effort is admirable. + +This we do because we do not know what to do with our leisure, because +we do not know for what to seek, because we cannot enjoy. And so we go +back to work, to feverish effort, because we cannot think, and see, and +understand. 'Work is a means to leisure,' Aristotle told us long ago, +and leisure, adds the Burman, is needed that you may compose your own +soul. Work, no doubt, is a necessity, too, but not excess of it. + +The necessary thing to a man is not gold, nor position, nor power, but +simply his own soul. Nothing is worth anything to him compared with +that, for while a man lives, what is the good of all these things if he +have no leisure to enjoy them? And when he dies, shall they go down into +the void with him? No; but a man's own soul shall go with and be with +him for ever. + +A Burman's ideas of this world are dominated by his religion. His +religion says to him, 'Consider your own soul, that is the main thing.' +His religion says to him, 'The aim of every man should be happiness.' +These are the fundamental parts of his belief; these he learns from his +childhood: they are born in him. He looks at all the world by their +light. Later on, when he grows older, his religion says to him, 'And +happiness is only to be found by renouncing the whole world.' This is a +hard teaching. This comes to him slowly, or all Buddhists would be +monks; but, meanwhile, if he does but remember the first two precepts, +he is on the right path. + +He does do this. Happiness is the aim he seeks. Work and power and money +are but the means by which he will arrive at the leisure to teach his +own soul. First the body, then the spirit; but with us it is surely +first the body, and then the body again. + +He often watches us with surprise. He sees us work and work and work; +he sees us grow old quickly, and our minds get weary; he sees our +sympathies grow very narrow, our ideas bent into one groove, our whole +souls destroyed for a little money, a little fame, a little promotion, +till we go home, and do not know what to do with ourselves, because we +have no work and no sympathy with anything; and at last we die, and take +down with us our souls--souls fit for nothing but to be driven for ever +with a goad behind and a golden fruit in front. + +But do not suppose that the Burmese are idle. Such a nation of workers +was never known. Every man works, every woman works, every child works. +Life is not an easy thing, but a hard, and there is a great deal of work +to be done. There is not an idle man or woman in all Burma. The class of +those who live on other men's labour is unknown. I do not think the +Burman would care for such a life, for a certain amount of work is good, +he knows. A little work he likes; a good deal of work he does, because +he is obliged often to do so to earn even the little he requires. And +that is the end. He is a free man, never a slave to other men, nor to +himself. + +Therefore I do not think his will ever make what we call a great nation. +He will never try to be a conqueror of other peoples, either with the +sword, with trade, or with religion. He will never care to have a great +voice in the management of the world. He does not care to interfere with +other people: he never believes interference can do other than harm to +both sides. + +He will never be very rich, very powerful, very advanced in science, +perhaps not even in art, though I am not sure about that. It may be he +will be very great in literature and art. But, however that may be, in +his own idea his will be always the greatest nation in the world, +because it is the happiest. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE MONKHOOD--I + + 'Let his life be kindness, his conduct righteousness; then in the + fulness of gladness he will make an end of grief.'--_Dammapada._ + + +During his lifetime, that long lifetime that remained to him after he +had found the light, Gaudama the Buddha gathered round him many +disciples. They came to learn from his lips of that truth which he had +found, and they remained near him to practise that life which alone can +lead unto the Great Peace. + +From time to time, as occasion arose, the teacher laid down precepts and +rules to assist those who desired to live as he did--precepts and rules +designed to help his disciples in the right way. Thus there arose about +him a brotherhood of those who were striving to purify their souls, and +lead the higher life, and that brotherhood has lasted ever since, till +you see in it the monkhood of to-day, for that is all that the monks +are--a brotherhood of men who are trying to live as their great master +lived, to purify their souls from the lust of life, to travel the road +that reaches unto deliverance. Only that, nothing more. + +There is no idea of priesthood about it at all, for by a priest we +understand one who has received from above some power, who is, as it +were, a representative on earth of God. Priests, to our thinking, are +those who have delegated to them some of that authority of which God is +the fountainhead. They can absolve from sin, we think; they can accept +into the faith; they can eject from it; they can exhort with authority; +they can administer the sacraments of religion; they can speed the +parting soul to God; they can damn the parting soul to hell. A priest is +one who is clothed with much authority and holiness. + +But in Buddhism there is not, there cannot be, anything of all this. The +God who lies far beyond our ken has delegated His authority to no one. +He works through everlasting laws. His will is manifested by +unchangeable sequences. There is nothing hidden about His laws that +requires exposition by His agents, nor any ceremonies necessary for +acceptance into the faith. Buddhism is a free religion. No one holds the +keys of a man's salvation but himself. Buddhism never dreams that anyone +can save or damn you but yourself, and so a Buddhist monk is as far away +from our ideas of a priest as can be. Nothing could be more abhorrent to +Buddhism than any claim of authority, of power, from above, of holiness +acquired except by the earnest effort of a man's own soul. + +These monks, who are so common all through Burma, whose monasteries are +outside every village, who can be seen in every street in the early +morning begging their bread, who educate the whole youth of the country, +are simply men who are striving after good. + +This is a difficult thing for us to understand, for our minds are bent +in another direction. A religion without a priesthood seems to us an +impossibility, and yet here it is so. The whole idea and thing of a +priesthood would be repugnant to Buddhism. + +It is a wonderful thing to contemplate how this brotherhood has existed +all these many centuries, how it has always gained the respect and +admiration of the people, how it has always held in its hands the +education of the children, and yet has never aspired to sacerdotalism. +Think of the temptation resisted here. The temptation to interfere in +government was great, the temptation to arrogate to themselves priestly +powers is far, far greater. Yet it has been always resisted. This +brotherhood of monks is to-day as it was twenty-three centuries ago--a +community of men seeking for the truth. + +Therefore, in considering these monks, we must dismiss from our minds +any idea of priesthood, any idea of extra human sanctity, of extra human +authority. We must never liken them in any way to our priests, or even +to our friars. I use the word monk, because it is the nearest of any +English word I can find, but even that is not quite correct. I have +often found this difficulty. I do not like to use the Burmese terms if I +can help it, for this reason, that strange terms and names confuse us. +They seem to lift us into another world--a world of people differing +from us, not in habits alone, but in mind and soul. It is a dividing +partition. It is very difficult to read a book speaking of people under +strange terms, and feel that they are flesh and blood with us, and +therefore I have, if possible, always used an English word where I can +come anywhere near the meaning, and in this case I think monk comes +closest to what I mean. Hermits they are not, for they live always in +communities by villages, and they do not seclude themselves from human +intercourse. Priests they are not, ministers they are not, clergymen +they are not; mendicants only half describe them, so I use the word monk +as coming nearest to what I wish to say. + +The monks, then, are those who are trying to follow the teaching of +Gaudama the Buddha, to wean themselves from the world, 'who have turned +their eyes towards heaven, where is the lake in which all passions shall +be washed away.' They are members of a great community, who are governed +by stringent regulations--the regulations laid down in the Wini for +observance by all monks. When a man enters the monkhood, he makes four +vows--that he will be pure from lust, from desire of property, from the +taking of any life, from the assumption of any supernatural powers. +Consider this last, how it disposes once and for all of any desire a +monk may have toward mysticism, for this is what he is taught: + +'No member of our community may ever arrogate to himself extraordinary +gifts or supernatural perfection, or through vainglory give himself out +to be a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary +places on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the Ariahs, and afterwards +to presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. +Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green +again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy +station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an +excess.' + +Is not this teaching the very reverse of that of all other peoples and +religions? Can you imagine the religious teachers of any other religion +being warned to keep themselves free from visions? Are not visions and +trances, dreams and imaginations, the very proof of holiness? But here +it is not so. These are vain things, foolish imaginations, and he who +would lead the pure life must put behind him all such things as mere +dram-drinking of the soul. + +This is a most wonderful thing, a religion that condemns all +mysticisms. It stands alone here amongst all religions, pure from the +tinsel of miracle, either past, or present, or to come. And yet this +people is, like all young nations, given to superstition: its young men +dream dreams, its girls see visions. There are interpreters of dreams, +many of them, soothsayers of all kinds, people who will give you charms, +and foretell events for you. Just as it was with us not long ago, the +mystery, _what is_ beyond the world, exercises a curious fascination +over them. Everywhere you will meet with traces of it, and I have in +another chapter told some of the principal phases of these. But the +religion has kept itself pure. No hysteric visions, no madman's dreams, +no clever conjurer's tricks, have ever shed a tawdry glory on the +monkhood of the Buddha. Amid all the superstition round about them they +have remained pure, as they have from passion and desire. Here in the +far East, the very home, we think, of the unnatural and superhuman, the +very cradle of the mysterious and the wonderful, is a religion which +condemns it all, and a monkhood who follow their religion. Does not this +out-miracle any miracle? + +With other faiths it is different: they hold out to those who follow +their tenets and accept their ministry that in exchange for the worldly +things which their followers renounce they shall receive other gifts, +heavenly ones; they will be endued with power from above; they will have +authority from on high; they will become the chosen messengers of God; +they may even in their trances enter into His heaven, and see Him face +to face. + +Buddhism has nothing of all this to offer. A man must surrender all the +world, with no immediate gain. There is only this: that if he struggle +along in the path of righteousness, he will at length attain unto the +Great Peace. + +A monk who dreamed dreams, who said that the Buddha had appeared to him +in a vision, who announced that he was able to prophesy, would be not +exalted, but expelled. He would be deemed silly or mad; think of +that--mad--for seeing visions, not holy at all! The boys would jeer at +him; he would be turned out of his monastery. + +A monk is he who observes purity and sanity of life. Hysteric dreams, +the childishness of the mysterious, the insanity of the miraculous, are +no part of that. + +And so a monk has to put behind him everything that is called good in +this life, and govern his body and his soul in strict temperance. + +He must wear but yellow garments, ample and decent, but not beautiful; +he must shave his head; he must have none but the most distant +intercourse with women; he must beg his food daily in the streets; he +must eat but twice, and then but a certain amount, and never after noon; +he must take no interest in worldly affairs; he must own no property, +must attend no plays or performances; 'he must eat, not to satisfy his +appetite, but to keep his body alive; he must wear clothes, not from +vanity, but from decency; he must live under a roof, not because of +vainglory, but because the weather renders it necessary.' All his life +is bounded by the very strictest poverty and purity. + +There is no austerity. A monk may not over-eat, but he must eat enough; +he must not wear fine clothes, but he must be decent and comfortable; he +must not have proud dwellings, but he should be sheltered from the +weather. + +There is no self-punishment in Buddhism. Did not the Buddha prove the +futility of this long ago? The body must be kept in health, that the +soul may not be hampered. And so the monks live a very healthy, very +temperate life, eating and drinking just enough to keep the body in good +health; that is the first thing, that is the very beginning of the pure +life. + +And as he trains his body by careful treatment, so does he his soul. He +must read the sacred books, he must meditate on the teachings of the +great teacher, he must try by every means in his power to bring these +truths home to himself, not as empty sayings, but as beliefs that are to +be to him the very essence of all truth. He is not cut off from society. +There are other monks, and there are visitors, men and women. He may +talk to them--he is no recluse; but he must not talk too much about +worldly matters. He must be careful of his thoughts, that they do not +lead him into wrong paths. His life is a life of self-culture. + +Being no priest, he has few duties to others to perform; he is not +called upon to interfere in the business of others. He does not visit +the sick; he has no concern with births and marriages and deaths. On +Sunday, and on certain other occasions, he may read the laws to the +people, that is all. Of this I will speak in another chapter. It does +not amount to a great demand upon his time. He is also the schoolmaster +of the village, but this is aside entirely from his sacred profession. +Certain duties he has, however. Every morning as the earliest sunlight +comes upon the monastery spires, when the birds are still calling to the +day, and the cool freshness of the morning still lies along the +highways, you will see from every monastery the little procession come +forth. First, perhaps, there will be two schoolboys with a gong slung on +a bamboo between them, which they strike now and then. And behind them, +in their yellow robes, their faces cast upon the ground, and the +begging-bowls in their hands, follow the monks. Very slowly they pass +along the streets, amid the girls hurrying to their stalls in the bazaar +with baskets of fruit upon their heads, the housewives out to buy their +day's requirements, the workman going to his work, the children running +and laughing and falling in the dust. Everyone makes room for them as +they go in slow and solemn procession, and from this house and that +come forth women and children with a little rice that they have risen +before daylight to cook, a little curry, a little fruit, to put into the +bowls. Never is there any money given: a monk may not touch money, and +his wants are very few. Presents of books, and so on, are made at other +times; but in the morning only food is given. + +The gifts are never acknowledged. The cover of the bowl is removed, and +when the offering has been put in, it is replaced, and the monk moves +on. And when they have made their accustomed round, they return, as they +went, slowly to the monastery, their bowls full of food. I do not know +that this food is always eaten by the monks. Frequently in large towns +they are fed by rich men, who send daily a hot, fresh, well-cooked meal +for each monk, and the collected alms are given to the poor, or to +schoolboys, or to animals. But the begging round is never neglected, nor +is it a form. It is a very real thing, as anyone who has seen them go +knows. They must beg their food, and they do; it is part of the +self-discipline that the law says is necessary to help the soul to +humility. And the people give because it is a good thing to give alms. +Even if they know the monks are fed besides, they will fill the bowls as +the monks pass along. If the monks do not want it, there are the poor, +there are the schoolboys, sons of the poorest of the people, who may +often be in need of a meal; and if a little be left, then there are the +birds and the beasts. It is a good thing to give alms--good for +yourself, I mean. So that this daily procession does good in two ways: +it is good for the monk because he learns humility; it is good for the +people because they have thereby offered them a chance of giving a +little alms. Even the poorest may be able to give his spoonful of rice. +All is accepted. Think not a great gift is more acceptable than a little +one. You must judge by the giver's heart. + +At every feast, every rejoicing, the central feature is presents to the +monks. If a man put his son into a monastery, if he make merry at a +stroke of good fortune, if he wish to celebrate a mark of favour from +government, the principal ceremony of the feast will be presents to +monks. They must be presents such as the monks can accept; that is +understood. + +Therefore, a man enters a monastery simply for this: to keep his body in +health by perfect moderation and careful conduct, and to prepare his +soul for heaven by meditation. That is the meaning of it all. + +If you see a grove of trees before you on your ride, mangoes and +tamarinds in clusters, with palms nodding overhead, and great +broad-leaved plantains and flowering shrubs below, you may be sure that +there is a monastery, for it is one of the commands to the monks of the +Buddha to live under the shade of lofty trees, and this command they +always keep. They are most beautiful, many of these monasteries--great +buildings of dark-brown teak, weather-stained, with two or three roofs +one above the other, and at one end a spire tapering up until it ends in +a gilded 'tee.' Many of the monasteries are covered with carving along +the façades and up the spires, scroll upon scroll of daintiest design, +quaint groups of figures here and there, and on the gateways moulded +dragons. All the carvings tell a story taken from the treasure-house of +the nation's infancy, quaint tales of genii and fairy and wonderful +adventure. Never, I think, do the carvings tell anything of the sacred +life or teaching. The Burmese are not fond, as we are, of carving and +painting scenes from sacred books. Perhaps they think the subject too +holy for the hand of the craftsman, and so, with, as far as I know, but +one exception in all Burma--a pagoda built by Indian architects long +ago--you will look in vain for any sacred teaching in the carvings. But +they are very beautiful, and their colour is so good, the deep rich +brown of teak against the light green of the tamarinds, and the great +leaves of the plantains all about. Within the monastery it will be all +bare. However beautiful the building is without, no relaxation of his +rules is allowed to the monk within. All is bare: only a few mats, +perhaps, here and there on the plank floor, a hard wooden bed, a box or +two of books. + +At one end there will be sure to be the image of the teacher, wrought +in alabaster. These are always one of three stereotyped designs; they +are not works of art at all. The wealth of imagination and desire of +beauty that finds its expression in the carved stories in the façades +has no place here at all. It would be thought a sacrilege to attempt in +any way to alter the time-honoured figures that have come down to us +from long ago. + +Over the head of the image there will be a white or golden umbrella, +whence we have derived our haloes, and perhaps a lotus-blossom in an +earthen pot in front. That will be all. There is this very remarkable +fact: of all the great names associated with the life of the Buddha, you +never see any presentment at all. + +The Buddha stands alone. Of Maya his mother, of Yathodaya his wife, of +Rahoula his son, of his great disciple Thariputra, of his dearest +disciple and brother Ananda, you see nothing. There are no saints in +Buddhism at all, only the great teacher, he who saw the light. Surely +this is a curious thing, that from the time of the prince to now, two +thousand four hundred years, no one has arisen to be worthy of mention +of record beside him. There is only one man holy to Buddhism--Gaudama +the Buddha. + +On one side of the monasteries there will be many pagodas, tombs of the +Buddha. They are usually solid cones, topped with a gilded 'tee,' and +there are many of them. Each man will build one in his lifetime if he +can. They are always white or gold. + +So there is much colour about a monastery--the brown of the wood and the +white of the pagoda, and tender green of the trees. The ground is always +kept clean-swept and beaten and neat. And there is plenty of sound, +too--the fairy music of little bells upon the pagoda-tops when the +breeze moves, the cooing of the pigeons in the eaves, the voices of the +schoolboys. Monastery land is sacred. No life may be taken there, no +loud sounds, no noisy merriment, no abuse is permitted anywhere within +the fence. Monasteries are places of meditation and peace. + +Of course, all monasteries are not great and beautiful buildings; many +are but huts of bamboo and straw, but little better than the villager's +hut. Some villages are so poor that they can afford but little for their +holy men. But always there will be trees, always the ground will be +swept, always the place will be respected just the same. And as soon as +a good crop gives the village a little money, it will build a teak +monastery, be sure of that. + +Monasteries are free to all. Any stranger may walk into a monastery and +receive shelter. The monks are always hospitable. I have myself lived, +perhaps, a quarter of my life in Burma in monasteries, or in the +rest-houses attached to them. We break all their laws: we ride and wear +boots within the sacred enclosure; our servants kill fowls for our +dinners there, where all life is protected; we treat these monks, these +who are the honoured of the nation, much in the offhand, unceremonious +way that we treat all Orientals; we often openly laugh at their +religion. And yet they always receive us; they are often even glad to +see us and talk to us. Very, very seldom do you meet with any return in +kind for your contempt of their faith and habits. I have heard it said +sometimes that some monks stand aloof, that they like to keep to +themselves. If they should do so, can you wonder? Would any people, not +firmly bound by their religion, put up with it all for a moment? If you +went into a Mahommedan mosque in Delhi with your boots on, you would +probably be killed. Yet we clump round the Shwe Dagon pagoda at our +ease, and no one interferes. Do not suppose that it is because the +Burman believes less than the Hindu or Mahommedan. It is because he +believes more, because he is taught that submission and patience are +strong Buddhist virtues, and that a man's conduct is an affair of his +own soul. He is willing to believe that the Englishman's breaches of +decorum are due to foreign manners, to the necessities of our life, to +ignorance. But even if he supposed that we did these things out of sheer +wantonness it would make no difference. If the foreigner is dead to +every feeling of respect, of courtesy, of sympathy, that is an affair of +the foreigner's own heart. It is not for the monk to enforce upon +strangers the respect and reverence due to purity, to courage, to the +better things. Each man is responsible for himself, the foreigner no +less than the Burman. If a foreigner have no respect for what is good, +that is his own business. It can hurt no one but himself if he is +blatant, ignorant, contemptuous. No one is insulted by it, or requires +revenge for it. You might as well try and insult gravity by jeering at +Newton and his pupils, as injure the laws of righteousness by jeering at +the Buddha or his monks. And so you will see foreigners take all sorts +of liberties in monasteries and pagodas, break every rule wantonly, and +disregard everything the Buddhist holds holy, and yet very little notice +will be taken openly. Burmans will have their own opinion of you, do +have their own opinion of you, without a doubt; but because you are lost +to all sense of decency, that is no reason why the Buddhist monk or +layman should also lower himself by getting angry and resent it; and so +you may walk into any monastery or rest-house and act as you think fit, +and no one will interfere with you. Nay, if you even show a little +courtesy to the monks, your hosts, they will be glad to talk to you and +tell you of their lives and their desires. It is very seldom that a +pleasant word or a jest will not bring the monks into forgetting all +your offences, and talking to you freely and openly. I have had, I have +still, many friends among the monkhood; I have been beholden to them +for many kindnesses; I have found them always, peasants as they are, +courteous and well-mannered. Nay, there are greater things than these. + +When my dear friend was murdered at the outbreak of the war, wantonly +murdered by the soldiers of a brutal official, and his body drifted down +the river, everyone afraid to bury it, for fear of the wrath of +government, was it not at last tenderly and lovingly buried by the monks +near whose monastery it floated ashore? Would all people have done this? +Remember, he was one of those whose army was engaged in subduing the +kingdom; whose army imprisoned the king, and had killed, and were +killing, many, many hundreds of Burmans. 'We do not remember such +things. All men are brothers to the dead.' They are brothers to the +living, too. Is there not a monastery near Kindat, built by an +Englishman as a memorial to the monk who saved his life at peril of his +own at that same time, who preserved him till help came? + +Can anyone ever tell when the influence of a monk has been other than +for pity or mercy? Surely they believe their religion? I did not know +how people could believe till I saw them. + +Martyrdom--what is martyrdom, what is death, for your religion, compared +to living within its commands? Death is easy; life it is that is +difficult. Men have died for many things: love and hate, and religion +and science, for patriotism and avarice, for self-conceit and sheer +vanity, for all sorts of things, of value and of no value. Death proves +nothing. Even a coward can die well. But a pure life is the outcome only +of the purest religion, of the greatest belief, of the most magnificent +courage. Those who can live like this can die, too, if need be--have +done so often and often; that is but a little matter indeed. No Buddhist +would consider that as a very great thing beside a holy life. + +There is another difference between us. We think a good death hallows an +evil life; no Buddhist would hear of this for a moment. + +The reverence in which a monk--ay, even the monk to-day who was but an +ordinary man yesterday--is held by the people is very great. All those +who address him do so kneeling. Even the king himself was lower than a +monk, took a lower seat than a monk in the palace. He is addressed as +'Lord,' and those who address him are his disciples. Poor as he is, +living on daily charity, without any power or authority of any kind, the +greatest in the land would dismount and yield the road that he should +pass. Such is the people's reverence for a holy life. Never was such +voluntary homage yielded to any as to these monks. There is a special +language for them, the ordinary language of life being too common to be +applied to their actions. They do not sleep or eat or walk as do other +men. + +It seems strange to us, coming from our land where poverty is an +offence, where the receipt of alms is a degradation, where the ideal is +power, to see here all this reversed. The monks are the poorest of the +poor, they are dependent on the people for their daily bread; for +although lands may be given to a monastery as a matter of fact, very few +have any at all, and those only a few palm-trees. They have no power at +all, either temporal or eternal; they are not very learned, and yet they +are the most honoured of all people. Without any of the attributes which +in our experience gather the love and honour of mankind, they are +honoured above all men. + +The Burman demands from the monk no assistance in heavenly affairs, no +interference in worldly, only this, that he should live as becomes a +follower of the great teacher. And because he does so live the Burman +reverences him beyond all others. The king is feared, the wise man +admired, perhaps envied, the rich man is respected, but the monk is +honoured and loved. There is no one beside him in the heart of the +people. If you would know what a Burman would be, see what a monk is: +that is his ideal. But it is a very difficult ideal. The Burman is very +fond of life, very full of life, delighting in the joy of existence, +brimming over with vitality, with humour, with merriment. They are a +young people, in the full flush of early nationhood. To them of all +people the restraints of a monk's life must be terrible and hard to +maintain. And because it is so, because they all know how hard it is to +do right, and because the monks do right, they honour them, and they +know they deserve honour. Remember that all these people have been monks +themselves at one time or other; they know how hard the rules are, they +know how well they are observed. They are reverencing what they +thoroughly understand; they have seen their monkhood from the inside; +their reverence is the outcome of a very real knowledge. + +Of the internal management of the monkhood I have but little to say. +There is the Thathanabaing, who is the head of the community; there are +under him Gaing-oks, who each have charge of a district; each Gaing-ok +has an assistant, 'a prop,' called Gaing-dauk; and there are the heads +of monasteries. The Thathanabaing is chosen by the heads of the +monasteries, and appoints his Gaing-oks and Gaing-dauks. There is no +complication about it. Usually any serious dispute is decided by a court +of three or four heads of monasteries, presided over by the Gaing-ok. +But note this: no monk can be tried by any ecclesiastical court without +his consent. Each monastery is self-governing; no monk can be called to +account by any Gaing-ok or Gaing-dauk unless he consents. The discipline +is voluntary entirely. There are no punishments by law for disobedience +of an ecclesiastical court. A monk cannot be unfrocked by his fellows. + +Therefore, it would seem that there would be no check over abuses, that +monks could do as they liked, that irregularities could creep in, and +that, in fact, there is nothing to prevent a monastery becoming a +disgrace. This would be a great mistake. It must never be forgotten that +monks are dependent on their village for everything--food and clothes, +and even the monastery itself. Do not imagine that the villagers would +allow their monks, their 'great glories,' to become a scandal to them. +The supervision exercised by the people over their monks is most +stringent. As long as the monks act as monks should, they are held in +great honour, they are addressed by titles of great respect, they are +supplied with all they want within the rules of the Wini, they are the +glory of the village. But do you think a Burman would render this homage +to a monk whom he could not respect, who did actions he should not? A +monk is one who acts as a monk. Directly he breaks his laws, his +holiness is gone. The villagers will have none such as he. They will +hunt him out of the village, they will refuse him food, they will make +him a byword, a scorn. I have known this to happen. If a monk's holiness +be suspected, he must clear himself before a court, or leave that place +quickly, lest worse befall him. It is impossible to conceive any +supervision more close than this of the people over their monks, and so +the breaches of any law by the monks are very rare--very rare indeed. +You see, for one thing, that a monk never takes the vows for life. He +takes them for six months, a year, two years, very often for five +years; then, if he finds the life suit him, he continues. If he finds +that he cannot live up to the standard required, he is free to go. There +is no compulsion to stay, no stigma on going. As a matter of fact, very +few monks there are but have left the monastery at one time or another. +It is impossible to over-estimate the value of this safety-valve. What +with the certainty of detection and punishment from his people, and the +knowledge that he can leave the monastery if he will at the end of his +time without any reproach, a monk is almost always able to keep within +his rules. + +I have had for ten years a considerable experience of criminal law. I +have tried hundreds of men for all sorts of offences; I have known of +many hundreds more being tried, and the only cases where a monk was +concerned that I can remember are these: three times a monk has been +connected in a rebellion, once in a divorce case, once in another +offence. This last case happened just as we annexed the country, and +when our courts were not established. He was detected by the villagers, +stripped of his robes, beaten, and hunted out of the place with every +ignominy possible. There is only one opinion amongst all those who have +tried to study the Buddhist monkhood--that their conduct is admirable. +Do you suppose the people would reverence it as they do if it were +corrupt? They know: they have seen it from the inside. It is not +outside knowledge they have. And when it is understood that anyone can +enter a monastery--thieves and robbers, murderers and sinners of every +description, can enter, are even urged to enter monasteries, and try to +live the holy life; and many of them do, either as a refuge against +pursuit, or because they really repent--it will be conceded that the +discipline of the monks, if obtained in a different way to elsewhere, is +very effective. + +The more you study the monkhood, the more you see that this community is +the outcome of the very heart of the people. It is a part of the people, +not cut off from them, but of them; it is recruited in great numbers +from all sorts and conditions of men. In every village and town--nearly +every man has been a monk at one time or another--it is honoured alike +by all; it is kept in the straight way, not only from the inherent +righteousness of its teaching, but from the determination of the people +to allow no stain to rest upon what they consider as their 'great +glory.' This whole monkhood is founded on freedom. It is held together +not by a strong organization, but by general consent. There is no +mystery about it, there are no dark places here where the sunlight of +inquiry may not come. The whole business is so simple that the very +children can and do understand it. I shall have expressed myself very +badly if I have not made it understood how absolutely voluntary this +monkhood is, held together by no everlasting vows, restrained by no +rigid discipline. It is simply the free outcome of the free beliefs of +the people, as much a part of them as the fruit is of the tree. You +could no more imagine grapes without a vine than a Buddhist monkhood +that did not spring directly from, and depend entirely on, the people. +It is the higher expression of their life. + + +In writing this account of the Burmese and their religion, I have tried +always to see with my own eyes, to write my own thoughts without any +reference to what anyone else may have thought or written. I have +believed that whatever value may attach to any man's opinions consists +in the fact that they are his opinions, and not a _rechauffé_ of the +thoughts of others, and therefore I have not even referred to, or quoted +from, any other writer, preferring to write only what I have myself seen +and thought. But I cannot end this chapter on the monks of the Buddha +without a reference to what Bishop Bigandet has said on the same +subject, for he is no observer prejudiced in favour of Buddhism, but the +reverse. He was a bishop of the Church of Rome, believing always that +his faith contained all truth, and that the Buddha was but a 'pretended +saviour,' his teachings based on 'capital and revolting errors,' and +marked with an 'inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity.' Bishop +Bigandet was in no sympathy with Buddhism, but its avowed foe, desirous +of undermining and destroying its influence over the hearts of men, and +yet this is the way he ends his chapter: + +'There is in that religious body--the monks--a latent principle of +vitality that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength +and energy that has hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, +revolutionary and political, convulsions of all descriptions. Whether +supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and +unchanged. It is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a +phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such +extraordinary vitality, a cause independent of ordinary occurrences of +time and circumstances, a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the +populations that exhibit before the observer this great and striking +religious feature. + +'That cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm +faith, that pervades the mass of Buddhists. The laity admire and +venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to +their maintenance and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is +constantly recruited. There is hardly a man that has not been a member +of the fraternity for a certain period of time. + +'Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long unless +it were maintained by a powerful religious connection. + +'The members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of +their profession. The rules and regulations are tolerably well +observed; the grades of hierarchy are maintained with scrupulous +exactitude. The life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual +control. He is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could +such a system of self-denial ever be maintained, were it not for the +belief which the Rahans have in the merits that they amass by following +a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to Nature? It cannot be +denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the +religious, but, divested of faith and the sentiments supplied by even a +false belief, their action could not produce in a lasting and +persevering manner the extraordinary and striking fact that we witness +in Buddhist countries.' + +This monkhood is the proof of how the people believe. Has any religion +ever had for twenty-four centuries such a proof as this? + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE MONKHOOD--II + + 'The restrained in hand, restrained in foot, restrained in speech, + of the greatest self-control. He whose delight is inward, who is + tranquil and happy when alone--him they call + "mendicant."'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +Besides being the ideal of the Buddhists, the monk is more: he is the +schoolmaster of all the boys. It must be remembered that this is a thing +aside from his monkhood. A monk need not necessarily teach; the aim and +object of the monkhood is, as I have written in the last chapter, purity +and abstraction from the world. If the monk acts as schoolmaster, that +is a thing apart. And yet all monasteries are schools. The word in +Burmese is the same; they are identified in popular speech and in +popular opinion. All the monasteries are full of scholars, all the monks +teach. I suppose much the same reasons have had influence here as in +other nations; the desire of the parents that their children should +learn religion in their childhood, the fact that the wisest and most +honoured men entered the monkhood, the leisure of the monks giving them +opportunity for such occupation. + +Every man all through Burma has gone to a monastery school as a lad, has +lived there with the monks, has learnt from them the elements of +education and a knowledge of his faith. It is an exception to find a +Burman who cannot read and write. Sometimes from lack of practice the +art is lost in later manhood, but it has always been acquired. The +education is not very deep--reading Burmese and writing; simple, very +simple, arithmetic; a knowledge of the days and months, and a little +geography, perhaps, and history--that is all that is secular. But of +their religion they learn a great deal. They have to get by heart great +portions of the sacred books, stories and teachings, and they have to +learn many precepts. They have to recite them, too, as those who have +lived much near monasteries know. Several times a day, at about nine +o'clock at night, and again before dawn, you will hear the lads intoning +clearly and loudly some of the sacred teachings. I have been awakened +many a time in the early morning, before the dawn, before even the +promise of the dawn in the eastern sky, by the children's voices +intoning. And I have put aside my curtain and looked out from my +rest-house and seen them in the dim starlight kneeling before the +pagoda, the tomb of the great teacher, saying his laws. The light comes +rapidly in this country: the sky reddens, the stars die quickly +overhead, the first long beams of sunrise are trembling on the dewy +bamboo feathers ere they have finished. It is one of the most beautiful +sights imaginable to see monks and children kneeling on the bare ground, +singing while the dawn comes. + +The education in their religion is very good, very thorough, not only in +precept, but in practice; for in the monastery you must live a holy +life, as the monks live, even if you are but a schoolboy. + +But the secular education is limited. It is up to the standard of +education amongst the people at large, but that is saying little. Beyond +reading and writing and arithmetic it generally does not go. I have seen +the little boys do arithmetic. They were adding sums, and they began, +not as we would, on the right, but on the left. They added, say, the +hundreds first; then they wrote on the slate the number of hundreds, and +added up the tens. If it happened that the tens mounted up so as to add +one or more to the hundreds, a grimy little finger would wipe out the +hundreds already written and write in the correct numbers. It follows +that if the units on being added up came to over ten, the tens must be +corrected with the grimy little finger, first put in the mouth. Perhaps +both tens and hundreds had to be written again. It will be seen that +when you come to thousands and tens of thousands, a good deal of wiping +out and re-writing may be required. A Burman is very bad at arithmetic; +a villager will often write 133 as 100,303; he would almost as soon +write 43 as 34; both figures are in each number, you see. + +I never met a Burman who had any idea of cubic measurement, though land +measurement they pick up very quickly. + +I have said that the education in the monasteries is up to the average +education of the people. That is so. Whether when civilization +progresses and more education is required the monasteries will be able +to provide it is another thing. + +The education given now is mostly a means to an end: to learning the +precepts of religion. Whether the monks will provide an education beyond +such a want, I doubt. A monk is by his vows, by the whole tenour of his +life, apart from the world; too keen a search after knowledge, any kind +of secular knowledge, would be a return to the things of this life, +would, perhaps, re-kindle in him the desires that the whole meaning of +his life is to annihilate. 'And after thou hast run over all things, +what will it profit thee if thou hast neglected thyself?' + +Besides, no knowledge, except mere theoretical knowledge, can be +acquired without going about in the world. You cannot cut yourself off +from the world and get knowledge of it. Yet the monk is apart from the +world. It is true that Buddhism has no antagonism to science--nay, has +every sympathy with, every attraction to, science. Buddhism will never +try and block the progress of the truth, of light, secular or +religious; but whether the monks will find it within their vows to +provide that science, only time can prove. However it may be, it will +not make any difference to the estimation in which the monks are held. +They are not honoured for their wisdom--they often have but little; nor +for their learning--they often have none at all; nor for their +industry--they are never industrious; but because they are men trying to +live--nay, succeeding in living--a life void of sin. Up till now the +education given by the monks has met the wants of the people; in future +it will do so less and less. But a community that has lived through +twenty-four centuries of change, and is now of the strength and vitality +that the Buddhist monkhood is, can have nothing to fear from any such +change. Schoolmasters, except religious and elementary, they may cease +to be, perhaps; the pattern and ensample of purity and righteousness +they will always remain. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +PRAYER + + 'What is there that can justify tears and lamentations?' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +Down below my house, in a grove of palms near the river, was a little +rest-house. It was but a roof and a floor of teak boarding without any +walls, and it was plainly built. It might have held, perhaps, twenty +people; and here, as I strolled past in the evening when the sun was +setting, I would see two or three old men sitting with beads in their +hands. They were making their devotions, saying to themselves that the +world was all trouble, all weariness, and that there was no rest +anywhere except in observing the laws of righteousness. It was very +pathetic, I thought, to see them there, saying this over and over again, +as they told their beads through their withered fingers, for surely +there was no necessity for them to learn it. Has not everyone learnt it, +this, the first truth of Buddhism, long before his hair is gray, before +his hands are shaking, before his teeth are gone? But there they would +sit, evening after evening, thinking of the change about to come upon +them soon, realizing the emptiness of life, wishing for the Great Peace. + +On Sundays the rest-house, like many others round the village, was +crowded. Old men there would be, and one or two young men, a few +children, and many women. Early in the morning they would come, and a +monk would come down from the monastery near by, and each one would vow, +with the monk as witness, that he or she would spend the day in +meditation and in holy thought, would banish all thought of evil, and be +for the day at least holy. And then, the vow made, the devotee would go +and sit in the rest-house and meditate. The village is not very near; +the sounds come very softly through the trees, not enough to disturb the +mind; only there is the sigh of the wind wandering amid the leaves, and +the occasional cry of birds. Once before noon a meal will be eaten, +either food brought with them cold, or a simple pot of rice boiled +beside the rest-house, and there they will stay till the sun sets and +darkness is gathering about the foot of the trees. There is no service +at all. The monk may come and read part of the sacred books--some of the +Abidama, or a sermon from the Thoots--and perhaps sometimes he may +expound a little; that is all. There is nothing akin to our ideas of +worship. For consider what our service consists of: there is +thanksgiving and praise, there is prayer, there is reading of the Bible, +there is a sermon. Our thanksgiving and praise is rendered to God for +things He has done, the pleasure that He has allowed us to enjoy, the +punishment that He might have inflicted upon us and has not. Our prayer +is to Him to preserve us in future, to assist us in our troubles, to +give us our daily food, not to be too severe upon us, not to punish us +as we deserve, but to be merciful and kind. We ask Him to protect us +from our enemies, not to allow them to triumph over us, but to give us +triumph over them. + +But the Buddhist has far other thoughts than these. He believes that the +world is ruled by everlasting, unchangeable laws of righteousness. The +great God lives far behind His laws, and they are for ever and ever. You +cannot change the laws of righteousness by praising them, or by crying +against them, any more than you can change the revolution of the earth. +Sin begets sorrow, sorrow is the only purifier from sin; these are +eternal sequences; they cannot be altered; it would not be good that +they should be altered. The Buddhist believes that the sequences are +founded on righteousness, are the path to righteousness, and he does not +believe he could alter them for the better, even if he had the power by +prayer to do so. He believes in the everlasting _righteousness_, that +all things work for _good_ in the end; he has no need for prayer or +praise; he thinks that the world is governed with far greater wisdom +than any of his--perfect wisdom, that is too great, too wonderful, for +his petty praise. + +God lives far behind His laws; think not He has made them so badly as +to require continual rectification at the prayer of man. Think not that +God is not bound by His own laws. The Buddhist will never believe that +God can break His own laws; that He is like an earthly king who imagines +one code of morality for his subjects and another for himself. Not so; +the great laws are founded in righteousness, so the Buddhist believes, +in everlasting righteousness; they are perfect, far beyond our +comprehension; they are the eternal, unchangeable, marvellous will of +God, and it is our duty not to be for ever fretfully trying to change +them, but to be trying to understand them. That is the Buddhist belief +in the meaning of religion, and in the laws of righteousness; that is, +he believes the duty of him who would follow religion to try to +understand these laws, to bring them home to the heart, so to order life +as to bring it into harmony with righteousness. + +Now see the difference. We believe that the world is governed not by +eternal laws, but by a changeable and continually changing God, and that +it is our duty to try and persuade Him to make it better. + +We believe, really, that we know a great deal better than God what is +good, not only for us, but for others; we do not believe His will is +always righteous--not at all: God has wrath to be deprecated; He has +mercy to be aroused; He has partiality to be turned towards us, and +hence our prayers. + +But to the Buddhist the whole world is ruled by righteousness, the same +for all, the same for ever, and the only sin is ignorance of these laws. + +The Buddha is he who has found for us the light to see these laws, and +to order our life in accordance with them. + +Now it will be understood, I think, why there is no prayer, no gathering +together for any ceremonial, in Buddhism; why there is no praise, no +thanksgiving of any kind; why it is so very different in this way from +our faith. Buddhism is a wisdom, a seeking of the light, a following of +the light, each man as best he can, and it has very little to correspond +with our prayer, our services of praise, our meetings together in the +name of Christ. + +Therefore, when you see a man kneeling before a pagoda, moving silent +lips of prayer, when you see the people sitting quietly in the +rest-houses on a Sunday, when you see the old men telling their beads to +themselves slowly and sadly, when you hear the resonant chant of monks +and children, lending a soul to the silence of the gloaming, you will +know what they are doing. They are trying to understand and bring home +to themselves the eternal laws of righteousness; they are honouring +their great teacher. + +This is all that there is; this is the meaning of all that you see and +hear. The Buddhist praises and honours the Buddha, the Indian prince +who so long ago went out into the wilderness to search for truth, and +after many years found it in his own heart; he reverences the Buddha for +seeing the light; he thanks the Buddha for his toil and exertion in +making this light known to all men. It can do the Buddha no good, all +this praise, for he has come to his eternal peace; but it can arouse the +enthusiasm of the follower, can bring into his heart love for the memory +of the great teacher, and a firm resolve to follow his teaching. + +The service of his religion is to try and follow these laws, to take +them home into the heart, that the follower, too, may come soon into the +Great Peace. + +This has been called pessimism. Surely it is the greatest optimism the +world has known--this certainty that the world is ruled by +righteousness, that the world has been, that the world will always be, +ruled by perfect righteousness. + +To the Buddhist this is a certainty. The laws are laws of righteousness, +if man would but see, would but understand. Do not complain and cry and +pray, but open your eyes and see. The light is all about you, if you +would only cast the bandage from your eyes and look. It is so wonderful, +so beautiful, far beyond what any man has dreamt of, has prayed for, and +it is for ever and for ever. + +This is the attitude of Buddhism towards prayer, towards thanksgiving. +It considers them an impertinence and a foolishness, born of ignorance, +akin to the action of him who would daily desire Atlas not to allow the +heavens to drop upon the earth. + +And yet, and yet. + +I remember standing once on the platform of a famous pagoda, the golden +spire rising before us, and carved shrines around us, and seeing a woman +lying there, her face to the pagoda. She was praying fervently, so +fervently that her words could be heard, for she had no care for anyone +about, in such trouble was she; and what she was asking was this, that +her child, her baby, might not die. She held the little thing in her +arms, and as she looked upon it her eyes were full of tears. For it was +very sick; its little limbs were but thin bones, with big knees and +elbows, and its face was very wan. It could not even take any interest +in the wonderful sights around, but hardly opened its careworn eyes now +and then to blink upon the world. + +'Let him recover, let him be well once more!' the woman cried, again and +again. + +Whom was she beseeching? I do not know. + +'Thakin, there will be Someone, Someone. A Spirit may hear. Who can +tell? Surely someone will help me? Men would help me if they could, but +they cannot; surely there will be someone?' + +So she did not remember the story of Ma Pa Da. + +Women often pray, I think--they pray that their husbands and those they +love may be well. It is a frequent ending to a girl's letter to her +lover: 'And I pray always that you may be well.' I never heard of their +praying for anything but this: that they may be loved, and those they +love may be well. Nothing else is worth praying for besides this. The +queen would pray at the pagoda in the palace morning and evening. 'What +did she pray for?' 'What should she pray for, thakin? Surely she prayed +that her husband might be true to her, and that her children might live +and be strong. That is what women pray for. Do you think a queen would +pray differently to any other woman?' + +'Women,' say the Buddhist monks, 'never understand. They _will_ not +understand; they cannot learn. And so we say that most women must be +born again, as men, before they can see the light and understand the +laws of righteousness.' + +What do women care for laws of righteousness? What do they care for +justice? What for the everlasting sequences that govern the world? Would +not they involve all other men, all earth and heaven, in bottomless +chaos, to save one heart they loved? That is woman's religion. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +FESTIVALS + + 'The law is sweet, filling the soul with joy.' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +The three months of the rains, from the full moon of July to the full +moon of October, is the Buddhist Lent. It was during these months that +the Buddha would retire to some monastery and cease from travelling and +teaching for a time. The custom was far older even than that--so old +that we do not know how it arose. Its origin is lost in the mists of +far-away time. But whatever the beginning may have been, it fits in very +well with the habits of the people; for in the rains travelling is not +easy. The roads are very bad, covered even with water, often deep in +mud; and the rest-houses, with open sides, are not very comfortable with +the rain drifting in. Even if there were no custom of Lent, there would +be but little travelling then. People would stay at home, both because +of the discomfort of moving, and because there is much work then at the +village. For this is the time to plough, this is the time to sow; on +the villagers' exertions in these months depends all their maintenance +for the rest of the year. Every man, every woman, every child, has hard +work of some kind or another. + +What with the difficulties of travelling, what with the work there is to +do, and what with the custom of Lent, everyone stays at home. It is the +time for prayer, for fasting, for improving the soul. Many men during +these months will live even as the monks live, will eat but before +mid-day, will abstain from tobacco. There are no plays during Lent, and +there are no marriages. It is the time for preparing the land for the +crop; it is the time for preparing the soul for eternity. The +congregations on the Sundays will be far greater at this time than at +any other; there will be more thought of the serious things of life. + +It is a very long Lent--three months; but with the full moon of October +comes the end. The rains then are over; the great black bank of clouds +that walled up all the south so long is gone. The south wind has died +away, and the light, fresh north wind is coming down the river. The +roads are drying up, the work in the fields is over for a time, awaiting +the ripening of the grain. The damp has gone out of the air, and it is +very clear. You can see once more the purple mountains that you have +missed so long; there is a new feeling in the wind, a laughter in the +sunshine, a flush of blossom along the fields like the awakening of a +new joy. The rains are gone and the cool weather is coming; Lent is +over and gladness is returned; the crop has been sown, and soon will +come the reaping. And so at this full moon of October is the great feast +of the year. There are other festivals: of the New Year, in March, with +its water-throwing; of each great pagoda at its appointed time; but of +all, the festival at the end of Lent is the greatest. + +Wherever there are great pagodas the people will come in from far and +near for the feast. There are many great pagodas in Burma; there is the +Arakan pagoda in Mandalay, and there was the Incomparable pagoda, which +has been burnt; there are great pagodas at Pegu, at Prome, at many other +places; but perhaps the greatest of all is the Shwe Dagon at Rangoon. + +You see it from far away as you come up the river, steaming in from the +open sea, a great tongue of flame before you. It stands on a small +conical hill just behind the city of Rangoon, about two miles away from +the wharves and shipping in the busy river. The hill has been levelled +on the top and paved into a wide platform, to which you ascend by a +flight of many steps from the gate below, where stand the dragons. This +entrance-way is all roofed over, and the pillars and the ceiling are red +and painted. Here it was that much fighting took place in the early +wars, in 1852 especially, and many men, English and Burmese, were killed +in storming and defending this strong place. For it had been made a +very strong place, this holy place of him who taught that peace was the +only good, and the defences round about it are standing still. Upon the +top of this hill, the flat paved top, stands the pagoda, a great solid +tapering cone over three hundred feet high, ending in an iron fretwork +spire that glitters with gold and jewels; and the whole pagoda is +covered with gold--pure leaf-gold. Down below it is being always renewed +by the pious offerings of those who come to pray and spread a little +gold-leaf on it; but every now and then it is all regilt, from the top, +far away above you, to the golden lions that guard its base. It is a +most wonderful sight, this great golden cone, in that marvellous +sunlight that bathes its sides like a golden sea. It seems to shake and +tremble in the light like a fire. And all about the platform, edging it +ere it falls away below, are little shrines, marvels of carven woodwork +and red lacquer. They have tapering roofs, one above another, till they, +too, end in a golden spire full of little bells with tongues. As the +wind blows the tongues move to and fro, and the air is full of music, so +faint, so clear, like 'silver stir of strings in hollow shells.' + +In most of these shrines there are statues of the great teacher, cut in +white alabaster, glimmering whitely in the lustrous shadows there +within; and in one shrine is the great bell. Long ago we tried to take +this great bell; we tried to send it home as a war trophy, this bell +stolen from their sacred place, but we failed. As it was being put on +board a ship, it slipped and fell into the river into the mud, where the +fierce tides are ever coming and going. And when all the efforts of our +engineers to raise it had failed, the Burmese asked: 'The bell, our +bell, is there in the water. You cannot get it up. You have tried and +you have failed. If we can get it up, may we have it back to hang in our +pagoda as our own again?' And they were told, with a laugh, perhaps, +that they might; and so they raised it up again, the river giving back +to them what it had refused to us, and they took and hung it where it +used to be. There it is now, and you may hear it when you go, giving out +a long, deep note, the beat of the pagoda's heart. + +There are many trees, too, about the pagoda platform--so many, that seen +far off you can only see the trees and the pagoda towering above them. +Have not trees been always sacred things? Have not all religions been +glad to give their fanes the glory and majesty of great trees? + +You may look from the pagoda platform over the whole country, over the +city and the river and the straight streets; and on the other side you +may see the long white lakes and little hills covered with trees. It is +a very beautiful place, this pagoda, and it is steeped in an odour of +holiness, the perfume of the thousand thousand prayers that have been +prayed there, of the thousand thousand holy thoughts that have been +thought there. + +The pagoda platform is always full of people kneeling, saying over and +over the great precepts of their faith, trying to bring into their +hearts the meaning of the teaching of him of whom this wonderful pagoda +represents the tomb. There are always monks there passing to and fro, or +standing leaning on the pillars of the shrines; there are always a crowd +of people climbing up and down the long steps that lead from the road +below. It is a place I always go to when I am in Rangoon; for, besides +its beauty, there are the people; and if you go and stand near where the +stairway reaches the platform you will see the people come up. They come +up singly, in twos, in groups. First a nun, perhaps, walking very +softly, clad in her white dress with her beads about her neck, and there +in a corner by a little shrine she will spread a cloth upon the hard +stones and kneel and bow her face to the great pagoda. Then she will +repeat, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble,' over and over again, running her +beads through her fingers, repeating the words in the hope that in the +end she may understand whither they should lead her. 'Sorrow, misery, +trouble'--ah! surely she must know what they mean, or she would not be a +nun. And then comes a young man, and after a reverence to the pagoda he +goes wandering round, looking for someone, maybe; and then comes an old +man with his son. They stop at the little stalls on the stairs, and they +have bought there each a candle. The old man has a plain taper, but the +little lad must have one with his emblem on it. Each day has its own +sign, a tiger for Monday, and so on, and the lad buys a candle like a +little rat, for his birthday is Friday, and the father and son go on to +the platform. There they kneel down side by side, the old man and the +little chubby lad, and they, too, say that all is misery and delusion. +Presently they rise and advance to the pagoda's golden base, and put +their candles thereon and light them. This side of the pagoda is in +shadow now, and so you can see the lights of the candles as little +stars. + +And then come three girls, sisters, perhaps, all so prettily dressed, +with meek eyes, and they, too, buy candles; they, too, kneel and make +their devotions, for long, so long, that you wonder if anything has +happened, if there has been any trouble that has brought them thus in +the sunset to the remembrance of religion. But at last they rise, and +they light their little candles near by where the old man and the boy +have lit theirs, and then they go away. They are so sad, they keep their +faces so turned upon the ground, that you fear there has been something, +some trouble come upon them. You feel so sorry for them, you would like +to ask them what it all is; you would like to help them if you could. +But you can do nothing. They go away down the steps, and you hear the +nun repeating always, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble.' + +So they come and go. + +But on the festival days at the end of Lent it is far more wonderful. +Then for units there are tens, for tens there are hundreds--all come to +do reverence to the great teacher at this his great holy place. There is +no especial ceremony, no great service, such as we are accustomed to on +our festivals. Only there will be many offerings; there will be a +procession, maybe, with offerings to the pagoda, with offerings to the +monks; there will be much gold-leaf spread upon the pagoda sides; there +will be many people kneeling there--that is all. For, you see, Buddhism +is not an affair of a community, but of each man's own heart. + +To see the great pagoda on the festival days is one of the sights of the +world. There are a great crowd of people coming and going, climbing up +the steps. There are all sorts of people, rich and poor, old and young. +Old men there are, climbing wearily up these steps that are so steep, +steps that lead towards the Great Peace; and there are old women, +too--many of them. + +Young men will be there, walking briskly up, laughing and talking to +each other, very happy, very merry, glad to see each other, to see so +many people, calling pleasant greetings to their friends as they pass. +They are all so gaily dressed, with beautiful silks and white jackets +and gay satin head-cloths, tied with a little end sticking up as a +plume. + +And the girls, how shall I describe them, so sweet they are, so pretty +in their fresh dresses, with downcast eyes of modesty, tempered with +little side-glances. They laugh, too, as they go, and they talk, never +forgetting the sacredness of the place, never forgetting the reverences +due, kneeling always first as they come up to the great pagoda, but +being of good courage, happy and contented. There are children, too, +numbers and numbers of them, walking along, with their little hands +clasping so tightly some bigger ones, very fearful lest they should be +lost. They are as gay as butterflies in their dress, but their looks are +very solemn. There is no solemnity like that of a little child; it takes +all the world so very, very seriously, walking along with great eyes of +wonder at all it sees about it. + +They are all well dressed who come here; on a festival day even the poor +can be dressed well. Pinks and reds are the prevailing colours, in +checks, in stripes, mixed usually with white. These colours go best with +their brown skins, and they are fondest of them. But there are other +colours, too: there is silver and green embroidery, and there are +shot-silks in purple and orange, and there is dark blue. All the +jackets, or nearly all the jackets, are white with wide sleeves, showing +the arm nearly up to the elbow. Each man has his turban very gay, while +each girl has a bright handkerchief which she drapes as she likes upon +her arm, or carries in her hand. Such a blaze of colour would not look +well with us. Under our dull skies and with our sober lights it would be +too bright; but here it is not so. Everything is tempered by the sun; +it is so brilliant, this sunlight, such a golden flood pouring down and +bathing the whole world, that these colours are only in keeping. Before +them is the gold pagoda, and about them the red lacquer and dark-brown +carving of the shrines. + +You hear voices like the murmur of a summer sea, rising and falling, +full of laughter low and sweet, and above is the music of the fairy +bells. + +Everything is in keeping--the shining pagoda and the gaily-dressed +people, their voices and the bells, even the great bell far beyond, and +all are so happy. + +The feast lasts for seven days; but of these there are three that are +greater, and of these, one, the day of the full moon, is the greatest of +all. On that day the offerings will be most numerous, the crowd densest. +Down below the pagoda are many temporary stalls built, where you can buy +all sorts of fairings, from a baby's jointed doll to a new silk dress; +and there are restaurants where you may obtain refreshments; for the +pagoda is some way from the streets of the city, and on festival days +refreshments are much wanted. + +These stalls are always crowded with people buying and selling, or +looking anxiously at the many pretty wares, unable, perhaps, to buy. The +refreshments are usually very simple--rice and curry for supper, and for +little refreshments between whiles there are sugar-cakes and vermicelli, +and other little cates. + +The crowd going up and down the steps is like a gorgeous-coloured +flood, crested with white foam, flowing between the dragons of the gate; +and on the platform the crowd is thicker than ever. All day the festival +goes on--the praying, the offering of gifts, the burning of little +candles before the shrines--until the sun sets across the open country +far beyond in gold and crimson glory. But even then there is no pause, +no darkness, for hardly has the sun's last bright shaft faded from the +pagoda spire far above, while his streamers are still bright across the +west, than there comes in the east a new radiance, so soft, so +wonderful, it seems more beautiful than the dying day. Across the misty +fields the moon is rising; first a crimson globe hung low among the +trees, but rising fast, and as it rises growing whiter. Its light comes +flooding down upon the earth, pure silver with very black shadows. Then +the night breeze begins to blow, very softly, very gently, and the trees +give out their odour to the night, which woos them so much more sweetly +than the day, till the air is heavy with incense. + +Behold, the pagoda has started into a new glory, for it is all hung +about with little lamps, myriads of tiny cressets, and the façades of +the shrines are lit up, too. The lamps are put in long rows or in +circles, to fit the places they adorn. They are little earthenware jars +full of cocoanut-oil, with a lip where is the wick. They burn very +redly, and throw a red light about the platform, breaking the shadows +that the moonlight throws and staining its whiteness. + +In the streets, too, there are lamps--the houses are lined with +them--and there are little pagodas and ships curiously designed in +flame. + +All the people come out to see the illuminations, just as they do with +us at Christmas to see the shop-windows, and the streets are crowded +with people going to and fro, laughing and talking. And there are +dramatic entertainments going on, dances and marionette shows, all in +the open air. The people are all so happy, they take their pleasure so +pleasantly, that it is a delight to see them. You cannot help but be +happy, too. The men joke and laugh, and you laugh, too; the children +smile at you as they pass, and you must smile, too; can you help it? And +to see the girls makes the heart glad within you. There is an infection +from the good temper and the gaiety about you that is irresistible, even +if you should want to resist it. + +The festival goes on till very late. The moon is so bright that you +forget how late it is, and only remember how beautiful it is all around. +You are very loath to leave it, and so it is not till the moon itself is +falling low down in the same path whither the sun went before her, it is +not till the lamps are dying one by one and the children are yawning +very sleepily, that the crowd disperses and the pagoda is at rest. + +Such is a great feast at a great pagoda. + +But whenever I think of a great feast, whenever the growing autumn moon +tells me that the end of Lent is drawing nigh, it is not the great feast +of the Shwe Dagon, nor of any other famous pagoda that comes into my +mind, but something far different. + +It was on a frontier long ago that there was the festival that I +remember so well. The country there was very far away from all the big +towns; the people were not civilized as those of Mandalay or of Rangoon; +the pagoda was a very small one. There was no gilding upon it at all, +and no shrines were about it; it stood alone, just a little white +plastered pagoda, with a few trees near it, on a bare rice-field. There +were a few villages about, dotted here and there in the swamp, and the +people of these were all that came to our festival. + +For long before the villages were preparing for it, saving a little +money here, doing a little extra work there, so that they might be able +to have presents ready for the monks, so that they might be able to +subscribe to the lights, so that they would have a good dress in which +they might appear. + +The men did a little more work at the fields, bamboo-cutting in the +forest, making baskets in the evening, and the women wove. All had to +work very hard to have even a little margin; for there, although +food--plain rice--was very cheap, all other things were very expensive. +It was so far to bring them, and the roads were so bad. I remember that +the only European things to be bought there then were matches and +tinned milk, and copper money was not known. You paid a rupee, and took +the change in rice or other commodities. + +The excitement of the great day of the full moon began in the morning, +about ten o'clock, with the offerings to the monks. Outside the village +gate there was a piece of straight road, dry and open, and on each side +of this, in rows, were the people with their gifts; mostly they were +eatables. You see that it is very difficult to find any variety of +things to give a monk; he is very strictly limited in the things he is +allowed to receive. Garments, yellow garments, curtains to partition off +corners of the monasteries and keep away the draughts, sacred books and +eatables--that is nearly all. But eatables allow a very wide range. A +monk may accept and eat any food--not drink, of course--provided he eat +but the one big meal a day before noon; and so most of the offerings +were eatables. Each donor knelt there upon the road with his or her +offerings in a tray in front. There was rice cooked in all sorts of +shapes, ordinary rice for eating with curry, and the sweet purple rice, +cooked in bamboos and coming out in sticks. There were vegetables, too, +of very many kinds, and sugar and cakes and oil and honey, and many +other such things. There were a few, very few, books, for they are very +hard to get, being all in manuscript; and there were one or two tapestry +curtains; but there were heaps of flowers. I remember there was one girl +whose whole offering was a few orchid sprays, and a little, very +little, heap of common rice. She was so poor; her father and mother were +dead, and she was not married. It was all she could give. She sat behind +her little offering, as did all the donors. And my gift? Well, although +an English official, I was not then very much richer than the people +about me, so my gift must be small, too--a tin of biscuits, a tin or two +of jam, a new pair of scissors. I did not sit behind them myself, but +gave them to the headman to put with his offerings; for the monks were +old friends of mine. Did I not live in one of their monasteries for over +two months when we first came and camped there with a cavalry squadron? +And if there is any merit in such little charity, as the Burmese say +there is, why should I not gain it, too? The monks said my present was +best of all, because it was so uncommon; and the biscuits, they said, +though they did not taste of much while you were eating them, had a very +pleasant after-taste that lasted a long time. They were like charity, +maybe: that has a pleasant after-taste, too, they tell me. + +When all the presents, with the donors behind them, dressed all in their +best, were ready, the monks came. There were four monasteries near by, +and the monks, perhaps in all thirty, old and young, monks and novices, +came in one long procession, walking very slowly, with downcast eyes, +between the rows of gifts and givers. They did not look at them at all. +It is not proper for a monk to notice the gifts he receives; but +schoolboys who came along behind attending on them, they saw and made +remarks. Perhaps they saw the chance of some overflow of these good +things coming their way. 'See,' one nudged the other; 'honey--what a +lot! I can smell it, can't you?' And, '_My mother!_ what a lot of sweet +rice. Who gave that? Oh, I see, old U Hman.' 'I wonder what's in that +tin box?' remarked one as he passed my biscuits. 'I hope it's coming to +our monastery, any way.' + +Thus the monks passed, paying no sort of attention, while the people +knelt to them; and when the procession reached the end of the line of +offerings, it went on without stopping, across the fields, the monks of +each monastery going to their own place; and the givers of presents rose +up and followed them, each carrying his or her gifts. And so they went +across the fields till each little procession was lost to sight. + +That was all the ceremony for the day, but at dusk the illuminations +began. The little pagoda in the fields was lighted up nearly to its top +with concentric rings of lamps till it blazed like a pyramid of flame, +seen far across the night. All the people came there, and placed little +offerings of flowers at the foot of the pagoda, or added each his candle +to the big illumination. + +The house of the headman of the village was lit up with a few rows of +lamps, and all the monasteries, too, were lit. There were no +restaurants--everyone was at home, you see--but there were one or two +little stalls, at which you could buy a cheroot, or even perhaps a cup +of vermicelli; and there was a dance. It was only the village girls who +had been taught, partly by their own mothers, partly by an old man, who +knew something of the business. They did not dance very well, perhaps; +they were none of them very beautiful; but what matter? We knew them +all; they were our neighbours, the kinswomen of half the village; +everyone liked to see them dance, to hear them sing; they were all +young, and are not all young girls pretty? And amongst the audience were +there not the girls' relations, their sisters, their lovers? would not +that alone make the girls dance well, make the audience enthusiastic? +And so, what with the illuminations, and the chat and laughter of +friends, and the dance, we kept it up till very late; and we all went to +bed happy and well pleased with each other, well pleased with ourselves. +Can you imagine a more successful end than that? + +To write about these festivals is so pleasant, it brings back so many +delightful memories, that I could go on writing for long and long. But +there is no use in doing so, as they are all very much alike, with +little local differences depending on the enterprise of the inhabitants +and the situation of the place. There might be boat-races, perhaps, on a +festival day, or pony-races, or boxing. I have seen all these, if not +at the festival at the end of Lent, at other festivals. I remember once +I was going up the river on a festival night by the full moon, and we +saw point after point crowned with lights upon the pagodas; and as we +came near the great city we saw a new glory; for there was a boat +anchored in mid-stream, and from this boat there dropped a stream of +fire; myriads of little lamps burned on tiny rafts that drifted down the +river in a golden band. There were every now and then bigger rafts, with +figures made in light--boats and pagodas and monasteries. The lights +heaved with the long swell of the great river, and bent to and fro like +a great snake following the tides, until at length they died far away +into the night. + +I do not know what is the meaning of all these lights; I do not know +that they have any inner meaning, only that the people are very glad, +only that they greatly honour the great teacher who died so long ago, +only that they are very fond of light and colour and laughter and all +beautiful things. + +But although these festivals often become also fairs, although they are +the great centres for amusement, although the people look to them as +their great pleasure of the year, it must not be forgotten that they are +essentially religious feasts, holy days. Though there be no great +ceremony of prayer, or of thanksgiving, no public joining in any +religious ceremony, save, perhaps, the giving of alms to the monks, yet +religion is the heart and soul of them. Their centre is the pagoda, +their meaning is a religious meaning. + +What if the people make merry, too, if they make their holy days into +holidays, is that any harm? For their pleasures are very simple, very +innocent; there is nothing that the moon, even the cold and distant +moon, would blush to look upon. The people make merry because they are +merry, because their religion is to them a very beautiful thing, not to +be shunned or feared, but to be exalted to the eye of day, to be +rejoiced in. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WOMEN--I + + 'Her cheek is more beautiful than the dawn, her eyes are deeper + than the river pools; when she loosens her hair upon her shoulders, + it is as night coming over the hills.'--_Burmese Love-Song._ + + +If you were to ask a Burman 'What is the position of women in Burma?' he +would reply that he did not know what you meant. Women have no position, +no fixed relation towards men beyond that fixed by the fact that women +are women and men are men. They differ a great deal in many ways, so a +Burman would say; men are better in some things, women are better in +others; if they have a position, their relative superiority in certain +things determines it. How else should it be determined? + +If you say by religion, he laughs, and asks what religion has to do with +such things? Religion is a culture of the soul; it is not concerned with +the relationship of men and women. If you say by law, he says that law +has no more to do with it than religion. In the eye of the law both are +alike. 'You wouldn't have one law for a man and another for a woman?' he +asks. + +In the life of the Buddha nothing is said upon the subject. The great +teacher never committed himself to an opinion as to whether men or women +were the highest. He had men disciples, he had women disciples; he +honoured both. Nowhere in any of his sayings can anything be found to +show that he made any difference between them. That monks should be +careful and avoid intercourse with women is merely the counterpart of +the order that nuns should be careful in their intercourse with men. +That man's greatest attraction is woman does not infer wickedness in +woman; that woman's greatest attraction is man does not show that man is +a devil. Wickedness is a thing of your own heart. If he could be sure +that his desire towards women was dead, a monk might see them as much as +he liked. The desire is the enemy, not the woman; therefore a woman is +not damned because by her man is often tempted to evil; therefore a +woman is not praised because by her a man may be led to better thoughts. +She is but the outer and unconscious influence. + +If, for instance, you cannot see a precipice without wishing to throw +yourself down, you blame not the precipice, but your giddiness; and if +you are wise you avoid precipices in future. You do not rail against +steep places because you have a bad circulation. So it is with women: +you should not contemn women because they rouse a devil in man. + +And it is the same with man. Men and women are alike subject to the +eternal laws. And they are alike subject to the laws of man; in no +material points, hardly even in minor points, does the law discriminate +against women. + +The law as regards marriage and inheritance and divorce will come each +in its own place. It is curiously the same both for the man and the +woman. + +The criminal law was the same for both; I have tried to find any +difference, and this is all I have found: A woman's life was less +valuable than a man's. The price of the body, as it is called, of a +woman was less than that of a man. If a woman were accidentally killed, +less compensation had to be paid than for a man. I asked a Burman about +this once. + +'Why is this difference?' I said. 'Why does the law discriminate?' + +'It isn't the law,' he said, 'it is a fact. A woman is worth less than a +man in that way. A maidservant can be hired for less than a manservant, +a daughter can claim less than a son. They cannot do so much work; they +are not so strong. If they had been worth more, the law would have been +the other way; of course they are worth less.' + +And so this sole discrimination is a fact, not dogma. It is a fact, no +doubt, everywhere. No one would deny it. The pecuniary value of a woman +is less than that of a man. As to the soul's value, that is not a +question of law, which confines itself to material affairs. But I +suppose all laws have been framed out of the necessities of mankind. It +was the incessant fighting during the times when our laws grew slowly +into shape, the necessity of not allowing the possession of land, and +the armed wealth that land gave, to fall into the weaker hands of women, +that led to our laws of inheritance. + +Laws then were governed by the necessity of war, of subjecting +everything else to the ability to fight. Consequently, as women were not +such good fighters as men, they went to the wall. But feudalism never +obtained at all in Burma. What fighting they did was far less severe +than that of our ancestors, was not the dominant factor in the position, +and consequently woman did not suffer. + +She has thus been given the inestimable boon of freedom. Freedom from +sacerdotal dogma, from secular law, she has always had. + +And so, in order to preserve the life of the people, it has never been +necessary to pass laws treating woman unfairly as regards inheritance; +and as religion has left her free to find her own position, so has the +law of the land. + +And yet the Burman man has a confirmed opinion that he is better than a +woman, that men are on the whole superior as a sex to women. 'We may be +inferior in some ways,' he will tell you. 'A woman may steal a march on +us here and there, but in the long-run the man will always win. Women +have no patience.' + +I have heard this said over and over again, even by women, that they +have less patience than a man. We have often supposed differently. Some +Burmans have even supposed that a woman must be reincarnated as a man to +gain a step in holiness. I do not mean that they think men are always +better than women, but that the best men are far better than the best +women, and there are many more of them. However all this may be, it is +only an opinion. Neither in their law, nor in their religion, nor--what +is far more important--in their daily life, do they acknowledge any +inferiority in women beyond those patent weaknesses of body that are, +perhaps, more differences than inferiorities. + +And so she has always had fair-play, from religion, from law, and from +her fellow man and woman. + +She has been bound by no ties, she has had perfect freedom to make for +herself just such a life as she thinks best fitted for her. She has had +no frozen ideals of a long dead past held up to her as eternal copies. +She has been allowed to change as her world changed, and she has lived +in a very real world--a world of stern facts, not fancies. You see, she +has had to fight her own way; for the same laws that made woman lower +than man in Europe compensated her to a certain extent by protection +and guidance. In Burma she has been neither confined nor guided. In +Europe and India for very long the idea was to make woman a hot-house +plant, to see that no rough winds struck her, that no injuries overtook +her. In Burma she has had to look out for herself: she has had freedom +to come to grief as well as to come to strength. You see, all such laws +cut both ways. Freedom to do ill must accompany freedom to do well. You +cannot have one without the other. The Burmese woman has had both. +Ideals act for good as well as for evil; if they cramp all progress, +they nevertheless tend to the sustentation of a certain level of +thought. She has had none. Whatever she is, she has made herself, +finding under the varying circumstances of life what is the best for +her; and as her surroundings change, so will she. What she was a +thousand years ago I do not care, what she may be a thousand years hence +I do not know; it is of what she is to-day that I have tried to know and +write. + +Children in Burma have, I think, a very good time when they are young. +Parentage in Burma has never degenerated into a sort of slavery. It has +never been supposed that gaiety and goodness are opposed. And so they +grow up little merry naked things, sprawling in the dust of the gardens, +sleeping in the sun with their arms round the village dogs, very sedate, +very humorous, very rarely crying. Boys and girls when they are babies +grow up together, but with the schooldays comes a division. All the +boys go to school at the monastery without the walls, and there learn in +noisy fashion their arithmetic, letters, and other useful knowledge. But +little girls have nowhere to go. They cannot go to the monasteries, +these are for boys alone, and the nunneries are very scarce. For twenty +monasteries there is not one nunnery. Women do not seem to care to learn +to become nuns as men do to become monks. Why this is so I cannot tell, +but there is no doubt of the fact. And so there are no schools for girls +as there are for boys, and consequently the girls are not well educated +as a rule. In great towns there are, of course, regular schools for +girls, generally for girls and boys together; but in the villages these +very seldom exist. The girls may learn from their mothers how to read +and write, but most of them cannot do so. It is an exception in country +places to find a girl who can read, as it is to find a boy who cannot. +If there were more nunneries, there would be more education among the +women; here is cause and effect. But there are not, so the little girls +work instead. While their brothers are in the monasteries, the girls are +learning to weave and herd cattle, drawing water, and collecting +firewood. They begin very young at this work, but it is very light; they +are never overworked, and so it does them no harm usually, but good. + +The daughters of better-class people, such as merchants, and clerks, and +advocates, do not, of course, work at field labour. They usually learn +to read and write at home, and they weave, and many will draw water. For +to draw water is to go to the well, and the well is the great +meeting-place of the village. As they fill their jars they lean over the +curb and talk, and it is here that is told the latest news, the latest +flirtation, the little scandal of the place. Very few men or boys come +for water; carrying is not their duty, and there is a proper place for +flirtation. So the girls have the well almost to themselves. + +Almost every girl can weave. In many houses there are looms where the +girls weave their dresses and those of their parents; and many girls +have stalls in the bazaar. Of this I will speak later. Other duties are +the husking of rice and the making of cheroots. Of course, in richer +households there will be servants to do all this; but even in them the +daughter will frequently weave either for herself or her parents. Almost +every girl will do something, if only to pass the time. + +You see, they have no accomplishments. They do not sing, nor play, nor +paint. It must never be forgotten that their civilization is relatively +a thousand years behind ours. Accomplishments are part of the polish +that a civilization gives, and this they have not yet reached. +Accomplishments are also the means to fill up time otherwise unoccupied; +but very few Burmese girls have any time on their hands. There is no +leisured class, and there are very few girls who have not to help, in +one way or another, at the upkeep of the household. + +Mr. Rudyard Kipling tells of an astonishing young lady who played the +banjo. He has been more fortunate than myself, for I have never had such +good luck. They have no accomplishments at all. Housekeeping they have +not very much of. You see, houses are small, and households also are +small; there is very little furniture; and as the cooking is all the +same, there is not much to learn in that way. I fear, too, that their +houses could not compete as models of neatness with any other nation. +Tidiness is one of the last gifts of civilization. We now pride +ourselves on our order; we forget how very recent an accomplishment it +is. To them it will come with the other gifts of age, for it must never +be forgotten that they are a very young people--only children, big +children--learning very slowly the lessons of experience and knowledge. + +When they are between eight and fourteen years of age the boys become +monks for a time, as every boy must, and they have a great festival at +their entrance into the monastery. Girls do not enter nunneries, but +they, too, have a great feast in their honour. They have their ears +bored. It is a festival for a girl of great importance, this ear-boring, +and, according to the wealth of the parents, it is accompanied by pwès +and other rejoicings. + +A little girl, the daughter of a shopkeeper here in this town, had her +ears bored the other day, and there were great rejoicings. There was a +pwè open to all for three nights, and there were great quantities of +food, and sweets, and many presents given away, and on the last night +the river was illuminated. There was a boat anchored in mid-stream, and +from this were launched myriads of tiny rafts, each with a little lamp +on board. The lamps gleamed bright with golden light as they drifted on +the bosom of the great water, a moving line of living fire. There were +little boats, too, with the outlines marked with lamps, and there were +pagodas and miniature houses all floating, floating down the river, +till, in far distance by the promontory, the lamps flickered out one by +one, and the river fell asleep again. + +'There is only one great festival in a girl's life,' a woman told me. +'We try to make it as good as we can. Boys have many festivals, girls +have but one. It is only just that it should be good.' + +And so they grow up very quiet, very sedate, looking on the world about +them with very clear eyes. It is strange, talking to Burmese girls, to +see how much they know and understand of the world about them. It is to +them no great mystery, full of unimaginable good and evil, but a world +that they are learning to understand, and where good and evil are never +unmixed. Men are to them neither angels nor devils, but just men, and so +the world does not hold for them the disappointments, the +disillusionings, that await those who do not know. They have their +dreams--who shall doubt it?--dreams of him who shall love them, whom +they shall love, who shall make life one great glory to them; but their +dreams are dreams that can come true. They do not frame to themselves +ideals out of their own ignorance and imagine these to be good, but they +keep their eyes wide open to the far more beautiful realities that are +around them every day. They know that a living lover is greater, and +truer, and better than any ideal of a girl's dream. They live in a real +world, and they know that it is good. + +In time the lover comes. There is a delightful custom all through Burma, +an institution, in fact, called 'courting-time.' It is from nine till +ten o'clock, more especially on moonlight nights, those wonderful tropic +nights, when the whole world lies in a silver dream, when the little +wandering airs that touch your cheek like a caress are heavy with the +scent of flowers, and your heart comes into your throat for the very +beauty of life. + +There is in front of every house a veranda, raised perhaps three feet +from the ground, and there the girl will sit in the shadow of the eaves, +sometimes with a friend, but usually alone; and her suitors will come +and stand by the veranda, and talk softly in little broken sentences, as +lovers do. There maybe be many young men come, one by one, if they mean +business, with a friend if it be merely a visit of courtesy. And the +girl will receive them all, and will talk to them all; will laugh with a +little humorous knowledge of each man's peculiarities; and she may give +them cheroots, of her own making; and, for one perhaps, for one, she +will light the cheroot herself first, and thus kiss him by proxy. + +And is the girl alone? Well, yes. To all intents and purposes she is +alone; but there is always someone near, someone within call, for the +veranda is free to all. She cannot tell who may come, and some men, as +we know, are but wolves in sheep's clothing. Usually marriages are +arranged by the parents. Girls are not very different here to elsewhere; +they are very biddable, and ready to do what their mothers tell them, +ready to believe that it is the best. And so if a lad comes wooing, and +can gain the mother's ear, he can usually win the girl's affection, too; +but I think there are more exceptions here than elsewhere. Girls are +freer; they fall in love of their own accord oftener than elsewhere; +they are very impulsive, full of passion. Love is a very serious matter, +and they are not trained in self-restraint. + +There are very many romances played out every day in the dusk beside the +well, in the deep shadows of the palm-groves, in the luminous nights by +the river shore--romances that end sometimes well, sometimes in terrible +tragedies. For they are a very passionate people; the language is full +of little love-songs, songs of a man to a girl, of a girl to a man. 'No +girl,' a woman once told me, 'no good, quiet girl would tell a man she +loved him first.' It may be so; if this be true, I fear there are many +girls here who are not good and quiet. How many romances have I not seen +in which the wooing began with the girl, with a little note perhaps, +with a flower, with a message sent by someone whom she could trust! Of +course many of these turned out well. Parents are good to their +children, and if they can, they will give their daughter the husband of +her choice. They remember what youth is--nay, they themselves never grow +old, I think; they never forget what once was to them now is to their +children. So if it be possible all may yet go well. Social differences +are not so great as with us, and the barrier is easily overcome. I have +often known servants in a house marry the daughters, and be taken into +the family; but, of course, sometimes things do not go so smoothly. And +then? Well, then there is usually an elopement, and a ten days' scandal; +and sometimes, too, there is an elopement for no reason at all save that +hot youth cannot abide the necessary delay. + +For life is short, and though to-day be to us, who can tell for the +morrow? During the full moon there is no night, only a change to silver +light from golden; and the forest is full of delight. There are +wood-cutters' huts in the ravines where the water falls, soft beds of +torn bracken and fragrant grasses where great trees make a shelter from +the heat; and for food, that is easily arranged. A basket of rice with +a little salt-fish and spices is easily hidden in a favourable place. +You only want a jar to cook it, and there is enough for two for a week; +or it is brought day by day by some trusted friend to a place previously +agreed upon. + +All up and down the forest there are flowers for her hair, scarlet dak +blossoms and orchid sprays and jasmine stars; and for occupation through +the hours each has a new world to explore full of wonderful undreamt-of +discoveries, lit with new light and mysterious with roseate shadows, a +world of 'beautiful things made new' for those forest children. So that +when the confidante, an aunt maybe or a sister, meets them by the sacred +fig-tree on the hill, and tells them that all difficulties are removed, +and their friends called together for the marriage, can you wonder that +it is not without regret that they fare forth from that enchanted land +to ordinary life again? + +It is, as I have said, not always the man who is the proposer of the +flight. Nay, I think indeed that it is usually the girl. 'Men have more +patience.' + +I had a Burmese servant, a boy, who may have been twenty, and he had +been with me a year, and was beginning to be really useful. He had at +last grasped the idea that electro-plate should not be cleaned with +monkey-brand soap, and he could be trusted not to put up rifle +cartridges for use with a double-barrelled gun; and he chose this time +to fall in love with the daughter of the headman of a certain village +where I was in camp. + +He had good excuse, for she was a delicious little maiden with great +coils of hair, and the voice of a wood-pigeon cooing in the forest, and +she was very fond of him, without a doubt. + +So one evening he came to me and said that he must leave me--that he +wanted to get married, and could not possibly delay. Then I spoke to him +with all that depth of wisdom we are so ready to display for the benefit +of others. I pointed out to him that he was much too young, that she was +much too young also--she was not eighteen--and that there was absolutely +nothing for them to marry on. I further pointed out how ungrateful it +would be of him to leave me; that he had been paid regularly for a year, +and that it was not right that now, when he was at last able to do +something besides destroy my property, he should go away. + +The boy listened to all I had to say, and agreed with it all, and made +the most fervent and sincere promise to be wise; and he went away after +dinner to see the girl and tell her, and when I awoke in the morning my +other servants told me the boy had not returned. + +Shortly afterwards the headman came to say that his daughter had also +disappeared. They had fled, those two, into the forest, and for a week +we heard nothing. At last one evening, as I sat under the great fig-tree +by my tent, there came to me the mother of the girl, and she sat down +before me, and said she had something of great importance to impart: and +this was that all had been arranged between the families, who had found +work for the boy whereby he might maintain himself and his wife, and the +marriage was arranged. But the boy would not return as long as I was in +camp there, for he was bitterly ashamed of his broken vows and afraid to +meet my anger. And so the mother begged me to go away as soon as I +could, that the young couple might return. I explained that I was not +angry at all, that the boy could return without any fear; on the +contrary, that I should be pleased to see him and his wife. And, at the +old lady's request, I wrote a Burmese letter to that effect, and she +went away delighted. + +They must have been in hiding close by, for it was early next morning +that the boy came into my tent alone and very much abashed, and it was +some little time before he could recover himself and talk freely as he +would before, for he was greatly ashamed of himself. + +But, after all, could he help it? + +If you can imagine the tropic night, and the boy, full of high resolve, +passing up the village street, now half asleep, and the girl, with +shining eyes, coming to him out of the hibiscus shadows, and whispering +in his ear words--words that I need not say--if you imagine all that, +you will understand how it was that I lost my servant. + +They both came to see me later on in the day after the marriage, and +there was no bashfulness about either of them then. They came +hand-in-hand, with the girl's father and mother and some friends, and +she told me it was all her fault: she could not wait. + +'Perhaps,' she said, with a little laugh and a side-glance at her +husband--'perhaps, if he had gone with the thakin to Rangoon, he might +have fallen in love with someone there and forgotten me; for I know they +are very pretty, those Rangoon ladies, and of better manners than I, who +am but a jungle girl.' + +And when I asked her what it was like in the forest, she said it was the +most beautiful place in all the world. + +Things do not always go so well. Parents may be obdurate, and flight be +impossible; or even her love may not be returned, and then terrible +things happen. I have held, not once nor twice alone, inquests over the +bodies, the fair, innocent bodies, of quite young girls who died for +love. Only that, because their love was unreturned; and so the sore +little heart turned in her trouble to the great river, and gave herself +and her hot despair to the cold forgetfulness of its waters. + +They love so greatly that they cannot face a world where love is not. +All the country is full of the romance of love--of love passionate and +great as woman has ever felt. It seems to me here that woman has +something of the passions of man, not only the enduring affection of a +woman, but the hot love and daring of a man. It is part of their +heritage, perhaps, as a people in their youth. One sees so much of it, +hears so much of it, here. I have seen a girl in man's attire killed in +a surprise attack upon an insurgent camp. She had followed her outlawed +lover there, and in the mêlée she caught up sword and gun to fight by +his side, and was cut down through neck and shoulder; for no one could +tell in the early dawn that it was a girl. + +She died about an hour afterwards, and though I have seen many sorrowful +things in many lands, in war and out of it, the memory of that dying +girl, held up by one of the mounted police, sobbing out her life beneath +the wild forest shadow, with no one of her sex, no one of her kin to +help her, comes back to me as one of the saddest and strangest. + +Her lover was killed in action some time later fighting against us, and +he died as a brave man should, his face to his enemy. He played his +game, he lost, and paid; but the girl? + +I have seen and heard so much of this love of women and of its +tragedies. Perhaps it is that to us it is usually the tragedies that are +best remembered. Happiness is void of interest. And this love may be, +after all, a good thing. But I do not know. Sometimes I think they would +be happier if they could love less, if they could take love more +quietly, more as a matter of course, as something that has to be gone +through, as part of a life's training; not as a thing that swallows up +all life and death and eternity in one passion. + +In Burmese the love-songs are in a short, sweet rhythm, full of quaint +conceits and word-music. I cannot put them into English verse, or give +the flow of the originals in a translation. It always seems to me that +Don Quixote was right when he said that a translation was like the wrong +side of an embroidered cloth, giving the design without the beauty. But +even in the plain, rough outline of a translation there is beauty here, +I think: + + + _From a Man to a Girl._ + +The moon wooed the lotus in the night, the lotus was wooed by the moon, +and my sweetheart is their child. The blossom opened in the night, and +she came forth; the petals moved, and she was born. + +She is more beautiful than any blossom; her face is as delicate as the +dusk; her hair is as night falling over the hills; her skin is as bright +as the diamond. She is very full of health, no sickness can come near +her. + +When the wind blows I am afraid, when the breezes move I fear. I fear +lest the south wind take her, I tremble lest the breath of evening woo +her from me--so light is she, so graceful. + +Her dress is of gold, even of silk and gold, and her bracelets are of +fine gold. She hath precious stones in her ears, but her eyes, what +jewels can compare unto them? + +She is proud, my mistress; she is very proud, and all men are afraid of +her. She is so beautiful and so proud that all men fear her. + +In the whole world there is none anywhere that can compare unto her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WOMEN--II + + 'The husband is lord of the wife.' + _Laws of Manu._ + + +Marriage is not a religious ceremony among the Burmese. Religion has no +part in it at all; as religion has refrained from interfering with +Government, so does it in the relations of man and wife. Marriage is +purely a worldly business, like entering into partnership; and religion, +the Buddhist religion, has nothing to do with such things. Those who +accept the teachings of the great teacher in all their fulness do not +marry. + +Indeed, marriage is not a ceremony at all. It is strange to find that +the Burmese have actually no necessary ceremonial. The Laws of Manu, +which are the laws governing all such matters, make no mention of any +marriage ceremony; it is, in fact, a status. Just as two men may go into +partnership in business without executing any deed, so a man and a woman +may enter into the marriage state without undergoing any form. Amongst +the richer Burmese there is, however, sometimes a ceremony. + +Friends are called to the wedding, and a ribbon is stretched round the +couple, and then their hands are clasped; they also eat out of the same +dish. All this is very pretty, but not at all necessary. + +It is, indeed, not a settled point in law what constitutes a marriage, +but there are certain things that will render it void. For instance, no +marriage can be a marriage without the consent of the girl's parents if +she be under age, and there are certain other conditions which must be +fulfilled. + +But although there be this doubt about the actual ceremony of marriage, +there is none at all about the status. There is no confusion between a +woman who is married and a woman who is not. The condition of marriage +is well known, and it brings the parties under the laws that pertain to +husband and wife. A woman not married does not, of course, obtain these +privileges; there is a very strict line between the two. + +Amongst the poorer people a marriage is frequently kept secret for +several days. The great pomp and ceremony which with us, and +occasionally with a few rich Burmese, consecrate a man and a woman to +each other for life, are absent at the greater number of Burmese +marriages; and the reason they tell me is that the girl is shy. She does +not like to be stared at, and wondered at, as a maiden about to be a +wife; it troubles her that the affairs of her heart, her love, her +marriage, should be so public. The young men come at night and throw +stones upon the house roof, and demand presents from the bridegroom. He +does not mind giving the presents; but he, too, does not like the +publicity. And so marriage, which is with most people a ceremony +performed in full daylight with all accessories of display, is with the +Burmese generally a secret. Two or three friends, perhaps, will be +called quietly to the house, and the man and woman will eat together, +and thus become husband and wife. Then they will separate again, and not +for several days, or even weeks perhaps, will it be known that they are +married; for it is seldom that they can set up house for themselves just +at once. Often they will marry and live apart for a time with their +parents. Sometimes they will go and live together with the man's +parents, but more usually with the girl's mother. Then after a time, +when they have by their exertions made a little money, they build a +house and go to live there; but sometimes they will live on with the +girl's parents for years. + +A girl does not change her name when she marries, nor does she wear any +sign of marriage, such as a ring. Her name is always the same, and there +is nothing to a stranger to denote whether she be married or not, or +whose wife she is; and she keeps her property as her own. Marriage does +not confer upon the husband any power over his wife's property, either +what she brings with her, what she earns, or what she inherits +subsequently; it all remains her own, as does his remain his own. But +usually property acquired after marriage is held jointly. You will +inquire, for instance, who is the owner of this garden, and be told +Maung Han, Ma Shwè, the former being the husband's name and the latter +the wife's. Both names are used very frequently in business and in legal +proceedings, and indeed it is usual for both husband and wife to sign +all deeds they may have occasion to execute. Nothing more free than a +woman's position in the marriage state can be imagined. By law she is +absolutely the mistress of her own property and her own self; and if it +usually happens that the husband is the head of the house, that is +because his nature gives him that position, not any law. + +With us marriage means to a girl an utter breaking of her old ties, the +beginning of a new life, of new duties, of new responsibilities. She +goes out into a new and unknown world, full of strange facts, leaving +one dependence for another, the shelter of a father for the shelter of a +husband. She has even lost her own name, and becomes known but as the +mistress of her husband; her soul is merged in his. But in Burma it is +not so at all. She is still herself, still mistress of herself, an equal +partner for life. + +I have said that the Burmese have no ideals, and this is true; but in +the Laws of Manu there are laid down some of the requisite qualities for +a perfect wife. There are seven kinds of wife, say the Laws of Manu: a +wife like a thief, like an enemy, like a master, like a friend, like a +sister, like a mother, like a slave. The last four of these are good, +but the last is the best, and these are some of her qualities: + +'She should fan and soothe her master to sleep, and sit by him near the +bed on which he lies. She will fear and watch lest anything should +disturb him. Every noise will be a terror to her; the hum of a mosquito +as the blast of a trumpet; the fall of a leaf without will sound as loud +as thunder. Even she will guard her breath as it passes her lips to and +fro, lest she awaken him whom she fears. + +'And she will remember that when he awakens he will have certain wants. +She will be anxious that the bath be to his custom, that his clothes are +as he wishes, that his food is tasteful to him. Always she will have +before her the fear of his anger.' + +It must be remembered that the Laws of Manu are of Indian origin, and +are not totally accepted by the Burmese. I fear a Burmese girl would +laugh at this ideal of a wife. She would say that if a wife were always +afraid of her husband's wrath, she and he, too, must be poor things. A +household is ruled by love and reverence, not by fear. A girl has no +idea when she marries that she is going to be her husband's slave, but a +free woman, yielding to him in those things in which he has most +strength, and taking her own way in those things that pertain to a +woman. She has a very keen idea of what things she can do best, and what +things she should leave to her husband. Long experience has taught her +that there are many things she should not interfere with; and she knows +it is experience that has proved it, and not any command. She knows that +the reason women are not supposed to interfere in public affairs is +because their minds and bodies are not fitted for them. Therefore she +accepts this, in the same way as she accepts physical inferiority, as a +fact against which it is useless and silly to declaim, knowing that it +is not men who keep her out, but her own unfitness. Moreover, she knows +that it is made good to her in other ways, and thus the balance is +redressed. You see, she knows her own strength and her own weakness. Can +there be a more valuable knowledge for anyone than this? + +In many ways she will act for her husband with vigour and address, and +she is not afraid of appearing in his name or her own in law courts, for +instance, or in transacting certain kinds of business. She knows that +she can do certain business as well as or better than her husband, and +she does it. There is nothing more remarkable than the way in which she +makes a division of these matters in which she can act for herself, and +those in which, if she act at all, it is for her husband. + +Thus, as I have said, she will, as regards her own property or her own +business, act freely in her own name, and will also frequently act for +her husband too. They will both sign deeds, borrow money on joint +security, lend money repayable to them jointly. But in public affairs +she will never allow her name to appear at all. Not that she does not +take a keen interest in such things. She lives in no world apart; all +that affects her husband interests her as keenly as it does him. She +lives in a world of men and women, and her knowledge of public affairs, +and her desire and powers of influencing them, is great. But she learnt +long ago that her best way is to act through and by her husband, and +that his strength and his name are her bucklers in the fight. Thus women +are never openly concerned in any political matters. How strong their +feeling is can better be illustrated by a story than in any other way. + +In 1889 I was stationed far away on the north-west frontier of Burma, in +charge of some four thousand square miles of territory which had been +newly incorporated. I went up there with the first column that ever +penetrated that country, and I remained there when, after the partial +pacification of the district, the main body of the troops were +withdrawn. It was a fairly exciting place to live in. To say nothing of +the fever which swept down men in batches, and the trans-frontier people +who were always peeping over to watch a good opportunity for a raid, my +own charge simply swarmed with armed men, who seemed to rise out of the +very ground--so hard was it to follow their movements--attack anywhere +they saw fit, and disappear as suddenly. There was, of course, a +considerable force of troops and police to suppress these insurgents, +but the whole country was so roadless, so unexplored, such a tangled +labyrinth of hill and forest, dotted with sparse villages, that it was +often quite impossible to trace the bands who committed these attacks; +and to the sick and weary pursuers it sometimes seemed as if we should +never restore peace to the country. + +The villages were arranged in groups, and over each group there was a +headman with certain powers and certain duties, the principal of the +latter being to keep his people quiet, and, if possible, protect them +from insurgents. + +Now, it happened that among these headmen was one named Saw Ka, who had +been a free-lance in his day, but whose services were now enlisted on +the side of order--or, at least, we hoped so. He was a fighting-man, and +rather fond of that sort of exercise; so that I was not much surprised +one day when I got a letter from him to say that his villagers had +pursued and arrested, after a fight, a number of armed robbers, who had +tried to lift some of the village cattle. The letter came to me when I +was in my court-house, a tent ten feet by eight, trying a case. So, +saying I would see Saw Ka's people later, and giving orders for the +prisoners to be put in the lock-up, I went on with my work. When my case +was finished, I happened to notice that among those sitting and waiting +without my tent-door was Saw Ka himself, so I sent to call him in, and I +complimented him upon his success. 'It shall be reported,' I said, 'to +the Commissioner, who will, no doubt, reward you for your care and +diligence in the public service.' + +As I talked I noticed that the man seemed rather bewildered, and when I +had finished he said that he really did not understand. He was aware, he +added modestly, that he was a diligent headman, always active in good +deeds, and a terror to dacoits and other evil-doers; but as to these +particular robbers and this fighting he was a little puzzled. + +I was considerably surprised, naturally, and I took from the table the +Burmese letter describing the affair. It began, 'Your honour, I, Maung +Saw Ka, headman,' etc., and was in the usual style. I handed it to Saw +Ka, and told him to read it. As he read, his wicked black eyes twinkled, +and when he had finished he said he had not been home for a week. + +'I came in from a visit to the river,' he said, 'where I have gathered +for your honour some private information. I had not been here five +minutes before I was called in. All this the letter speaks of is news to +me, and must have happened while I was away.' + +'Then, who wrote the letter?' I asked. + +'Ah!' he said, 'I think I know; but I will go and make sure.' + +Then Saw Ka went to find the guard who had come in with the prisoners, +and I dissolved court and went out shooting. After dinner, as we sat +round a great bonfire before the mess, for the nights were cold, Saw Ka +and his brother came to me, and they sat down beside the fire and told +me all about it. + +It appeared that three days after Saw Ka left his village, some robbers +came suddenly one evening to a small hamlet some two miles away and +looted from there all the cattle, thirty or forty head, and went off +with them. The frightened owners came in to tell the headman about it, +and in his absence they told his wife. And she, by virtue of the order +of appointment as headman, which was in her hands, ordered the villagers +to turn out and follow the dacoits. She issued such government arms as +she had in the house, and the villagers went and pursued the dacoits by +the cattle tracks, and next day they overtook them, and there was a +fight. When the villagers returned with the cattle and the thieves, she +had the letter written to me, and the prisoners were sent in, under her +husband's brother, with an escort. Everything was done as well, as +successfully, as if Saw Ka himself had been present. But if it had not +been for the accident of Saw Ka's sudden appearance, I should probably +never have known that this exploit was due to his wife; for she was +acting for her husband, and she would not have been pleased that her +name should appear. + +'A good wife,' I said to Saw Ka. + +'Like many,' he answered. + +But in her own line she has no objection to publicity. I have said that +nearly all women work, and that is so. Married or unmarried, from the +age of sixteen or seventeen, almost every woman has some occupation +besides her own duties. In the higher classes she will have property of +her own to manage; in the lower classes she will have some trade. I +cannot find that in Burma there have ever been certain occupations told +off for women in which they may work, and others tabooed to them. As +there is no caste for the men, so there is none for the women. They have +been free to try their hands at anything they thought they could excel +in, without any fear of public opinion. But nevertheless, as is +inevitable, it has been found that there are certain trades in which +women can compete successfully with men, and certain others in which +they cannot. And these are not quite the same as in the West. We usually +consider sewing to be a feminine occupation. In Burma, there being no +elaborately cut and trimmed garments, the amount of sewing done is +small, but that is usually done by men. Women often own and use small +hand-machines, but the treadles are always used by men only. As I am +writing, my Burmese orderly is sitting in the garden sewing his jacket. +He is usually sewing when not sent on messages. He seems to sew very +well. + +Weaving is usually done by women. Under nearly every house there will be +a loom, where the wife or daughter weaves for herself or for sale. But +many men weave also, and the finest silks are all woven by men. I once +asked a woman why they did not weave the best silks, instead of leaving +them all to the men. + +'Men do them better,' she said, with a laugh. 'I tried once, but I +cannot manage that embroidery.' + +They also work in the fields--light work, such as weeding and planting. +The heavy work, such as ploughing, is done by men. They also work on the +roads carrying things, as all Oriental women do. It is curious that +women carry always on their heads, men always on their shoulders. I do +not know why. + +But the great occupation of women is petty trading. I have already said +that there are few large merchants among the Burmese. Nearly all the +retail trade is small, most of it is very small indeed, and practically +the whole of it is in the hands of the women. + +Women do not often succeed in any wholesale trade. They have not, I +think, a wide enough grasp of affairs for that. Their views are always +somewhat limited; they are too pennywise and pound-foolish for big +businesses. The small retail trade, gaining a penny here and a penny +there, just suits them, and they have almost made it a close profession. + +This trade is almost exclusively done in bazaars. In every town there is +a bazaar, from six till ten each morning. When there is no town near, +the bazaar will be held on one day at one village and on another at a +neighbouring one. It depends on the density of population, the means of +communication, and other matters. But a bazaar within reach there must +always be, for it is only there that most articles can be bought. The +bazaar is usually held in a public building erected for the purpose, and +this may vary from a great market built of brick and iron to a small +thatched shed. Sometimes, indeed, there is no building at all, merely a +space of beaten ground. + +The great bazaar in Mandalay is one of the sights of the city. The +building in which it is held is the property of the municipality, but is +leased out. It is a series of enormous sheds, with iron roofs and beaten +earth floor. Each trade has a shed or sheds to itself. There is a place +for rice-sellers, for butchers, for vegetable-sellers, for the vendors +of silks, of cottons, of sugars and spices, of firewood, of jars, of +fish. The butchers are all natives of India. I have explained elsewhere +why this should be. The firewood-sellers will mostly be men, as will +also the large rice-merchants, but nearly all the rest are women. + +You will find the sellers of spices, fruit, vegetables, and other such +matters seated in long rows, on mats placed upon the ground. Each will +have a square of space allotted, perhaps six feet square, and there she +will sit with her merchandise in a basket or baskets before her. For +each square they will pay the lessee a halfpenny for the day, which is +only three hours or so. The time to go is in the morning from six till +eight, for that is the busy time. Later on all the stalls will be +closed, but in the early morning the market is thronged. Every +householder is then buying his or her provisions for the day, and the +people crowd in thousands round the sellers. Everyone is bargaining and +chaffing and laughing, both buyers and sellers; but both are very keen, +too, on business. + +The cloth and silk sellers, the large rice-merchants, and a few other +traders, cannot carry on business sitting on a mat, nor can they carry +their wares to and fro every day in a basket. For such there are +separate buildings or separate aisles, with wooden stalls, on either +side of a gangway. The wooden floor of the stalls is raised two to three +feet, so that the buyer, standing on the ground, is about on a level +with the seller sitting in the stall. The stall will be about eight feet +by ten, and each has at the back a strong lock-up cupboard or wardrobe, +where the wares are shut at night; but in the day they will be taken out +and arranged daintily about the girl-seller. Home-made silks are the +staple--silks in checks of pink and white, of yellow and orange, of +indigo and dark red. Some are embroidered in silk, in silver, or in +gold; some are plain. All are thick and rich, none are glazed, and none +are gaudy. There will also be silks from Bangkok, which are of two +colours--purple shot with red, and orange shot with red, both very +beautiful. All the silks are woven the size of the dress: for men, about +twenty-eight feet long and twenty inches broad; and for women, about +five feet long and much broader. Thus, there is no cutting off the +piece. The _anas_, too, which are the bottom pieces for a woman's dress, +are woven the proper size. There will probably, too, be piles of showy +cambric jackets and gauzy silk handkerchiefs; but often these are sold +at separate stalls. + +But prettier than the silks are the sellers, for these are nearly all +girls and women, sweet and fresh in their white jackets, with flowers in +their hair. And they are all delighted to talk to you and show you their +goods, even if you do not buy; and they will take a compliment sedately, +as a girl should, and they will probably charge you an extra rupee for +it when you come to pay for your purchases. So it is never wise for a +man, unless he have a heart of stone, to go marketing for silks. He +should always ask a lady friend to go with him and do the bargaining, +and he will lose no courtesy thereby, for these women know how to be +courteous to fellow-women as well as to fellow-men. + +In the provincial bazaars it is much the same. There may be a few +travelling merchants from Rangoon or Mandalay, most of whom are men; but +nearly all the retailers are women. Indeed, speaking broadly, it may be +said that the retail trade of the country is in the hands of the women, +and they nearly all trade on their own account. Just as the men farm +their own land, the women own their businesses. They are not saleswomen +for others, but traders on their own account; and with the exception of +the silk and cloth branches of the trade, it does not interfere with +home-life. The bazaar lasts but three hours, and a woman has ample time +for her home duties when her daily visit to the bazaar is over; she is +never kept away all day in shops and factories. + +Her home-life is always the centre of her life; she could not neglect it +for any other: it would seem to her a losing of the greater in the less. +But the effect of this custom of nearly every woman having a little +business of her own has a great influence on her life. It broadens her +views; it teaches her things she could not learn in the narrow circle of +home duties; it gives her that tolerance and understanding which so +forcibly strikes everyone who knows her. It teaches her to know her own +strength and weakness, and how to make the best of each. Above all, by +showing her the real life about her, and how much beauty there is +everywhere, to those whose eyes are not shut by conventions, it saves +her from that dreary, weary pessimism that seeks its relief in fancied +idealism, in a smattering of art, of literature, or of religion, and +which is the curse of so many of her sisters in other lands. + +And yet, with all their freedom, Burmese women are very particular in +their conduct. Do not imagine that young girls are allowed, or allow +themselves, to go about alone except on very frequented roads. I suppose +there are certain limits in all countries to the freedom a woman allows +herself, that is to say, if she is wise. For she knows that she cannot +always trust herself; she knows that she is weak sometimes, and she +protects herself accordingly. She is timid, with a delightful timidity +that fears, because it half understands; she is brave, with the bravery +of a girl who knows that as long as she keeps within certain limits she +is safe. Do not suppose that they ever do, or ever can, allow themselves +that freedom of action that men have; it is an impossibility. Girls are +very carefully looked after by their mothers, and wives by their +husbands; and they delight in observing the limits which experience has +indicated to them. There is a funny story which will illustrate what I +mean. A great friend of mine, an officer in Government service, went +home not very long ago and married, and came out again to Burma with his +wife. They settled down in a little up-country station. His duties were +such as obliged him to go very frequently on tour far away from his +home, and he would be absent ten days at a time or more. So when it came +for the first time that he was obliged to go out and leave his wife +behind him alone in the house, he gave his head-servant very careful +directions. This servant was a Burman who had been with him for many +years, who knew all his ways, and who was a very good servant. He did +not speak English; and my friend gave him strict orders. + +'The mistress,' he said, 'has only just come here to Burma, and she +does not know the ways of the country, nor what to do. So you must see +that no harm comes to her in any way while I am in the jungle.' + +Then he gave directions as to what was to be done in any eventuality, +and he went out. + +He was away for about a fortnight, and when he returned he found all +well. The house had not caught fire, nor had thieves stolen anything, +nor had there been any difficulty at all. The servant had looked after +the other servants well, and my friend was well pleased. But his wife +complained. + +'It has been very dull,' she said, 'while you were away. No one came to +see me; of all the officers here, not one ever called. I saw only two or +three ladies, but not a man at all.' + +And my friend, surprised, asked his servant how it was. + +'Didn't anyone come to call?' he asked. + +'Oh yes,' the servant answered; 'many gentlemen came to call--the +officers of the regiment and others. But I told them the thakin was out, +and that the thakinma could not see anyone. I sent them all away.' + +At the club that evening my friend was questioned as to why in his +absence no one was allowed to see his wife. The whole station laughed at +him, but I think he and his wife laughed most of all at the careful +observances of Burmese etiquette by the servant; for it is the Burmese +custom for a wife not to receive in her husband's absence. Anyone who +wants to see her must stay outside or in the veranda, and she will come +out and speak to him. It would be a grave breach of decorum to receive +visitors while her husband is out. + +So even a Burmese woman is not free from restrictions--restrictions +which are merely rules founded upon experience. No woman, no man, can +ever free herself or himself from the bonds that even a young +civilization demands. A freedom from all restraint would be a return, +not only to savagery, but to the condition of animals--nay, even animals +are bound by certain conventions. + +The higher a civilization, the more conventions are required; and +freedom does not mean an absence of all rules, but that all rules should +be founded on experience and common-sense. + +There are certain restrictions on a woman's actions which must be +observed as long as men are men and women women. That the Burmese woman +never recognises them unless they are necessary, and then accepts the +necessity as a necessity, is the fact wherein her freedom lies. If at +any time she should recognise that a restriction was unnecessary, she +would reject it. If experience told her further restrictions were +required, she would accept them without a doubt. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WOMEN--III + + 'For women are very tender-hearted.' + _Wethandaya._ + + +'You know, thakin,' said a man to me, 'that we say sometimes that women +cannot attain unto the great deliverance, that only men will come there. +We think that a woman must be born again as a man before she can enter +upon the way that leads to heaven.' + +'Why should that be so?' I asked. 'I have looked at the life of the +Buddha, I have read the sacred books, and I can find nothing about it. +What makes you think that?' + +He explained it in this way: 'Before a soul can attain deliverance it +must renounce the world, it must have purified itself by wisdom and +meditation from all the lust of the flesh. Only those who have done this +can enter into the Great Peace. Many men do this. The country is full of +monks, men who have left the world, and are trying to follow in the path +of the great teacher. Not all these will immediately attain to heaven, +for purification is a very long process; but they have entered into the +path, they have seen the light, if it be even a long way off yet. They +know whither they would go. But women, see how few become nuns! Only +those who have suffered such shipwreck in life that this world holds +nothing more for them worth having become nuns. And they are very few. +For a hundred monks there is not one nun. Women are too attached to +their home, to their fathers, their husbands, their children, to enter +into the holy life; and, therefore, how shall they come to heaven except +they return as men? Our teacher says nothing about it, but we have eyes, +and we can see.' + +All this is true. Women have no desire for the holy life. They cannot +tear themselves away from their home-life. If their passions are less +than those of men, they have even less command over them than men have. +Only the profoundest despair will drive a woman to a renunciation of the +world. If on an average their lives are purer than those of men, they +cannot rise to the heights to which men can. How many monks there +are--how few nuns! Not one to a hundred. + +Yet in some ways women are far more religious than men. If you go to the +golden pagoda on the hilltop and count the people kneeling there doing +honour to the teacher, you will find they are nearly all women. If you +go to the rest-houses by the monastery, where the monks recite the law +on Sundays, you will find that the congregations are nearly all women. +If you visit the monastery without the gate, you will see many visitors +bringing little presents, and they will be women. + +'Thakin, many men do not care for religion at all, but when a man does +do so, he takes it very seriously. He follows it out to the end. He +becomes a monk, and surrenders the whole world. But with women it is +different. Many women, nearly all women, will like religion, and none +will take it seriously. We mix it up with our home-life, and our +affections, and our worldly doings; for we like a little of everything.' +So said a woman to me. + +Is this always true? I do not know, but it is very true in Burma. Nearly +all the women are religious, they like to go to the monastery and hear +the law, they like to give presents to the monks, they like to visit the +pagoda and adore Gaudama the Buddha. I am sure that if it were not for +their influence the laws against taking life and against intoxicants +would not be observed as stringently as they are. So far they will go. +As far as they can use the precepts of religion and retain their +home-life they will do so; as it was with Yathodaya so long ago, so it +is now. But when religion calls them and says, 'Come away from the +world, leave all that you love, all that your heart holds good, for it +is naught; see the light, and prepare your soul for peace,' they hold +back. This they cannot do; it is far beyond them. 'Thakin, we _cannot do +so_. It would seem to us terrible,' that is what they say. + +A man who renounces the world is called 'the great glory,' but not so a +woman. + +I have said that the Buddhist religion holds men and women as equal. If +women can observe its laws as men do, it is surely their own fault if +they be held the less worthy. + +Women themselves admit this. They honour a man greatly who becomes a +monk, not so a nun. Nuns have but little consideration. And why? Because +what is good for a man is not good for a woman; and if, indeed, +renunciation of the world be the only path to the Great Peace, then +surely it must be true that women must be born again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +DIVORCE + + 'They are to each other as a burning poison falling into a man's + eye.'--_Burmese saying._ + + +I remember a night not so long ago; it was in the hot weather, and I was +out in camp with my friend the police-officer. It was past sunset, and +the air beneath the trees was full of luminous gloom, though overhead a +flush still lingered on the cheek of the night. We were sitting in the +veranda of a Government rest-house, enjoying the first coolness of the +coming night, and talking in disjointed sentences of many things; and +there came up the steps of the house into the veranda a woman. She came +forward slowly, and then sat down on the floor beside my friend, and +began to speak. There was a lamp burning in an inner room, and a long +bar of light came through the door and lit her face. I could see she was +not good-looking, but that her eyes were full of tears, and her face +drawn with trouble. I recognised who she was, the wife of the +head-constable in charge of the guard near by, a woman I had noticed +once or twice in the guard. + +She spoke so fast, so fast; the words fell over each other as they came +from her lips, for her heart was very full. + +I sat quite still and said nothing; I think she hardly noticed I was +there. It was all about her husband. Everything was wrong; all had gone +crooked in their lives, and she did not know what she could do. At first +she could hardly tell what it was all about, but at last she explained. +For some years, three or four years, matters had not been very smooth +between them. They had quarrelled often, she said, about this thing and +the other, little things mostly; and gradually the rift had widened till +it became very broad indeed. + +'Perhaps,' she said, 'if I had been able to have a child it would have +been different.' But fate was unkind and no baby came, and her husband +became more and more angry with her. 'And yet I did all for the best, +thakin; I always tried to act for the best. My husband has sisters at +Henzada, and they write to him now and then, and say, "Send ten rupees," +or "Send five rupees," or even twenty rupees. And I always say, "Send, +send." Other wives would say, "No, we cannot afford it;" but I said +always, "Send, send." I have always done for the best, always for the +best.' + +It was very pitiable to hear her opening her whole heart, such a sore +troubled heart, like this. Her words were full of pathos; her uncomely +face was not beautified by the sorrow in it. And at last her husband +took a second wife. + +'She is a girl from a village near; the thakin knows, Taungywa. He did +not tell me, but I soon heard of it; and although I thought my heart +would break, I did not say anything. I told my husband, "Bring her here, +let us live all together; it will be best so." I always did for the +best, thakin. So he brought her, and she came to live with us a week +ago. Ah, thakin, I did not know! She tramples on me. My head is under +her feet. My husband does not care for me, only for her. And to-day, +this evening, they went out together for a walk, and my husband took +with him the concertina. As they went I could hear him play upon it, and +they walked down through the trees, he playing and she leaning upon him. +I heard the music.' + +Then she began to cry bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. The +sunset died out of the sky, and the shadows took all the world and made +it gray and dark. No one said anything, only the woman cried. + +'Thakin,' she said at last, 'what am I to do? Tell me.' + +Then my friend spoke. + +'You can divorce him,' he said; 'you can go to the elders and get a +divorce. Won't that be best?' + +'But, thakin, you do not know. We are both Christians; we are married +for ever. We were both at the mission-school in Rangoon, and we were +married there, "for ever and for ever," so the padre said. We are not +married according to Burmese customs, but according to your religion; we +are husband and wife for ever.' + +My friend said nothing. It seemed to him useless to speak to her of the +High Court, five hundred miles away, and a decree nisi; it would have +been a mockery of her trouble. + +'Your husband had no right to take a second wife, if you are Christians +and married,' he said. + +'Ah,' she answered, 'we are Burmans; it is allowed by Burmese law. Other +officials do it. What does my husband care that we were married by your +law? Here we are alone with no other Christians near. But I would not +mind so much,' she went on, 'only she treads me under her feet. And he +takes her out and not me, who am the elder wife, and he plays music to +her; and I did all for the best. This trouble has come upon me, though +all my life I have acted for the best.' + +There came another footstep up the stair, and a man entered. It was her +husband. On his return he had missed his wife, and guessed whither she +had gone, and had followed her. He came alone. + +Then there was a sad scene, only restrained by respect for my friend. I +need not tell it. There was a man's side to the question, a strong one. +The wife had a terrible temper, a peevish, nagging, maddening fashion +of talking. She was a woman very hard for a man to live with. + +Does it matter much which was right or wrong, now that the mischief was +done? They went away at last, not reconciled. Could they be reconciled? +I cannot tell. I left there next day, and have never returned. + +There they had lived for many years among their own people, far away +from the influence that had come upon their childhood, and led them into +strange ways. And now all that was left of that influence was the chain +that bound them together. Had it not been for that they would have been +divorced long ago; for they had never agreed very well, and both sides +had bitter grounds for complaint. They would have been divorced, and +both could have gone their own way. But now, what was to be done? + +That is one of my memories: this is another. + +There was a girl I knew, the daughter of a man who had made some money +by trading, and when the father died the property was divided according +to law between the girl and her brother. She was a little heiress in her +way, owning a garden, where grew many fruit-trees, and a piece of rice +land. She had also a share in a little shop which she managed, and she +had many gold bracelets and fine diamond earrings. She was much wooed by +the young men about there, and at last she married. He was a young man, +good-looking, a sergeant of police, and for a time they were very +happy. And then trouble came. The husband took to bad ways. The +knowledge that he could get money for nothing was too much for him. He +drank and he wasted her money, and he neglected his work, and at last he +was dismissed from Government employ. And his wife got angry with him, +and complained of him to the neighbours; and made him worse, though she +was at heart a good girl. Quickly he went from bad to worse, until in a +very short time, six months, I think, he had spent half her little +fortune. Then she began to limit supplies--the husband did no work at +all--and in consequence he began to neglect her; they had many quarrels, +and her tongue was sharp, and matters got worse and worse until they +were the talk of the village. All attempts of the headman and elders to +restrain him were useless. He became quarrelsome, and went on from one +thing to another, until at last he was suspected of being concerned in a +crime. So then when all means had failed to restore her husband to her, +when they had drifted far apart and there was nothing before them but +trouble, she went to the elders of the village and demanded a divorce. +And the elders granted it to her. Her husband objected; he did not want +to be divorced. He claimed this, and he claimed that, but it was all of +no use. So the tie that had united them was dissolved, as the love had +been dissolved long before, and they parted. The man went away to Lower +Burma. They tell me he has become a cultivator and has reformed, and is +doing well; and the girl is ready to marry again. Half her property is +gone, but half remains, and she has still her little business. I think +they will both do well. But if they had been chained together, what +then? + +In Burma divorce is free. Anyone can obtain it by appearing before the +elders of the village and demanding it. A writing of divorcement is made +out, and the parties are free. Each retains his or her own property, and +that earned during marriage is divided; only that the party claiming the +divorce has to leave the house to the other--that is the only penalty, +and it is not always enforced, unless the house be joint property. + +As religion has nothing to do with marriage, neither has it with +divorce. Marriage is a status, a partnership, nothing more. But it is +all that. Divorce is a dissolution of that partnership. A Burman would +not ask, 'Were they married?' but, 'Are they man and wife?' And so with +divorce, it is a cessation of the state of marriage. + +Elders tell me that women ask for divorce far more than men do. 'Men +have patience, and women have not,' that is what they say. For every +little quarrel a woman will want a divorce. 'Thakin, if we were to grant +divorces every time a woman came and demanded it, we should be doing +nothing else all day long. If a husband comes home to find dinner not +cooked, and speaks angrily, his wife will rush to us in tears for a +divorce. If he speaks to another woman and smiles, if he does not give +his wife a new dress, if he be fond of going out in the evenings, all +these are reasons for a breathless demand for a divorce. The wives get +cross and run to us and cry, "My husband has been angry with me. Never +will I live with him again. Give me a divorce." Or, "See my clothes, how +old they are. I cannot buy any new dress. I will have a divorce." And we +say, "Yes, yes; it is very sad. Of course, you must have a divorce; but +we cannot give you one to-night. Go away, and come again in three days +or in four days, when we have more time." They go away, thakin, and they +do not return. Next day it is all forgotten. You see, they don't know +what they want; they turn with the wind--they have no patience.' + +Yet sometimes they repent too late. Here is another of my memories about +divorce: + +There was a man and his wife, cultivators, living in a small village. +The land that he cultivated belonged to his wife, for she had inherited +it from her father, together with a house and a little money. The man +had nothing when he married her, but he was hardworking and honest and +good-tempered, and they kept themselves going comfortably enough. But he +had one fault: every now and then he would drink too much. This was in +Lower Burma, where liquor shops are free to Burmans. In Upper Burma no +liquor can be sold to them. He did not drink often. He was a teetotaler +generally; but once a month, or once in two months, he would meet some +friends, and they would drink in good fellowship, and he would return +home drunk. His wife felt this very bitterly, and when he would come +into the house, his eyes red and his face swollen, she would attack him +with bitter words, as women do. She would upbraid him for his conduct, +she would point at him the finger of scorn, she would tell him in biting +words that he was drinking the produce of her fields, of her +inheritance; she would even impute to him, in her passion, worse things +than these, things that were not true. And the husband was usually +good-natured, and admitted his wrong, and put up with all her abuse, and +they lived more or less happily till the next time. + +And after this had been going on for a few years, instead of getting +accustomed to her husband, instead of seeing that if he had this fault +he had many virtues, and that he was just as good a husband as she was a +wife, or perhaps better, her anger against him increased every time, +till now she would declare that she would abide it no longer, that he +was past endurance, and she would have a divorce; and several times she +even ran to the elders to demand it. But the elders would put it by. +'Let it wait,' they said, 'for a few days, and then we will see;' and by +that time all was soothed down again. But at last the end came. One +night she passed all bounds in her anger, using words that could never +be forgiven; and when she declared as usual that she must have a +divorce, her husband said: 'Yes, we will divorce. Let there be an end of +it.' And so next day they went to the elders both of them, and as both +demanded the divorce, the elders could not delay very long. A few days' +delay they made, but the man was firm, and at last it was done. They +were divorced. I think the woman would have drawn back at the last +moment, but she could not, for very shame, and the man never wavered. He +was offended past forgiveness. + +So the divorce was given, and the man left the house and went to live +elsewhere. + +In a few days--a very few days--the wife sent for him again. 'Would he +return?' And he refused. Then she went to the headman and asked him to +make it up, and the headman sent for the husband, who came. + +The woman asked her husband to return. + +'Come back,' she said, 'come back. I have been wrong. Let us forgive. It +shall never happen again.' + +But the man shook his head. + +'No,' he said; 'a divorce is a divorce. I do not care to marry and +divorce once a week. You were always saying "I will divorce you, I will +divorce you." Now it is done. Let it remain.' + +The woman was struck with grief. + +'But I did not know,' she said; 'I was hot-tempered. I was foolish. But +now I know. Ah! the house is so lonely! I have but two ears, I have but +two eyes, and the house is so large.' + +But the husband refused again. + +'What is done, is done. Marriage is not to be taken off and put on like +a jacket. I have made up my mind.' + +Then he went away, and after a little the woman went away too. She went +straight to the big, lonely house, and there she hanged herself. + +You see, she loved him all the time, but did not know till too late. + +Men do not often apply for divorce except for very good cause, and with +their minds fully made up to obtain it. They do obtain it, of course. + +With this facility for divorce, it is remarkable how uncommon it is. In +the villages and amongst respectable Burmans in all classes of life it +is a great exception to divorce or to be divorced. The only class +amongst whom it is at all common is the class of hangers-on to our +Administration, the clerks and policemen, and so on. I fear there is +little that is good to be said of many of them. It is terrible to see +how demoralizing our contact is to all sorts and conditions of men. To +be attached to our Administration is almost a stigma of +disreputableness. I remember remarking once to a headman that a certain +official seemed to be quite regardless of public opinion in his life, +and asked him if the villagers did not condemn him. And the headman +answered with surprise: 'But he is an official;' as if officials were +quite _super grammaticam_ of morals. + +And yet this is the class from whom we most of us obtain our knowledge +of Burmese life, whom we see most of, whose opinions we accept as +reflecting the truth of Burmese thought. No wonder we are so often +astray. + +Amongst these, the taking of second, and even third, wives is not at all +uncommon, and naturally divorce often follows. Among the great mass of +the people it is very uncommon. I cannot give any figures. There are no +records kept of marriage or of divorce. What the proportion is it is +impossible to even guess. I have heard all sorts of estimates, none +founded on more than imagination. I have even tried to find out in small +villages what the number of divorces were in a year, and tried to +estimate from this the percentage. I made it from 2 to 5 per cent. of +the marriages. But I cannot offer these figures as correct for any large +area. Probably they vary from place to place and from year to year. In +the old time the queen was very strict upon the point. As she would +allow no other wife to her king, so she would allow no taking of other +wives, no abuse of divorce among her subjects. Whatever her influence +may have been in other ways, here it was all for good. But the queen has +gone, and there is no one left at all. No one but the hangers-on of whom +I have spoken, examples not to be followed, but to be shunned. + +But of this there is no manner of doubt, that this freedom of marriage +and divorce leads to no license. There is no confusion between marriage +or non-marriage, and even yet public opinion is a very great check upon +divorce. It is considered not right to divorce your husband or your wife +without good--very good and sufficient cause. And what is good and +sufficient cause is very well understood. That a woman should have a +nagging tongue, that a man should be a drunkard, what could be better +cause than this? The gravity of the offence lies in whether it makes +life unbearable together, not in the name you may give it. + +The facility for divorce has other effects too. It makes a man and a +woman very careful in their behaviour to each other. The chain that +binds them is a chain of mutual forbearance, of mutual endurance, of +mutual love; and if these be broken, then is the bond gone. Marriage is +no fetter about a man or woman, binding both to that which they may get +to hate. + +In the first Burmese war in 1825 there was a man, an Englishman, taken +prisoner in Ava and put in prison, and there he found certain Europeans +and Americans. After a time, for fear of attempts at escape, these +prisoners were chained together two and two. He tells you, this +Englishman, how terrible this was, and of the hate and repulsion that +arose in your heart to your co-bondsman. Before they were chained +together they lived in close neighbourhood, in peace and amity; but +when the chains came it was far otherwise, though they were no nearer +than before. They got to hate each other. + +And this is the Burmese idea of marriage, that it is a partnership of +love and affection, and that when these die, all should be over. An +unbreakable marriage appears to them as a fetter, a bond, something +hateful and hate inspiring. They are a people who love to be free: they +hate bonds and dogmas of every description. It is always religion that +has made a bond of marriage, and here religion has not interfered. +Theirs is a religion of free men and free women. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +DRINK + + 'The ignorant commit sins in consequence of drunkenness, and also + make others drunk.'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +The Buddhist religion forbids the use of all stimulants, including opium +and other drugs; and in the times of the Burmese rule this law was +stringently kept. No one was allowed to make, to sell, or to consume, +liquors of any description. That this law was kept as firmly as it was +was due, not to the vigilance of the officials, but to the general +feeling of the people. It was a law springing from within, and therefore +effectual; not imposed from without, and useless. That there were +breaches and evasions of the law is only natural. The craving for some +stimulant amongst all people is very great--so great as to have forced +itself to be acknowledged and regulated by most states, and made a great +source of revenue. Amongst the Burmans the craving is, I should say, as +strong as amongst other people; and no mere legal prohibition would have +had much effect in a country like this, full of jungle, where palms grow +in profusion, and where little stills might be set up anywhere to +distil their juice. But the feelings of the respectable people and the +influence of the monks is very great, very strong; and the Burmans were, +and in Upper Burma, where the old laws remain in force, are still, an +absolutely teetotal people. No one who was in Upper Burma before and +just after the war but knows how strictly the prohibition against liquor +was enforced. The principal offenders against the law were the high +officials, because they were above popular reach. No bribe was so +gratefully accepted as some whisky. It was a sure step to safety in +trouble. + +A gentleman--not an Englishman--in the employ of a company who traded in +Upper Burma in the king's time told me lately a story about this. + +He lived in a town on the Irrawaddy, where was a local governor, and +this governor had a head clerk. This head clerk had a wife, and she was, +I am told, very beautiful. I cannot write scandal, and so will not +repeat here what I have heard about this lady and the merchant; but one +day his Burman servant rushed into his presence and told him +breathlessly that the bailiff of the governor's court was just entering +the garden with a warrant for his arrest, for, let us say, undue +flirtation. The merchant, horrified at the prospect of being lodged in +gaol and put in stocks, fled precipitately out of the back-gate and +gained the governor's court. The governor was in session, seated on a +little daïs, and the merchant ran in and knelt down, as is the custom, +in front of the daïs. He began to hurriedly address the governor: + +'My lord, my lord, an unjust complaint has been made against me. Someone +has abused your justice and caused a warrant to be taken out against me. +I have just escaped the bailiff, and came to your honour for protection. +It is all a mistake. I will explain. I----' + +But here the governor interposed. He bent forward till his head was +close to the merchant's head, and whispered: + +'Friend, have you any whisky?' + +The merchant gave a sigh of relief. + +'A case newly arrived is at your honour's disposal,' he answered +quickly. 'I will give orders for it to be sent over at once. No, two +cases--I have two. And this charge is all a mistake.' + +The governor waved his hand as if all explanation were superfluous. Then +he drew himself up, and, addressing the officials and crowd before him, +said: + +'This is my good friend. Let no one touch him.' And in an undertone to +the merchant: 'Send it soon.' + +So the merchant went home rejoicing, and sent the whisky. And the lady? +Well, my story ends there with the governor and the whisky. No doubt it +was all a mistake about the lady, as the merchant said. All officials +were not so bad as this, and many officials were as strongly against +the use of liquor, as urgent in the maintenance of the rules of the +religion, as the lowest peasant. + +It was the same with opium: its use was absolutely prohibited. Of +course, Chinese merchants managed to smuggle enough in for their own +use, but they had to bribe heavily to be able to do so, and the people +remained uncontaminated. 'Opium-eater,' 'gambler,' are the two great +terms of reproach and contempt. + +It used to be a custom in the war-time--it has died out now, I +think--for officers of all kinds to offer to Burmans who came to see +them--officials, I mean--a drink of whisky or beer on parting, just as +you would to an Englishman. It was often accepted. Burmans are, as I +have said, very fond of liquor, and an opportunity like this to indulge +in a little forbidden drink, under the encouragement of the great +English soldier or official, was too much for them. Besides, it would +have been a discourtesy to refuse. And so it was generally accepted. I +do not think it did much harm to anyone, or to anything, except, +perhaps, to our reputation. + +I remember in 1887 that I went up into a semi-independent state to see +the prince. I travelled up with two of his officials, men whom I had +seen a good deal of for some months before, as his messengers and +spokesmen, about affairs on the border. We travelled for three days, and +came at last to where he had pitched his camp in the forest. He had +built me a house, too, next to his camp, where I put up. I had a long +interview with him about official matters--I need not tell of that +here--and after our business was over we talked of many things, and at +last I got up to take my leave. I had seen towards the end that the +prince had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but was +afraid, or too shy, to mention; and when I got up, instead of moving +away, I laughed and said: + +'Well, what is it? I think there is something the prince wants to say +before I go.' + +And the prince smiled back awkwardly, still desirous to have his say, +still clearly afraid to do so, and at last it was his wife who spoke. + +'It is about the whisky,' she said. 'We know that you drink it. That is +your own business. We hear, too, that it is the custom in the part of +the country you have taken for English officers to give whisky and beer +to officials who come to see you--to _our_ officials,' and she looked at +the men who had come up with me, and they blushed. 'The prince wishes to +ask you not to do it here. Of course, in your own country you do what +you like, but in the prince's country no one is allowed to drink or to +smoke opium. It is against our faith. That is what the prince wanted to +say. The thakin will not be offended if he is asked that here in our +country he will not tempt any of us to break our religion.' + +I almost wished I had not encouraged the prince to speak. I am afraid +that the embarrassment passed over to my side. What could I say but that +I would remember, that I was not offended, but would be careful? I had +been lecturing the prince about his shortcomings; I had been warning him +of trouble to come, unless he mended his ways; I had been telling him +wonderful things of Europe and our power. I thought that I had produced +an impression of superiority--I was young then--but when I left I had my +doubts who it was that scored most in that interview. However, I have +remembered ever since. I was not a frequent offender before--I have +never offered a Burman liquor since. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +MANNERS + + 'Not where others fail, or do, or leave undone--the wise should + notice what himself has done, or left undone.'--_Dammapada._ + + +A remarkable trait of the Burmese character is their unwillingness to +interfere in other people's affairs. Whether it arises from their +religion of self-culture or no, I cannot say, but it is in full keeping +with it. Every man's acts and thoughts are his own affair, think the +Burmans; each man is free to go his own way, to think his own thoughts, +to act his own acts, as long as he does not too much annoy his +neighbours. Each man is responsible for himself and for himself alone, +and there is no need for him to try and be guardian also to his fellows. +And so the Burman likes to go his own way, to be a free man within +certain limits; and the freedom that he demands for himself, he will +extend also to his neighbours. He has a very great and wide tolerance +towards all his neighbours, not thinking it necessary to disapprove of +his neighbours' acts because they may not be the same as his own, never +thinking it necessary to interfere with his neighbours as long as the +laws are not broken. Our ideas that what habits are different to our +habits must be wrong, and being wrong, require correction at our hands, +is very far from his thoughts. He never desires to interfere with +anyone. Certain as he is that his own ideas are best, he is contented +with that knowledge, and is not ceaselessly desirous of proving it upon +other people. And so a foreigner may go and live in a Burman village, +may settle down there and live his own life and follow his own customs +in perfect freedom, may dress and eat and drink and pray and die as he +likes. No one will interfere. No one will try and correct him; no one +will be for ever insisting to him that he is an outcast, either from +civilization or from religion. The people will accept him for what he +is, and leave the matter there. If he likes to change his ways and +conform to Burmese habits and Buddhist forms, so much the better; but if +not, never mind. + +It is, I think, a great deal owing to this habit of mind that the +manners of the Burmese are usually so good, children in civilization as +they are. There is amongst them no rude inquisitiveness and no desire to +in any way circumscribe your freedom, by either remark or act. Surely of +all things that cause trouble, nothing is so common amongst us as the +interference with each other's ways, as the needless giving of advice. +It seems to each of us that we are responsible, not only for ourselves, +but also for everyone else near us; and so if we disapprove of any act, +we are always in a hurry to express our disapproval and to try and +persuade the actor to our way of thinking. We are for ever thinking of +others and trying to improve them; as a nation we try to coerce weaker +nations and to convert stronger ones, and as individuals we do the same. +We are sure that other people cannot but be better and happier for being +brought into our ways of thinking, by force even, if necessary. We call +it philanthropy. + +But the Buddhist does not believe this at all. Each man, each nation, +has, he thinks, enough to do managing his or its own affairs. +Interference, any sort of interference, he is sure can do nothing but +harm. _You_ cannot save a man. He can save himself; you can do nothing +for him. You may force or persuade him into an outer agreement with you, +but what is the value of that? All dispositions that are good, that are +of any value at all, must come spontaneously from the heart of man. +First, he must desire them, and then struggle to obtain them; by this +means alone can any virtue be reached. This, which is the key of his +religion, is the key also of his private life. Each man is a free man to +do what he likes, in a way that we have never understood. + +Even under the rule of the Burmese kings there was the very widest +tolerance. You never heard of a foreigner being molested in any way, +being forbidden to live as he liked, being forbidden to erect his own +places of worship. He had the widest freedom, as long as he infringed no +law. The Burmese rule may not have been a good one in many ways, but it +was never guilty of persecution, of any attempt at forcible conversion, +of any desire to make such an attempt. + +This tolerance, this inclination to let each man go his own way, is +conspicuous even down to the little events of life. It is very marked, +even in conversation, how little criticism is indulged in towards each +other, how there is an absolute absence of desire to proselytize each +other in any way. 'It is his way,' they will say, with a laugh, of any +peculiar act of any person; 'it is his way. What does it matter to us?' +Of all the lovable qualities of the Burmese, and they are many, there +are none greater than these--their light-heartedness and their +tolerance. + +A Burman will always assume that you know your own business, and will +leave you alone to do it. How great a boon this is I think we hardly can +understand, for we have none of it. And he carries it to an extent that +sometimes surprises us. + +Suppose you are walking along a road and there is a broken bridge on the +way, a bridge that you might fall through. No one will try and prevent +you going. Any Burman who saw you go will, if he think at all about it, +give you the credit for knowing what you are about. It will not enter +into his head to go out of his way to give you advice about that +bridge. If you ask him he will help you all he can, but he will not +volunteer; and so if you depend on volunteered advice, you may fall +through the bridge and break your neck, perhaps. + +At first this sort of thing seems to us to spring from laziness or from +discourtesy. It is just the reverse of this latter; it is excess of +courtesy that assumes you to be aware of what you are about, and capable +of judging properly. + +You may get yourself into all sorts of trouble, and unless you call out +no one will assist you. They will suppose that if you require help you +will soon ask for it. You could drift all the way from Bhamo to Rangoon +on a log, and I am sure no one would try to pick you up unless you +shouted for help. Let anyone try to drift down from Oxford to Richmond, +and he will be forcibly saved every mile of his journey, I am sure. The +Burman boatmen you passed would only laugh and ask how you were getting +on. The English boatman would have you out of that in a jiffy, saving +you despite yourself. You might commit suicide in Burma, and no one +would stop you. 'It is your own look-out,' they would say; 'if you want +to die why should we prevent you? What business is it of ours?' + +Never believe for a moment that this is cold-heartedness. Nowhere is +there any man so kind-hearted as a Burman, so ready to help you, so +hospitable, so charitable both in act and thought. + +It is only that he has another way of seeing these things to what we +have. He would resent as the worst discourtesy that which we call having +a friendly interest in each other's doings. Volunteered advice comes, so +he thinks, from pure self-conceit, and is intolerable; help that he has +not asked for conveys the assumption that he is a fool, and the helper +ever so much wiser than he. It is in his eyes simply a form of +self-assertion, an attempt at governing other people, an infringement of +good manners not to be borne. + +Each man is responsible for himself, each man is the maker of himself. +Only he can do himself good by good thought, by good acts; only he can +hurt himself by evil intentions and deeds. Therefore in your intercourse +with others remember always yourself, remember that no one can injure +you but yourself; be careful, therefore, of your acts for your own sake. +For if you lose your temper, who is the sufferer? Yourself; no one but +yourself. If you are guilty of disgraceful acts, of discourteous words, +who suffers? Yourself. Remember that; remember that courtesy and good +temper are due from you to everyone. What does it matter who the other +person be? you should be courteous to him, not because he deserves it, +but because you deserve it. Courtesy is measured by the giver, not by +the receiver. We are apt sometimes to think that this continual care of +self is selfishness; it is the very reverse. Self-reverence is the +antipode of self-conceit, of selfishness. If you honour yourself, you +will be careful that nothing dishonourable shall come from you. +'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control;' we, too, have had a poet +who taught this. + +And so dignity of manner is very marked amongst this people. It is +cultivated as a gift, as the outward sign of a good heart. + +'A rough diamond;' no Burman would understand this saying. The value of +a diamond is that it can be polished. As long as it remains in the +rough, it has no more beauty than a lump of mud. If your heart be good, +so, too, will be your manners. A good tree will bring forth good fruit. +If the fruit be rotten, can the tree be good? Not so. If your manners +are bad, so, too, is your heart. To be courteous, even tempered, to be +tolerant and full of sympathy, these are the proofs of an inward +goodness. You cannot have one without the other. Outward appearances are +not deceptive, but are true. + +Therefore they strive after even temper. Hot-tempered as they are, +easily aroused to wrath, easily awakened to pleasure, men with the +passions of a child, they have very great command over themselves. They +are ashamed of losing their temper; they look upon it as a disgrace. We +are often proud of it; we think sometimes we do well to be angry. + +So they are very patient, very long-suffering, accepting with +resignation the troubles of this world, the kicks and spurns of +fortune, secure in this, that each man's self is in his own keeping. If +there be trouble for to-day, what can it matter if you do but command +yourself? If others be discourteous to you, that cannot hurt you, if you +do not allow yourself to be discourteous in return. Take care of your +own soul, sure that in the end you will win, either in this life or in +some other, that which you deserve. What you have made your soul fit +for, that you will obtain, sooner or later, whether it be evil or +whether it be good. The law of righteousness is for ever this, that what +a man deserves that he will obtain. And in the end, if you cultivate +your soul with unwearying patience, striving always after what is good, +purifying yourself from the lust of life, you will come unto that lake +where all desire shall be washed away. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +'NOBLESSE OBLIGE' + + 'Sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than + may he who kills any living being be admitted into our + society.'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +It is very noticeable throughout the bazaars of Burma that all the beef +butchers are natives of India. No Burman will kill a cow or a bullock, +and no Burman will sell its meat. It is otherwise with pork and fowls. +Burmans may sometimes be found selling these; and fish are almost +invariably sold by the wives of the fishermen. During the king's time, +any man who was even found in possession of beef was liable to very +severe punishment. The only exception, as I have explained elsewhere, +was in the case of the queen when expecting an addition to her family, +and it was necessary that she should be strengthened in all ways. None, +not even foreigners, were allowed to kill beef, and this law was very +stringently observed. Other flesh and fish might, as far as the law of +the country went, be sold with impunity. You could not be fined for +killing and eating goats, or fowls, or pigs, and these were sold +occasionally. It is now ten years since King Thibaw was overthrown, and +there is now no law against the sale of beef. And yet, as I have said, +no respectable Burman will even now kill or sell beef. The law was +founded on the beliefs of the people, and though the law is dead, the +beliefs remain. + +It is true that the taking of life is against Buddhist commands. No life +at all may be taken by him who adheres to Buddhistic teaching. Neither +for sport, nor for revenge, nor for food, may any animal be deprived of +the breath that is in it. And this is a command wonderfully well kept. +There are a few exceptions, but they are known and accepted as breaches +of the law, for the law itself knows no exceptions. Fish, as I have +said, can be obtained almost everywhere. They are caught in great +quantities in the river, and are sold in most bazaars, either fresh or +salted. It is one of the staple foods of the Burmese. But although they +will eat fish, they despise the fisherman. Not so much, perhaps, as if +he killed other living things, but still, the fisherman is an outcast +from decent society. He will have to suffer great and terrible +punishment before he can be cleansed from the sins that he daily +commits. Notwithstanding this, there are many fishermen in Burma. + +A fish is a very cold-blooded beast. One must be very hard up for +something to love to have any affection to spare upon fishes. They +cannot be, or at all events they never are, domesticated, and most of +them are not beautiful. I am not aware that they have ever been known to +display any attachment to anyone, which accounts, perhaps, for the +comparatively lenient eye with which their destruction is contemplated. + +For with warm-blooded animals it is very different. Cattle, as I have +said, can never be killed nor their meat sold by a Burman, and with +other animals the difficulty is not much less. + +I was in Upper Burma for some months before the war, and many a time I +could get no meat at all. Living in a large town among prosperous +people, I could get no flesh at all, only fish and rice and vegetables. +When, after much trouble, my Indian cook would get me a few fowls, he +would often be waylaid and forced to release them. An old woman, say, +anxious to do some deed of merit, would come to him as he returned +triumphantly home with his fowls and tender him money, and beg him to +release the fowls. She would give the full price or double the price of +the fowls; she had no desire to gain merit at another person's expense, +and the unwilling cook would be obliged to give up the fowls. Public +opinion was so strong he dare not refuse. The money was paid, the fowls +set free, and I dined on tinned beef. + +And yet the villages are full of fowls. Why they are kept I do not know. +Certainly not for food. I do not mean to say that an accidental meeting +between a rock and a fowl may not occasionally furnish forth a dinner, +but this is not the object with which they are kept--of this I am sure. + +You would not suppose that fowls were capable of exciting much +affection, yet I suppose they are. Certainly in one case ducks were. +There is a Burman lady I know who is married to an Englishman. He kept +ducks. He bought a number of ducklings, and had them fed up so that they +might be fat and succulent when the time came for them to be served at +table. They became very fine ducks, and my friend had promised me one. I +took an interest in them, and always noticed their increasing fatness +when I rode that way. Imagine, then, my disappointment when one day I +saw that all the ducks had disappeared. + +I stopped to inquire. Yes, truly they were all gone, my friend told me. +In his absence his wife had gone up the river to visit some friends, and +had taken the ducks with her. She could not bear, she said, that they +should be killed, so she took them away and distributed them among her +friends, one here and one there, where she was sure they would be well +treated and not killed. When she returned she was quite pleased at her +success, and laughed at her husband and me. + +This same lady was always terribly distressed when she had to order a +fowl to be killed for her husband's breakfast, even if she had never +seen it before. I have seen her, after telling the cook to kill a fowl +for breakfast, run away and sit down in the veranda with her hands over +her ears, and her face the very picture of misery, fearing lest she +should hear its shrieks. I think that this was the one great trouble to +her in her marriage, that her husband would insist on eating fowls and +ducks, and that she had to order them to be killed. + +As she is, so are most Burmans. If there is all this trouble about +fowls, it can be imagined how the trouble increases when it comes to +goats or any larger beasts. In the jungle villages meat of any kind at +all is never seen: no animals of any kind are allowed to be killed. An +officer travelling in the district would be reduced to what he could +carry with him, if it were not for an Act of Government obliging +villages to furnish--on payment, of course--supplies for officers and +troops passing through. The mere fact of such a law being necessary is +sufficient proof of the strength of the feeling against taking life. + +Of course, all shooting, either for sport or for food, is looked upon as +disgraceful. In many jungle villages where deer abound there are one or +two hunters who make a living by hunting. But they are disgraced men. +They are worse than fishermen, and they will have a terrible penalty to +pay for it all. It will take much suffering to wash from their souls the +cruelty, the blood-thirstiness, the carelessness to suffering, the +absence of compassion, that hunting must produce. 'Is there no food in +the bazaar, that you must go and take the lives of animals?' has been +said to me many a time. And when my house-roof was infested by sparrows, +who dropped grass and eggs all over my rooms, so that I was obliged to +shoot them with a little rifle, this was no excuse. 'You should have +built a sparrow-cote,' they told me. 'If you had built a sparrow-cote, +they would have gone away and left you in peace. They only wanted to +make nests and lay eggs and have little ones, and you went and shot +them.' There are many sparrow-cotes to be seen in the villages. + +I might give example after example of this sort, for they happen every +day. We who are meat-eaters, who delight in shooting, who have a horror +of insects and reptiles, are continually coming into collision with the +principles of our neighbours; for even harmful reptiles they do not care +to kill. Truly I believe it is a myth, the story of the Burmese mother +courteously escorting out of the house the scorpion which had just +bitten her baby. A Burmese mother worships her baby as much as the woman +of any other nation does, and I believe there is no crime she would not +commit in its behalf. But if she saw a scorpion walking about in the +fields, she would not kill it as we should. She would step aside and +pass on. 'Poor beast!' she would say, 'why should I hurt it? It never +hurt me.' + +The Burman never kills insects out of sheer brutality. If a beetle drone +annoyingly, he will catch it in a handkerchief and put it outside, and +so with a bee. It is a great trouble often to get your Burmese servants +to keep your house free of ants and other annoying creatures. If you +tell them to kill the insects they will, for in that case the sin falls +on you. Without special orders they would rather leave the ants alone. + +In the district in which I am now living snakes are very plentiful. +There are cobras and keraits, but the most dreaded is the Russell's +viper. He is a snake that averages from three to four feet long, and is +very thick, with a big head and a stumpy tail. His body is marked very +prettily with spots and blurs of light on a dark, grayish green, and he +is so like the shadows of the grass and weeds in a dusty road, that you +can walk on him quite unsuspectingly. Then he will bite you, and you +die. He comes out usually in the evening before dark, and lies about on +footpaths to catch the home-coming ploughman or reaper, and, contrary to +the custom of other snakes, he will not flee on hearing a footstep. When +anyone approaches he lies more still than ever, not even a movement of +his head betraying him. He is so like the colour of the ground, he hopes +he will be passed unseen; and he is slow and lethargic in his movements, +and so is easy to kill when once detected. As a Burman said, 'If he sees +you first, he kills you; if you see him first, you kill him.' + +In this district no Burman hesitates a moment in killing a viper when +he has the chance. Usually he has to do it in self-defence. This viper +is terribly feared, as over a hundred persons a year die here by his +bite. He is so hated and feared that he has become an outcast from the +law that protects all life. + +But with other snakes it is not so. There is the hamadryad, for +instance. He is a great snake about ten to fourteen feet long, and he is +the only snake that will attack you first. He is said always to do so, +certainly he often does. One attacked me once when out quail-shooting. +He put up his great neck and head suddenly at a distance of only five or +six feet, and was just preparing to strike, when I literally blew his +head off with two charges of shot. + +You would suppose he was vicious enough to be included with the +Russell's viper in the category of the exceptions, but no. Perhaps he is +too rare to excite such fierce and deadly hate as makes the Burman +forget his law and kill the viper. However it may be, the Burman is not +ready to kill the hamadryad. A few weeks ago a friend of mine and myself +came across two little Burman boys carrying a jar with a piece of broken +tile over it. The lads kept lifting up the tile and peeping in, and then +putting the tile on again in a great hurry, and their actions excited +our curiosity. So we called them to come to us, and we looked into the +jar. It was full of baby hamadryads. The lads had found a nest of them +in the absence of the mother, who would have killed them if she had +been there, and had secured all the little snakes. There were seven of +them. + +We asked the boys what they intended to do with the snakes, and they +answered that they would show them to their friends in the village. 'And +then?' we asked. And then they would let them go in the water. My friend +killed all the hamadryads on the spot, and gave the boys some coppers, +and we went on. Can you imagine this happening anywhere else? Can you +think of any other schoolboys sparing any animal they caught, much less +poisonous snakes? The extraordinary hold that this tenet of their +religion has upon the Burmese must be seen to be understood. What I +write will sound like some fairy story, I fear, to my people at home. It +is far beneath the truth. The belief that it is wrong to take life is a +belief with them as strong as any belief could be. I do not know +anywhere any command, earthly or heavenly, that is acted up to with such +earnestness as this command is amongst the Burmese. It is an abiding +principle of their daily life. + +Where the command came from I do not know. I cannot find any allusion to +it in the life of the great teacher. We know that he ate meat. It seems +to me that it is older even than he. It has been derived both by the +Burmese Buddhists and the Hindus from a faith whose origin is hidden in +the mists of long ago. It is part of that far older faith on which +Buddhism was built, as was Christianity on Judaism. + +But if not part of his teaching--and though it is included in the sacred +books, we do not know how much of them are derived from the Buddha +himself--it is in strict accordance with all his teaching. That is one +of the most wonderful points of Buddhism, it is all in accordance; there +are no exceptions. + +I have heard amongst Europeans a very curious explanation of this +refusal of Buddhists to take life. 'Buddhists,' they say, 'believe in +the transmigration of souls. They believe that when a man dies his soul +may go into a beast. You could not expect him to kill a bull, when +perchance his grandfather's soul might inhabit there.' This is their +explanation, this is the way they put two and two together to make five. +They know that Buddhists believe in transmigration, they know that +Buddhists do not like to take life, and therefore one is the cause of +the other. + +I have mentioned this explanation to Burmans while talking of the +subject, and they have always laughed at it. They had never heard of it +before. It is true that it is part of their great theory of life that +the souls of men have risen from being souls of beasts, and that we may +so relapse if we are not careful. Many stories are told of cases that +have occurred where a man has been reincarnated as an animal, and where +what is now the soul of a man used to live in a beast. But that makes no +difference. Whatever a man may have been, or may be, he is a man now; +whatever a beast may have been, he is a beast now. Never suppose that a +Burman has any other idea than this. To him men are men, and animals are +animals, and men are far the higher. But he does not deduce from this +that man's superiority gives him permission to illtreat or to kill +animals. It is just the reverse. It is because man is so much higher +than the animal that he can and must observe towards animals the very +greatest care, feel for them the very greatest compassion, be good to +them in every way he can. The Burman's motto should be _Noblesse +oblige_; he knows the meaning, if he knows not the words. + +For the Burman's compassion towards animals goes very much farther than +a mere reluctance to kill them. Although he has no command on the +subject, it seems to him quite as important to treat animals well during +their lives as to refrain from taking those lives. His refusal to take +life he shares with the Hindu; his perpetual care and tenderness to all +living creatures is all his own. And here I may mention a very curious +contrast, that whereas in India the Hindu will not take life and the +Mussulman will, yet the Mussulman is by reputation far kinder to his +beasts than the Hindu. Here the Burman combines both qualities. He has +all the kindness to animals that the Mahommedan has, and more, and he +has the same horror of taking life that the Hindu has. + +Coming from half-starved, over-driven India, it is a revelation to see +the animals in Burma. The village ponies and cattle and dogs in India +are enough to make the heart bleed for their sordid misery, but in Burma +they are a delight to the eye. They are all fat, every one of them--fat +and comfortable and impertinent; even the ownerless dogs are well fed. I +suppose the indifference of the ordinary native of India to animal +suffering comes from the evil of his own lot. He is so very poor, he has +such hard work to find enough for himself and his children, that his +sympathy is all used up. He has none to spare. He is driven into a dumb +heartlessness, for I do not think he is actually cruel. + +The Burman is full of the greatest sympathy towards animals of all +kinds, of the greatest understanding of their ways, of the most +humorously good-natured attitude towards them. Looking at them from his +manhood, he has no contempt for them; but the gentle toleration of a +father to very little children who are stupid and troublesome often, but +are very lovable. He feels himself so far above them that he can +condescend towards them, and forbear with them. + +His ponies are pictures of fatness and impertinence and go. They never +have any vice because the Burman is never cruel to them; they are never +well trained, partly because he does not know how to train them, partly +because they are so near the aboriginal wild pony as to be incapable of +very much training. But they are willing; they will go for ever, and +are very strong, and they have admirable constitutions and tempers. You +could not make a Burman ill-use his pony if you tried, and I fancy that +to break these little half-wild ponies to go in cabs in crowded streets +requires severe treatment. At least, I never knew but one +hackney-carriage driver either in Rangoon or Mandalay who was a Burman, +and he very soon gave it up. He said that the work was too heavy either +for a pony or a man. I think, perhaps, it was for the safety of the +public that he resigned, for his ponies were the very reverse of +meek--which a native of India says a hackney-carriage pony should +be--and he drove entirely by the light of Nature. + +So all the drivers of gharries, as we call them, are natives of India or +half-breeds, and it is amongst them that the work of the Society for the +Prevention of Cruelty to Animals principally lies. While I was in +Rangoon I tried a number of cases of over-driving, of using ponies with +sore withers and the like. I never tried a Burman. Even in Rangoon, +which has become almost Indianized, his natural humanity never left the +Burman. As far as Burmans are concerned, the Society for the Prevention +of Cruelty to Animals need not exist. They are kinder to their animals +than even the members of the Society could be. Instances occur every +day; here is one of the most striking that I remember. + +There is a town in Burma where there are some troops stationed, and +which is the headquarters of the civil administration of the district. +It is, or was then, some distance from a railway-station, and it was +necessary to make some arrangement for the carriage of the mails to and +from the town and station. The Post-Office called for tenders, and at +length it was arranged through the civil authorities that a coach should +run once a day each way to carry the mails and passengers. A native of +India agreed to take the contract--for Burmans seldom or never care to +take them--and he was to comply with certain conditions and receive a +certain subsidy. + +There was a great deal of traffic between the town and station, and it +was supposed that the passenger traffic would pay the contractor well, +apart from his mail subsidy. For Burmans are always free with their +money, and the road was long and hot and dusty. I often passed that +coach as I rode. I noticed that the ponies were poor, very poor, and +were driven a little hard, but I saw no reason for interference. It did +not seem to me that any cruelty was committed, nor that the ponies were +actually unfit to be driven. I noticed that the driver used his whip a +good deal, but then some ponies require the whip. I never thought much +about it, as I always rode my own ponies, and they always shied at the +coach, but I should have noticed if there had been anything remarkable. +Towards the end of the year it became necessary to renew the contract, +and the contractor was approached on the subject. He said he was +willing to continue the contract for another year if the mail subsidy +was largely increased. He said he had lost money on that year's working. +When asked how he could possibly have lost considering the large number +of people who were always passing up and down, he said that they did not +ride in his coach. Only the European soldiers and a few natives of India +came with him. Officers had their own ponies and rode, and the Burmans +either hired a bullock-cart or walked. They hardly ever came in his +coach, but he could not say what the reason might be. + +So an inquiry was made, and the Burmese were asked why they did not ride +on the coach. Were the fares too high?--was it uncomfortable? But no, it +was for neither of these reasons that they left the coach to the +soldiers and natives of India. It was because of the ponies. No Burman +would care to ride behind ponies who were treated as these ponies +were--half fed, overdriven, whipped. It was a misery to see them; it was +twice a misery to drive behind them. 'Poor beasts!' they said; 'you can +see their ribs, and when they come to the end of a stage they are fit to +fall down and die. They should be turned out to graze.' + +The opinion was universal. The Burmans preferred to spend twice or +thrice the money and hire a bullock-cart and go slowly, while the coach +flashed past them in a whirl of dust, or they preferred to walk. Many +and many times have I seen the roadside rest-houses full of travellers +halting for a few minutes' rest. They walked while the coach came by +empty; and nearly all of them could have afforded the fare. It was a +very striking instance of what pure kind-heartedness will do, for there +would have been no religious command broken by going in the coach. It +was the pure influence of compassion towards the beasts and refusal to +be a party to such hard-heartedness. And yet, as I have said, I do not +think the law could have interfered with success. Surely a people who +could act like this have the very soul of religion in their hearts, +although the act was not done in the name of religion. + +All the animals--the cattle, the ponies, and the buffaloes--are so tame +that it is almost an unknown thing for anyone to get hurt. + +The cattle are sometimes afraid of the white face and strange attire of +a European, but you can walk through the herds as they come home in the +evening with perfect confidence that they will not hurt you. Even a cow +with a young calf will only eye you suspiciously; and with the Burmans +even the huge water buffaloes are absolutely tame. You can see a herd of +these great beasts, with horns six feet across, come along under the +command of a very small boy or girl perched on one of their broad backs. +He flourishes a little stick, and issues his commands like a general. It +is one of the quaintest imaginable sights to see this little fellow get +off his steed, run after a straggler, and beat him with his stick. The +buffalo eyes his master, whom he could abolish with one shake of his +head, submissively, and takes the beating, which he probably feels about +as much as if a straw fell on him, good-humouredly. The children never +seem to come to grief. Buffaloes occasionally charge Europeans, but the +only place where I have known of Burmans being killed by buffaloes is in +the Kalè Valley. There the buffaloes are turned out into the jungle for +eight months in the year, and are only caught for ploughing and carting. +Naturally they are quite wild; in fact, many of them are the offspring +of wild bulls. + +The Burmans, too, are very fond of dogs. Their villages are full of +dogs; but, as far as I know, they never use them for anything, and they +are never trained to do anything. They are supposed to be useful as +watch-dogs, but I do not think they are very good even at that. I have +surrounded a village before dawn, and never a dog barked, and I have +heard them bark all night at nothing. + +But when a Burman sees a fox-terrier or any English dog his delight is +unfeigned. When we first took Upper Burma, and such sights were rare, +half a village would turn out to see the little 'tail-less' dog trotting +along after its master. And if the terrier would 'beg,' then he would +win all hearts. I am not only referring to children, but to grown men +and women; and then there is always something peculiarly childlike and +frank in these children of the great river. + +Only to-day, as I was walking up the bank of the river in the early +dawn, I heard some Burman boatmen discussing my fox-terrier. They were +about fifteen yards from the shore, poling their boat up against the +current, which is arduous work; and as I passed them my little dog ran +down the bank and looked at them across the water, and they saw her. + +'See now,' said one man to another, pausing for a moment with his pole +in his hand--'see the little white dog with the brown face, how wise she +looks!' + +'And how pretty!' said a man steering in the stern. 'Come!' he cried, +holding out his hand to it. + +But the dog only made a splash in the water with her paws, and then +turned and ran after me. The boatmen laughed and resumed their poling, +and I passed on. In the still morning across the still water I could +hear every word, but I hardly took any note; I have heard it so often. +Only now when I come to write on this subject do I remember. + +It has been inculcated in us from childhood that it is a manly thing to +be indifferent to pain--not to our own pain only, but to that of all +others. To be sorry for a hunted hare, to compassionate the wounded +deer, to shrink from torturing the brute creation, has been accounted by +us as namby-pamby sentimentalism, not fit for man, fit only for a +squeamish woman. To the Burman it is one of the highest of all virtues. +He believes that all that is beautiful in life is founded on compassion +and kindness and sympathy--that nothing of great value can exist without +them. Do you think that a Burmese boy would be allowed to birds'-nest, +or worry rats with a terrier, or go ferreting? Not so. These would be +crimes. + +That this kindness and compassion for animals has very far-reaching +results no one can doubt. If you are kind to animals, you will be kind, +too, to your fellow-man. It is really the same thing, the same feeling +in both cases. If to be superior in position to an animal justifies you +in torturing it, so it would do with men. If you are in a better +position than another man, richer, stronger, higher in rank, that +would--that does often in our minds--justify ill-treatment and contempt. +Our innate feeling towards all that we consider inferior to ourselves is +scorn; the Burman's is compassion. You can see this spirit coming out in +every action of their daily life, in their dealings with each other, in +their thoughts, in their speech. 'You are so strong, have you no +compassion for him who is weak, who is tempted, who has fallen?' How +often have I heard this from a Burman's lips! How often have I seen him +act up to it! It seems to them the necessary corollary of strength that +the strong man should be sympathetic and kind. It seems to them an +unconscious confession of weakness to be scornful, revengeful, +inconsiderate. Courtesy, they say, is the mark of a great man, +discourtesy of a little one. No one who feels his position secure will +lose his temper, will persecute, will be disdainful. Their word for a +fool and for a hasty-tempered man is the same. To them it is the same +thing, one infers the other. And so their attitude towards animals is +but an example of their attitude to each other. That an animal or a man +should be lower and weaker than you is the strongest claim he can have +on your humanity, and your courtesy and consideration for him is the +clearest proof of your own superiority. And so in his dealings with +animals the Buddhist considers himself, consults his own dignity, his +own strength, and is kind and compassionate to them out of the greatness +of his own heart. Nothing is more beautiful than the Burman in his ways +with his children, and his beasts, with all who are lesser than himself. + +Even to us, who think so very differently from him on many points, there +is a great and abiding charm in all this, to which we can find only one +exception; for to our ideas there is one exception, and it is this: No +Burman will take any life if he can help it, and therefore, if any +animal injure itself, he will not kill it--not even to put it out of its +pain, as we say. I have seen bullocks split on slippery roads, I have +seen ponies with broken legs, I have seen goats with terrible wounds +caused by accidental falls, and no one would kill them. If, when you are +out shooting, your beaters pick up a wounded hare or partridge, do not +suppose that they wring its neck; you must yourself do that, or it will +linger on till you get home. Under no circumstances will they take the +life even of a wounded beast. And if you ask them, they will say: 'If a +man be sick, do you shoot him? If he injure his spine so that he will be +a cripple for life, do you put him out of his pain?' + +If you reply that men and beasts are different, they will answer that in +this point they do not recognise the difference. 'Poor beast! let him +live out his little life.' And they will give him grass and water till +he dies. + +This is the exception that I meant, but now, after I have written it, I +am not so sure. Is it an exception? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ALL LIFE IS ONE + + 'I heard a voice that cried, + "Balder the Beautiful + Is dead, is dead," + And through the misty air + Passed like the mournful cry + Of sunward-sailing cranes.' + TEGNER'S _Drapa_. + + +All romance has died out of our woods and hills in England, all our +fairies are dead long ago. Knowledge so far has brought us only death. +Later on it will bring us a new life. It is even now showing us how this +may be, and is bringing us face to face again with Nature, and teaching +us to know and understand the life that there is about us. Science is +telling us again what we knew long ago and forgot, that our life is not +apart from the life about us, but of it. Everything is akin to us, and +when we are more accustomed to this knowledge, when we have ceased to +regard it as a new, strange teaching, and know that we are but seeing +again with clearer eyes what a half-knowledge blinded us to, then the +world will be bright and beautiful to us as it was long ago. + +But now all is dark. There are no dryads in our trees, nor nymphs among +the reeds that fringe the river; even our peaks hold for us no guardian +spirit, that may take the reckless trespasser and bind him in a rock for +ever. And because we have lost our belief in fairies, because we do not +now think that there are goblins in our caves, because there is no +spirit in the winds nor voice in the thunder, we have come to think that +the trees and the rocks, the flowers and the storm, are all dead things. +They are made up, we say, of materials that we know, they are governed +by laws that we have discovered, and there is no life anywhere in +Nature. + +And yet this cannot be true. Far truer is it to believe in fairies and +in spirits than in nothing at all; for surely there is life all about +us. Who that has lived out alone in the forest, that has lain upon the +hillside and seen the mountains clothe themselves in lustrous shadows +shot with crimson when the day dies, who that has heard the sigh come up +out of the ravines where the little breezes move, that has watched the +trees sway their leaves to and fro, beckoning to each other with wayward +amorous gestures, but has known that these are not dead things? + +Watch the stream coming down the hill with a flash and a laugh in the +sunlight, look into the dark brown pools in the deep shadows beneath +the rocks, or voyage a whole night upon the breast of the great river, +drifting past ghostly monasteries and silent villages, and then say if +there be no life in the waters, if they, too, are dead things. There is +no consolation like the consolation of Nature, no sympathy like the +sympathy of the hills and streams; and sympathy comes from life. There +is no sympathy with the dead. + +When you are alone in the forest all this life will come and talk to +you, if you are quiet and understand. There is love deep down in the +passionate heart of the flower, as there is in the little quivering +honeysucker flitting after his mate, as there was in Romeo long ago. +There is majesty in the huge brown precipice greater than ever looked +from the face of a king. All life is one. The soul that moves within you +when you hear the deer call to each other far above in the misty meadows +of the night is the same soul that moves in everything about you. No +people who have lived much with Nature have failed to descry this. They +have recognised the life, they have felt the sympathy of the world about +them, and to this life they have given names and forms as they would to +friends whom they loved. Fairies and goblins, fauns and spirits, these +are but names and personifications of a real life. But to him who has +never felt this life, who has never been wooed by the trees and hills, +these things are but foolishness, of course. + +To the Burman, not less than to the Greek of long ago, all nature is +alive. The forest and the river and the mountains are full of spirits, +whom the Burmans call Nats. There are all kinds of Nats, good and bad, +great and little, male and female, now living round about us. Some of +them live in the trees, especially in the huge fir-tree that shades half +an acre without the village; or among the fernlike fronds of the +tamarind; and you will often see beneath such a tree, raised upon poles +or nestled in the branches, a little house built of bamboo and thatch, +perhaps two feet square. You will be told when you ask that this is the +house of the Tree-Nat. Flowers will be offered sometimes, and a little +water or rice maybe, to the Nat, never supposing that he is in need of +such things, but as a courteous and graceful thing to do; for it is not +safe to offend these Nats, and many of them are very powerful. There is +a Nat of whom I know, whose home is in a great tree at the crossing of +two roads, and he has a house there built for him, and he is much +feared. He is such a great Nat that it is necessary when you pass his +house to dismount from your pony and walk to a respectful distance. If +you haughtily ride past, trouble will befall you. A friend of mine +riding there one day rejected all the advice of his Burmese companions +and did not dismount, and a few days later he was taken deadly sick of +fever. He very nearly died, and had to go away to the Straits for a +sea-trip to take the fever out of his veins. It was a very near thing +for him. That was in the Burmese times, of course. After that he always +dismounted. But all Nats are not so proud nor so much to be feared as +this one, and it is usually safe to ride past. + +Even as I write I am under the shadow of a tree where a Nat used to +live, and the headman of the village has been telling me all about it. +This is a Government rest-house on a main road between two stations, and +is built for Government officials travelling on duty about their +districts. To the west of it is a grand fig-tree of the kind called +Nyaungbin by the Burmese. It is a very beautiful tree, though now a +little bare, for it is just before the rains; but it is a great tree +even now, and two months hence it will be glorious. It was never +planted, the headman tells me, but came up of itself very many years +ago, and when it was grown to full size a Nat came to live in it. The +Nat lived in the tree for many years, and took great care of it. No one +might injure it or any living creature near it, so jealous was the Nat +of his abode. And the villagers built a little Nat-house, such as I have +described, under the branches, and offered flowers and water, and all +things went well with those who did well. But if anyone did ill the Nat +punished him. If he cut the roots of the tree, the Nat hurt his feet; +and if he injured the branches, the Nat injured his arms; and if he cut +the trunk, the Nat came down out of the tree, and killed the +sacrilegious man right off. There was no running away, because, as you +know, the headman said, Nats can go a great deal faster than any man. +Many men, careless strangers, who camped under the tree and then abused +the hospitality of the Nat by hunting near his home, came to severe +grief. + +But the Nat has gone now, alas! The tree is still there, but the Nat has +fled away these many years. + +'I suppose he didn't care to stay,' said the headman. 'You see that the +English Government officials came and camped here, and didn't fear the +Nats. They had fowls killed here for their dinner, and they sang and +shouted; and they shot the green pigeons who ate his figs, and the +little doves that nested in his branches.' + +All these things were an abomination to the Nat, who hated loud, rough +talk and abuse, and to whom all life was sacred. + +So the Nat went away. The headman did not know where he was gone, but +there are plenty of trees. + +'He has gone somewhere to get peace,' the headman said. 'Somewhere in +the jungle, where no one ever comes save the herd-boy and the deer, he +will be living in a tree, though I do not think he will easily find a +tree so beautiful as this.' + +The headman seemed very sorry about it, and so did several villagers who +were with him; and I suggested that if the Nat-houses were rebuilt, and +flowers and water offered, the Nat might know and return. I even offered +to contribute myself, that it might be taken as an _amende honorable_ on +behalf of the English Government. But they did not think this would be +any use. No Nat would come where there was so much going and coming, so +little care for life, such a disregard for pity and for peace. If we +were to take away our rest-house, well then, perhaps, after a time, +something could be done, but not under present circumstances. + +And so, besides dethroning the Burmese king, and occupying his golden +palace, we are ousting from their pleasant homes the guardian spirits of +the trees. They flee before the cold materialism of our belief, before +the brutality of our manners. The headman did not say this; he did not +mean to say this, for he is a very courteous man and a great friend of +all of us; but that is what it came to, I think. + +The trunk of this tree is more than ten feet through--not a round bole, +but like the pillar in a Gothic cathedral, as of many smaller boles +growing together; and the roots spread out into a pedestal before +entering the ground. The trunk does not go up very far. At perhaps +twenty-five feet above the ground it divides into a myriad of smaller +trunks, not branches, till it looks more like a forest than a single +tree; it is full of life still. Though the pigeons and the doves come +here no longer, there are a thousand other birds flitting to and fro in +their aerial city and chirping to each other. Two tiny squirrels have +just run along a branch nearly over my head, in a desperate hurry +apparently, their tails cocked over their backs, and a sky blue +chameleon is standing on the trunk near where it parts. There is always +a breeze in this great tree; the leaves are always moving, and there is +a continuous rustle and murmur up there. A mango-tree and tamarind near +by are quite still. Not a breath shakes their leaves; they are as still +as stone, but the shadow of the fig-tree is chequered with ever-changing +lights. Is the Nat really gone? Perhaps not; perhaps he is still there, +still caring for his tree, only shy now and distrustful, and therefore +no more seen. + +Whole woods are enchanted sometimes, and no one dare enter them. Such a +wood I know, far away north, near the hills, which is full of Nats. +There was a great deal of game in it, for animals sought shelter there, +and no one dared to disturb them; not the villagers to cut firewood, nor +the girls seeking orchids, nor the hunter after his prey, dared to +trespass upon that enchanted ground. + +'What would happen,' I asked once, 'if anyone went into that wood? Would +he be killed, or what?' + +And I was told that no one could tell what would happen, only that he +would never be seen again alive. 'The Nats would confiscate him,' they +said, 'for intruding on their privacy.' But what they would do to him +after the confiscation no one seemed to be quite sure. I asked the +official who was with me, a fine handsome Burman who had been with us in +many fights, whether he would go into the wood with me, but he declined +at once. Enemies are one thing, Nats are quite another, and a very much +more dreadful thing. You can escape from enemies, as witness my +companion, who had been shot at times without number and had only once +been hit, in the leg, but you cannot escape Nats. Once, he told me, +there were two very sacrilegious men, hunters by profession, only more +abandoned than even the majority of hunters, and they went into this +wood to hunt 'They didn't care for Nats,' they said. They didn't care +for anything at all apparently. 'They were absolutely without reverence, +worse than any beast,' said my companion. + +So they went into the wood to shoot, and they never came out again. A +few days later their bare bones were found, flung out upon the road near +the enchanted wood. The Nats did not care to have even the bones of such +scoundrels in their wood, and so thrust them out. That was what happened +to them, and that was what might happen to us if we went in there. We +did not go. + +Though the Nats of the forest will not allow even one of their beasts to +be slain, the Nats of the rivers are not so exclusive. I do not think +fish are ever regarded in quite the same light as animals. It is true +that a fervent Buddhist will not kill even a fish, but a fisherman is +not quite such a reprobate as a hunter in popular estimation. And the +Nats think so too, for the Nat of a pool will not forbid all fishing. +You must give him his share; you must be respectful to him, and not +offend him; and then he will fill your nets with gleaming fish, and all +will go well with you. If not, of course, you will come to grief; your +nets will be torn, and your boat upset; and finally, if obstinate, you +will be drowned. A great arm will seize you, and you will be pulled +under and disappear for ever. + +A Nat is much like a human being; if you treat him well he will treat +you well, and conversely. Courtesy is never wasted on men or Nats, at +least, so a Burman tells me. + +The highest Nats live in the mountains. The higher the Nat the higher +the mountain; and when you get to a very high peak indeed, like +Mainthong Peak in Wuntho, you encounter very powerful Nats. + +They tell a story of Mainthong Peak and the Nats there, how all of a +sudden, one day in 1885, strange noises came from the hill. High up on +his mighty side was heard the sound of great guns firing slowly and +continuously; there was the thunder of falling rocks, cries as of +someone bewailing a terrible calamity, and voices calling from the +precipices. The people living in their little hamlets about his feet +were terrified. Something they knew had happened of most dire import to +them, some catastrophe which they were powerless to prevent, which they +could not even guess. But when a few weeks later there came even into +those remote villages the news of the fall of Mandalay, of the surrender +of the king, of the 'great treachery,' they knew that this was what the +Nats had been sorrowing over. All the Nats everywhere seem to have been +distressed at our arrival, to hate our presence, and to earnestly desire +our absence. They are the spirits of the country and of the people, and +they cannot abide a foreign domination. + +But the greatest place for Nats is the Popa Mountain, which is an +extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and +the Shan Mountains. It is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it +to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals, +it is very well known in history and legend. It is covered with dense +forest, and the villages close about are few. At the top there is a +crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break +down the mountain. Probably it was the denseness of its forests, the +abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian +Nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the +half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. But the +Nats of Popa Mountains are very famous. + +When any foreigner was taken into the service of the King of Burma he +had to swear an oath of fidelity. He swore upon many things, and among +them were included 'all the Nats in Popa.' No Burman would have dared to +break an oath sworn in such a serious way as this, and they did not +imagine that anyone else would. It was and is a very dangerous thing to +offend the Popa Nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and +everyone who goes there must do them reverence. + +A friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch +the last of the robber chiefs who hid near Popa, told me that when he +went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. Some way +up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream +flows slowly along it. It is an enchanted valley, and if you look +closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it +flows uphill. It comes rushing into the valley with a great display of +foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks, +and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley +itself it lies under a spell. It is slow and dark, and has a surface +like a mirror, and it flows uphill. There is no doubt about it; anyone +can see it. When they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt, +and the Burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. He did not want +to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but +for the Nats. All his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats, +and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a +tree. Then the hunters called upon the Nats to come and take anything +they desired, while my friend wondered what he should do if the Nats +took all his food and left him with nothing. But no Nats came, although +the Burmans called again and again. So they packed up the food, saying +that now the Nats would be pleased at the courtesy shown to them, and +that my friend would have good sport. Presently they went on, leaving, +however, an egg or two and a little salt, in case the Nats might be +hungry later, and true enough it was that they did have good luck. At +other times, my friend says, when he did not observe this ceremony, he +saw nothing to shoot at all, but on this day he did well. + +The former history of all Nats is not known. Whether they have had a +previous existence in another form, and if so, what, is a secret that +they usually keep carefully to themselves, but the history of the Popa +Nats is well known. Everyone who lives near the great hill can tell you +that, for it all happened not so long ago. How long exactly no one can +say, but not so long that the details of the story have become at all +clouded by the mists of time. + +They were brother and sister, these Popa Nats, and they had lived away +up North. The brother was a blacksmith, and he was a very strong man. He +was the strongest man in all the country; the blow of his hammer on the +anvil made the earth tremble, and his forge was as the mouth of hell. No +one was so much feared and so much sought after as he. And as he was +strong, so his sister was beautiful beyond all the maidens of the time. +Their father and mother were dead, and there was no one but those two, +the brother and sister, so they loved each other dearly, and thought of +no one else. The brother brought home no wife to his house by the forge. +He wanted no one while he had his sister there, and when lovers came +wooing to her, singing amorous songs in the amber dusk, she would have +nothing to do with them. So they lived there together, he growing +stronger and she more beautiful every day, till at last a change came. + +The old king died, and a new king came to the throne, and orders were +sent about to all the governors of provinces and other officials that +the most beautiful maidens were to be sent down to the Golden City to be +wives to the great king. So the governor of that country sent for the +blacksmith and his sister to his palace, and told them there what orders +he had received, and asked the blacksmith to give his sister that she +might be sent as queen to the king. We are not told what arguments the +governor used to gain his point, but only this, that when he failed, he +sent the girl in unto his wife, and there she was persuaded to go. There +must have been something very tempting, to one who was but a village +girl, in the prospect of being even one of the lesser queens, of living +in the palace, the centre of the world. So she consented at last, and +her brother consented, and the girl was sent down under fitting escort +to find favour in the eyes of her king. But the blacksmith refused to +go. It was no good the governor saying such a great man as he must come +to high honour in the Golden City, it was useless for the girl to beg +and pray him to come with her--he always refused. So she sailed away +down the great river, and the blacksmith returned to his forge. + +As the governor had said, the girl was acceptable in the king's sight, +and she was made at last one of the principal queens, and of all she had +most power over the king. They say she was most beautiful, that her +presence was as soothing as shade after heat, that her form was as +graceful as a young tree, and the palms of her hands were like lotus +blossoms. She had enemies, of course. Most of the other queens were her +enemies, and tried to do her harm. But it was useless telling tales of +her to the king, for the king never believed; and she walked so wisely +and so well, that she never fell into any snare. But still the plots +never ceased. + +There was one day when she was sitting alone in the garden pavilion, +with the trees making moving shadows all about her, that the king came +to her. They talked for a time, and the king began to speak to her of +her life before she came to the palace, a thing he had never done +before. But he seemed to know all about it, nevertheless, and he spoke +to her of her brother, and said that he, the king, had heard how no man +was so strong as this blacksmith, the brother of the queen. The queen +said it was true, and she talked on and on and praised her brother, and +babbled of the days of her childhood, when he carried her on his great +shoulder, and threw her into the air, catching her again. She was +delighted to talk of all these things, and in her pleasure she forgot +her discretion, and said that her brother was wise as well as strong, +and that all the people loved him. Never was there such a man as he. The +king did not seem very pleased with it all, but he said only that the +blacksmith was a great man, and that the queen must write to him to come +down to the city, that the king might see him of whom there was such +great report. + +Then the king got up and went away, and the queen began to doubt; and +the more she thought the more she feared she had not been acting wisely +in talking as she did, for it is not wise to praise anyone to a king. +She went away to her own room to consider, and to try if she could hear +of any reason why the king should act as he had done, and desire her +brother to come to him to the city; and she found out that it was all a +plot of her enemies. Herself they had failed to injure, so they were now +plotting against her through her brother. They had gone to the king, and +filled his ear with slanderous reports. They had said that the queen's +brother was the strongest man in all the kingdom. 'He was cunning, too,' +they said, 'and very popular among all the people; and he was so puffed +up with pride, now that his sister was a queen, that there was nothing +he did not think he could do.' They represented to the king how +dangerous such a man was in a kingdom, that it would be quite easy for +him to raise such rebellion as the king could hardly put down, and that +he was just the man to do such a thing. Nay, it was indeed proved that +he must be disloyally plotting something, or he would have come down +with his sister to the city when she came. But now many months had +passed, and he never came. Clearly he was not to be trusted. Any other +man whose sister was a queen would have come and lived in the palace, +and served the king and become a minister, instead of staying up there +and pretending to be a blacksmith. + +The king's mind had been much disturbed by this, for it seemed to him +that it must be in part true; and he went to the queen, as I have said, +and his suspicions had not been lulled by what she told him, so he had +ordered her to write to her brother to come down to the palace. + +The queen was terrified when she saw what a mistake she had made, and +how she had fallen into the trap of her enemies; but she hoped that the +king would forget, and she determined that she would send no order to +her brother to come. But the next day the king came back to the subject, +and asked her if she had yet sent the letter, and she said 'No!' The +king was very angry at this disobedience to his orders, and he asked her +how it came that she had not done as he had commanded, and sent a +letter to her brother to call him to the palace. + +Then the queen fell at the king's feet and told him all her fears that +her brother was sent for only to be imprisoned or executed, and she +begged and prayed the king to leave him in peace up there in his +village. She assured the king that he was loyal and good, and would do +no evil. + +The king was rather abashed that his design had been discovered, but he +was firm in his purpose. He assured the queen that the blacksmith should +come to no harm, but rather good; and he ordered the queen to obey him, +threatening her that if she refused he would be sure that she was +disloyal also, and there would be no alternative but to send and arrest +the blacksmith by force, and punish her, the queen, too. Then the queen +said that if the king swore to her that her brother should come to no +harm, she would write as ordered. _And the king swore._ + +So the queen wrote to her brother, and adjured him by his love to her to +come down to the Golden City. She said she had dire need of him, and she +told him that the king had sworn that no harm should come to him. + +The letter was sent off by a king's messenger. In due time the +blacksmith arrived, and he was immediately seized and thrown into prison +to await his trial. + +When the queen saw that she had been deceived, she was in despair. She +tried by every way, by tears and entreaties and caresses, to move the +king, but all without avail. Then she tried by plotting and bribery to +gain her brother's release, but it was all in vain. The day for trial +came quickly, and the blacksmith was tried, and he was condemned and +sentenced to be burnt alive by the river on the following day. + +On the evening of the day of trial the queen sent a message to the king +to come to her; and when the king came reluctantly, fearing a renewal of +entreaties, expecting a woman made of tears and sobs, full of grief, he +found instead that the queen had dried her eyes and dressed herself +still more beautifully than ever, till she seemed to the king the very +pearl among women. And she told the king that he was right, and she was +wrong. She said, putting her arms about him and caressing him, that she +had discovered that it was true that her brother had been plotting +against the king, and therefore his death was necessary. It was +terrible, she said, to find that her brother, whom she had always held +as a pattern, was no better than a traitor; but it was even so, and her +king was the wisest of all kings to find it out. + +The king was delighted to find his queen in this mood, and he soothed +her and talked to her kindly and sweetly, for he really loved her, +though he had given in to bad advice about the brother. And when the +king's suspicions were lulled, the queen said to him that she had now +but one request to make, and that was that she might have permission to +go down with her maids to the river-shore in the early morning, and see +herself the execution of her traitor brother. The king, who would now +have granted her anything--anything she asked, except just that one +thing, the life of her brother--gave permission; and then the queen said +that she was tired and wished to rest after all the trouble of the last +few days, and would the king leave her. So the king left her to herself, +and went away to his own chambers. + +Very early in the morning, ere the crimson flush upon the mountains had +faded in the light of day, a vast crowd was gathered below the city, by +the shore of the great river. Very many thousands were there, of many +countries and peoples, crowding down to see a man die, to see a traitor +burnt to death for his sins, for there is nothing men like so much as to +see another man die. + +Upon a little headland jutting out into the river the pyre was raised, +with brushwood and straw, to burn quickly, and an iron post in the +middle to which the man was to be chained. At one side was a place +reserved, and presently down from the palace in a long procession came +the queen and her train of ladies to the place kept for her. Guards were +put all about to prevent the people crowding; and then came the +soldiers, and in the midst of them the blacksmith; and amid many cries +of 'Traitor, traitor!' and shouts of derision, he was bound to the iron +post within the wood and the straw, and the guards fell back. + +The queen sat and watched it all, and said never a word. Fire was put to +the pyre, and it crept rapidly up in long red tongues with coils of +black smoke. It went very quickly, for the wood was very dry, and a +light breeze came laughing up the river and helped it. The flames played +about the man chained there in the midst, and he made never a sign; only +he looked steadily across at the purple mountain where his home lay, and +it was clear that in a few more moments he would be dead. There was a +deep silence everywhere. + +Then of a sudden, before anyone knew, before a hand could be held out to +hinder her, the queen rose from her seat and ran to the pyre. In a +moment she was there and had thrown herself into the flames, and with +her arms about her brother's neck she turned and faced the myriad eyes +that glared upon them--the queen, in all the glory of her beauty, +glittering with gems, and the man with great shackled bare limbs, +dressed in a few rags, his muscles already twisted with the agony of the +fire. A great cry of horror came from the people, and there was the +movement of guards and officers rushing to stop the fire; but it was all +of no use. A flash of red flames came out of the logs, folding these +twain like an imperial cloak, a whirl of sparks towered into the air, +and when one could see again the woman and her brother were no longer +there. They were dead and burnt, and the bodies mingled with the ashes +of the fire. She had cost her brother his life, and she went with him +into death. + + +Some days after this a strange report was brought to the palace. By the +landing-place near the spot where the fire had been was a great +fig-tree. It was so near to the landing-place, and was such a +magnificent tree, that travellers coming from the boats, or waiting for +a boat to arrive, would rest in numbers under its shade. But the report +said that something had happened there. To travellers sleeping beneath +the tree at night it was stated that two Nats had appeared, very large +and very beautiful, a man Nat and a woman Nat, and had frightened them +very much indeed. Noises were heard in the tree, voices and cries, and a +strange terror came upon those who approached it. Nay, it was even said +that men had been struck by unseen hands and severely hurt, and others, +it was said, had disappeared. Children who went to play under the tree +were never seen again: the Nats took them, and their parents sought for +them in vain. So the landing-place was deserted, and a petition was +brought to the king, and the king gave orders that the tree should be +hewn down. So the tree was cut down, and its trunk was thrown into the +river; it floated away out of sight, and nothing happened to the men +who cut the tree, though they were deadly afraid. + +The tree floated down for days, until at last it stranded near a +landing-place that led to a large town, where the governor of these +parts lived; and at this landing-place the portents that had frightened +the people at the great city reappeared and terrified the travellers +here too, and they petitioned the governor. + +The governor sought out a great monk, a very holy man learned in these +matters, and sent him to inquire, and the monk came down to the tree and +spoke. He said that if any Nats lived in the tree, they should speak to +him and tell him what they wanted. 'It is not fit,' he said, 'for great +Nats to terrify the poor villagers at the landing-place. Let the Nats +speak and say what they require. All that they want shall be given.' And +the Nats spake and said that they wanted a place to live in where they +could be at peace, and the monk answered for the governor that all his +land was at their disposal. 'Let the Nats choose,' he said; 'all the +country is before them.' So the Nats chose, and said that they would +have Popa Mountain, and the monk agreed. + +The Nats then left the tree and went away, far away inland, to the great +Popa Mountain, and took up their abode there, and all the people there +feared and reverenced them, and even made to their honour two statues +with golden heads and set them up on the mountain. + +This is the story of the Popa Nats, the greatest Nats of all the +country of Burma, the guardian spirits of the mysterious mountain. The +golden heads of the statues are now in one of our treasuries, put there +for safe custody during the troubles, though it is doubtful if even then +anyone would have dared to steal them, so greatly are the Nats feared. +And the hunters and the travellers there must offer to the Nats little +offerings, if they would be safe in these forests, and even the young +man must obtain permission from the Nats before he marry. + +I think these stories that I have told, stories selected from very many +that I have heard, will show what sort of spirits these are that the +Burmese have peopled their trees and rivers with; will show what sort of +religion it is that underlies, without influencing, the creed of the +Buddha that they follow. It is of the very poetry of superstition, free +from brutality, from baseness, from anything repulsive, springing, as I +have said, from their innate sympathy with Nature and recognition of the +life that works in all things. It always seems to me that beliefs such +as these are a great key to the nature of a people, are, apart from all +interest in their beauty, and in their akinness to other beliefs, of +great value in trying to understand the character of a nation. + +For to beings such as Nats and fairies the people who believe in them +will attribute such qualities as are predominant in themselves, as they +consider admirable; and, indeed, all supernatural beings are but the +magnified shadows of man cast by the light of his imagination upon the +mists of his ignorance. + +Therefore, when you find that a people make their spirits beautiful and +fair, calm and even tempered, loving peace and the beauty of the trees +and rivers, shrinkingly averse from loud words, from noises, and from +the taking of life, it is because the people themselves think that these +are great qualities. If no stress be laid upon their courage, their +activity, their performance of great deeds, it is because the people who +imagine them care not for such things. There is no truer guide, I am +sure, to the heart of a young people than their superstitions; these +they make entirely for themselves, apart from their religion, which is, +to a certain extent, made for them. That is why I have written this +chapter on Nats: not because I think it affects Buddhism very much one +way or another, but because it seems to me to reveal the people +themselves, because it helps us to understand them better, to see more +with their eyes, to be in unison with their ideas--because it is a great +key to the soul of the people. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DEATH, THE DELIVERER + + 'The end of my life is near at hand; seven days hence, like a man + who rids himself of a heavy load, I shall be free from the burden + of my body.'--_Death of the Buddha._ + + +There is a song well known to all the Burmese, the words of which are +taken from the sacred writings. It is called the story of Ma Pa Da, and +it was first told to me by a Burmese monk, long ago, when I was away on +the frontier. + +It runs like this: + +In the time of the Buddha, in the city of Thawatti, there was a certain +rich man, a merchant, who had many slaves. Slaves in those days, and, +indeed, generally throughout the East, were held very differently to +slaves in Europe. They were part of the family, and were not saleable +without good reason, and there was a law applicable to them. They were +not _hors de la loi_, like the slaves of which we have conception. There +are many cases quoted of sisters being slaves to sisters, and of +brothers to brothers, quoted not for the purpose of saying that this +was an uncommon occurrence, but merely of showing points of law in such +cases. + +One day in the market the merchant bought another slave, a young man, +handsome and well mannered, and took him to his house, and kept him +there with his family and the other slaves. The young man was earnest +and careful in his work, and the merchant approved of him, and his +fellow-slaves liked him. But Ma Pa Da, the merchant's daughter, fell in +love with him. The slave was much troubled at this, and he did his best +to avoid her; but he was a slave and under orders, and what could he do? +When she would come to him secretly and make love to him, and say, 'Let +us flee together, for we love each other,' he would refuse, saying that +he was a slave, and the merchant would be very angry. He said he could +not do such a thing. And yet when the girl said, 'Let us flee, for we +love each other,' he knew that it was true, and that he loved her as she +loved him; and it was only his honour to his master that held him from +doing as she asked. + +But because his heart was not of iron, and there are few men that can +resist when a woman comes and woos them, he at last gave way; and they +fled away one night, the girl and the slave, taking with them her jewels +and some money. They travelled rapidly and in great fear, and did not +rest till they came to a city far away where the merchant would never, +they thought, think of searching for them. + +Here, in this city where no one knew of their history, they lived in +great happiness, husband and wife, trading with the money they had with +them. + +And in time a little child was born to them. + +About two or three years after this it became necessary for the husband +to take a journey, and he started forth with his wife and child. The +journey was a very long one, and they were unduly delayed; and so it +happened that while still in the forest the wife fell ill, and could not +go on any further. So the husband built a hut of branches and leaves, +and there, in the solitude of the forest, was born to them another +little son. + +The mother recovered rapidly, and in a little time she was well enough +to go on. They were to start next morning on their way again; and in the +evening the husband went out, as was his custom, to cut firewood, for +the nights were cold and damp. + +Ma Pa Da waited and waited for him, but he never came back. + +The sun set and the dark rose out of the ground, and the forest became +full of whispers, but he never came. All night she watched and waited, +caring for her little ones, fearful to leave them alone, till at last +the gray light came down, down from the sky to the branches, and from +the branches to the ground, and she could see her way. Then, with her +new-born babe in her arms and the elder little fellow trotting by her +side, she went out to search for her husband. Soon enough she found him, +not far off, stiff and cold beside his half-cut bundle of firewood. A +snake had bitten him on the ankle, and he was dead. + +So Ma Pa Da was alone in the great forest, but a girl still, with two +little children to care for. + +But she was brave, despite her trouble, and she determined to go on and +gain some village. She took her baby in her arms and the little one by +the hand, and started on her journey. + +And for a time all went well, till at last she came to a stream. It was +not very deep, but it was too deep for the little boy to wade, for it +came up to his neck, and his mother was not strong enough to carry both +at once. So, after considering for a time, she told the elder boy to +wait. She would cross and put the baby on the far side, and return for +him. + +'Be good,' she said; 'be good, and stay here quietly till I come back;' +and the boy promised. + +The stream was deeper and swifter than she thought; but she went with +great care and gained the far side, and put the baby under a tree a +little distance from the bank, to lie there while she went for the other +boy. Then, after a few minutes' rest, she went back. + +She had got to the centre of the stream, and her little boy had come +down to the margin to be ready for her, when she heard a rush and a cry +from the side she had just left; and, looking round, she saw with terror +a great eagle sweep down upon the baby, and carry it off in its claws. +She turned round and waved her arms and cried out to the eagle, 'He! +he!' hoping it would be frightened and drop the baby. But it cared +nothing for her cries or threats, and swept on with long curves over the +forest trees, away out of sight. + +Then the mother turned to gain the bank once more, and suddenly she +missed her son who had been waiting for her. He had seen his mother wave +her arms; he had heard her shout, and he thought she was calling him to +come to her. So the brave little man walked down into the water, and the +black current carried him off his feet at once. He was gone, drowned in +the deep water below the ford, tossing on the waves towards the sea. + +No one can write of the despair of the girl when she threw herself under +a tree in the forest. The song says it was very terrible. + +At last she said to herself, 'I will get up now and return to my father +in Thawatti; he is all I have left. Though I have forsaken him all these +years, yet now that my husband and his children are dead, my father will +take me back again. Surely he will have pity on me, for I am much to be +pitied.' + +So she went on, and at length, after many days, she came to the gates of +the great city where her father lived. + +At the entering of the gates she met a large company of people, +mourners, returning from a funeral, and she spoke to them and asked +them: + +'Who is it that you have been burying to-day so grandly with so many +mourners?' + +And the people answered her, and told her who it was. And when she +heard, she fell down upon the road as one dead: for it was her father +and mother who had died yesterday, and it was their funeral train that +she saw. They were all dead now, husband and sons and father and mother; +in all the world she was quite alone. + +So she went mad, for her trouble was more than she could bear. She threw +off all her clothes, and let down her long hair and wrapped it about her +naked body, and walked about raving. + +At last she came to where the Buddha was teaching, seated under a +fig-tree. She came up to the Buddha, and told him of her losses, and how +she had no one left; and she demanded of the Buddha that he should +restore to her those that she had lost. And the Buddha had great +compassion upon her, and tried to console her. + +'All die,' he said; 'it comes to everyone, king and peasant, animal and +man. Only through many deaths can we obtain the Great Peace. All this +sorrow,' he said, 'is of the earth. All this is passion which we must +get rid of, and forget before we reach heaven. Be comforted, my +daughter, and turn to the holy life. All suffer as you do. It is part of +our very existence here, sorrow and trouble without any end.' + +But she would not be comforted, but demanded her dead of the Buddha. +Then, because he saw it was no use talking to her, that her ears were +deaf with grief, and her eyes blinded with tears, he said to her that he +would restore to her those who were dead. + +'You must go,' he said, 'my daughter, and get some mustard-seed, a pinch +of mustard-seed, and I can bring back their lives. Only you must get +this seed from the garden of him near whom death has never come. Get +this, and all will be well.' + +So the woman went forth with a light heart. It was so simple, only a +pinch of mustard-seed, and mustard grew in every garden. She would get +the seed and be back very quickly, and then the Lord Buddha would give +her back those she loved who had died. She clothed herself again and +tied up her hair, and went cheerfully and asked at the first house, +'Give me a pinch of mustard-seed,' and it was given readily. So with her +treasure in her hand she was going forth back to the Buddha full of +delight, when she remembered. + +'Has ever anyone died in your household?' she asked, looking round +wistfully. + +The man answered 'Yes,' that death had been with them but recently. Who +could this woman be, he thought, to ask such a question? And the woman +went forth, the seed dropping from her careless fingers, for it was of +no value. So she would try again and again, but it was always the same. +Death had taken his tribute from all. Father or mother, son or brother, +daughter or wife, there was always a gap somewhere, a vacant place +beside the meal. From house to house throughout the city she went, till +at last the new hope faded away, and she learned from the world, what +she had not believed from the Buddha, that death and life are one. + +So she returned, and she became a nun, poor soul! taking on her the two +hundred and twenty-seven vows, which are so hard to keep that nowadays +nuns keep but five of them.[1] + + +This is the teaching of the Buddha, that death is inevitable; this is +the consolation he offers, that all men must know death; no one can +escape death; no one can escape the sorrow of the death of those whom he +loves. Death, he says, and life are one; not antagonistic, but the same; +and the only way to escape from one is to escape from the other too. +Only in the Great Peace, when we have found refuge from the passion and +tumult of life, shall we find the place where death cannot come. Life +and death are one. + +This is the teaching of the Buddha, repeated over and over again to his +disciples when they sorrowed for the death of Thariputra, when they +were in despair at the swift-approaching end of the great teacher +himself. Hear what he says to Ananda, the beloved disciple, who is +mourning over Thariputra. + +'Ananda,' he said, 'often and often have I sought to bring shelter to +your soul from the misery caused by such grief as this. There are two +things alone that can separate us from father and mother, from brother +and sister, from all those who are most cherished by us, and those two +things are distance and death. Think not that I, though the Buddha, have +not felt all this even as any other of you; was I not alone when I was +seeking for wisdom in the wilderness? + +'And yet what would I have gained by wailing and lamenting either for +myself or for others? Would it have brought to me any solace from my +loneliness? Would it have been any help to those whom I had left? There +is nothing that can happen to us, however terrible, however miserable, +that can justify tears and lamentations and make them aught but a +weakness.' + +And so, we are told, in this way the Buddha soothed the affliction of +Ananda, and filled his soul with consolation--the consolation of +resignation. + +For there is no other consolation possible but this, resignation to the +inevitable, the conviction of the uselessness of sorrow, the vanity and +selfishness of grief. + +There is no meeting again with the dead. Nowhere in the recurring +centuries shall we meet again those whom we have loved, whom we love, +who seem to us to be parts of our very soul. That which survives of us, +the part which is incarnated again and again, until it be fit for +heaven, has nothing to do with love and hate. + +Even if in the whirlpool of life our paths should cross again the paths +of those whom we have loved, we are never told that we shall know them +again and love them. + +A friend of mine has just lost his mother, and he is very much +distressed. He must have been very fond of her, for although he has a +wife and children, and is happy in his family, he is in great sorrow. He +proposes even to build a pagoda over her remains, a testimony of respect +which in strict Buddhism is reserved to saints. He has been telling me +about this, and how he is trying to get a sacred relic to put in the +pagoda, and I asked him if he never hoped again to meet the soul of his +mother on earth or in heaven, and he answered: + +'No. It is very hard, but so are many things, and they have to be borne. +Far better it is to face the truth than to escape by a pleasant +falsehood. There is a Burmese proverb that tells us that all the world +is one vast burial-ground; there are dead men everywhere.' + +'One of our great men has said the same,' I answered. + +He was not surprised. + +'As it is true,' he said, 'I suppose all great men would see it.' + +Thus there is no escape, no loophole for a delusive hope, only the +cultivation of the courage of sorrow. + +There are never any exceptions to the laws of the Buddha. If a law is a +law, that is the end of it. Just as we know of no exceptions to the law +of gravitation, so there are no exceptions to the law of death. + +But although this may seem to be a religion of despair, it is not really +so. This sorrow to which there is no relief is the selfishness of +sorrow, the grief for our own loneliness; for of sorrow, of fear, of +pity for the dead, there is no need. We know that in time all will be +well with them. We know that, though there may be before them vast +periods of suffering, yet that they will all at last be in Nebhan with +us. And if we shall not know them there, still we shall know that they +are there, all of them--not one will be wanting. Purified from the lust +of life, white souls steeped in the Great Peace, all living things will +attain rest at last. + + +There is this remarkable fact in Buddhism, that nowhere is any fear +expressed of death itself, nowhere any apprehension of what may happen +to the dead. It is the sorrow of separation, the terror of death to the +survivors, that is always dwelt upon with compassion, and the agony of +which it is sought to soothe. + +That the dying man himself should require strengthening to face the King +of Terrors is hardly ever mentioned. It seems to be taken for granted +that men should have courage in themselves to take leave of life +becomingly, without undue fears. Buddhism is the way to show us the +escape from the miseries of life, not to give us hope in the hour of +death. + +It is true that to all Orientals death is a less fearful thing than it +is to us. I do not know what may be the cause of this, courage certainly +has little to do with it; but it is certain that the purely physical +fear of death, that horror and utter revulsion that seizes the majority +of us at the idea of death, is absent from most Orientals. And yet this +cannot explain it all. For fear of death, though less, is still there, +is still a strong influence upon their lives, and it would seem that no +religion which ignored this great fact could become a great living +religion. + +Religion is made for man, to fit his necessities, not man for religion, +and yet the faith of Buddhism is not concerned with death. + +Consider our faith, how much of its teaching consists of how to avoid +the fear of death, how much of its consolation is for the death-bed. How +we are taught all our lives that we should live so as not to fear death; +how we have priests and sacraments to soothe the dying man, and give +him hope and courage, and how the crown and summit of our creed is that +we should die easily. And consider that in Buddhism all this is +absolutely wanting. Buddhism is a creed of life, of conduct; death is +the end of that life, that is all. + +We have all seen death. We have all of us watched those who, near and +dear to us, go away out of our ken. There is no need for me to recall +the last hours of those of our faith, to bring up again the fading eye +and waning breath, the messages of hope we search for in our Scriptures +to give hope to him who is going, the assurances of religion, the cross +held before the dying eyes. + +Many men, we are told, turn to religion at the last after a life of +wickedness, and a man may do so even at the eleventh hour and be saved. + +That is part of our belief; that is the strongest part of our belief; +and that is the hope that all fervent Christians have, that those they +love may be saved even at the end. + +I think it may truly be said that our Western creeds are all directed at +the hour of death, as the great and final test of that creed. + +And now think of Buddhism; it is a creed of life. In life you must win +your way to salvation by urgent effort, by suffering, by endurance. On +your death-bed you can do nothing. If you have done well, then it is +well; if ill, then you must in future life try again and again till you +succeed. A life is not washed, a soul is not made fit for the dwelling +of eternity, in a moment. + +Repentance to a Buddhist is but the opening of the eyes to see the path +to righteousness; it has no virtue in itself. To have seen that we are +sinners is but the first step to cleansing our sin; in itself it cannot +purify. + +As well ask a robber of the poor to repent, and suppose thereby that +those who have suffered from his guilt are compensated for the evil done +to them by his repentance, as to ask a Buddhist to believe that a sinner +can at the last moment make good to his own soul all the injuries caused +to that soul by the wickedness of his life. + +Or suppose a man who has destroyed his constitution by excess to be by +the very fact of acknowledging that excess restored to health. + +The Buddhist will not have that at all. A man is what he makes himself; +and that making is a matter of terrible effort, of unceasing endeavour +towards the right, of constant suppression of sin, till sin be at last +dead within him. If a man has lived a wicked life, he dies a wicked man, +and no wicked man can obtain the perfect rest of the sinless dead. +Heaven is shut to him. But if heaven is shut it is not shut for ever; if +hell may perhaps open to him it is only for a time, only till he is +purified and washed from the stain of his sins; and then he can begin +again, and have another chance to win heaven. If there is no immediate +heaven there is no eternal hell, and in due time all will reach heaven; +all will have learnt, through suffering, the wisdom the Buddha has shown +to us, that only by a just life can men reach the Great Peace even as he +did. + +So that if Buddhism has none of the consolation for the dying man that +Christianity holds out, in the hope of heaven, so it has none of the +threats and terrors of our faith. There is no fear of an angry Judge--of +a Judge who is angry. + +And yet when I came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that +surely there must be something to calm him in the face of death. If +Buddhism does not furnish this consolation, he must go elsewhere for it. +And I was not satisfied, because I could find nothing in the sacred +books about a man's death, that therefore the creed of the people had +ignored it. A living creed must, I was sure, provide for this somehow. + +So I went to a friend of mine, a Burman magistrate, and I asked him: + +'When a man is dying, what does he try to think of? What do you say to +comfort him that his last moments may be peace? The monks do not come, I +know.' + +'The monks!' he said, shaking his head; 'what could they do?' + +I did not know. + +'Can you do anything,' I asked, 'to cheer him? Do you speak to him of +what may happen after death, of hopes of another life?' + +'No one can tell,' said my friend, 'what will happen after death. It +depends on a man's life, if he has done good or evil, what his next +existence will be, whether he will go a step nearer to the Peace. When +the man is dying no monks will come, truly; but an old man, an old +friend, father, perhaps, or an elder of the village, and he will talk to +the dying man. He will say, "Think of your good deeds; think of all that +you have done well in this life. Think of your good deeds."' + +'What is the use of that?' I asked. 'Suppose you think of your good +deeds, what then? Will that bring peace?' + +The Burman seemed to think that it would. + +'Nothing,' he said, 'was so calming to a man's soul as to think of even +one deed he had done well in his life.' + +Think of the man dying. The little house built of bamboo and thatch, +with an outer veranda, where the friends are sitting, and the inner +room, behind a wall of bamboo matting, where the man is lying. A pot of +flowers is standing on a shelf on one side, and a few cloths are hung +here and there beneath the brown rafters. The sun comes in through +little chinks in roof and wall, making curious lights in the +semi-darkness of the room, and it is very hot. + +From outside come the noises of the village, cries of children playing, +grunts of cattle, voices of men and women clearly heard through the +still clear air of the afternoon. There is a woman pounding rice near +by with a steady thud, thud of the lever, and there is a clink of a loom +where a girl is weaving ceaselessly. All these sounds come into the +house as if there were no walls at all, but they are unheeded from long +custom. + +The man lies on a low bed with a fine mat spread under him for bedding. +His wife, his grown-up children, his sister, his brother are about him, +for the time is short, and death comes very quickly in the East. They +talk to him kindly and lovingly, but they read to him no sacred books; +they give him no messages from the world to which he is bound; they +whisper to him no hopes of heaven. He is tortured with no fears of +everlasting hell. Yet life is sweet and death is bitter, and it is hard +to go; and as he tosses to and fro in his fever there comes in to him an +old friend, the headman of the village perhaps, with a white muslin +fillet bound about his kind old head, and he sits beside the dying man +and speaks to him. + +'Remember,' he says slowly and clearly, 'all those things that you have +done well. Think of your good deeds.' + +And as the sick man turns wearily, trying to move his thoughts as he is +bidden, trying to direct the wheels of memory, the old man helps him to +remember. + +'Think,' he says, 'of your good deeds, of how you have given charity to +the monks, of how you have fed the poor. Remember how you worked and +saved to build the little rest-house in the forest where the traveller +stays and finds water for his thirst. All these are pleasant things, and +men will always be grateful to you. Remember your brother, how you +helped him in his need, how you fed him and went security for him till +he was able again to secure his own living. You did well to him, surely +that is a pleasant thing.' + +I do not think it difficult to see how the sick man's face will lighten, +how his eyes will brighten at the thoughts that come to him at the old +man's words. And he goes on: + +'Remember when the squall came up the river and the boat upset when you +were crossing here; how it seemed as if no man could live alone in such +waves, and yet how you clung to and saved the boy who was with you, +swimming through the water that splashed over your head and very nearly +drowned you. The boy's father and mother have never forgotten that, and +they are even now mourning without in the veranda. It is all due to you +that their lives have not been full of misery and despair. Remember +their faces when you brought their little son to them saved from death +in the great river. Surely that is a pleasant thing. Remember your wife +who is now with you; how you have loved her and cherished her, and kept +faithful to her before all the world. You have been a good husband to +her, and you have honoured her. She loves you, and you have loved her +all your long life together. Surely that is a pleasant thing.' + +Yes, surely these are pleasant things to have with one at the last. +Surely a man will die easier with such memories as these before his +eyes, with love in those about him, and the calm of good deeds in his +dying heart. If it be a different way of soothing a man's end from those +which other nations use, is it the worse for that? + +Think of your good deeds. It seems a new idea to me that in doing well +in our life we are making for ourselves a pleasant death, because of the +memory of those things. And if we have none? or if evil so outnumbered +the good deeds as to hide and overwhelm them, what then? A man's death +will be terrible indeed if he cannot in all his days remember one good +deed that he has done. + +'All a man's life comes before him at the hour of death,' said my +informant; 'all, from the earliest memory to the latest breath. Like a +whole landscape called by a flash of lightning out of the dark night. It +is all there, every bit of it, good and evil, pleasure and pain, sin and +righteousness.' + +A man cannot escape from his life even in death. In our acts of to-day +we are determining what our death will be; if we have lived well, we +shall die well; and if not, then not. As a man lives so shall he die, is +the teaching of Buddhism as of other creeds. + +So what Buddhism has to offer to the dying believer is this, that if he +live according to its tenets he will die happily, and that in the life +that he will next enter upon he will be less and less troubled by sin, +less and less wedded to the lust of life, until sometime, far away, he +shall gain the great Deliverance. He shall have perfect Peace, perfect +rest, perfect happiness, he and his, in that heaven where his teacher +went before him long ago. + +And if we should say that this Deliverance from life, this Great Peace, +is Death, what matter, if it be indeed Peace? + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] These five vows are: + + 1. Not to take life. + 2. To be honest. + 3. To tell the truth. + 4. To abstain from intoxicants. + 5. Chastity. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE POTTER'S WHEEL + + 'Life is like a great whirlpool wherein we are dashed to and fro by + our passions.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +It is a hard teaching, this of the Buddha about death. It is a teaching +that may appeal to the reason, but not to the soul, that when life goes +out, this thing which we call 'I' goes out with it, and that love and +remembrance are dead for ever. + +It is so hard a teaching that in its purity the people cannot believe +it. They accept it, but they have added on to it a belief which changes +the whole form of it, a belief that is the outcome of that weakness of +humanity which insists that death is not and cannot be all. + +Though to the strict Buddhist death is the end of all worldly passion, +to the Burmese villager that is not so. He cannot grasp, he cannot +endure that it should be so, and he has made for himself out of Buddhism +a belief that is opposed to all Buddhism in this matter. + +He believes in the transmigration of souls, in the survival of the 'I.' +The teaching that what survives is not the 'I,' but only the result of +its action, is too deep for him to hold. True, if a flame dies the +effects that it has caused remain, and the flame is dead for ever. A new +flame is a new flame. But the 'I' of man cannot die, he thinks; it lives +and loves for all time. + +He has made out of the teaching a new teaching that is very far from +that of the Buddha, and the teaching is this: When a man dies his soul +remains, his 'I' has only changed its habitation. Still it lives and +breathes on earth, not the effect, but the soul itself. It is reborn +among us, and it may even be recognised very often in its new abode. + +And that we should never forget this, that we should never doubt that +this is true, it has been so ordered that many can remember something of +these former lives of theirs. This belief is not to a Burman a mere +theory, but is as true as anything he can see. For does he not daily see +people who know of their former lives? Nay, does he not himself, often +vaguely, have glimpses of that former life of his? No man seems to be +quite without it, but of course it is clearer to some than others. Just +as we tell stories in the dusk of ghosts and second sight, so do they, +when the day's work is over, gossip of stories of second birth; only +that they believe in them far more than we do in ghosts. + +A friend of mine put up for the night once at a monastery far away in +the forest near a small village. He was travelling with an escort of +mounted police, and there was no place else to sleep but in the +monastery. The monk was, as usual, hospitable, and put what he had, bare +house-room, at the officer's disposal, and he and his men settled down +for the night. + +After dinner a fire was built on the ground, and the officer went and +sat by it and talked to the headman of the village and the monk. First +they talked of the dacoits and of crops, unfailing subjects of interest, +and gradually they drifted from one subject to another till the +Englishman remarked about the monastery, that it was a very large and +fine one for such a small secluded village to have built. The monastery +was of the best and straightest teak, and must, he thought, have taken a +very long time and a great deal of labour to build, for the teak must +have been brought from very far away; and in explanation he was told a +curious story. + +It appeared that in the old days there used to be only a bamboo and +grass monastery there, such a monastery as most jungle villages have; +and the then monk was distressed at the smallness of his abode and the +little accommodation there was for his school--a monastery is always a +school. So one rainy season he planted with great care a number of teak +seedlings round about, and he watered them and cared for them. 'When +they are grown up,' he would say, 'these teak-trees shall provide +timber for a new and proper building; and I will myself return in +another life, and with those trees will I build a monastery more worthy +than this.' Teak-trees take a hundred years to reach a mature size, and +while the trees were still but saplings the monk died, and another monk +taught in his stead. And so it went on, and the years went by, and from +time to time new monasteries of bamboo were built and rebuilt, and the +teak-trees grew bigger and bigger. But the village grew smaller, for the +times were troubled, and the village was far away in the forest. So it +happened that at last the village found itself without a monk at all: +the last monk was dead, and no one came to take his place. + +It is a serious thing for a village to have no monk. To begin with, +there is no one to teach the lads to read and write and do arithmetic; +and there is no one to whom you can give offerings and thereby get +merit, and there is no one to preach to you and tell you of the sacred +teaching. So the village was in a bad way. + +Then at last one evening, when the girls were all out at the well +drawing water, they were surprised by the arrival of a monk walking in +from the forest, weary with a long journey, footsore and hungry. The +villagers received him with enthusiasm, fearing, however, that he was +but passing through, and they furbished up the old monastery in a hurry +for him to sleep in. But the curious thing was that the monk seemed to +know it all. He knew the monastery and the path to it, and the ways +about the village, and the names of the hills and the streams. It +seemed, indeed, as if he must once have lived there in the village, and +yet no one knew him or recognised his face, though he was but a young +man still, and there were villagers who had lived there for seventy +years. Next morning, instead of going on his way, the monk came into the +village with his begging-bowl, as monks do, and went round and collected +his food for the day; and in the evening, when the villagers went to see +him at the monastery, he told them he was going to stay. He recalled to +them the monk who had planted the teak-trees, and how he had said that +when the trees were grown he would return. 'I,' said the young monk, 'am +he that planted these trees. Lo, they are grown up, and I am returned, +and now we will build a monastery as I said.' + +When the villagers, doubting, questioned him, and old men came and +talked to him of traditions of long-past days, he answered as one who +knew all. He told them he had been born and educated far away in the +South, and had grown up not knowing who he had been; and that he had +entered a monastery, and in time became a Pongyi. The remembrance came +to him, he went on, in a dream of how he had planted the trees and had +promised to return to that village far away in the forest. + +The very next day he had started, and travelled day after day and week +upon week, till at length he had arrived, as they saw. So the villagers +were convinced, and they set to work and cut down the great boles, and +built the monastery such as my friend saw. And the monk lived there all +his life, and taught the children, and preached the marvellous teaching +of the great Buddha, till at length his time came again and he returned; +for of monks it is not said that they die, but that they return. + +This is the common belief of the people. Into this has the mystery of +Dharma turned, in the thoughts of the Burmese Buddhists, for no one can +believe the incomprehensible. A man has a soul, and it passes from life +to life, as a traveller from inn to inn, till at length it is ended in +heaven. But not till he has attained heaven in his heart will he attain +heaven in reality. + +Many children, the Burmese will tell you, remember their former lives. +As they grow older the memories die away and they forget, but to the +young children they are very clear. I have seen many such. + +About fifty years ago in a village named Okshitgon were born two +children, a boy and a girl. They were born on the same day in +neighbouring houses, and they grew up together, and played together, and +loved each other. And in due course they married and started a family, +and maintained themselves by cultivating their dry, barren fields about +the village. They were always known as devoted to each other, and they +died as they had lived--together. The same death took them on the same +day; so they were buried without the village and were forgotten; for the +times were serious. + +It was the year after the English army had taken Mandalay, and all Burma +was in a fury of insurrection. The country was full of armed men, the +roads were unsafe, and the nights were lighted with the flames of +burning villages. It was a bad time for peace-loving men, and many such, +fleeing from their villages, took refuge in larger places nearer the +centres of administration. + +Okshitgon was in the midst of one of the worst of all the distressed +districts, and many of its people fled, and one of them, a man named +Maung Kan, with his young wife went to the village of Kabyu and lived +there. + +Now, Maung Kan's wife had born to him twin sons. They were born at +Okshitgon shortly before their parents had to run away, and they were +named, the eldest Maung Gyi, which is Brother Big-fellow, and the +younger Maung Ngè, which means Brother Little-fellow. These lads grew up +at Kabyu, and soon learned to talk; and as they grew up their parents +were surprised to hear them calling to each other at play, and calling +each other, not Maung Gyi and Maung Ngè, but Maung San Nyein and Ma +Gywin. The latter is a woman's name, and the parents remembered that +these were the names of the man and wife who had died in Okshitgon about +the time the children were born. + +So the parents thought that the souls of the man and wife had entered +into the children, and they took them to Okshitgon to try them. The +children knew everything in Okshitgon; they knew the roads and the +houses and the people, and they recognised the clothes they used to wear +in a former life; there was no doubt about it. One of them, the younger, +remembered, too, how she had borrowed two rupees once of a woman, Ma +Thet, unknown to her husband, and left the debt unpaid. Ma Thet was +still living, and so they asked her, and she recollected that it was +true she had lent the money long ago. + +Shortly afterwards I saw these two children. They are now just over six +years old. The elder, into whom the soul of the man entered, is a fat, +chubby little fellow, but the younger twin is smaller, and has a curious +dreamy look in his face, more like a girl than a boy. They told me much +about their former lives. After they died they said they lived for some +time without a body at all, wandering in the air and hiding in the +trees. This was for their sins. Then, after some months, they were born +again as twin boys. 'It used,' said the elder boy, 'to be so clear, I +could remember everything; but it is getting duller and duller, and I +cannot now remember as I used to do.' + +Of children such as this you may find any number. Only you have to look +for them, as they are not brought forward spontaneously. The Burmese, +like other people, hate to have their beliefs and ideas ridiculed, and +from experience they have learned that the object of a foreigner in +inquiring into their ways is usually to be able to show by his contempt +how very much cleverer a man he is than they are. Therefore they are +very shy. But once they understand that you only desire to learn and to +see, and that you will always treat them with courtesy and +consideration, they will tell you all that they think. + +A fellow officer of mine has a Burmese police orderly, a young man about +twenty, who has been with him since he came to the district two years +ago. Yet my friend only discovered accidentally the other day that his +orderly remembers his former life. He is very unwilling to talk about +it. He was a woman apparently in that former life, and lived about +twenty miles away. He must have lived a good life, for it is a step of +promotion to be a man in this life; but he will not talk of it. He +forgets most of it, he says, though he remembered it when he was a +child. + +Sometimes this belief leads to lawsuits of a peculiarly difficult +nature. In 1883, two years before the annexation of Upper Burma, there +was a case that came into the local Court of the oil district, which +depended upon this theory of transmigration. + +Opposite Yenangyaung there are many large islands in the river. These +islands during the low water months are joined to the mainland, and are +covered with a dense high grass in which many deer live. + +When the river rises, it rises rapidly, communication with the mainland +is cut off, and the islands are for a time, in the higher rises, +entirely submerged. During the progress of the first rise some hunters +went to one of these islands where many deer were to be found and set +fire to the grass to drive them out of cover, shooting them as they came +out. Some deer, fleeing before the fire, swam across and escaped, others +fell victims, but one fawn, barely half grown, ran right down the +island, and in its blind terror it leaped into a boat at anchor there. +This boat was that of a fisherman who was plying his trade at some +distance, and the only occupant of the boat was his wife. Now this woman +had a year or so before lost her son, very much loved by her, but who +was not quite of the best character, and when she saw the deer leaping +into the boat, she at once fancied that she saw the soul of her erring +son looking at her out of its great terrified eyes. So she got up and +took the poor panting beast in her arms and soothed it, and when the +hunters came running to her to claim it she refused. 'He is my son,' she +said, 'he is mine. Shall I give him up to death?' The hunters clamoured +and threatened to take the deer by force, but the woman was quite firm. +She would never give him up except with her life. 'You can see,' she +said, 'that it is true that he is my son. He came running straight to +me, as he always did in his trouble when he was a boy, and he is now +quite quiet and contented, instead of being afraid of me as an ordinary +deer would be.' And it was quite true that the deer took to her at once, +and remained with her willingly. So the hunters went off to the court of +the governor and filed a suit for the deer. + +The case was tried in open court, and the deer was produced with a +ribbon round its neck. Evidence there was naturally but little. The +hunters claimed the deer because they had driven it out of the island by +their fire. The woman resisted the claim on the ground that it was her +son. + +The decision of the court was this: + +'The hunters are not entitled to the deer because they cannot prove that +the woman's son's soul is not in the animal. The woman is not entitled +to the deer because she cannot prove that it is. The deer will therefore +remain with the court until some properly authenticated claim is put +in.' + +So the two parties were turned out, the woman in bitter tears, and the +hunters angry and vexed, and the deer remained the property of the +judge. + +But this decision was against all Burmese ideas of justice. He should +have given the deer to the woman. 'He wanted it for himself,' said a +Burman, speaking to me of the affair. 'He probably killed it and ate it. +Surely it is true that officials are of all the five evils the +greatest.' Then my friend remembered that I was myself an official, and +he looked foolish, and began to make complimentary remarks about English +officials, that they would never give such an iniquitous decision. I +turned it off by saying that no doubt the judge was now suffering in +some other life for the evil wrought in the last, and the Burman said +that probably he was now inhabiting a tiger. + +It is very easy to laugh at such beliefs; nothing is, indeed, easier +than to be witty at the expense of any belief. It is also very easy to +say that it is all self-deception, that the children merely imagine that +they remember their former lives, or are citing conversation of their +elders. + +How this may be I do not know. What is the explanation of this, perhaps +the only belief of which we have any knowledge which is at once a living +belief to-day and was so as far back as we can get, I do not pretend to +say. For transmigration is no theory of Buddhism at all, but was a +leading tenet in the far older faith of Brahmanism, of which Buddhism +was but an offshoot, as was Christianity of Judaism. + +I have not, indeed, always attempted to reach the explanation of things +I have seen. When I have satisfied myself that a belief is really held +by the people, that I am not the subject of conscious deception, either +by myself or others, I have conceived that my work was ended. + +There are those who, in investigating any foreign customs and strange +beliefs, can put their finger here and say, 'This is where they are +right'; and there and say, 'This belief is foolishly wrong and idiotic.' +I am not, unfortunately, one of these writers. I have no such confident +belief in my own infallibility of judgment as to be able to sit on high +and say, 'Here is truth, and here is error.' + +I will leave my readers to make their own judgment, if they desire to do +so; only asking them (as they would not like their own beliefs to be +scoffed and sneered at) that they will treat with respect the sincere +beliefs of others, even if they cannot accept them. It is only in this +way that we can come to understand a people and to sympathize with them. + +It is hardly necessary to emphasize the enormous effect that a belief in +transmigration such as this has upon the life and intercourse of the +people. Of their kindness to animals I have spoken elsewhere, and it is +possible this belief in transmigration has something to do with it, but +not, I think, much. For if you wished to illtreat an animal, it would be +quite easy, even more easy, to suppose that an enemy or a murderer +inhabited the body of the animal, and that you were but carrying out the +decrees of fate by ill-using it. But when you love an animal, it may +increase that love and make it reasonable, and not a thing to be ashamed +of; and it brings the animal world nearer to you in general, it bridges +over the enormous void between man and beast that other religions have +made. Nothing humanizes a man more than love of animals. + +I do not know if this be a paradox, I know that it is a truth. + +There was one point that puzzled me for a time in some of these stories +of transmigration, such as the one I told about the man and wife being +reborn twins. It was this: A man dies and leaves behind children, let us +say, to whom he is devoutly attached. He is reborn in another family in +the same village, maybe. It would be natural to suppose that he would +love his former family as much as, or even more than, his new one. +Complications might arise in this way which it is easy to conceive would +cause great and frequent difficulties. + +I explained this to a Burman one day, and asked him what happened, and +this is what he said: 'The affection of mother to son, of husband to +wife, of brother to sister, belongs entirely to the body in which you +may happen to be living. When it dies, so do these affections. New +affections arise from the new body. The flesh of the son, being of one +with his father, of course loves him; but as his present flesh has no +sort of connection with his former one, he does not love those to whom +he was related in his other lives. These affections are as much a part +of the body as the hand or the eyesight; with one you put off the +other.' + +Thus all love, to the learned, even the purest affection of daughter to +mother, of man to his friend, is in theory a function of the body--with +the one we put off the other; and this may explain, perhaps, something +of what my previous chapter did not make quite clear, that in the +hereafter[2] of Buddhism there is no affection. + +When we have put off all bodies, when we have attained Nirvana, love and +hate, desire and repulsion, will have fallen from us for ever. + +Meanwhile, in each life, we are obliged to endure the affections of the +body into which we may be born. It is the first duty of a monk, of him +who is trying to lead the purer life, to kill all these affections, or +rather to blend them into one great compassion to all the world alike. +'Gayüna,' compassion, that is the only passion that will be left to +us. So say the learned. + +I met a little girl not long ago, a wee little maiden about seven years +old, and she told me all about her former life when she was a man. Her +name was Maung Mon, she said, and she used to work the dolls in a +travelling marionette show. It was through her knowledge and partiality +for marionettes that it was first suspected, her parents told me, whom +she had been in her former life. She could even as a sucking-child +manipulate the strings of a marionette-doll. But the actual discovery +came when she was about four years old, and she recognised a certain +marionette booth and dolls as her own. She knew all about them, knew +the name of each doll, and even some of the words they used to say in +the plays. 'I was married four times,' she told me. 'Two wives died, one +I divorced; one was living when I died, and is living still. I loved her +very much indeed. The one I divorced was a dreadful woman. See,' +pointing to a scar on her shoulder, 'this was given me once in a +quarrel. She took up a chopper and cut me like this. Then I divorced +her. She had a dreadful temper.' + +It was immensely quaint to hear this little thing discoursing like this. +The mark was a birth-mark, and I was assured that it corresponded +exactly with one that had been given to the man by his wife in just such +a quarrel as the one the little girl described. + +The divorced wife and the much-loved wife are still alive and not yet +old. The last wife wanted the little girl to go and live with her. I +asked her why she did not go. + +'You loved her so much,' I said. 'She was such a good wife to you. +Surely you would like to live with her again.' + +'But all that,' she replied, 'was in a former life.' + +Now she loved only her present father and mother. The last life was like +a dream. Broken memories of it still remained, but the loves and hates, +the passions and impulses, were all dead. + +Another little boy told me once that the way remembrance came to him was +by seeing the silk he used to wear made into curtains, which are given +to the monks and used as partitions in their monasteries, and as walls +to temporary erections made at festival times. He was taken when some +three years old to a feast at the making of a lad, the son of a wealthy +merchant, into a monk. There he recognised in the curtain walling in +part of the bamboo building his old dress. He pointed it out at once. + +This same little fellow told me that he passed three months between his +death and his next incarnation without a body. This was because he had +once accidentally killed a fowl. Had he killed it on purpose, he would +have been punished very much more severely. Most of this three months he +spent dwelling in the hollow shell of a palm-fruit. The nuisance was, he +explained, that this shell was close to the cattle-path, and that the +lads as they drove the cattle afield in the early morning would bang +with a stick against the shell. This made things very uncomfortable for +him inside. + +It is not an uncommon thing for a woman when about to be delivered of a +baby to have a dream, and to see in that dream the spirit of someone +asking for permission to enter the unborn child; for, to a certain +extent, it lies within a woman's power to say who is to be the life of +her child. + +There was a woman once who loved a young man, not of her village, very +dearly. And he loved her, too, as dearly as she loved him, and he +demanded her in marriage from her parents; but they refused. Why they +refused I do not know, but probably because they did not consider the +young man a proper person for their daughter to marry. Then he tried to +run away with her, and nearly succeeded, but they were caught before +they got clear of the village. + +The young man had to leave the neighbourhood. The attempted abduction of +a girl is an offence severely punishable by law, so he fled; and in +time, under pressure from her people, the girl married another man; but +she never forgot. She lived with her husband quite happily; he was good +to her, as most Burmese husbands are, and they got along well enough +together. But there were no children. + +After some years, four or five, I believe, the former lover returned to +his village. He thought that after this lapse of time he would be safe +from prosecution, and he was, moreover, very ill. + +He was so ill that very soon he died, without ever seeing again the girl +he was so fond of; and when she heard of his death she was greatly +distressed, so that the desire of life passed away from her. It so +happened that at this very time she found herself enceinte with her +first child, and not long before the due time came for the child to be +born she had a dream. + +She dreamt that her soul left her body, and went out into space and met +there the soul of her lover who had died. She was rejoiced to meet him +again, full of delight, so that the return of her soul to her body, her +awakening to a world in which he was not, filled her with despair. So +she prayed her lover, if it was now time for him again to be incarnated, +that he would come to her--that his soul would enter the body of the +little baby soon about to be born, so that they two might be together in +life once more. + +And in the dream the lover consented. He would come, he said, into the +child of the woman he loved. + +When the woman awoke she remembered it all, and the desire of life +returned to her again, and all the world was changed because of the new +life she felt within her. But she told no one then of the dream or of +what was to happen. + +Only she took the greatest care of herself; she ate well, and went +frequently to the pagoda with flowers, praying that the body in which +her lover was about to dwell might be fair and strong, worthy of him who +took it, worthy of her who gave it. + +In due time the baby was born. But alas and alas for all her hopes! The +baby came but for a moment, to breathe a few short breaths, to cry, and +to die; and a few hours later the woman died also. But before she went +she told someone all about it, all about the dream and the baby, and +that she was glad to go and follow her lover. She said that her baby's +soul was her lover's soul, and that as he could not stay, neither would +she; and with these words on her lips she followed him out into the +void. + +The story was kept a secret until the husband died, not long +afterwards; but when I came to the village all the people knew it. + +I must confess that this story is to me full of the deepest reality, +full of pathos. It seems to me to be the unconscious protestation of +humanity against the dogmas of religion and of the learned. However it +may be stated that love is but one of the bodily passions that dies with +it; however, even in some of the stories themselves, this explanation is +used to clear certain difficulties; however opposed eternal love may be +to one of the central doctrines of Buddhism, it seems to me that the +very essence of this story is the belief that love does not die with the +body, that it lives for ever and ever, through incarnation after +incarnation. Such a story is the very cry of the agony of humanity. + +'Love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love;' ay, and love +is stronger than death. Not any dogmas of any religion, not any +philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent +him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he +loves. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[2] The hereafter = the state to which we attain when we have +done with earthly things. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FOREST OF TIME + + 'The gate of that forest was Death.' + + +There was a great forest. It was full of giant trees that grew so high +and were so thick overhead that the sunshine could not get down below. +And there were huge creepers that ran from tree to tree climbing there, +and throwing down great loops of rope. Under the trees, growing along +the ground, were smaller creepers full of thorns, that tore the wayfarer +and barred his progress. The forest, too, was full of snakes that crept +along the ground, so like in their gray and yellow skins to the earth +they travelled on that the traveller trod upon them unawares and was +bitten; and some so beautiful with coral red and golden bars that men +would pick them up as some dainty jewel till the snake turned upon them. + +Here and there in this forest were little glades wherein there were +flowers. Beautiful flowers they were, with deep white cups and broad +glossy leaves hiding the purple fruit; and some had scarlet blossoms +that nodded to and fro like drowsy men, and there were long festoons of +white stars. The air there was heavy with their scent. But they were all +full of thorns, only you could not see the thorns till after you had +plucked the blossom. + +This wood was pierced by roads. Many were very broad, leading through +the forest in divers ways, some of them stopping now and then in the +glades, others avoiding them more or less, but none of them were +straight. Always, if you followed them, they bent and bent until after +much travelling you were where you began; and the broader the road, the +softer the turf beneath it; the sweeter the glades that lined it, the +quicker did it turn. + +One road there was that went straight, but it was far from the others. +It led among the rocks and cliffs that bounded one side of the valley. +It was very rough, very far from all the glades in the lowlands. No +flowers grew beside it, there was no moss or grass upon it, only hard +sharp rocks. It was very narrow, bordered with precipices. + +There were many lights in this wood, lights that flamed out like sunsets +and died, lights that came like lightning in the night and were gone. +This wood was never quite dark, it was so full of these lights that +flickered aimlessly. + +There were men in this wood who wandered to and fro. The wood was full +of them. + +They did not know whither they went; they did not know whither they +wished to go. Only this they knew, that they could never keep still; +for the keeper of this wood was Time. He was armed with a keen whip, and +kept driving them on and on; there was no rest. + +Many of these when they first came loved the wood. The glades, they +said, were very beautiful, the flowers very sweet. They wandered down +the broad roads into the glades, and tried to lie upon the moss and love +the flowers; but Time would not let them. Just for a few moments they +could have peace, and then they must on and on. But they did not care. +'The forest is full of glades,' they said; 'if we cannot live in one, we +can find another.' And so they went on finding others and others, and +each one pleased them less. + +Some few there were who did not go to the glades at all. 'They are very +beautiful,' they said, 'but these roads that pass through them, whither +do they lead? Round and round and round again. There is no peace there. +Time rules in those glades, Time with his whip and goad, and there is no +peace. What we want is rest. And those lights,' they said, 'they are +wandering lights, like the summer lightning far down in the South, +moving hither and thither. We care not for such lights. Our light is +firm and clear. What we desire is peace; we do not care to wander for +ever round this forest, to see for ever those shifting lights.' + +And so they would not go down the winding roads, but essayed the path +upon the cliffs. 'It is narrow,' they said, 'it has no flowers, it is +full of rocks, but it is straight. It will lead us somewhere, not round +and round and round again--it will take us somewhere. And there is a +light,' they said, 'before us, the light of a star. It is very small +now, but it is always steady; it never flickers or wanes. It is the star +of Truth. Under that star we shall find that which we seek.' + +And so they went upon their road, toiling upon the rocks, falling now +and then, bleeding with wounds from the sharp points, sore-footed, but +strong-hearted. And ever as they went they were farther and farther from +the forest, farther and farther from the glades and the flowers with +deadly scents; they heard less and less the crack of the whip of Time +falling upon the wanderers' shoulders. + +The star grew nearer and nearer, the light grew greater and greater, the +false lights died behind them, until at last they came out of the +forest, and there they found the lake that washes away all desire under +the sun of Truth. + +They had won their way. Time and Life and Fight and Struggle were behind +them, could not follow them, as they came, weary and footsore, into the +Great Peace. + +And of those who were left behind, of those who stayed in the glades to +gather the deadly flowers, to be driven ever forward by the whip of +Time--what of them? Surely they will learn. The kindly whip of Time is +behind: he will never let them rest in such a deadly forest; they must +go ever forward; and as they go they grow more and more weary, the +glades are more and more distasteful, the heavy-scented blossoms more +and more repulsive. They will find out the thorns too. At first they +forgot the thorns in the flowers. 'The blossoms are beautiful,' they +said; 'what care we for the thorns? Nay, the thorns are good. It is a +pleasure to fight with them. What would the forest be without its +thorns? If we could gather the flowers and find no thorns, we should not +care for them. The more the thorns, the more valuable the blossoms.' + +So they said, and they gathered the blossoms, and they faded. But the +thorns did not fade; they were ever there. The more blossoms a man had +gathered, the more thorns he had to wear, and Time was ever behind him. +They wanted to rest in the glades, but Time willed that ever they must +go forward; no going back, no rest, ever and ever on. So they grew very +weary. + +'These flowers,' they said at last, 'are always the same. We are tired +of them; their smell is heavy; they are dead. This forest is full of +thorns only. How shall we escape from it? Ever as we go round and round +we hate the flowers more, we feel the thorns more acutely. We must +escape! We are sick of Time and his whip, our feet are very, very weary, +our eyes are dazzled and dim. We, too, would seek the Peace. We laughed +at those before who went along the rocky path; we did not want peace; +but now it seems to us the most beautiful thing in the world. Will Time +never cease to drive us on and on? Will these lights _never_ cease to +flash to and fro?' + +Each man at last will turn to the straight road. He will find out. Every +man will find out at last that the forest is hateful, that the flowers +are deadly, that the thorns are terrible; every man will learn to fear +Time. + +Then, when the longing for peace has come, he will go to the straight +way and find it; no man will remain in the forest for ever. He will +learn. When he is very, very weary, when his feet are full of thorns, +and his back scarred with the lashes of Time--great, kindly Time, the +schoolmaster of the world--he will learn. + +Not till he has learnt will he desire to enter into the straight road. + +But in the end all men will come. We at the last shall all meet together +where Time and Life shall be no more. + +This is a Burman allegory of Buddhism. It was told me long ago. I trust +I have not spoilt it in the retelling. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +CONCLUSION + + +This is the end of my book. I have tried always as I wrote to remember +the principles that I laid down for myself in the first chapter. Whether +I have always done so I cannot say. It is so difficult, so very +difficult, to understand a people--any people--to separate their beliefs +from their assents, to discover the motives of their deeds, that I fear +I must often have failed. + +My book is short. It would have been easy to make a book out of each +chapter, to write volumes on each great subject that I have touched on; +but I have not done so--I have always been as brief as I could. + +I have tried always to illustrate only the central thought, and not the +innumerable divergencies, because only so can a great or strange thought +be made clear. Later, when the thought is known, then it is easy to +stray into the byways of thought, always remembering that they are +byways, wandering from a great centre. + +For the Burman's life and belief is one great whole. + +I thought before I began to write, and I have become more and more +certain of it as I have taken up subject after subject, that to all the +great differences of thought between them and us there is one key. And +this key is that they believe the world is governed by eternal laws, +that have never changed, that will never change, that are founded on +absolute righteousness; while we believe in a personal God, altering +laws, and changing moralities according to His will. + +If I were to rewrite this book, I should do so from this standpoint of +eternal laws, making the book an illustration of the proposition. + +Perhaps it is better as it is, in that I have discovered the key at the +end of my work instead of at the beginning. I did not write the book to +prove the proposition, but in writing the book this truth has become +apparent to me. + +The more I have written, the clearer has this teaching become to me, +until now I wonder that I did not understand long ago--nay, that it has +not always been apparent to all men. + +Surely it is the beginning of all wisdom. + +Not until we had discarded Atlas and substituted gravity, until we had +forgotten Enceladus and learned the laws of heat, until we had rejected +Thor and his hammer and searched after the laws of electricity, could +science make any strides onward. + +An irresponsible spirit playing with the world as his toy killed all +science. + +But now science has learned a new wisdom, to look only at what it can +see, to leave vain imaginings to children and idealists, certain always +that the truth is inconceivably more beautiful than any dream. + +Science with us has gained her freedom, but the soul is still in bonds. + +Only in Buddhism has this soul-freedom been partly gained. How beautiful +this is, how full of great thoughts, how very different to the barren +materialism it has often been said to be, I have tried to show. + +I believe myself that in this teaching of the laws of righteousness we +have the grandest conception, the greatest wisdom, the world has known. + +I believe that in accepting this conception we are opening to ourselves +a new world of unimaginable progress, in justice, in charity, in +sympathy, and in love. + +I believe that as our minds, when freed from their bonds, have grown +more and more rapidly to heights of thought before undreamed of, to +truths eternal, to beauty inexpressible, so shall our souls, when freed, +as our minds now are, rise to sublimities of which now we have no +conception. + +Let each man but open his eyes and see, and his own soul shall teach him +marvellous things. + + +THE END. + + +BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a People, by H. 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Fielding. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .right {text-align: right;} + .tbrk {margin-bottom: 2em;} + + .block {margin: auto; text-align: center; width: 40em;} + + .mono {font-family: monospace;} + + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em;} + + /* index */ + + div.index ul { list-style: none; } + div.index ul li span.mono {font-family: monospace;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a People, by H. Fielding + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Soul of a People + +Author: H. Fielding + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29527] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE</h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i002.jpg" width='250' height='79' alt="Publisher's logo" /></div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>THE</h3> + +<h1>SOUL OF A PEOPLE</h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>H. FIELDING</h2> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'For to see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth'</div> +<div class="right"><span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold</span></div></div> +</div></div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3>London<br /><span class="smcap">MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited</span><br /> +NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br />1899</h3> + +<hr /> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><i>First Edition, 1898</i><br /> +<i>Second Edition, 1898</i><br /><i>Third Edition, 1899</i></p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>DEDICATION TO SECOND EDITION</h2> + +<p><i>I dedicate this book to you about whom it is written. It has been made +a reproach to me by the critics that I have only spoken well of you, +that I have forgotten your faults and remembered only your virtues. If +it is wrong to have done this, I must admit the wrong. I have written of +you as a friend does of a friend. Where I could say kind things of you I +have done so, where I could not I have been silent. You will find plenty +of people who can see only your faults, and who like to tell you of +them. You will find in the inexorable sequence of events a corrector of +these faults more potent than any critics can be. But I am not your +critic, but your friend. If many of you had not admitted me, a stranger, +into your friendship during my many very solitary years, of what sort +should I be now? How could I have lived those years alone? You kept +alive my sympathies, and so saved me from many things. Do you think I +could now turn round and criticise you? No; but this book is my tribute +of gratitude for many kindnesses.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<p>In most of the quotations from Burmese books containing the life of the +Buddha I am indebted, if not for the exact words, yet for the sense, to +Bishop Bigandet's translation.</p> + +<p>I do not think I am indebted to anyone else. I have, indeed, purposely +avoided quoting from any other book and using material collected by anyone else.</p> + +<p>The story of Ma Pa Da has appeared often before, but my version is taken +entirely from the Burmese song. It is, as I have said, known to nearly every Burman.</p> + +<p>I wanted to write only what the Burmese themselves thought; whether I +have succeeded or not, the reader can judge.</p> + +<p>I am indebted to Messrs. William Blackwood and Sons for permission to +use parts of my article on 'Burmese Women'—<i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>, May, +1895—in the present work.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> +<li><span class="mono">CHAPTER</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></span> LIVING BELIEFS</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></span> HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT—I.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></span> HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT—II.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></span> THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></span> WAR—I.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></span> WAR—II.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></span> GOVERNMENT</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></span> CRIME AND PUNISHMENT</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></span> HAPPINESS</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></span> THE MONKHOOD—I.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></span> THE MONKHOOD—II.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></span> PRAYER</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></span> FESTIVALS</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></span> WOMEN—I.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></span> WOMEN—II.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></span> WOMEN—III.</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></span> DIVORCE</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></span> DRINK</li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></span> MANNERS</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></span> 'NOBLESSE OBLIGE'</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></span> ALL LIFE IS ONE</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></span> DEATH, THE DELIVERER</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></span> THE POTTER'S WHEEL</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></span> THE FOREST OF TIME</li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></span> CONCLUSION</li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h1>THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE</h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>LIVING BELIEFS</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'The observance of the law alone entitles to the right of belonging +to my religion.'—<i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>For the first few years of my stay in Burma my life was so full of +excitement that I had little care or time for any thought but of to-day. +There was, first of all, my few months in Upper Burma in the King's time +before the war, months which were full of danger and the exhilaration of +danger, when all the surroundings were too new and too curious to leave +leisure for examination beneath the surface. Then came the flight from +Upper Burma at the time of the war, and then the war itself. And this +war lasted four years. Not four years of fighting in Burma proper, for +most of the Irrawaddy valley was peaceful enough by the end of 1889; but +as the central parts quieted down, I was sent to the frontier, first on +the North and then on the East by the Chin mountains; so that it was not +until 1890 that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> transfer to a more settled part gave me quiet and +opportunity for consideration of all I had seen and known. For it was in +those years that I gained most of whatever little knowledge I have of the Burmese people.</p> + +<p>Months, very many months, I passed with no one to speak to, with no +other companions but Burmese. I have been with them in joy and in +sorrow, I have fought with them and against them, and sat round the +camp-fire after the day's work and talked of it all. I have had many +friends amongst them, friends I shall always honour; and I have seen +them killed sometimes in our fights, or dead of fever in the marshes of +the frontier. I have known them from the labourer to the Prime Minister, +from the little neophyte just accepted into the faith to the head of all +the Burmese religion. I have known their wives and daughters; have +watched many a flirtation in the warm scented evenings; and have seen +girls become wives and wives mothers while I have lived amongst them. So +that although when the country settled down, and we built houses for +ourselves and returned more to English modes of living, I felt that I +was drifting away from them into the conventionality and ignorance of +our official lives, yet I had in my memory much of what I had seen, much +of what I had done, that I shall never forget. I felt that I had +been—even if it were only for a time—behind the veil, where it is so hard to come.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p><p>In looking over these memories it seemed to me that there were many +things I did not understand, acts of theirs and customs, which I had +seen and noted, but of which I did not know the reason. We all know how +hard it is to see into the heart even of our own people, those of our +flesh and blood who are with us always, whose ways are our ways, and +whose thoughts are akin to ours. And if this be so with them, it is ten +thousand times harder with those whose ways are not our ways, and from +whose thoughts we must be far apart. It is true that there are no dark +places in the lives of the Burmese as there are in the lives of other +Orientals. All is open to the light of day in their homes and in their +religion, and their women are the freest in the world. Yet the barriers +of a strange tongue and a strange religion, and of ways caused by +another climate than ours, is so great that, even to those of us who +have every wish and every opportunity to understand, it seems sometimes +as if we should never know their hearts. It seems as if we should never +learn more of their ways than just the outside—that curiously varied +outside which is so deceptive, and which is so apt to prevent our +understanding that they are men just as we are, and not strange +creations from some far-away planet.</p> + +<p>So when I settled down and sought to know more of the meaning of what I +had seen, I thought that first of all I must learn somewhat of their +religion, of that mainspring of many actions, which seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> sometimes +admirable, sometimes the reverse, and nearly always foreign to my ideas. +It is true that I knew they were Buddhists, that I recognized the +yellow-robed monks as followers of the word of Gaudama the Buddha, and +that I had a general acquaintance with the theory of their faith as +picked up from a book or two—notably, Rhys Davids' 'Buddhism' and +Bishop Bigandet's book—and from many inconsequent talks with the monks +and others. But the knowledge was but superficial, and I was painfully +aware that it did not explain much that I had seen and that I saw every day.</p> + +<p>So I sent for more books, such books as had been published in English, +and I studied them, and hoped thereby to attain the explanations I +wanted; and as I studied, I watched as I could the doings of the people, +that I might see the effects of causes and the results of beliefs. I +read in these sacred books of the mystery of Dharma, of how a man has no +soul, no consciousness after death; that to the Buddhist 'dead men rise +up never,' and that those who go down to the grave are known no more. I +read that all that survives is the effect of a man's actions, the evil +effect, for good is merely negative, and that this is what causes pain +and trouble to the next life. Everything changes, say the sacred books, +nothing lasts even for a moment. It will be, and it has been, is the +life of man. The life that lives tomorrow in the next incarnation is no +more the life that died in the last than the flame we light in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> lamp +to-day is the same that went out yesternight. It is as if a stone were +thrown into a pool—that is the life, the splash of the stone; all that +remains, when the stone lies resting in the mud and weeds below the +waters of forgetfulness, are the circles ever widening on the surface, +and the ripples never dying, but only spreading farther and farther +away. All this seemed to me a mystery such as I could not understand. +But when I went to the people, I found that it was simple enough to +them; for I found that they remembered their former lives often, that +children, young children, could tell who they were before they died, and +remember details of that former existence. As they grew older the +remembrance grew fainter and fainter, and at length almost died away. +But in many children it was quite fresh, and was believed in beyond +possibility of a doubt by all the people. So I saw that the teachings of +their sacred books and the thoughts of the people were not at one in this matter.</p> + +<p>Again, I read that there was no God. Nats there were, spirits of great +power like angels, and there was the Buddha (the just man made perfect), +who had worked out for all men the way to reach surcease from evil; but +of God I saw nothing. And because the Buddha had reached heaven +(Nirvana), it would be useless to pray to him. For, having entered into +his perfect rest, he could not be disturbed by the sharp cry of those +suffering below; and if he heard, still he could not help; for each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> man +must through pain and sorrow work out for himself his own salvation. So +all prayer is futile.</p> + +<p>Then I remembered I had seen the young mother going to the pagoda on the +hilltop with a little offering of a few roses or an orchid spray, and +pouring out her soul in passionate supplication to Someone—Someone +unknown to her sacred books—that her firstborn might recover of his +fever, and be to her once more the measureless delight of her life; and +it would seem to me that she must believe in a God and in prayer after all.</p> + +<p>So though I found much in these books that was believed by the people, +and much that was to them the guiding influence of their lives, yet I +was unable to trust to them altogether, and I was in doubt where to seek +for the real beliefs of these people. If I went to their monks, their +holy men, the followers of the great teacher, Gaudama, they referred me +to their books as containing all that a Buddhist believed; and when I +pointed out the discrepancies, they only shook their heads, and said +that the people were an ignorant people and confused their beliefs in that way.</p> + +<p>And when I asked what was a Buddhist, I was told that, to be a Buddhist, +a man must be accepted into the religion with certain rites, certain +ceremonies, he must become for a time a member of the community of the +monks of the Buddha, and that a Buddhist was he who was so accepted, and +who thereafter held by the teachings of the Buddha.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p><p>But when I searched the life of the Buddha, I could not find any such +ceremonies necessary at all. So that it seemed that the religion of the +Buddha was one religion, and the religion of the Buddhists another; but +when I said so to the monks, they were horror-struck, and said that it +was because I did not understand.</p> + +<p>In my perplexity I fell back, as we all must, to my own thoughts and +those of my own people; and I tried to imagine how a Burman would act if +he came to England to search into the religion of the English and to +know the impulses of our lives.</p> + +<p>I saw how he would be sent to the Bible as the source of our religion, +how he would be told to study that if he would know what we believed and +what we did not—what it was that gave colour to our lives. I followed +him in imagination as he took the Bible and studied it, and then went +forth and watched our acts, and I could see him puzzled, as I was now +puzzled when I studied his people.</p> + +<p>I thought of him reading the New Testament, and how he would come to these verses:</p> + +<p>'27. But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them +which hate you,</p> + +<p>'28. Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.</p> + +<p>'29. And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the +other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid him not to take thy coat also.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>'30. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away +thy goods ask them not again.'</p> + +<p>He would read them again and again, these wonderful verses, that he was +told the people and Church believed, and then he would go forth to +observe the result of this belief. And what would he see? He would see +this: A nation proud and revengeful, glorying in her victories, always +at war, a conqueror of other peoples, a mighty hater of her enemies. He +would find that in the public life of the nation with other nations +there was no thought of this command. He would find, too, in her inner +life, that the man who took a cloak was not forgiven, but was terribly +punished—he used to be hanged. He would find—— But need I say what he +would find? Those who will read this are those very people—they know. +And the Burman would say at length to himself, Can this be the belief of +this people at all? Whatever their Book may say, they do not think that +it is good to humble yourself to your enemies—nay, but to strike hard +back. It is not good to let the wrong-doer go free. They think the best +way to stop crime is to punish severely. Those are their acts; the Book, +they say, is their belief. Could they act one thing and believe another? +Truly, <i>are</i> these their beliefs?</p> + +<p>And, again, he would read how that riches are an offence to +righteousness: hardly shall a rich man enter into the kingdom of God. He +would read<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> how the Teacher lived the life of the poorest among us, and +taught always that riches were to be avoided.</p> + +<p>And then he would go forth and observe a people daily fighting and +struggling to add field to field, coin to coin, till death comes and +ends the fight. He would see everywhere wealth held in great estimation; +he would see the very children urged to do well, to make money, to +struggle, to rise in the world. He would see the lives of men who have +become rich held up as examples to be followed. He would see the +ministers who taught the Book with fair incomes ranking themselves, not +with the poor, but with the middle classes; he would see the dignitaries +of the Church—the men who lead the way to heaven—among the wealthy of +the land. And he would wonder. Is it true, he would say to himself, that +these people believe that riches are an evil thing? Whence, then, come +their acts, for their acts seem to show that they hold riches to be a +good thing? What is to be accepted as their belief: the Book they say +they believe, which condemns riches, or their acts, by which they show +that they hold that wealth is a good thing—ay, and if used according to +their ideas of right, a very good thing indeed?</p> + +<p>So, it seemed to me, would a Burman be puzzled if he came to us to find +out our belief; and as the Burman's difficulty in England was, <i>mutatis +mutandis</i>, mine in Burma, I set to work to think the matter out. How +were the beliefs of a people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> to be known, and why should there be such +difficulties in the way? If I could understand how it was with us, it +might help me to know how it was with them.</p> + +<p>And I have thought that the difficulty arises from the fact that there +are two ways of seeing a religion—from within and from without—and +that these are as different as can possibly be. It is because we forget +there are the two standpoints that we fall into error.</p> + +<p>In every religion, to the believers in it, the crown and glory of their +creed is that it is a revelation of truth, a lifting of the veil, behind +which every man born into this mystery desires to look.</p> + +<p>They are sure, these believers, that they have the truth, that they +alone have the truth, and that it has come direct from where alone truth +can live. They believe that in their religion alone lies safety for man +from the troubles of this world and from the terrors and threats of the +next, and that those alone who follow its teaching will reach happiness +hereafter, if not here. They believe, too, that this truth only requires +to be known to be understood and accepted of all men; that as the sun +requires no witness of its warmth, so the truth requires no evidence of its truth.</p> + +<p>It is to them so eternally true, so matchless in beauty, so convincing +in itself, that adherents of all other creeds have but to hear it +pronounced and they must believe. So, then, the question, How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> do you +know that your faith is true? is as vain and foolish as the cry of the +wind in an empty house. And if they be asked wherein lies their +religion, they will produce their sacred books, and declare that in them +is contained the whole matter. Here is the very word of truth, herein is +told the meaning of all things, herein alone lies righteousness. This, +they say, is their faith: that they believe in every line of it, this +truth from everlasting to everlasting, and that its precepts, and none +other, can be held by him who seeks to be a sincere believer. And to +these believers the manifestation of their faith is that its believers +attain salvation hereafter. But as that is in the next world, if the +unbeliever ask what is the manifestation in this, the believers will +answer him that the true mark and sign whereby a man may be known to +hold the truth is the observance of certain forms, the performance of +certain ceremonies, more or less mystical, more or less symbolical, of +some esoteric meaning. That a man should be baptized, should wear +certain marks on his forehead, should be accepted with certain rites, is +generally the outward and visible sign of a believer, and the badge +whereby others of the same faith have known their fellows.</p> + +<p>It has never been possible for any religion to make the acts and deeds +of its followers the test of their belief. And for these reasons: that +it is a test no one could apply, and that if anyone were to attempt to +apply it, there would soon be no Church<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> at all. For to no one is it +given to be able to observe in their entirety all the precepts of their +prophet, whoever that prophet may be. All must fail, some more and some +less, but generally more, and thus all would fall from the faith at some +time or another, and there would be no Church left. And so another test +has been made necessary. If from his weakness a man cannot keep these +precepts, yet he can declare his belief in and his desire to keep them, +and here is a test that can be applied. Certain rites have been +instituted, and it has been laid down that those who by their submission +to these rites show their belief in the truth and their desire to follow +that truth as far as in them lies, shall be called the followers of the +faith. So in time it has come about that these ceremonial rites have +been held to be the true and only sign of the believer, and the fact +that they were but to be the earnest of the beginning and living of a +new life has become less and less remembered, till it has faded into +nothingness. Instead of the life being the main thing, and being +absolutely necessary to give value and emphasis to the belief, it has +come to pass that it is the belief, and the acceptance of the belief, +that has been held to hallow the life and excuse and palliate its errors.</p> + +<p>Thus of every religion is this true, that its essence is a belief that +certain doctrines are revelations of eternal truth, and that the fruit +of this truth is the observance of certain forms. Morality and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> works +may or may not follow, but they are immaterial compared with the other. +This, put shortly, is the view of every believer.</p> + +<p>But to him who does not believe in a faith, who views it from without, +from the standpoint of another faith, the whole view is changed, the +whole perspective altered. Those landmarks which to one within the +circle seem to stand out and overtop the world are to the eyes of him +without dwarfed often into insignificance, and other points rise into importance.</p> + +<p>For the outsider judges a religion as he judges everything else in this +world. He cannot begin by accepting it as the only revelation of truth; +he cannot proceed from the unknown to the known, but the reverse. First +of all, he tries to learn what the beliefs of the people really are, and +then he judges from their lives what value this religion has to them. He +looks to acts as proofs of beliefs, to lives as the ultimate effects of +thoughts. And he finds out very quickly that the sacred books of a +people can never be taken as showing more than approximately their real +beliefs. Always through the embroidery of the new creed he will find the +foundation of an older faith, of older faiths, perhaps, and below these, +again, other beliefs that seem to be part of no system, but to be the +outcome of the great fear that is in the world.</p> + +<p>The more he searches, the more he will be sure that there is only one +guide to a man's faith, to his soul, and that is not any book or system +he may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> profess to believe, but the real system that he follows—that is +to say, that a man's beliefs can be known even to himself from his acts +only. For it is futile to say that a man believes in one thing and does +another. That is not a belief at all. A man may cheat himself, and say +it is, but in his heart he knows that it is not. A belief is not a +proposition to be assented to, and then put away and forgotten. It is +always in our minds, and for ever in our thoughts. It guides our every +action, it colours our whole life. It is not for a day, but for ever. +When we have learnt that a cobra's bite is death, we do not put the +belief away in a pigeon-hole of our minds, there to rust for ever +unused, nor do we go straightway and pick up the first deadly snake that +we see. We remember it always; we keep it as a guiding principle of our daily lives.</p> + +<p>A belief is a strand in the cord of our lives, that runs through every +fathom of it, from the time that it is first twisted among the others +till the time when that life shall end. And as it is thus impossible for +the onlooker to accept from adherents of a creed a definition of what +they really believe, so it is impossible for him to acknowledge the +forms and ceremonies of which they speak as the real manifestations of their creed.</p> + +<p>It seems to the onlooker indifferent that men should be dipped in water +or not, that they should have their heads shaved or wear long hair. Any +belief that is worth considering at all must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> results more +important to its believers, more valuable to mankind, than such signs as +these. It is true that of the great sign of all, that the followers of a +creed attain heaven hereafter, he cannot judge. He can only tell of what +he sees. This may or may not be true; but surely, if it be true, there +must be some sign of it here on earth beyond forms. A religion that fits +a soul for the hereafter will surely begin by fitting it for the +present, he will think. And it will show that it does so otherwise than by ceremonies.</p> + +<p>For forms and ceremonies that have no fruit in action are not marks of a +living truth, but of a dead dogma. There is but little thought of forms +to him whose heart is full of the teaching of his Master, who has His +words within his heart, and whose soul is full of His love. It is when +beliefs die, and love has faded into indifference, that forms are +necessary, for to the living no monument is needed, but to the dead. +Forms and ceremonies are but the tombs of dead truths, put up to their +memory to recall to those who have never known them that they lived—and +died—long ago.</p> + +<p>And because men do not seek for signs of the living among the graveyards +of the dead, so it is not among the ceremonies of religions that we +shall find the manifestations of living beliefs.</p> + +<p>It is from the standpoint of this outsider that I have looked at and +tried to understand the soul of the Burmese people. When I have read or +heard of a teaching of Buddhism, I have always taken it to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> the test of +the daily life of the people to see whether it was a living belief or +no. I have accepted just so much as I could find the people have +accepted, such as they have taken into their hearts to be with them for +ever. A teaching that has been but a teaching or theory, a vain breath +of mental assent, has seemed to me of no value at all. The guiding +principles of their lives, whether in accordance with the teaching of +Buddhism or not, these only have seemed to me worthy of inquiry or +understanding. What I have desired to know is not their minds, but their +souls. And as this test of mine has obliged me to omit much that will be +found among the dogmas of Buddhism, so it has led me to accept many +things that have no place there at all. For I have thought that what +stirs the heart of man is his religion, whether he calls it religion or +not. That which makes the heart beat and the breath come quicker, love +and hate, and joy and sorrow—that has been to me as worthy of record as +his hopes of a future life. The thoughts that come into the mind of the +ploughman while he leads his team afield in the golden glory of the +dawn; the dreams that swell and move in the heart of the woman when she +knows the great mystery of a new life; whither the dying man's hopes and +fears are led—these have seemed to me the religion of the people as +well as doctrines of the unknown. For are not these, too, of the very +soul of the people?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT—I</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'He who pointed out the way to those that had lost it.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Life of the Buddha.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>The life-story of Prince Theiddatha, who saw the light and became the +Buddha twenty-five centuries ago, has been told in English many times. +It has been told in translations from the Pali, from Burmese, and from +Chinese, and now everyone has read it. The writers, too, of these books +have been men of great attainments, of untiring industry in searching +out all that can be known of this life, of gifts such as I cannot aspire +to. There is now nothing new to learn of those long past days, nothing +fresh for me to tell, no discovery that can be made. Yet in thinking out +what I have to say about the religion of the Burmese, I have found that +I must tell again some of the life of the Buddha, I must rewrite this +ten-times-told tale, of which I know nothing new. And the reason is +this: that although I know nothing that previous writers have not known, +although I cannot bring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> to the task anything like their knowledge, yet +I have something to say that they have not said. For they have written +of him as they have learned from books, whereas I want to write of him +as I have learned from men. Their knowledge has been taken from the +records of the dead past, whereas mine is from the actualities of the living present.</p> + +<p>I do not mean that the Buddha of the sacred books and the Buddha of the +Burman's belief are different persons. They are the same. But as I found +it with their faith, so I find it with the life of their teacher. The +Burmese regard the life of the Buddha from quite a different standpoint +to that of an outsider, and so it has to them quite a different value, +quite a different meaning, to that which it has to the student of +history. For to the writer who studies the life of the Buddha with a +view merely to learn what that life was, and to criticise it, everything +is very different to what it is to the Buddhist who studies that life +because he loves it and admires it, and because he desires to follow it. +To the former the whole detail of every portion of the life of the +Buddha, every word of his teaching, every act of his ministry, is sought +out and compared and considered. Legend is compared with legend, and +tradition with tradition, that out of many authorities some clue to the +actual fact may be found. But to the Buddhist the important parts in the +great teacher's life are those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> acts, those words, that appeal directly +to him, that stand out bravely, lit with the light of his own +experiences and feelings, that assist him in living his own life. His +Buddha is the Buddha he understands, and who understood and sympathized +with such as him. Other things may be true, but they are matters of indifference.</p> + +<p>To hear of the Buddha from living lips in this country, which is full of +his influence, where the spire of his monastery marks every village, and +where every man has at one time or another been his monk, is quite a +different thing to reading of him in far countries, under other skies +and swayed by other thoughts. To sit in the monastery garden in the +dusk, in just such a tropic dusk as he taught in so many years ago, and +hear the yellow-robed monk tell of that life, and repeat his teaching of +love, and charity, and compassion—eternal love, perfect charity, +endless compassion—until the stars come out in the purple sky, and the +silver-voiced gongs ring for evening prayers, is a thing never to be +forgotten. As you watch the starlight die and the far-off hills fade +into the night, as the sounds about you still, and the calm silence of +the summer night falls over the whole earth, you know and understand the +teacher of the Great Peace as no words can tell you. A sympathy comes to +you from the circle of believers, and you believe, too. An influence and +an understanding breathes from the nature about you—the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> nature +that the teacher saw—from the whispering fig-trees and the scented +champaks, and the dimly seen statues in the shadows of the shrines, that +you can never gain elsewhere. And as the monks tell you the story of +that great life, they bring it home to you with reflection and comment, +with application to your everyday existence, till you forget that he of +whom they speak lived so long ago, so very long ago, and your heart is +filled with sorrow when you remember that he is dead, that he is entered +into his peace.</p> + +<p>I do not hope that I can convey much of this in my writing. I always +feel the hopelessness of trying to put on paper the great thoughts, the +intense feeling, of which Buddhism is so full. But still I can, perhaps, +give something of this life as I have heard it, make it a little more +living than it has been to us, catch some little of that spirit of +sympathy that it holds for all the world.</p> + +<p>Around the life of the Buddha has gathered much myth, like dust upon an +ancient statue, like shadows upon the mountains far away, blurring +detail here and there, and hiding the beauty. There are all sorts of +stories of the great portents that foretold his coming: how the sun and +the stars knew, and how the wise men prophesied. Marvels attended his +birth, and miracles followed him in life and in death. And the +appearance of the miraculous has even been heightened by the style of +the chroniclers in telling us of his mental conflicts: by the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>personification of evil in the spirit Man, and of desire in his three +beautiful daughters.</p> + +<p>All the teacher's thoughts, all his struggles, are materialized into +forms, that they may be more readily brought home to the reader, that +they may be more clearly realized by a primitive people as actual conflicts.</p> + +<p>Therefore at first sight it seems that of all creeds none is so full of +miracle, so teeming with the supernatural, as Buddhism, which is, +indeed, the very reverse of the truth. For to the supernatural Buddhism +owes nothing at all. It is in its very essence opposed to all that goes +beyond what we can see of earthly laws, and miracle is never used as +evidence of the truth of any dogma or of any doctrine.</p> + +<p>If every supernatural occurrence were wiped clean out of the chronicles +of the faith, Buddhism would, even to the least understanding of its +followers, remain exactly where it is. Not in one jot or tittle would it +suffer in the authority of its teaching. The great figure of the teacher +would even gain were all the tinsel of the miraculous swept from him, so +that he stood forth to the world as he lived—would gain not only to our +eyes, but even to theirs who believe in him. For the Buddha was no +prophet. He was no messenger from any power above this world, revealing +laws of that power. No one came to whisper into his ear the secrets of +eternity, and to show him where truth lived. In no trance, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> no +vision, did he enter into the presence of the Unknown, and return from +thence full of the wisdom of another world; neither did he teach the +worship of any god, of any power. He breathed no threatenings of revenge +for disobedience, of forgiveness for the penitent. He held out no +everlasting hell to those who refused to follow him, no easily gained +heaven to his believers.</p> + +<p>He went out to seek wisdom, as many a one has done, looking for the laws +of God with clear eyes to see, with a pure heart to understand, and +after many troubles, after many mistakes, after much suffering, he came +at last to the truth.</p> + +<p>Even as Newton sought for the laws of God in the movement of the stars, +in the falling of a stone, in the stir of the great waters, so this +Newton of the spiritual world sought for the secrets of life and death, +looking deep into the heart of man, marking its toil, its suffering, its +little joys, with a soul attuned to catch every quiver of the life of +the world. And as to Newton truth did not come spontaneously, did not +reveal itself to him at his first call, but had to be sought with toil +and weariness, till at last he reached it where it hid in the heart of +all things, so it was with the prince. He was not born with the +knowledge in him, but had to seek it as every other man has done. He +made mistakes as other men do. He wasted time and labour following wrong +roads, demonstrating to himself the foolishness of many thoughts. But, +never <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>discouraged, he sought on till he found, and what he found he +gave as a heritage to all men for ever, that the way might be easier for +them than it had been for him.</p> + +<p>Nothing is more clear than this: that to the Buddhist his teacher was +but a man like himself, erring and weak, who made himself perfect, and +that even as his teacher has done, so, too, may he if he do but observe +the everlasting laws of life which the Buddha has shown to the world. +These laws are as immutable as Newton's laws, and come, like his, from beyond our ken.</p> + +<p>And this, too, is another point wherein the parallel with Newton will +help us: that just as when Newton discovered gravitation he was obliged +to stop, for his knowledge of that did not lead him at once to the +knowledge of the infinite, so when he had attained the laws of +righteousness, Gaudama the Buddha also stopped, because here his +standing-ground failed. It is not true, that which has been imputed to +the Buddha by those who have never tried to understand him—that he +denied some power greater than ourselves; that because he never tried to +define the indefinite, to confine the infinite within the corners of a +phrase, therefore his creed was materialistic. We do not say of Newton +that he was an atheist because when he taught us of gravity he did not +go further and define to us in equations Him who made gravity; and as we +understand more of the Buddha, as we search into life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> and consider his +teaching, as we try to think as he thought, and to see as he saw, we +understand that he stopped as Newton stopped, because he had come to the +end of all that he could see, not because he declared that he knew all +things, and that beyond his knowledge there was nothing.</p> + +<p>No teacher more full of reverence, more humble than Gaudama the Buddha +ever lived to be an example to us through all time. He tells us of what +he knows; of what he knows not he is silent. Of the laws that he can +see, the great sequences of life to death, of evil to sorrow, of +goodness to happiness, he tells in burning words. Of the beginning and +the end of the world, of the intentions and the ways of the great +Unknown, he tells us nothing at all. He is no prophet, as we understand +the word, but a man; and all that is divine in him beyond what there is +in us is that he hated the darkness and sought the light, sought and was +not dismayed, and at last he found.</p> + +<p>And yet nothing could be further from the truth than to call the Buddha +a philosopher and Buddhism a philosophy. Whatever he was, he was no +philosopher. Although he knew not any god, although he rested his claims +to be heard upon the fact that his teachings were clear and +understandable, that you were not required to believe, but only to open +your eyes and see, and 'his delight was in the contemplation of +unclouded truth,' yet he was far from a philosopher. His was not an +appeal to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> our reason, to our power of putting two and two together and +making five of them; his teachings were no curious designs woven with +words, the counters of his thought. He appealed to the heart, not to the +brain; to our feelings, not to our power of arranging these feelings. He +drew men to him by love and reverence, and held them so for ever. Love +and charity and compassion, endless compassion, are the foundations of +his teachings; and his followers believe in him because they have seen +in him the just man made perfect, and because he has shown to them the +way in which all men may become even as he is.</p> + +<p>He was a prince in a little kingdom in the Northeast of India, the son +of King Thudoodana and his wife Maia. He was strong, we are told, and +handsome, famous in athletic exercises, and his father looked forward to +the time when he should be grown a great man, and a leader of armies. +His father's ambition for him was that he should be a great conqueror, +that he should lead his troops against the neighbouring kings and +overcome them, and in time make for himself a wide-stretching empire. +India was in those days, as in many later ones, split up into little +kingdoms, divided from each other by no natural boundary, overlooked by +no sovereign power, and always at war. And the king, as fathers are, was +full of dreams that this son of his should subdue all India to himself, +and be the glory of his dynasty, and the founder of a great race.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>Everything seemed to fall in with the desire of the king. The prince +grew up strong and valiant, skilled in action, wise in counsel, so that +all his people were proud of him. Everything fell in with the desire of +the king except the prince himself, for instead of being anxious to +fight, to conquer other countries, to be a great leader of armies, his +desires led him away from all this. Even as a boy he was meditative and +given to religious musings, and as he grew up he became more and more +confirmed in his wish to know of sacred things, more and more an +inquirer into the mysteries of life.</p> + +<p>He was taught all the faith of those days, a faith so old that we do not +know whence it came. He was brought up to believe that life is immortal, +that no life can ever utterly die. He was taught that all life is one; +that there is not one life of the beasts and one life of men, but that +all life was one glorious unity, one great essence coming from the +Unknown. Man is not a thing apart from this world, but of it. As man's +body is but the body of beasts, refined and glorified, so the soul of +man is but a higher stage of the soul of beasts. Life is a great ladder. +At the bottom are the lower forms of animals, and some way up is man; +but all are climbing upwards for ever, and sometimes, alas! falling +back. Existence is for each man a great struggle, punctuated with many +deaths; and each death ends one period but to allow another to begin, to +give us a new chance of working up and gaining heaven.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>He was taught that this ladder is very high, that its top is very far +away, above us, out of our sight, and that perfection and happiness lie +up there, and that we must strive to reach them. The greatest man, even +the greatest king, was farther below perfection than an animal was below +him. We are very near the beasts, but very far from heaven. So he was +taught to remember that even as a very great prince he was but a weak +and erring soul, and that unless he lived well, and did honest deeds, +and was a true man, instead of rising he might fall.</p> + +<p>This teaching appealed to the prince far more than all the urging of his +father and of the courtiers that he should strive to become a great +conqueror. It entered into his very soul, and his continual thought was +how he was to be a better man, how he was to use this life of his so +that he should gain and not lose, and where he was to find happiness.</p> + +<p>All the pomp and glory of the palace, all its luxury and ease, appealed +to him very little. Even in his early youth he found but little pleasure +in it, and he listened more to those who spoke of holiness than to those +who spoke of war. He desired, we are told, to become a hermit, to cast +off from him his state and dignity, and to put on the yellow garments of +a mendicant, and beg his bread wandering up and down upon the world, +seeking for peace.</p> + +<p>This disposition of the prince grieved his parents very much. That their +son, who was so full of promise, so brave and so strong, so wise and so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +much beloved by everyone, should become a mendicant clad in unclean +garments, begging his daily food from house to house, seemed to them a +horrible thing. It could never be permitted that a prince should +disgrace himself in this way. Every effort must be taken to eradicate +such ideas; after all, it was but the melancholy of youth, and it would +pass. So stringent orders were given to distract his mind in every way +from solemn thoughts, to attempt by a continued round of pleasure and +luxury to attract him to more worldly things. And when he was eighteen +he was married to his cousin Yathodaya, in the hope that in marriage and +paternity he might forget his desire to be a hermit, might feel that +love was better than wisdom. And if Yathodaya had been other than she +was—who can tell?—perhaps after all the king might have succeeded; but +it was not to be so. For to Yathodaya, too, life was a very solemn +thing, not to be thrown away in laughter and frivolity, but to be used +as a great gift worthy of all care. To the prince in his trouble there +came a kindred soul, and though from the palace all the teachers of +religion, all who would influence the prince against the desires of his +father, were banished, yet Yathodaya more than made up to him for all he +had lost. For nearly ten years they lived together there such a life as +princes led in those days in the East, not, perhaps, so very different +from what they lead now.</p> + +<p>And all that time the prince had been gradually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> making up his mind, +slowly becoming sure that life held something better than he had yet +found, hardening his determination that he must leave all that he had +and go out into the world looking for peace. Despite all the efforts of +the king his father, despite the guards and his young men companions, +despite the beauty of the dancing-girls, the mysteries of life came home +to him, and he was afraid. It is a beautiful story told in quaint +imagery how it was that the knowledge of sickness and of death came to +him, a horror stalking amid the glories of his garden. He learnt, and he +understood, that he too would grow old, would fall sick, would die. And +beyond death? There was the fear, and no one could allay it. Daily he +grew more and more discontented with his life in the palace, more and +more averse to the pleasures that were around him. Deeper and deeper he +saw through the laughing surface to the depths that lay beneath. +Silently all these thoughts ripened in his mind, till at last the change +came. We are told that the end came suddenly, the resolve was taken in a +moment. The lake fills and fills until at length it overflows, and in a +night the dam is broken, and the pent-up waters are leaping far towards the sea.</p> + +<p>As the prince returned from his last drive in his garden with resolve +firmly established in his heart, there came to him the news that his +wife had borne to him a son. Wife and child, his cup of desire was now +full. But his resolve was unshaken.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> 'See, here is another tie, alas! a +new and stronger tie that I must break,' he said; but he never wavered.</p> + +<p>That night the prince left the palace. Silently in the dead of night he +left all the luxury about him, and went out secretly with only his +faithful servant, Maung San, to saddle for him his horse and lead him +forth. Only before he left he looked in cautiously to see Yathodaya, the +young wife and mother. She was lying asleep, with one hand upon the face +of her firstborn, and the prince was afraid to go further. 'To see him,' +he said, 'I must remove the hand of his mother, and she may awake; and +if she awake, how shall I depart? I will go, then, without seeing my +son. Later on, when all these passions are faded from my heart, when I +am sure of myself, perhaps then I shall be able to see him. But now I must go.'</p> + +<p>So he went forth very silently and very sadly, and leapt upon his +horse—the great white horse that would not neigh for fear of waking the +sleeping guards—and the prince and his faithful noble Maung San went +out into the night. He was only twenty-eight when he fled from all his +world, and what he sought was this: 'Deliverance for men from the misery +of life, and the knowledge of the truth that will lead them unto the Great Peace.'</p> + +<p>This is the great renunciation.</p> + +<p>I have often talked about this with the monks and others, often heard +them speak about this great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> renunciation, of this parting of the prince +and his wife.</p> + +<p>'You see,' said a monk once to me, 'he was not yet the Buddha, he had +not seen the light, only he was desirous to look for it. He was just a +prince, just a man like any other man, and he was very fond of his wife. +It is very hard to resist a woman if she loves you and cries, and if you +love her. So he was afraid.'</p> + +<p>And when I said that Yathodaya was also religious, and had helped him in +his thoughts, and that surely she would not have stopped him, the monk +shook his head.</p> + +<p>'Women are not like that,' he said.</p> + +<p>And a woman said to me once: 'Surely she was very much to be pitied +because her husband went away from her and her baby. Do you think that +when she talked religion with her husband she ever thought that it would +cause him to leave her and go away for ever? If she had thought that, +she would never have done as she did. A woman would never help anything +to sever her husband from her, not even religion. And when after ten +years a baby had come to her! Surely she was very much to be pitied.' +This woman made me understand that the highest religion of a woman is +the true love of her husband, of her children; and what is it to her if +she gain the whole world, but lose that which she would have?</p> + +<p>All the story of Yathodaya and her dealings with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> her husband is full of +the deepest pathos, full of passionate protest against her loss, even in +order that her husband and all the world should gain. She would have +held him, if she could, against the world, and deemed that she did well. +And so, though it is probable that it was a great deal owing to +Yathodaya's help, to her sympathy, to her support in all his +difficulties, that Gaudama came to his final resolve to leave the world +and seek for the truth, yet she acted unwittingly of what would be the end.</p> + +<p>'She did not know,' said the woman. 'She helped her husband, but she did +not know to what. And when she was ill, when she was giving birth to her +baby, then her husband left her. Surely she was very much to be pitied.'</p> + +<p>And so Yathodaya, the wife of the Prince Gaudama, who became the Buddha, +is held in high honour, in great esteem, by all Buddhists. By the men, +because she helped her husband to his resolve to seek for the truth, +because she had been his great stay and help when everyone was against +him, because if there had been no Yathodaya there had been perchance no +Buddha. And by the women—I need not say why she is honoured by all +women. If ever there was a story that appealed to woman's heart, surely +it is this: her love, her abandonment, her courage, her submission when +they met again in after-years, her protest against being sacrificed upon +the altar of her husband's religion. Truly, it is all of the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +essence of humanity. Whenever the story of the Buddha comes to be +written, then will be written also the story of the life of Yathodaya +his wife. If one is full of wisdom and teaching, the other is full of +suffering and teaching also. I cannot write it here. I have so much to +say on other matters that there is no room. But some day it will be +written, I trust, this old message to a new world.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT—II</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'He who never spake but good and wise words, he who was the light +of the world, has found too soon the Peace.'—<i>Lament on the death +of the Buddha.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The prince rode forth into the night, and as he went, even in the first +flush of his resolve, temptation came to him. As the night closed behind +he remembered all he was leaving: he remembered his father and his +mother; his heart was full of his wife and child.</p> + +<p>'Return!' said the devil to him. 'What seek you here? Return, and be a +good son, a good husband, a good father. Remember all that you are +leaving to pursue vain thoughts. You, a great man—you might be a great +king, as your father wishes—a mighty conqueror of nations. The night is +very dark, and the world before you is very empty.'</p> + +<p>The prince's heart was full of bitterness at the thought of those he +loved, of all that he was losing. Yet he never wavered. He would not +even turn to look his last on the great white city lying in a silver +dream behind him. He set his face upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> his way, trampling beneath him +every worldly consideration, despising a power that was but vanity and +illusion; he went on into the dark.</p> + +<p>Presently he came to a river, the boundary of his father's kingdom, and +here he stopped. Then the prince turned to Maung San, and told him that +he must return. Beyond the river lay for the prince the life of a holy +man, who needed neither servant nor horse, and Maung San must return. +All his prayers were in vain; his supplications that he might be allowed +to follow his master as a disciple; his protestations of eternal faith. +No, he must return; so Maung San went back with the horse, and the +prince was alone.</p> + +<p>As he waited there alone by the river, alone in the dark waiting for the +dawn ere he could cross, alone with his own fears and thoughts, doubt +came to him again. He doubted if he had done right, whether he should +ever find the light, whether, indeed, there was any light to find, and +in his doubt and distress he asked for a sign. He desired that it might +be shown to him whether all his efforts would be in vain or not, whether +he should ever win in the struggle that was before him. We are told that +the sign came to him, and he knew that, whatever happened, in the end +all would go well, and he would find that which he sought.</p> + +<p>So he crossed the river out of his father's kingdom into a strange +country, and he put on the garment of a recluse, and lived as they did.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><p>He sought his bread as they did, going from house to house for the +broken victuals, which he collected in a bowl, retiring to a quiet spot to eat.</p> + +<p>The first time he collected this strange meal and attempted to eat, his +very soul rose against the distastefulness of the mess. He who had been +a prince, and accustomed to the very best of everything, could not at +first bring himself to eat such fare, and the struggle was bitter. But +in the end here, too, he conquered. 'Was I not aware,' he said, with +bitter indignation at his weakness, 'that when I became a recluse I must +eat such food as this? Now is the time to trample upon the appetite of +nature.' He took up his bowl, and ate with a good appetite, and the +fight had never to be fought again.</p> + +<p>So in the fashion of those days he became a seeker after truth. Men, +then, when they desired to find holiness, to seek for that which is +better than the things of this world, had to begin their search by an +utter repudiation of all that which the world holds good. The rich and +worldly wore handsome garments, they would wear rags; those of the world +were careful of their personal appearance, they would despise it; those +of the world were cleanly, the hermits were filthy; those of the world +were decent, and had a care for outward observances, and so hermits had +no care for either decency or modesty. The world was evil, surely, and +therefore all that the world held good was surely evil too. Wisdom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> was +to be sought in the very opposites of the conventions of men.</p> + +<p>The prince took on him their garments, and went to them to learn from +all that which they had learnt. He went to all the wisest hermits of the +land, to those renowned for their wisdom and holiness; and this is what +they taught him, this is all the light they gave to him who came to them +for light. 'There is,' they said, 'the soul and the body of man, and +they are enemies; therefore, to punish the soul, you must destroy and +punish the body. All that the body holds good is evil to the soul.' So +they purified their souls by ceremonies and forms, by torture and +starvation, by nakedness and contempt of decency, by nameless +abominations. And the young prince studied all their teaching, and +essayed to follow their example, and he found it was all of no use. Here +he could find no way to happiness, no raising of the soul to higher +planes, but, rather, a degradation towards the beasts. For +self-punishment is just as much a submission to the flesh as luxury and +self-indulgence. How can you forget the body, and turn the soul to +better thoughts, if you are for ever torturing that body, and thereby +keeping it in memory? You can keep your lusts just as easily before your +eyes by useless punishment as by indulgence. And how can you turn your +mind to meditation and thought if your body is in suffering? So the +prince soon saw that here was not the way he wanted. His soul revolted +from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> them and their austerities, and he left them. As he fathomed the +emptiness of his counsellors of the palace, so he fathomed the emptiness +of the teachers of the cave and monastery. If the powerful and wealthy +were ignorant, wisdom was not to be found among the poor and feeble, and +he was as far from it as when he left the palace. Yet he did not +despair. Truth was somewhere, he was sure; it must be found if only it +be looked for with patience and sincerity, and he would find it. Surely +there was a greater wisdom than mere contempt of wealth and comfort, +surely a greater happiness than could be found in self-torture and +hysteria. And so, as he could find no one to teach him, he went out into +the forest to look for truth there. In the great forest where no one +comes, where the deer feed and the tiger creeps, he would seek what man +could not give him. They would know, those great trees that had seen a +thousand rains, and outlived thirty generations of men; they would know, +those streams that flashed from the far snow summits; surely the forest +and the hills, the dawn and the night, would have something to tell him +of the secrets of the world. Nature can never lie, and here, far away +from the homes of men, he would learn the knowledge that men could not +give him. With a body purified by abstinence, with a heart attuned by +solitude, he would listen as the winds talked to the mountains in the +dusk, and understand the beckoning of the stars. And so, as many others +did then and afterwards, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> left mankind and went to Nature for help. +For six years he lived so in the fastnesses of the hills.</p> + +<p>We are told but very little of those six years, only that he was often +very lonely, often very sad with the remembrance of all whom he had +left. 'Think not,' he said many years later to a favourite +disciple—'think not that I, though the Buddha, have not felt all this +even as any other of you. Was I not alone when I was seeking for wisdom +in the wilderness? And yet what could I have gained by wailing and +lamentation either for myself or for others? Would it have brought to me +any solace from my loneliness? Would it have been any help to those I had left?'</p> + +<p>We are told that his fame as a solitary, as a a man who communed with +Nature, and subdued his own lower feelings, was so great that all men +knew of it. His fame was as a 'bell hung in the canopy of the skies,' +that all nations heard; and many disciples came to him. But despite all +his fame among men, he himself knew that he had not yet come to the +truth. Even the great soul of Nature had failed to tell him what he +desired. The truth was as far off as ever, so he thought, and to those +that came to him for wisdom he had nothing to teach. So, at the end of +six years, despairing of finding that which he sought, he entered upon a +great fast, and he pushed it to such an extreme that at length he +fainted from sheer exhaustion and starvation.</p> + +<p>When he came to himself he recognised that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> had failed again. No +light had shone upon his dimmed eyes, no revelation had come to him in +his senselessness. All was as before, and the truth—the truth, where was that?</p> + +<p>For this man was no inspired teacher. He had no one to show him the way +he should go; he was tried with failure, with failure after failure. He +learnt as other men learn, through suffering and mistake. Here was his +third failure. The rich had failed him, and the poor; even the voices of +the hills had not told him of what he would know; the radiant finger of +dawn had pointed to him no way to happiness. Life was just as miserable, +as empty, as meaningless, as before.</p> + +<p>All that he had done was in vain, and he must try again, must seek out +some new way, if he were ever to find that which he sought.</p> + +<p>He rose from where he lay, and took his bowl in his hands and went to +the nearest village, and ate heartily and drank, and his strength came +back to him, and the beauty he had lost returned.</p> + +<p>And then came the final blow: his disciples left him in scorn.</p> + +<p>'Behold,' they said to each other, 'he has lived through six years of +mortification and suffering in vain. See, now, he goes forth and eats +food, and assuredly he who does this will never attain wisdom. Our +master's search is not after wisdom, but worldly things; we must look +elsewhere for the guidance that we seek.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>They departed, leaving him to bear his disappointment alone, and they +went into the solitude far away, to continue in their own way and pursue +their search after their own method. He who was to be the Buddha had +failed, and was alone.</p> + +<p>To the followers of the Buddha, to those of our brothers who are trying +to follow his teachings and emulate his example to attain a like reward, +can there be any greater help than this: amid the failure and despair of +our own lives to remember that the teacher failed, even as we are doing? +If we find the way dark and weary, if our footsteps fail, if we wander +in wrong paths, did not he do the same? And if we find we have to bear +sufferings alone, so had he; if we find no one who can comfort us, +neither did he; as we know in our hearts that we stand alone, to fight +with our own hands, so did he. He is no model of perfection whom it is +hopeless for us to imitate, but a man like ourselves, who failed and +fought, and failed and fought again, and won. And so, if we fail, we +need not despair. Did not our teacher fail? What he has done, we can do, +for he has told us so. Let us be up again and be of good heart, and we, +too, shall win in the end, even as he did. The reward will come in its +own good time if we strive and faint not.</p> + +<p>Surely this comes home to all of our hearts—this failure of him who +found the light. That he should have won—ah, well, that is beautiful; +but that he should have failed—and failed, that is what comes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> home to +us, because we too have failed many times. Can you wonder that his +followers love him? Can you wonder that his teaching has come home to +them as never did teaching elsewhere? I do not think it is hard to see +why: it is simply because he was a man as we are. Had he been other than +a man, had truth been revealed to him from the beginning, had he never +fought, had he never failed, do you think that he would have held the +love of men as he does? I fear, had it been so, this people would have +lacked a soul.</p> + +<p>His disciples left him, and he was alone. He went away to a great grove +of trees near by—those beautiful groves of mango and palm and fig that +are the delight of the heart in that land of burning, flooding +sunshine—and there he slept, defeated, discredited, and abandoned; and +there the truth came to him.</p> + +<p>There is a story of how a young wife, coming to offer her little +offerings to the spirit of the great fig-tree, saw him, and took him for +the spirit, so beautiful was his face as he rose.</p> + +<p>There are spirits in all the great trees, in all the rivers, in all the +hills—very beautiful, very peaceful, loving calm and rest.</p> + +<p>The woman thought he was the spirit come down to accept her offering, +and she gave it to him—the cup of curdled milk—in fear and trembling, +and he took it. The woman went away again full of hope and joy, and the +prince remained in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> grove. He lived there for forty-nine days, we +are told, under the great fig-tree by the river. And the fig-tree has +become sacred for ever because he sat there and because there he found +the truth. We are told of it all in wonderful trope and imagery—of his +last fight over sin, and of his victory.</p> + +<p>There the truth came to him at last out of his own heart. He had sought +for it in men and in Nature, and found it not, and, lo! it was in his own heart.</p> + +<p>When his eyes were cleared of imaginings, and his body purified by +temperance, then at last he saw, down in his own soul, what he had +sought the world over for. Every man carries it there. It is never dead, +but lives with our life, this light that we seek. We darken it, and turn +our faces from it to follow strange lights, to pursue vague glimmers in +the dark, and there, all the time, is the light in each man's own heart. +Darkened it may be, crusted over with our ignorance and sin, but never +dead, never dead, always burning brightly for us when we care to seek for it.</p> + +<p>The truth for each man is in his own soul. And so it came at last, and +he who saw the light went forth and preached it to all the world. He +lived a long life, a life full of wonderful teaching, of still more +marvellous example. All the world loved him.</p> + +<p>He saw again Yathodaya, she who had been his wife; he saw his son. Now, +when passion was dead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> in him, he could do these things. And Yathodaya +was full of despair, for if all the world had gained a teacher, she had +lost a husband. So it will be for ever. This is the difference between +men and women. She became a nun, poor soul! and her son—his son—became +one of his disciples.</p> + +<p>I do not think it is necessary for me to tell much more of his life. +Much has been told already by Professor Max Müller and other scholars, +who have spared no pains to come to the truth of that life. I do not +wish to say more. So far, I have written to emphasize the view which, I +think, the Burmese take of the Buddha, and how he came to his wisdom, +how he loved, and how he died.</p> + +<p>He died at a great age, full of years and love. The story of his death +is most beautiful. There is nowhere anything more wonderful than how, at +the end of that long good life, he entered into the Great Peace for +which he had prepared his soul.</p> + +<p>'Ananda,' he said to his weeping disciple, 'do not be too much concerned +with what shall remain of me when I have entered into the Peace, but be +rather anxious to practise the works that lead to perfection; put on +those inward dispositions that will enable you also to reach the everlasting rest.'</p> + +<p>And again:</p> + +<p>'When I shall have left life and am no more seen by you, do not believe +that I am no longer with you. You have the laws that I have found, you +have my teachings still, and in them I shall be ever beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> you. Do +not, therefore, think that I have left you alone for ever.'</p> + +<p>And before he died:</p> + +<p>'Remember,' he said, 'that life and death are one. Never forget this. +For this purpose have I gathered you together; for life and death are one.'</p> + +<p>And so 'the great and glorious teacher,' he who never spoke but good and +wise words, he who has been the light of the world, entered into the Peace.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Come to Me: I teach a doctrine which leads to deliverance from all +the miseries of life.'—<i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>To understand the teaching of Buddhism, it must be remembered that to +the Buddhist, as to the Brahmin, man's soul is eternal.</p> + +<p>In other faiths and other philosophies this is not so. There the soul is +immortal; it cannot die, but each man's soul appeared newly on his +birth. Its beginning is very recent.</p> + +<p>To the Buddhist the beginning as well as the end is out of our ken. +Where we came from we cannot know, but certainly the soul that appears +in each newborn babe is not a new thing. It has come from everlasting, +and the present life is merely a scene in the endless drama of +existence. A man's identity, the sum of good and of evil tendencies, +which is his soul, never dies, but endures for ever. Each body is but a +case wherein the soul is enshrined for the time.</p> + +<p>And the state of that soul, whether good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>predominate in it or evil, is +purely dependent on that soul's thoughts and actions in time past.</p> + +<p>Men are not born by chance wise or foolish, righteous or wicked, strong +or feeble. A man's condition in life is the absolute result of an +eternal law that as a man sows so shall he reap; that as he reaps so has he sown.</p> + +<p>Therefore, if you find a man's desires naturally given towards evil, it +is because he has in his past lives educated himself to evil. And if he +is righteous and charitable, long-suffering and full of sympathy, it is +because in his past existence he has cultivated these virtues; he has +followed goodness, and it has become a habit of his soul.</p> + +<p>Thus is every man his own maker. He has no one to blame for his +imperfections but himself, no one to thank for his virtues but himself. +Within the unchangeable laws of righteousness each man is absolutely the +creator of himself and of his own destiny. It has lain, and it lies, +within each man's power to determine what manner of man he shall be. +Nay, it not only lies within his power to do so, but a man <i>must</i> +actually mould himself. There is no other way in which he can develop.</p> + +<p>Every man has had an equal chance. If matters are somewhat unequal now, +there is no one to blame but himself. It is within his power to retrieve +it, not perhaps in this short life, but in the next, maybe, or the next.</p> + +<p>Man is not made perfect all of a sudden, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> takes time to grow, like +all valuable things. You might as well expect to raise a teak-tree in +your garden in a night as to make a righteous man in a day. And thus not +only is a man the sum of his passions, his acts and his thoughts, in +past time, but he is in his daily life determining his future—what sort +of man he shall be. Every act, every thought, has its effect, not only +upon the outer world, but upon the inner soul. If you follow after evil, +it becomes in time a habit of your soul. If you follow after good, every +good act is a beautifying touch to your own soul.</p> + +<p>Man is as he has made himself; man will be as he makes himself. This is +a very simple theory, surely. It is not at all difficult to understand +the Buddhist standpoint in the matter. It is merely the theory of +evolution applied to the soul, with this difference: that in its later +stages it has become a deliberate and a conscious evolution, and not an +unconscious one.</p> + +<p>And the deduction from this is also simple. It is true, says Buddhism, +that every man is the architect of himself, that he can make himself as +he chooses. Now, what every man desires is happiness. As a man can form +himself as he will, it is within his power to make himself happy, if he +only knows how. Let us therefore carefully consider what happiness is, +that we may attain it; what misery is, that we may avoid it.</p> + +<p>It is a commonplace of many religions, and of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> many philosophies—nay, +it is the actual base upon which they have been built, that this is an evil world.</p> + +<p>Judaism, indeed, thought that the world was really a capital place, and +that it was worth while doing well in order to enjoy it. But most other +faiths thought very differently. Indeed, the very meaning of most +religions and philosophies has been that they should be refuges from the +wickedness and unhappiness of the world. According to them the world has +been a very weary world, full of wickedness and of deceit, of war and +strife, of untruth and of hate, of all sorts of evil.</p> + +<p>The world has been wicked, and man has been unhappy in it.</p> + +<p>'I do not know that any theory has usually been propounded to explain +why this is so. It has been accepted as a fact that man is unhappy, +accepted, I think, by most faiths over the world. Indeed, it is the +belief that has been, one thinks, the cause of faiths. Had the world +been happy, surely there had been no need of religions. In a summer sea, +where is the need of havens? It is a generally-accepted fact, accepted, +as I have said, without explanation. But the Buddhist has not been +contented to leave it so. He has thought that it is in the right +explanation of this cardinal fact that lies all truth. Life suffers from +a disease called misery. He would be free from it. Let us, then, says +the Buddhist, first discover the cause of this misery, and so only can +we understand how to cure it.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> It is this explanation which is really +the distinguishing tenet of Buddhism, which differentiates it from all +other faiths and all philosophies.</p> + +<p>The reason, says Buddhism, why men are unhappy is that they are alive. +Life and sorrow are inseparable—nay, they are one and the same thing. +The mere fact of being alive is a misery. When you have clear eyes and +discern the truth, you shall see this without a doubt, says the +Buddhist. For consider, What man has ever sat down and said: 'Now am I +in perfect happiness; just as I now am would I like to remain for ever +and for ever without change'? No man has ever done so. What men desire +is change. They weary of the present, and desire the future; and when +the future comes they find it no better than the past. Happiness lies in +yesterday and in to-morrow, but never in to-day. In youth we look +forward, in age we look back. What is change but the death of the +present? Life is change, and change is death, so says the Buddhist. Men +shudder at and fear death, and yet death and life are the same +thing—inseparable, indistinguishable, and one with sorrow. We men who +desire life are as men athirst and drinking of the sea. Every drop we +drink of the poisoned sea of existence urges on men surely to greater +thirst still. Yet we drink on blindly, and say that we are athirst.</p> + +<p>This is the explanation of Buddhism. The world is unhappy because it is +alive, because it does not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> see that what it should strive for is not +life, not change and hurry and discontent and death, but peace—the +Great Peace. There is the goal to which a man should strive.</p> + +<p>See now how different it is from the Christian theory. In Christianity +there are two lives—this and the next. The present is evil, because it +is under the empire of the devil—the world, the flesh, and the devil. +The next will be beautiful, because it is under the reign of God, and +the devil cannot intrude.</p> + +<p>But Buddhism acknowledges only one life—an existence that has come from +the forever, that may extend to the forever. If this life is evil, then +is all life evil, and happiness can live but in peace, in surcease from +the troubles of this weary world. If, then, a man desire happiness—and +in all faiths that is the desired end—he must strive to attain peace. +This, again, is not a difficult idea to understand. It seems to me so +simple that, when once it has been listened to, it may be understood by +a child. I do not say believed and followed, but understood. Belief is a +different matter. 'The law is deep; it is difficult to know and to +believe it. It is very sublime, and can be comprehended only by means of +earnest meditation,' for Buddhism is not a religion of children, but of men.</p> + +<p>This is the doctrine that has caused Buddhism to be called pessimism. +Taught, as we have been taught, to believe that life and death are +antagonistic,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> that life in the world to come is beautiful, that death +is a horror, it seems to us terrible to think that it is indeed our very +life itself that is the evil to be eradicated, and that life and death +are the same. But to those that have seen the truth, and believed it, it +is not terrible, but beautiful. When you have cleansed your eyes from +the falseness of the flesh, and come face to face with truth, it is +beautiful. 'The law is sweet, filling the heart with joy.'</p> + +<p>To the Buddhist, then, the end to be obtained is the Great Peace, the +mighty deliverance from all sorrow. He must strive after peace; on his +own efforts depends success or failure.</p> + +<p>When the end and the agent have been determined, there remains but to +discover the means, the road whereby the end may be reached. How shall a +man so think and so act that he shall come at length unto the Great +Peace? And the answer of Buddhism to this question is here: good deeds +and good thoughts—these are the gate wherein alone you may enter into +the way. Be honourable and just, be kind and compassionate, truth-loving +and averse to wrong—this is the beginning of the road that leads unto +happiness. Do good to others, not in order that they may do good to you, +but because, by doing so, you do good to your own soul. Give alms, and +be charitable, for these things are necessary to a man. Above all, learn +love and sympathy. Try to feel as others feel, try to understand them, +try to sympathize with them, and love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> will come. Surely he was a +Buddhist at heart who wrote: 'Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.' +There is no balm to a man's heart like love, not only the love others +feel towards him, but that he feels towards others. Be in love with all +things, not only with your fellows, but with the whole world, with every +creature that walks the earth, with the birds in the air, with the +insects in the grass. All life is akin to man. Man's life is not apart +from other life, but of it, and if a man would make his heart perfect, +he must learn to sympathize with and understand all the great world +about him. But he must always remember that he himself comes first. To +make others just, you must yourself be just; to make others happy, you +must yourself be happy first; to be loved, you must first love. Consider +your own soul, to make it lovely. Such is the teaching of Buddha. But if +this were all, then would Buddhism be but a repetition of the +commonplaces of all religions, of all philosophies. In this teaching of +righteousness is nothing new. Many teachers have taught it, and all have +learnt in the end that righteousness is no sure road to happiness, to +peace. Buddhism goes farther than this. Honour and righteousness, truth +and love, are, it says, very beautiful things, but are only the +beginning of the way; they are but the gate. In themselves they will +never bring a man home to the Great Peace. Herein lies no salvation from +the troubles of the world. Far more is required of a man than to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +righteous. Holiness alone is not the gate to happiness, and all that +have tried have found it so. It alone will not give man surcease from +pain. When a man has so purified his heart by love, has so weaned +himself from wickedness by good acts and deeds, then he shall have eyes +to see the further way that he should go. Then shall appear to him the +truth that it is indeed life that is the evil to be avoided; that life +is sorrow, and that the man who would escape evil and sorrow must escape +from life itself—not in death. The death of this life is but the +commencement of another, just as, if you dam a stream in one direction, +it will burst forth in another. To take one's life now is to condemn +one's self to longer and more miserable life hereafter. The end of +misery lies in the Great Peace. A man must estrange himself from the +world, which is sorrow. Hating struggle and fight, he will learn to love +peace, and to so discipline his soul that the world shall appear to him +clearly to be the unrest which it is. Then, when his heart is fixed upon +the Great Peace, shall his soul come to it at last. Weary of the earth, +it shall come into the haven where there are no more storms, where there +is no more struggle, but where reigns unutterable peace. It is not +death, but the Great Peace.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'Ever pure, and mirror bright and even,</div> +<div>Life among the immortals glides away;</div> +<div>Moons are waning, generations changing,</div> +<div>Their celestial life flows everlasting,</div> +<div>Changeless 'midst a ruined world's decay.'</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>This is Nirvana, the end to which we must all strive, the only end that +there can be to the trouble of the world. Each man must realize this for +himself, each man will do so surely in time, and all will come into the +haven of rest. Surely this is a simple faith, the only belief that the +world has known that is free from mystery and dogma, from ceremony and +priestcraft; and to know that it is a beautiful faith you have but to +look at its believers and be sure. If a people be contented in their +faith, if they love it and exalt it, and are never ashamed of it, and if +it exalts them and makes them happy, what greater testimony can you have than that?</p> + +<p>It will seem that indeed I have compressed the teaching of this faith +into too small a space—this faith about which so many books have been +written, so much discussion has taken place. But I do not think it is +so. I cannot see that even in this short chapter I have left out +anything that is important in Buddhism. It is such a simple faith that +all may be said in a very few words. It would be, of course, possible to +refine on and gloze over certain points of the teaching. Where would be +the use? The real proof of the faith is in the results, in the deeds +that men do in its name. Discussion will not alter these one way or another.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>WAR—I</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'Love each other and live in peace.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>This is the Buddhist belief as I have understood it, and I have written +so far in order to explain what follows. For my object is not to explain +what the Buddha taught, but what the Burmese believe; and this is not +quite the same thing, though in nearly every action of their life the +influence of Buddhism is visible more or less strongly. Therefore I +propose to describe shortly the ideas of the Burmese people upon the +main objects of life; and to show how much or how little Buddhism has +affected their conceptions. I will begin with courage.</p> + +<p>I think it will be evident that there is no quality upon which the +success of a nation so much depends as upon its courage. No nation can +rise to a high place without being brave; it cannot maintain its +independence even; it cannot push forward upon any path of life without +courage. Nations that are cowards must fail.</p> + +<p>I am aware that the courage of a nation depends,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> as do its other +qualities, upon many things: its situation with regard to other nations, +its climate, its food, its occupations. It is a great subject that I +cannot go into. I wish to take all such things as I find them, and to +discuss only the effect of the religion upon the courage of the people, +upon its fighting capabilities. That religion may have a very serious +effect one way or the other, no one can doubt. I went through the war of +annexation, from 1885 to 1889, and from it I will draw my examples.</p> + +<p>When we declared war in Upper Burma, and the column advanced up the +river in November, 1885, there was hardly any opposition. A little fight +there was at the frontier fort of Minhla, but beyond that nothing. The +river that might have been blocked was open; the earthworks had no +cannon, the men no guns. Such a collapse was never seen. There was no +organization, no material, no money. The men wanted officers to command +and teach them; the officers wanted authority and ability to command. +The people looked to their rulers to repel the invaders; the rulers +looked to the people. There was no common intelligence or will between +them. Everything was wanting; nothing was as it should be. And so +Mandalay fell without a shot, and King Thibaw, the young, incapable, +kind-hearted king, was taken into captivity.</p> + +<p>That was the end of the first act, brief and bloodless. For a time the +people were stupefied. They could not understand what had happened; +they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> could not guess what was going to happen. They expected that the +English would soon retire, and that then their own government would +reorganize itself. Meanwhile they kept quiet.</p> + +<p>It is curious to think how peaceful the country really was from +November, 1885, till June, 1886. Then the trouble came. The people had +by that time, even in the wild forest villages, begun to understand that +we wanted to stay, that we did not intend going away unless forced to. +They felt that it was of no further use looking to Mandalay for help. We +had begun, too, to consider about collecting taxes, to interfere with +the simple machinery of local affairs, to show that we meant to govern. +And as the people did not desire to be governed—certainly not by +foreigners, at least—they began to organize resistance. They looked to +their local leaders for help, and, as too often these local governors +were not very capable men, they sought, as all people have done, the +assistance of such men of war as they could find—brigands, and +freelances, and the like—and put themselves under their orders. The +whole country rose, from Bhamo to Minhla, from the Shan Plateau to the +Chin Mountains. All Upper Burma was in a passion of insurrection, a very +fury of rebellion against the usurping foreigners. Our authority was +confined to the range of our guns. Our forts were attacked, our convoys +ambushed, our steamers fired into on the rivers. There was no safety for +an Englishman or a native of India,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> save within the lines of our +troops, and it was soon felt that these troops were far too few to cope +with the danger. To overthrow King Thibaw was easy, to subdue the people +a very different thing.</p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to describe the state of Upper Burma in 1886. It +must be remembered that the central government was never very strong—in +fact, that beyond collecting a certain amount of taxes, and appointing +governors to the different provinces, it hardly made itself felt outside +Mandalay and the large river towns. The people to a great extent +governed themselves. They had a very good system of village government, +and managed nearly all their local affairs. But beyond the presence of a +governor, there was but little to attach them to the central government. +There was, and is, absolutely no aristocracy of any kind at all. The +Burmese are a community of equals, in a sense that has probably never +been known elsewhere. All their institutions are the very opposite to +feudalism. Now, feudalism was instituted to be useful in war. The +Burmese customs were instituted that men should live in comfort and ease +during peace; they were useless in war. So the natural leaders of a +people, as in other countries, were absent. There were no local great +men; the governors were men appointed from time to time from Mandalay, +and usually knew nothing of their charges; there were no rich men, no +large land-holders—not one. There still remained, however,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> one +institution that other nations have made useful in war, namely, the +organization of religion. For Buddhism is fairly well +organized—certainly much better than ever the government was. It has +its heads of monasteries, its Gaing-dauks, its Gaing-oks, and finally +the Thathanabaing, the head of the Burmese Buddhism. The overthrow of +King Thibaw had not injured any of this. This was an organization in +touch with the whole people, revered and honoured by every man and woman +and child in the country. In this terrible scene of anarchy and +confusion, in this death peril of their nation, what were the monks doing?</p> + +<p>We know what religion can do. We have seen how it can preach war and +resistance, and can organize that war and resistance. We know what ten +thousand priests preaching in ten thousand hamlets can effect in making +a people almost unconquerable, in directing their armies, in +strengthening their determination. We remember La Vendée, we remember +our Puritans, and we have had recent experience in the Soudan. We know +what Christianity has done again and again; what Judaism, what +Mahommedanism, what many kinds of paganism, have done.</p> + +<p>To those coming to Burma in those days, fresh from the teachings of +Europe, remembering recent events in history, ignorant of what Buddhism +means, there was nothing more surprising than the fact that in this war +religion had no place. They rode<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> about and saw the country full of +monasteries; they saw the monasteries full of monks, whom they called +priests; they saw that the people were intensely attached to their +religion; they had daily evidence that Buddhism was an abiding faith in +the hearts of the people. And yet, for all the assistance it was to them +in the war, the Burmese might have had no faith at all.</p> + +<p>And the explanation is, that the teachings of the Buddha forbid war. All +killing is wrong, all war is hateful; nothing is more terrible than this +destroying of your fellow-man. There is absolutely no getting free of +this commandment. The teaching of the Buddha is that you must strive to +make your own soul perfect. This is the first of all things, and comes +before any other consideration. Be pure and kind-hearted, full of +charity and compassion, and so you may do good to others. These are the +vows the Buddhist monks make, these are the vows they keep; and so it +happened that all that great organization was useless to the patriot +fighter, was worse than useless, for it was against him. The whole +spectacle of Burma in those days, with the country seething with strife, +and the monks going about their business calmly as ever, begging their +bread from door to door, preaching of peace, not war, of kindness, not +hatred, of pity, not revenge, was to most foreigners quite inexplicable. +They could not understand it. I remember a friend of mine with whom I +went through many experiences<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> speaking of it with scorn. He was a +cavalry officer, 'the model of a light cavalry officer'; he had with him +a squadron of his regiment, and we were trying to subdue a very troubled +part of the country.</p> + +<p>We were camping in a monastery, as we frequently did—a monastery on a +hill near a high golden pagoda. The country all round was under the sway +of a brigand leader, and sorely the villagers suffered at his hands now +that he had leapt into unexpected power. The villages were half +abandoned, the fields untilled, the people full of unrest; but the +monasteries were as full of monks as ever; the gongs rang, as they ever +did, their message through the quiet evening air; the little boys were +taught there just the same; the trees were watered and the gardens swept +as if there were no change at all—as if the king were still on his +golden throne, and the English had never come; as if war had never burst +upon them. And to us, after the very different scenes we saw now and +then, saw and acted in, these monks and their monasteries were difficult +to understand. The religion of the Buddha thus professed was strange.</p> + +<p>'What is the use,' said my friend, 'of this religion that we see so many +signs of? Suppose these men had been Jews or Hindus or Mussulmans, it +would have been a very different business, this war. These yellow-robed +monks, instead of sitting in their monasteries, would have pervaded the +country, preaching against us and organizing. No one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> organizes better +than an ecclesiastic. We should have had them leading their men into +action with sacred banners, and promising them heaven hereafter when +they died. They would have made Ghazis of them. Any one of these is a +religion worth having. But what is the use of Buddhism? What do these +monks do? I never see them in a fight, never hear that they are doing +anything to organize the people. It is, perhaps, as well for us that +they do not. But what is the use of Buddhism?'</p> + +<p>So, or somewhat like this, spoke my friend, speaking as a soldier. Each +of us speaks from our own standpoint. He was a brilliant soldier, and a +religion was to him a sword, a thing to fight with. That was one of the +first uses of a religion. He knew nothing of Buddhism; he cared to know +nothing, beyond whether it would fight. If so, it was a good religion in +its way. If not, then not.</p> + +<p>Religion meant to him something that would help you in your trouble, +that would be a stay and a comfort, a sword to your enemies and a prop +for yourself. Though he was himself an invader, he felt that the Burmans +did no wrong in resisting him. They fought for their homes, as he would +have fought; and their religion, if of any value, should assist them. It +should urge them to battle, and promise them peace and happiness if +dying in a good cause. His faith would do this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> for him. What was +Buddhism doing? What help did it give to its believers in their +extremity? It gave none. Think of the peasant lying there in the ghostly +dim-lit fields waiting to attack us at the dawn. Where was his help? He +thought, perhaps, of his king deported, his village invaded, his friends +killed, himself reduced to the subject of a far-off queen. He would +fight—yes, even though his faith told him not. There was no help there. +His was no faith to strengthen his arm, to straighten his aim, to be his +shield in the hour of danger.</p> + +<p>If he died, if in the strife of the morning's fight he were to be +killed, if a bullet were to still his heart, or a lance to pierce his +chest, there was no hope for him of the glory of heaven. No, but every +fear of hell, for he was sinning against the laws of +righteousness—'Thou shalt take no life.' There is no exception to that +at all, not even for a patriot fighting for his country. 'Thou shalt not +take the life even of him who is the enemy of thy king and nation.' He +could count on no help in breaking the everlasting laws that the Buddha +has revealed to us. If he went to his monks, they could but say: 'See +the law, the unchangeable law that man is subject to. There is no good +thing but peace, no sin like strife and war.' That is what the followers +of the great teacher would tell the peasant yearning for help to strike +a blow upon the invaders. The law is the same for all. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> is not one +law for you and another for the foreigner; there is not one law to-day +and another to-morrow. Truth is for ever and for ever. It cannot change +even to help you in your extremity. Think of the English soldier and the +Burmese peasant. Can there be anywhere a greater contrast than this?</p> + +<p>Truly this is not a creed for a soldier, not a creed for a fighting-man +of any kind, for what the soldier wants is a personal god who will +always be on his side, always share his opinions, always support him +against everyone else. But a law that points out unalterably that right +is always right, and wrong always wrong, that nothing can alter one into +the other, nothing can ever make killing righteous and violence +honourable, that is no creed for a soldier. And Buddhism has ever done +this. It never bent to popular opinion, never made itself a tool in the +hands of worldly passion. It could not. You might as well say to +gravity, 'I want to lift this stone; please don't act on it for a time,' +as expect Buddhism to assist you to make war. Buddhism is the +unalterable law of righteousness, and cannot ally itself with evil, +cannot ever be persuaded that under any circumstances evil can be good.</p> + +<p>The Burmese peasant had to fight his own fight in 1885 alone. His king +was gone, his government broken up, he had no leaders. He had no god to +stand beside him when he fired at the foreign invaders; and when he lay +a-dying, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> bullet in his throat, he had no one to open to him the +gates of heaven.</p> + +<p>Yet he fought—with every possible discouragement he fought, and +sometimes he fought well. It has been thrown against him as a reproach +that he did not do better. Those who have said this have never thought, +never counted up the odds against him, never taken into consideration +how often he did well.</p> + +<p>Here was a people—a very poor people of peasants—with no leaders, +absolutely none; no aristocracy of any kind, no cohesion, no fighting +religion. They had for their leaders outlaws and desperadoes, and for +arms old flint-lock guns and soft iron swords. Could anything be +expected from this except what actually did happen? And yet they often +did well, their natural courage overcoming their bad weapons, their +passionate desire of freedom giving them the necessary impulse.</p> + +<p>In 1886, as I have said, all Burma was up. Even in the lower country, +which we held for so long, insurrection was spreading fast, and troops +and military police were being poured in from India.</p> + +<p>There is above Mandalay a large trading village—a small town +almost—called Shemmaga. It is the river port for a large trade in salt +from the inner country, and it was important to hold it. The village lay +along the river bank, and about the middle of it, some two hundred yards +from the river, rises a small hill. Thus the village was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> triangle, +with the base on the river, and the hill as apex. On the hill were some +monasteries of teak, from which the monks had been ejected, and three +hundred Ghurkas were in garrison there. A strong fence ran from the hill +to the river like two arms, and there were three gates, one just by the +hill, and one on each end of the river face.</p> + +<p>Behind Shemmaga the country was under the rule of a robber chief called +Maung Yaing, who could raise from among the peasants some two hundred or +three hundred men, armed mostly with flint-locks. He had been in the +king's time a brigand with a small number of followers, who defied or +eluded the local authorities, and lived free in quarters among the most +distant villages. Like many a robber chief in our country and elsewhere, +he was liked rather than hated by the people, for his brutalities were +confined to either strangers or personal enemies, and he was open-handed +and generous. We look upon things now with different eyes to what we did +two or three hundred years ago, but I dare say Maung Yaing was neither +better nor worse than many a hero of ours long ago. He was a fairly good +fighter, and had a little experience fighting the king's troops; and so +it was very natural, when the machinery of government fell like a house +of cards, and some leaders were wanted, that the young men should crowd +to him, and put themselves under his orders. He had usually with him +forty or fifty men, but he could, as I have said, raise five or six +times as many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> for any particular service, and keep them together for a +few days. He very soon discovered that he and his men were absolutely no +match for our troops. In two or three attempts that he made to oppose +the troops he was signally worsted, so he was obliged to change his +tactics. He decided to boycott the enemy. No Burman was to accept +service under him, to give him information or supplies, to be his guide, +or to assist him in any way. This rule Maung Yaing made generally known, +and he announced his intention of enforcing it with rigour. He did so. +There was a head man of a village near Shemmaga whom he executed because +he had acted as guide to a body of troops, and he cut off all supplies +from the interior, lying on the roads, and stopping all men from +entering Shemmaga. He further issued a notice that the inhabitants of +Shemmaga itself should leave the town. They could not move the garrison, +therefore the people must move themselves. No assistance must be given +to the enemy. The villagers of Shemmaga, mostly small traders in salt +and rice, were naturally averse to leaving. This trade was their only +means of livelihood, the houses their only homes, and they did not like +the idea of going out into the unknown country behind. Moreover, the +exaction by Maung Yaing of money and supplies for his men fell most +heavily on the wealthier men, and on the whole they were not sorry to +have the English garrison in the town, so that they could trade in +peace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> Some few left, but most did not, and though they collected +money, and sent it to Maung Yaing, they at the same time told the +English officer in command of Maung Yaing's threats, and begged that +great care should be taken of the town, for Maung Yaing was very angry. +When he found he could not cause the abandonment of the town, he sent in +word to say that he would burn it. Not three hundred foreigners, nor +three thousand, should protect these lazy, unpatriotic folk from his +vengeance. He gave them till the new moon of a certain month, and if the +town were not evacuated by that time he declared that he would destroy +it. He would burn it down, and kill certain men whom he mentioned, who +had been the principal assistants of the foreigners. This warning was +quite public, and came to the ears of the English officer almost at +once. When he heard it he laughed.</p> + +<p>He had three hundred men, and the rebels had three hundred. His were all +magnificently trained and drilled troops, men made for war; the Burmans +were peasants, unarmed, untrained. He was sure he could defeat three +thousand of them, or ten times that number, with his little force, and +so, of course, he could if he met them in the open; no one knew that +better, by bitter experience, than Maung Yaing. The villagers, too, +knew, but nevertheless they were stricken with fear, for Maung Yaing was +a man of his word. He was as good as his threat.</p> + +<p>One night, at midnight, the face of the fort where the Ghurkas lived on +the hill was suddenly attacked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Out of the brushwood near by a heavy +fire was opened upon the breastwork, and there was shouting and beating +of gongs. So all the Ghurkas turned out in a hurry, and ran to man the +breastwork, and the return fire became hot and heavy. In a moment, as it +seemed, the attackers were in the village. They had burst in the north +gate by the river face, killed the Burmese guard on it, and streamed in. +They lit torches from a fire they found burning, and in a moment the +village was on fire. Looking down from the hill, you could see the +village rushing into flame, and in the lurid light men and women and +children running about wildly. There were shouts and screams and shots. +No one who has never heard it, never seen it, can know what a village is +like when the enemy has burst in at night. Everyone is mad with hate, +with despair, with terror. They run to and fro, seeking to kill, seeking +to escape being killed. It is impossible to tell one from another. The +bravest man is dismayed. And the noise is like a great moan coming out +of the night, pierced with sharp cries. It rises and falls, like the +death-cry of a dying giant. It is the most terrible sound in the world. +It makes the heart stop.</p> + +<p>To the Ghurkas this sight and sound came all of a sudden, as they were +defending what they took to be a determined attack on their own +position. The village was lost ere they knew it was attacked. And two +steamers full of troops, anchored off the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> town, saw it, too. They were +on their way up country, and had halted there that night, anchored in +the stream. They were close by, but could not fire, for there was no +telling friend from foe.</p> + +<p>Before the relief party of Ghurkas could come swarming down the hill, +only two hundred yards, before the boats could land the eager troops +from the steamers, the rebels were gone. They went through the village +and out of the south gate. They had fulfilled their threat and destroyed +the town. They had killed the men they had declared they would kill. The +firing died away from the fort side, and the enemy were gone, no one +could tell whither, into the night.</p> + +<p>Such a scene of desolation as that village was next day! It was all +destroyed—every house. All the food was gone, all furniture, all +clothes, everything, and here and there was a corpse in among the +blackened cinders. The whole countryside was terror-stricken at this +failure to defend those who had depended on us.</p> + +<p>I do not think this was a particularly gallant act, but it was a very +able one. It was certainly war. It taught us a very severe lesson—more +severe than a personal reverse would have been. It struck terror in the +countryside. The memory of it hampered us for very long; even now they +often talk of it. It was a brutal act—that of a brigand, not a soldier.</p> + +<p>But there was no want of courage. If these men,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> inferior in number, in +arms, in everything, could do this under the lead of a robber chief, +what would they not have done if well led, if well trained, if well armed?</p> + +<p>Of desperate encounters between our troops and the insurgents I could +tell many a story. I have myself seen such fights. They nearly always +ended in our favour—how could it be otherwise?</p> + +<p>There was Ta Te, who occupied a pagoda enclosure with some eighty men, +and was attacked by our mounted infantry. There was a long fight in that +hot afternoon, and very soon the insurgents' ammunition began to fail, +and the pagoda was stormed. Many men were killed, and Ta Te, when his +men were nearly all dead, and his ammunition quite expended, climbed up +the pagoda wall, and twisted off pieces of the cement and threw them at +the troops. He would not surrender—not he—and he was killed. There +were many like him. The whole war was little affairs of this kind—a +hundred, three hundred, of our men, and much the same, or a little more, +of theirs. They only once or twice raised a force of two thousand men. +Nothing can speak more forcibly of their want of organization than this. +The whole country was pervaded by bands of fifty or a hundred men, very +rarely amounting to more than two hundred, never, I think, to five +hundred, armed men, and no two bands ever acted in concert.</p> + +<p>It is probable that most of the best men of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> country were against +us. It is certain, I think, that of those who openly joined us and +accompanied us in our expedition, very, very few were other than men who +had some private grudge to avenge, or some purpose to gain, by opposing +their own people. Of such as these you cannot expect very much. And yet +there were exceptions—men who showed up all the more brilliantly +because they were exceptions—men whom I shall always honour. There were +two I remember best of all. They are both dead now.</p> + +<p>One was the eldest son of the hereditary governor of a part of the +country called Kawlin. It is in the north-west of Upper Burma, and +bordered on a semi-independent state called Wuntho. In the troubles that +occurred after the deposition of King Thibaw, the Prince of Wuntho +thought that he would be able to make for himself an independent +kingdom, and he began by annexing Kawlin. So the governor had to flee, +and with him his sons, and naturally enough they joined our columns when +we advanced in that direction, hoping to be replaced. They were +replaced, the father as governor under the direction of an English +magistrate, and the son as his assistant. They were only kept there by +our troops, and upheld in authority by our power against Wuntho. But +they were desired by many of their own people, and so, perhaps, they +could hardly be called traitors, as many of those who joined us were. +The father was a useless old man, but his son, he of whom I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> speak, was +brave and honourable, good tempered and courteous, beyond most men whom +I have met. It was well known that he was the real power behind his +father. It was he who assisted us in an attempt to quell the +insurrections and catch the raiders that troubled our peace, and many a +time they tried to kill him, many a time to murder him as he slept.</p> + +<p>There was a large gang of insurgents who came across the Mu River one +day, and robbed one of his villages, so a squadron of cavalry was sent +in pursuit. We travelled fast and long, but we could not catch the +raiders. We crossed the Mu into unknown country, following their tracks, +and at last, being without guides, we camped that night in a little +monastery in the forest. At midnight we were attacked. A road ran +through our camp, and there was a picket at each end of the road, and +sentries were doubled.</p> + +<p>It was just after midnight that the first shot was fired. We were all +asleep when a sudden volley was poured into the south picket, killing +one sentry and wounding another. There was no time to dress, and we ran +down the steps as we were (in sleeping dresses), to find the men rapidly +falling in, and the horses kicking at their pickets. It was pitch-dark. +The monastery was on a little cleared space, and there was forest all +round that looked very black. Just as we came to the foot of the steps +an outbreak of firing and shouts came from the north, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> Burmese +tried to rush our camp from there; then they tried to rush it again from +the south, but all their attempts were baffled by the steadiness of the +pickets and the reinforcements that were running up. So the Burmese, +finding the surprise ineffectual, and that the camp could not be taken, +spread themselves about in the forest in vantage places, and fired into +the camp. Nothing could be seen except the dazzling flashes from their +guns as they fired here and there, and the darkness was all the darker +for those flashes of flame, that cut it like swords. It was very cold. I +had left my blanket in the monastery, and no one was allowed to ascend, +because there, of all places, the bullets flew thickest, crushing +through the mat walls, and going into the teak posts with a thud. There +was nothing we could do. The men, placed in due order about the camp, +fired back at the flashes of the enemy's guns. That was all they had to +fire at. It was not much guide. The officers went from picket to picket +encouraging the men, but I had no duty; when fighting began my work as a +civilian was at a standstill. I sat and shivered with cold under the +monastery, and wished for the dawn. In a pause of the firing you could +hear the followers hammering the pegs that held the foot-ropes of the +horses. Then the dead and wounded were brought and put near me, and in +the dense dark the doctor tried to find out what injuries the men had +received, and dress them as well as he could. No light dare be lit. The +night seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> interminable. There were no stars, for a dense mist hung +above the trees. After an hour or two the firing slackened a little, and +presently, with great caution, a little lamp, carefully shrouded with a +blanket, was lit. A sudden burst of shots that came splintering into the +posts beside us caused the lamp to be hurriedly put out; but presently +it was lit again, and with infinite caution one man was dressed. At last +a little very faint silver dawn came gleaming through the tree-tops—the +most beautiful sight I ever saw—and the firing stopped. The dawn came +quickly down, and very soon we were able once more to see what we were +about, and count our losses.</p> + +<p>Then we moved out. We had hardly any hope of catching the enemy, we who +were in a strange country, who were mounted on horses, and had a heavy +transport, and they who knew every stream and ravine, and had every +villager for a spy. So we moved back a march into a more open country, +where we hoped for better news, and two days later that news came.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>WAR—II</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Never in the world does hatred cease by hatred. Hatred ceases by +love.'—<i>Dammapada.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>We were encamped at a little monastery in some fields by a village, with +a river in front. Up in the monastery there was but room for the +officers, so small was it, and the men were camped beneath it in little +shelters. It was two o'clock, and very hot, and we were just about to +take tiffin, when news came that a party of armed men had been seen +passing a little north of us. It was supposed they were bound to a +village known to be a very bad one—Laka—and that they would camp +there. So 'boot and saddle' rang from the trumpets, and in a few moments +later we were off, fifty lances. Just as we started, his old Hindostani +Christian servant came up to my friend, the commandant, and gave him a +little paper. 'Put it in your pocket, sahib,' he said. The commandant +had no time to talk, no time even to look at what it could be. He just +crammed it into his breast-pocket, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> we rode on. The governor's son +was our guide, and he led us through winding lanes into a pass in the +low hills. The road was very narrow, and the heavy forest came down to +our elbows as we passed. Now and again we crossed the stream, which had +but little water in it, and the path would skirt its banks for awhile. +It was beautiful country, but we had no time to notice it then, for we +were in a hurry, and whenever the road would allow we trotted and +cantered. After five or six miles of this we turned a spur of the hills, +and came out into a little grass-glade on the banks of the stream, and +at the far end of this was the village where we expected to find those +whom we sought. They saw us first, having a look-out on a high tree by +the edge of the forest; and as our advanced guard came trotting into the +open, he fired. The shot echoed far up the hills like an angry shout, +and we could see a sudden stir in the village—men running out of the +houses with guns and swords, and women and children running, too, poor +things! sick with fear. They fired at us from the village fence, but had +no time to close the gate ere our sowars were in. Then they escaped in +various ways to the forest and scrub, running like madmen across the +little bit of open, and firing at us directly they reached shelter where +the cavalry could not come. Of course, in the open they had no chance, +but in the dense forest they were safe enough. The village was soon +cleared, and then we had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> to return. It was no good to wait. The valley +was very narrow, and was commanded from both its sides, which were very +steep and dense with forest. Beyond the village there was only forest +again. We had done what we could: we had inflicted a very severe +punishment on them; it was no good waiting, so we returned. They fired +on us nearly all the way, hiding in the thick forest, and perched on +high rocks. At one place our men had to be dismounted to clear a +breastwork, run up to fire at us from. All the forest was full of +voices—voices of men and women and even children—cursing our guide. +They cried his name, that the spirits of the hills might remember that +it was he who had brought desolation to their village. Figures started +up on pinnacles of cliff, and cursed him as he rode by. Us they did not +curse; it was our guide.</p> + +<p>And so after some trouble we got back. That band never attacked us again.</p> + +<p>As we were dismounting, my friend put his hand in his pocket, and found +the little paper. He took it out, looked at it, and when his servant +came up to him he gave the paper back with a curious little smile full +of many thoughts. 'You see,' he said, 'I am safe. No bullet has hit me.' +And the servant's eyes were dim. He had been very long with his master, +and loved him, as did all who knew him. 'It was the goodness of God,' he +said—'the great goodness of God. Will not the sahib keep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> the paper?' +But the sahib would not. 'You may need it as well as I. Who can tell in +this war?' And he returned it.</p> + +<p>And the paper? It was a prayer—a prayer used by the Roman Catholic +Church, printed on a sheet of paper. At the top was a red cross. The +paper was old and worn, creased at the edges; it had evidently been much +used, much read. Such was the charm that kept the soldier from danger.</p> + +<p>The nights were cold then, when the sun had set, and after dinner we +used to have a camp-fire built of wood from the forest, to sit round for +a time and talk before turning in. The native officers of the cavalry +would come and sit with us, and one or two of the Burmans, too. We were +a very mixed assembly. I remember one night very well—I think it must +have been the very night after the fight at Laka, and we were all of us +round the fire. I remember there was a half-moon bending towards the +west, throwing tender lights upon the hills, and turning into a silver +gauze the light white mist that lay upon the rice-fields. Opposite to +us, across the little river, a ridge of hill ran down into the water +that bent round its foot. The ridge was covered with forest, very black, +with silver edges on the sky-line. It was out of range for a Burmese +flint-gun, or we should not have camped so near it. On all the other +sides the fields stretched away till they ended in the forest that +gloomed beyond. I was talking to the governor's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> son (our guide of the +fight at Laka) of the prospects of the future, and of the intentions of +the Prince of Wuntho, in whose country Laka lay. I remarked to him how +the Burmans of Wuntho seemed to hate him, of how they had cursed him +from the hills, and he admitted that it was true. 'All except my +friends,' he said, 'hate me. And yet what have I done? I had to help my +father to get back his governorship. They forget that they attacked us first.'</p> + +<p>He went on to tell me of how every day he was threatened, of how he was +sure they would murder him some time, because he had joined us. 'They +are sure to kill me some time,' he said. He seemed sad and depressed, not afraid.</p> + +<p>So we talked on, and I asked him about charms. 'Are there not charms +that will prevent you being hurt if you are hit, and that will not allow +a sword to cut you? We hear of invulnerable men. There were the +Immortals of the King's Guard, for instance.'</p> + +<p>And he said, yes, there were charms, but no one believed in them except +the villagers. He did not, nor did men of education. Of course, the +ignorant people believed in them. There were several sorts of charms. +You could be tattooed with certain mystic letters that were said to +insure you against being hit, and there were certain medicines you could +drink. There were also charms made out of stone, such as a little +tortoise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> he had once seen that was said to protect its wearer. There +were mysterious writings on palm-leaves. There were men, he said +vaguely, who knew how to make these things. For himself, he did not believe in them.</p> + +<p>I tried to learn from him then, and I have tried from others since, +whether these charms have any connection with Buddhism. I cannot find +that they have. They are never in the form of images of the Buddha, or +of extracts from the sacred writings. There is not, so far as I can make +out, any religious significance in these charms; mostly they are simply +mysterious. I never heard that the people connect them with their +religion. Indeed, all forms of enchantment and of charms are most +strictly prohibited. One of the vows that monks take is never to have +any dealings with charms or with the supernatural, and so Buddhism +cannot even give such little assistance to its believers as to furnish +them with charms. If they have charms, it is against their faith; it is +a falling away from the purity of their teachings; it is simply the +innate yearning of man to the supernatural, to the mysterious. Man's +passions are very strong, and if he must fight, he must also have a +charm to protect him in fight. If his religion cannot give it him, he +must find it elsewhere. You see that, as the teachings of the Buddha +have never been able to be twisted so as to permit war directly, neither +have they been able to assist indirectly by furnishing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> charms, by +making the fighter bullet-proof. And I thought then of the little prayer +and the cross that were so certain a defence against hurt.</p> + +<p>We talked for a long time in the waning moonlight by the ruddy fire, and +at last we broke up to go to bed. As we rose a voice called to us across +the water from the little promontory. In the still night every word was +as clear as the note of a gong.</p> + +<p>'Sleep well,' it cried—'sleep well—sle-e-ep we-l-l.'</p> + +<p>We all stood astonished—those who did not know Burmese wondering at the +voice; those who did, wondering at the meaning. The sentries peered +keenly towards the sound.</p> + +<p>'Sleep well,' the voice cried again; 'eat well. It will not be for long. +Sleep well while you may.'</p> + +<p>And then, after a pause, it called the governor's son's name, and +'Traitor, traitor!' till the hills were full of sound.</p> + +<p>The Burman turned away.</p> + +<p>'You see,' he said, 'how they hate me. What would be the good of charms?'</p> + +<p>The voice was quiet, and the camp sank into stillness, and ere long the +moon set, and it was quite dark.</p> + +<p>He was a brave man, and, indeed, there are many brave men amongst the +Burmese. They kill leopards with sticks and stones very often, and even +tigers. They take their frail little canoes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> across the Irrawaddy in +flood in a most daring way. They in no way want for physical courage, +but they have never made a cult of bravery; it has never been a +necessity to them; it has never occurred to them that it is the prime +virtue of a man. You will hear them confess in the calmest way, 'I was +afraid.' We would not do that; we should be much more afraid to say it. +And the teaching of Buddhism is all in favour of this. Nowhere is +courage—I mean aggressive courage—praised. No soldier could be a +fervent Buddhist; no nation of Buddhists could be good soldiers; for not +only does Buddhism not inculcate bravery, but it does not inculcate +obedience. Each man is the ruler of his life, but the very essence of +good fighting is discipline, and discipline, subjection, is unknown to +Buddhism. Therefore the inherent courage of the Burmans could have no +assistance from their faith in any way, but the very contrary: it fought against them.</p> + +<p>There is no flexibility in Buddhism. It is a law, and nothing can change +it. Laws are for ever and for ever, and there are no exceptions to them. +The law of the Buddha is against war—war of any kind at all—and there +can be no exception. And so every Burman who fought against us knew that +he was sinning. He did it with his eyes open; he could never imagine any +exception in his favour. Never could he in his bivouac look at the +stars, and imagine that any power looked down in approbation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> of his +deeds. No one fought for him. Our bayonets and lances were no keys to +open to him the gates of paradise; no monks could come and close his +dying eyes with promises of rewards to come. He was sinning, and he must +suffer long and terribly for this breach of the laws of righteousness.</p> + +<p>If such be the faith of the people, and if they believe their faith, it +is a terrible handicap to them in any fight; it delivers them bound into +the hands of the enemy. Such is Buddhism.</p> + +<p>But it must never be forgotten that, if this faith does not assist the +believer in defence, neither does it in offence. What is so terrible as +a war of religion? There can never be a war of Buddhism.</p> + +<p>No ravished country has ever borne witness to the prowess of the +followers of the Buddha; no murdered men have poured out their blood on +their hearthstones, killed in his name; no ruined women have cursed his +name to high Heaven. He and his faith are clean of the stain of blood. +He was the preacher of the Great Peace, of love, of charity, of +compassion, and so clear is his teaching that it can never be +misunderstood. Wars of invasion the Burmese have waged, that is true, in +Siam, in Assam, and in Pegu. They are but men, and men will fight. If +they were perfect in their faith, the race would have died out long ago. +They have fought, but they have never fought in the name of their faith. +They have never been able to prostitute its teachings to their own +wants. Whatever the Burmans have done, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> have kept their faith pure. +When they have offended against the laws of the Buddha they have done so +openly. Their souls are guiltless of hypocrisy—for whatever that may +avail them. They have known the difference between good and evil, even +if they have not always followed the good.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>GOVERNMENT</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Fire, water, storms, robbers, rulers—these are the five great +evils.'—<i>Burmese saying.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>It would be difficult, I think, to imagine anything worse than the +government of Upper Burma in its later days. I mean by 'government' the +king and his counsellors and the greater officials of the empire. The +management of foreign affairs, of the army, the suppression of greater +crimes, the care of the means of communication, all those duties which +fall to the central government, were badly done, if done at all. It must +be remembered that there was one difficulty in the way—the absence of +any noble or leisured class to be entrusted with the greater offices. As +I have shown in another chapter, there was no one between the king and +the villager—no noble, no landowner, no wealthy or educated class at +all. The king had to seek for his ministers among the ordinary people, +consequently the men who were called upon to fill great offices of state +were as often as not men who had no experience beyond the narrow limits +of a village.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><p>The breadth of view, the knowledge of other countries, of other +thoughts, that comes to those who have wealth and leisure, were wanting +to these ministers of the king. Natural capacity many of them had, but +that is not of much value until it is cultivated. You cannot learn in +the narrow precincts of a village the knowledge necessary to the +management of great affairs; and therefore in affairs of state this want +of any noble or leisured class was a very serious loss to the government +of Burma. It had great and countervailing advantages, of which I will +speak when I come to local government, but that it was a heavy loss as +far as the central government goes no one can doubt. There was none of +that check upon the power of the king which a powerful nobility will +give; there was no trained talent at his disposal. The king remained +absolutely supreme, with no one near his throne, and the ministers were +mere puppets, here to-day and gone to-morrow. They lived by the breath +of the king and court, and when they lost favour there was none to help +them. They had no faction behind them to uphold them against the king. +It can easily be understood how disastrous all this was to any form of +good government. All these ministers and governors were corrupt; there +was corruption to the core.</p> + +<p>When it is understood that hardly any official was paid, and that those +who were paid were insufficiently paid, and had unlimited power, there +will be no <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>difficulty in seeing the reason. In circumstances like this +all people would be corrupt. The only securities against bribery and +abuse of power are adequate pay, restricted authority, and great +publicity. None of these obtained in Burma any more than in the Europe +of five hundred years ago, and the result was the same in both. The +central government consisted of the king, who had no limit at all to his +power, and the council of ministers, whose only check was the king. The +executive and judicial were all the same: there was no appeal from one +to the other. The only appeal from the ministers was to the king, and as +the king shut himself up in his palace, and was practically inaccessible +to all but high officials, the worthlessness of this appeal is evident. +Outside Mandalay the country was governed by <i>wuns</i> or governors. These +were appointed by the king, or by the council, or by both, and they +obtained their position by bribery. Their tenure was exceedingly +insecure, as any man who came and gave a bigger bribe was likely to +obtain the former governor's dismissal and his own appointment. +Consequently the usual tenure of office of a governor was a year. Often +there were half a dozen governors in a year; sometimes a man with strong +influence managed to retain his position for some years. From the orders +of the governor there was an appeal to the council. This was in some +matters useful, but in others not so. If a governor sentenced a man to +death—all governors<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> had power of life and death—he would be executed +long before an appeal could reach the council. Practically no check was +possible by the palace over distant governors, and they did as they +liked. Anything more disastrous and fatal to any kind of good government +than this it is impossible to imagine. The governors did what they +considered right in their own eyes, and made as much money as they +could, while they could. They collected the taxes and as much more as +they could get; they administered the laws of Manu in civil and criminal +affairs, except when tempted to deviate therefrom by good reasons; they +carried out orders received from Mandalay, when these orders fell in +with their own desires, or when they considered that disobedience might +be dangerous. It is a Burmese proverb that officials are one of the five +great enemies of mankind, and there was, I think (at all events in the +latter days of the kingdom) good reason to remember it. And yet these +officials were not bad men in themselves; on the contrary, many of them +were men of good purpose, of natural honesty, of right principles. In a +well-organized system they would have done well, but the system was +rotten to the core.</p> + +<p>It may be asked why the Burmese people remained quiet under such a rule +as this; why they did not rise and destroy it, raising a new one in its +place; how it was that such a state of corruption lasted for a year, let +alone for many years.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>The answer is this: However bad the government may have been, it had +the qualities of its defects. If it did not do much to help the people, +it did little to hinder them. To a great extent it left them alone to +manage their own affairs in their own way. Burma in those days was like +a great untended garden, full of weeds, full of flowers too, each plant +striving after its own way, gradually evolving into higher forms. Now +sometimes it seems to me to be like an old Dutch garden, with the paths +very straight, very clean swept, with the trees clipped into curious +shapes of bird and beast, tortured out of all knowledge, and many of the +flowers mown down. The Burmese government left its people alone; that +was one great virtue. And, again, any government, however good, however +bad, is but a small factor in the life of a people; it comes far below +many other things in importance. A short rainfall for a year is more +disastrous than a mad king; a plague is worse than fifty grasping +governors; social rottenness is incomparably more dangerous than the +rottenest government.</p> + +<p>And in Burma it was only the supreme government, the high officials, +that were very bad. It was only the management of state affairs that was +feeble and corrupt; all the rest was very good. The land laws, the +self-government, the social condition of the people, were admirable. It +was so good that the rotten central government made but little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>difference to the people, and it would probably have lasted for a long +while if not attacked from outside. A greater power came and upset the +government of the king, and established itself in his place; and I may +here say that the idea that the feebleness or wrong-doing of the Burmese +government was the cause of the downfall is a mistake. If the Burmese +government had been the best that ever existed, the annexation would +have happened just the same. It was a political necessity for us.</p> + +<p>The central government of a country is, as I have said, not a matter of +much importance. It has very little influence in the evolution of the +soul of a people. It is always a great deal worse than the people +themselves—a hundred years behind them in civilization, a thousand +years behind them in morality. Men will do in the name of government +acts which, if performed in a private capacity, would cover them with +shame before men, and would land them in a gaol or worse. The name of +government is a cloak for the worst passions of manhood. It is not an +interesting study, the government of mankind.</p> + +<p>A government is no part of the soul of the people, but is a mere +excrescence; and so I have but little to say about this of Burma, beyond +this curious fact—that religion had no part in it. Surely this is a +very remarkable thing, that a religion having the hold upon its +followers that Buddhism has upon the Burmese has never attempted to +grasp the supreme authority and use it to its ends.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>It is not quite an explanation to say that Buddhism is not concerned +with such things; that its very spirit is against the assumption of any +worldly power and authority; that it is a negation of the value of these +things. Something of this sort might be said of other religions, and yet +they have all striven to use the temporal power.</p> + +<p>I do not know what the explanation is, unless it be that the Burmese +believe their religion and other people do not. However that may be, +there is no doubt of the fact. Religion had nothing whatever—absolutely +nothing in any way at all—to do with government. There are no +exceptions. What has led people to think sometimes that there were +exceptions is the fact that the king confirmed the Thathanabaing—the +head of the community of monks—after he had been elected by his +fellow-monks. The reason of this was as follows: All ecclesiastical +matters—I use the word 'ecclesiastical' because I can find no +other—were outside the jurisdiction of civil limits. By +'ecclesiastical' I mean such matters as referred to the ownership and +habitation of monasteries, the building of pagodas and places of prayer, +the discipline of the monkhood. Such questions were decided by +ecclesiastical courts under the Thathanabaing.</p> + +<p>Now, it was necessary sometimes, as may be understood, to enforce these +decrees, and for that reason to apply to civil power. Therefore there +must be a head of the monks acknowledged by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> civil power as head, to +make such applications as might be necessary in this, and perhaps some +other such circumstances.</p> + +<p>It became, therefore, the custom for the king to acknowledge by order +the elect of the monks as Thathanabaing for all such purposes. That was +all. The king did not appoint him at all.</p> + +<p>Any such idea as a monk interfering in the affairs of state, or +expressing an opinion on war or law or finance, would appear to the +Burmese a negation of their faith. They were never led away by the idea +that good might come of such interference. This terrible snare has never +caught their feet. They hold that a man's first duty is to his own soul. +Never think that you can do good to others at the same time as you +injure yourself, and the greatest good for your own heart is to learn +that beyond all this turmoil and fret there is the Great Peace—so great +that we can hardly understand it, and to reach it you must fit yourself +for it. The monk is he who is attempting to reach it, and he knows that +he cannot do that by attempting to rule his fellow-man; that is probably +the very worst thing he could do. And therefore the monkhood, powerful +as they were, left all politics alone. I have never been able to hear of +a single instance in which they even expressed an opinion either as a +body or as individuals on any state matter.</p> + +<p>It is true that, if a governor oppressed his people, the monks would +remonstrate with him, or even, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> the last extremity, with the king; +they would plead with the king for clemency to conquered peoples, to +rebels, to criminals; their voice was always on the side of mercy. As +far as urging the greatest of all virtues upon governors and rulers +alike, they may be said to have interfered with politics; but this is +not what is usually understood by religion interfering in things of +state. It seems to me we usually mean the reverse of this, for we are of +late beginning to regard it with horror. The Burmese have always done +so. They would think it a denial of all religion.</p> + +<p>And so the only things worth noting about the government of the Burmese +were its exceeding badness, and its disconnection with religion. That it +would have been a much stronger government had it been able to enlist on +its side all the power of the monkhood, none can doubt. It might even +have been a better government; of that I am not sure. But that such a +union would have meant the utter destruction of the religion, the +debasing of the very soul of the people, no one who has tried to +understand that soul can doubt. And a soul is worth very many governments.</p> + +<p>But when you left the central government, and came down to the +management of local affairs, there was a great change. You came straight +down from the king and governor to the village and its headman. There +were no lords, no squires, nor ecclesiastical power wielding authority +over the people.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>Each village was to a very great extent a self-governing community +composed of men free in every way. The whole country was divided into +villages, sometimes containing one or two hamlets at a little distance +from each other—offshoots from the parent stem. The towns, too, were +divided into quarters, and each quarter had its headman. These men held +their appointment-orders from the king as a matter of form, but they +were chosen by their fellow-villagers as a matter of fact. Partly this +headship was hereditary, not from father to son, but it might be from +brother to brother, and so on. It was not usually a very coveted +appointment, for the responsibility and trouble were considerable, and +the pay small. It was 10 per cent. on the tax collections. And with this +official as their head, the villagers managed nearly all their affairs. +Their taxes, for instance, they assessed and collected themselves. The +governor merely informed the headman that he was to produce ten rupees +per house from his village. The villagers then appointed assessors from +among themselves, and decided how much each household should pay. Thus a +coolie might pay but four rupees, and a rice-merchant as much as fifty +or sixty. The assessment was levied according to the means of the +villagers. So well was this done, that complaints against the decisions +of the assessors were almost unknown—I might, I think, safely say were +absolutely unknown. The assessment was made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> publicly, and each man was +heard in his own defence before being assessed. Then the money was +collected. If by any chance, such as death, any family could not pay, +the deficiency was made good by the other villagers in proportion. When +the money was got in it was paid to the governor.</p> + +<p>Crime such as gang-robbery, murder, and so on, had to be reported to the +governor, and he arrested the criminals if he felt inclined, and knew +who they were, and was able to do it. Generally something was in the +way, and it could not be done. All lesser crime was dealt with in the +village itself, not only dealt with when it occurred, but to a great +extent prevented from occurring. You see, in a village anyone knows +everyone, and detection is usually easy. If a man became a nuisance to a +village, he was expelled. I have often heard old Burmans talking about +this, and comparing these times with those. In those times all big +crimes were unpunished, and there was but little petty crime. Now all +big criminals are relentlessly hunted down by the police; and the +inevitable weakening of the village system has led to a large increase +of petty crime, and certain breaches of morality and good conduct. I +remember talking to a man not long ago—a man who had been a headman in +the king's time, but was not so now. We were chatting of various +subjects, and he told me he had no children; they were dead.</p> + +<p>'When were you married?' I asked, just for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> something to say, and he +said when he was thirty-two.</p> + +<p>'Isn't that rather old to be just married?' I asked. 'I thought you +Burmans often married at eighteen and twenty. What made you wait so long?'</p> + +<p>And he told me that in his village men were not allowed to marry till +they were about thirty. 'Great harm comes,' he said, 'of allowing boys +and girls to make foolish marriages when they are too young. It was +never allowed in my village.'</p> + +<p>'And if a young man fell in love with a girl?' I asked.</p> + +<p>'He was told to leave her alone.'</p> + +<p>'And if he didn't?'</p> + +<p>'If he didn't, he was put in the stocks for one day or two days, and if +that was no good, he was banished from the village.'</p> + +<p>A monk complained to me of the bad habits of the young men in villages. +'Could government do nothing?' he asked. They used shameful words, and +they would shout as they passed his monastery, and disturb the lads at +their lessons and the girls at the well. They were not well-behaved. In +the Burmese time they would have been punished for all this—made to +draw so many buckets of water for the school-gardens, or do some +road-making, or even be put in the stocks. Now the headman was afraid to +do anything, for fear of the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> government. It was very bad for the +young men, he said.</p> + +<p>All villages were not alike, of course, in their enforcement of good +manners and good morals, but, still, in every village they were enforced +more or less. The opinion of the people was very decided, and made +itself felt, and the influence of the monastery without the gate was +strong upon the people.</p> + +<p>Yet the monks never interfered with village affairs. As they abstained +from state government, so they did from local government. You never +could imagine a Buddhist monk being a magistrate for his village, taking +any part at all in municipal affairs. The same reasons that held them +from affairs of the state held them from affairs of the commune. I need +not repeat them. The monastery was outside the village, and the monk +outside the community. I do not think he was ever consulted about any +village matters. I know that, though I have many and many a time asked +monks for their opinion to aid me in deciding little village disputes, I +have never got an answer out of them. 'These are not our affairs,' they +will answer always. 'Go to the people; they will tell you what you +want.' Their influence is by example and precept, by teaching the laws +of the great teacher, by living a life blameless before men, by +preparing their souls for rest. It is a general influence, never a +particular one. If anyone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> came to the monk for counsel, the monk would +only repeat to him the sacred teaching, and leave him to apply it.</p> + +<p>So each village managed its own affairs, untroubled by squire or priest, +very little troubled by the state. That within their little means they +did it well, no one can doubt. They taxed themselves without friction, +they built their own monastery schools by voluntary effort, they +maintained a very high, a very simple, code of morals, entirely of their +own initiative.</p> + +<p>All this has passed, or is passing away. The king has gone to a +banishment far across the sea, the ministers are either banished or +powerless for good or evil. It will never rise again, this government of +the king, which was so bad in all it did, and only good in what it left +alone. It will never rise again. The people are now part of the British +Empire, subjects of the Queen. What may be in store for them in the far +future no one can tell, only we may be sure that the past can return no +more. And the local government is passing away, too. It cannot exist +with a strong government such as ours. For good or for evil, in a few +years it, too, will be gone.</p> + +<p>But, after all, these are but forms; the soul is far within. In the soul +there will be no change. No one can imagine even in the far future any +monk of the Buddha desiring temporal power or interfering in any way +with the government of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> people. That is why I have written this +chapter, to show how Buddhism holds itself towards the government. With +us, we are accustomed to ecclesiastics trying to manage affairs of +state, or attempting to grasp the secular power. It is in accordance +with our ideals that they should do so. Our religious phraseology is +full of such terms as lord and king and ruler and servant. Buddhism +knows nothing of any of them. In our religion we are subject to the +authority of deacons and priests and bishops and archbishops, and so on +up to the Almighty Himself. But in Buddhism every man is free—free, +subject to the inevitable laws of righteousness. There is no hierarchy +in Buddhism: it is a religion of absolute freedom. No one can damn you +except yourself; no one can save you except yourself. Governments cannot +do it, and therefore it would be useless to try and capture the reins of +government, even if you did not destroy your own soul in so doing. +Buddhism does not believe that you can save a man by force.</p> + +<p>As Buddhism was, so it is, so it will remain. By its very nature it +abhors all semblance of authority. It has proved that, under temptation +such as no other religion has felt, and resisted; it is a religion of +each man's own soul, not of governments and powers.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>CRIME AND PUNISHMENT</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'Overcome anger by kindness, evil by good.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Dammapada.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>Not very many years ago an officer in Rangoon lost some currency notes. +He had placed them upon his table overnight, and in the morning they +were gone. The amount was not large. It was, if I remember rightly, +thirty rupees; but the loss annoyed him, and as all search and inquiry +proved futile, he put the matter in the hands of the police.</p> + +<p>Before long—the very next day—the possession of the notes was traced +to the officer's Burman servant, who looked after his clothes and +attended on him at table. The boy was caught in the act of trying to +change one of the notes. He was arrested, and he confessed. He was very +hard up, he said, and his sister had written asking him to help her. He +could not do so, and he was troubling himself about the matter early +that morning while tidying the room, and he saw the notes on the table, +and so he took them. It was a sudden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> temptation, and he fell. When the +officer learnt all this, he would, I think, have withdrawn from the +prosecution and forgiven the boy; but it was too late. In our English +law theft is not compoundable. A complaint of theft once made must be +proved or disproved; the accused must be tried before a magistrate. +There is no alternative. So the lad—he was only a lad—was sent up +before the magistrate, and he again pleaded guilty, and his master asked +that the punishment might be light. The boy, he said, was an honest boy, +and had yielded to a sudden temptation. He, the master, had no desire to +press the charge, but the reverse. He would never have come to court at +all if he could have withdrawn from the charge. Therefore he asked that +the magistrate would consider all this, and be lenient.</p> + +<p>But the magistrate did not see matters in the same light at all. He +would consider his judgment, and deliver it later on.</p> + +<p>When he came into court again and read the judgment he had prepared, he +said that he was unable to treat the case leniently. There were many +such cases, he said. It was becoming quite common for servants to steal +their employers' things, and they generally escaped. It was a serious +matter, and he felt himself obliged to make an example of such as were +convicted, to be a warning to others. So the boy was sentenced to six +months' rigorous imprisonment; and his master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> went home, and before +long had forgotten all about it.</p> + +<p>But one day, as he was sitting in his veranda reading before breakfast, +a lad came quickly up the stairs and into the veranda, and knelt down +before him. It was the servant. As soon as he was released from gaol, he +went straight to his old master, straight to the veranda where he was +sure he would be sitting at that hour, and begged to be taken back again +into his service. He was quite pleased, and sure that his master would +be equally pleased, at seeing him again, and he took it almost as a +matter of course that he would be reinstated.</p> + +<p>But the master doubted.</p> + +<p>'How can I take you back again?' he said. 'You have been in gaol.'</p> + +<p>'But,' said the boy, 'I did very well in gaol. I became a warder with a +cap white on one side and yellow on the other. Let the thakin ask.'</p> + +<p>Still the officer doubted.</p> + +<p>'I cannot take you back,' he repeated. 'You stole my money, and you have +been in prison. I could not have you as a servant again.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' admitted the boy, 'I stole the thakin's money, but I have been in +prison for it a long time—six months. Surely that is all forgotten now. +I stole; I have been in gaol—that is the end of it.'</p> + +<p>'No,' answered the master, 'unfortunately, your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> having been in gaol +only makes matters much worse. I could forgive the theft, but the being +in gaol—how can I forgive that?'</p> + +<p>And the boy could not understand.</p> + +<p>'If I have stolen, I have been in gaol for it. That is wiped out now,' +he said again and again, till at last he went away in sore trouble of +mind, for he could not understand his master, nor could his master +understand him.</p> + +<p>You see, each had his own idea of what was law, and what was justice, +and what was punishment. To the Burman all these words had one set of +meanings; to the Englishman they had another, a very different one. And +each of them took his ideas from his religion. To all men the law here +on earth is but a reflection of the heavenly law; the judge is the +representative of his god. The justice of the court should be as the +justice of heaven. Many nations have imagined their law to be +heaven-given, to be inspired with the very breath of the Creator of the +world. Other nations have derived their laws elsewhere. But this is of +little account, for to the one, as to the other, the laws are a +reflection of the religion.</p> + +<p>And therefore on a man's religion depends all his views of law and +justice, his understanding of the word 'punishment,' his idea of how sin +should be treated. And it was because of their different religions, +because their religions differed so greatly on these points as to be +almost opposed, that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> English officer and his Burman servant failed +to understand each other.</p> + +<p>For to the Englishman punishment was a degradation. It seemed to him far +more disgraceful that his servant should have been in gaol than that he +should have committed theft. The theft he was ready to forgive, the +punishment he could not. Punishment to him meant revenge. It is the +revenge of an outraged and injured morality. The sinner had insulted the +law, and therefore the law was to make him suffer. He was to be +frightened into not doing it again. That is the idea. He was to be +afraid of receiving punishment. And again his punishment was to be +useful as a warning to others. Indeed, the magistrate had especially +increased it with that object in view. He was to suffer that others +might be saved. The idea of punishment being an atonement hardly enters +into our minds at all. To us it is practically a revenge. We do not +expect people to be the better for it. We are sure they are the worse. +It is a deterrent for others, not a healing process for the man himself. +We punish A. that B. may be afraid, and not do likewise. Our thoughts +are bent on B., not really on A. at all. As far as he is concerned, the +process is very similar to pouring boiling lead into a wound. We do not +wish or intend to improve him, but simply and purely to make him suffer. +After we have dealt with him, he is never fit again for human society. +That was in the officer's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> thought when he refused to take back his +Burmese servant.</p> + +<p>Now see the boy's idea.</p> + +<p>Punishment is an atonement, a purifying of the soul from the stain of +sin. That is the only justification for, and meaning of, suffering. If a +man breaks the everlasting laws of righteousness and stains his soul +with the stain of sin, he must be purified, and the only method of +purification is by suffering. Each sin is followed by suffering, lasting +just so long as to cleanse the soul—not a moment less, or the soul +would not be white; not a moment more, or it would be useless and cruel. +That is the law of righteousness, the eternal inevitable sequence that +leads us in the end to wisdom and peace. And as it is with the greater +laws, so it should, the Buddhist thinks, be with the lesser laws.</p> + +<p>If a man steals, he should have such punishment and for such a time as +will wean his soul from theft, as will atone for his sin. Just so much. +You see, to him mercy is a falling short of what is necessary, a leaving +of work half done, as if you were to leave a garment half washed. Excess +of punishment is mere useless brutality. He recognizes no vicarious +punishment. He cannot understand that A. should be damned in order to +save B. This does not agree with his scheme of righteousness at all. It +seems as futile to him as the action of washing one garment twice that +another might be clean. Each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> man should atone for his own sin, <i>must</i> +atone for his own sin, in order to be freed from it. No one can help +him, or suffer for him. If I have a sore throat, it would be useless to +blister you for it: that is his idea.</p> + +<p>Consider this Burman. He had committed theft. That he admitted. He was +prepared to atone for it. The magistrate was not content with that, but +made him also atone for other men's sins. He was twice punished, because +other men who escaped did ill. That was the first thing he could not +understand. And then, when he had atoned both for his own sin and for +that of others, when he came out of prison, he was looked upon as in a +worse state than if he had never atoned at all. If he had never been in +prison, his master would have forgiven his theft and taken him back, but +now he would not. The boy was proud of having atoned in full, very full, +measure for his sin; the master looked upon the punishment as +inconceivably worse than the crime.</p> + +<p>So the officer went about and told the story of his boy coming back, and +expecting to be taken on again, as a curious instance of the mysterious +working of the Oriental mind, as another example of the extraordinary +way Easterns argue. 'Just to think,' said the officer, 'he was not +ashamed of having been in prison!' And the boy? Well, he probably said +nothing, but went away and did not understand, and kept the matter to +himself, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> they are very dumb, these people, very long-suffering, +very charitable. You may be sure that he never railed at the law, or +condemned his old master for harshness.</p> + +<p>He would wonder why he was punished because other people had sinned and +escaped. He could not understand that. It would not occur to him that +sending him to herd with other criminals, that cutting him off from all +the gentle influences of life, from the green trees and the winds of +heaven, from the society of women, from the example of noble men, from +the teachings of religion, was a curious way to render him a better man. +He would suppose it was intended to make him better, that he should +leave gaol a better man than when he entered, and he would take the +intention for the deed. Under his own king things were not much better. +It is true that very few men were imprisoned, fine being the usual +punishment, but still, imprisonment there was, and so that would not +seem to him strange; and as to the conduct of his master, he would be +content to leave that unexplained. The Buddhist is content to leave many +things unexplained until he can see the meaning. He is not fond of +theories. If he does not know, he says so. 'It is beyond me,' he will +say; 'I do not understand.' He has no theory of an occidental mind to +explain acts of ours of which he cannot grasp the meaning; he would only not understand.</p> + +<p>But the pity of it—think of the pity of it all!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> Surely there is +nothing more pathetic than this: that a sinner should not understand the +wherefore of his sentence, that the justice administered to him should +be such as he cannot see the meaning of.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>Certain forms of crime are very rife in Burma. The villages are so +scattered, the roads so lonely, the amount of money habitually carried +about so large, the people so habitually careless, the difficulty of +detection so great, that robbery and kindred crimes are very common; and +it is more common in the districts of the delta, long under our rule, +than in the newly-annexed province in the north. Under like conditions +the Burman is probably no more criminal and no less criminal than other +people in the same state of civilization. Crime is a condition caused by +opportunity, not by an inherent state of mind, except with the very, +very few, the exceptional individuals; and in Upper Burma there is, now +that the turmoil of the annexation is past, very little crime +comparatively. There is less money there, and the village system—the +control of the community over the individual—the restraining influence +of public opinion is greater. But even during the years of trouble, the +years from 1885 till 1890, when, in the words of the Burmese proverb, +'the forest was on fire and the wild-cat slapped his arm,' there were +certain peculiarities about the criminals that differentiated them from +those of Europe. You would hear of a terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> crime, a village attacked +at night by brigands, a large robbery of property, one or two villagers +killed, and an old woman tortured for her treasure, and you would +picture the perpetrators as hardened, brutal criminals, lost to all +sense of humanity, tigers in human shape; and when you came to arrest +them—if by good luck you did so—you would find yourself quite +mistaken. One, perhaps, or two of the ringleaders might be such as I +have described, but the others would be far different. They would be +boys or young men led away by the idea of a frolic, allured by the +romance of being a free-lance for a night, very sorry now, and ready to +confess and do all in their power to atone for their misdeeds.</p> + +<p>Nothing, I think, was more striking than the universal confession of +criminals on their arrest. Even now, despite the spread of lawyers and +notions of law, in country districts accused men always confess, +sometimes even they surrender themselves. I have known many such cases. +Here is one that happened to myself only the other day.</p> + +<p>A man was arrested in another jurisdiction for cattle theft; he was +tried there and sentenced to two years' rigorous imprisonment. Shortly +afterwards it was discovered that he was suspected of being concerned in +a robbery in my jurisdiction, committed before his arrest. He was +therefore transferred to the gaol near my court, and I inquired into the +case, and committed him and four others<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> for trial before the sessions +judge for the robbery, which he admitted.</p> + +<p>Now, it so happened that immediately after I had passed orders in the +case I went out into camp, leaving the necessary warrants to be signed +in my absence by my junior magistrate, and a mistake occurred by which +the committal-warrant was only made out for the four. The other man +being already under sentence for two years, it was not considered +necessary to make out a remand-warrant for him. But, as it happened, he +had appealed from his former sentence and he was acquitted, so a warrant +of release arrived at the gaol, and, in absence of any other warrant, he +was at once released.</p> + +<p>Of course, on the mistake being discovered a fresh warrant was issued, +and mounted police were sent over the country in search of him, without +avail; he could not be found. But some four days afterwards, in the late +afternoon, as I was sitting in my house, just returned from court, my +servant told me a man wanted to see me. He was shown up into the +veranda, and, lo! it was the very man I wanted. He had heard, he +explained, that I wanted him, and had come to see me. I reminded him he +was committed to stand his trial for dacoity, that was why I wanted him. +He said that he thought all that was over, as he was released; but I +explained to him that the release only applied to the theft case. And +then we walked over half a mile to court, I in front and he behind, +across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> the wide plain, and he surrendered to the guard. He was tried +and acquitted on this charge also. Not, as the sessions judge said +later, that he had any doubt that my friend and the others were the +right men, but because he considered some of the evidence +unsatisfactory, and because the original confession was withdrawn. So he +was released again, and went hence a free man.</p> + +<p>But think of him surrendering himself! He knew he had committed the +dacoity with which he was charged: he himself had admitted it to begin +with, and again admitted it freely when he knew he was safe from further +trial. He knew he was liable to very heavy punishment, and yet he +surrendered because he understood that I wanted him. I confess that I do +not understand it at all, for this is no solitary instance. The +circumstances, truly, were curious, but the spirit in which the man +acted was usual enough. I have had dacoit leaders with prices on their +heads walk into my camp. It was a common experience with many officers.</p> + +<p>The Burmans often act as children do. Their crimes are the violent, +thoughtless crimes of children; they are as little depraved by crime as +children are. Who are more criminal than English boys? and yet they grow +up decent, law-abiding men. Almost the only confirmed criminals have +been made so by punishment, by that punishment which some consider is +intended to uplift them, but which never does aught but degrade them. +Instead of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> cleansing the garment, it tears it, and renders it useless +for this life.</p> + +<p>It is a very difficult question, this of crime and punishment. I have +not written all this because I have any suggestion to make to improve +it. I have not written it because I think that the laws of Manu, which +obtained under the Burmese kings, and their methods of punishment, were +any improvement on ours. On the contrary, I think they were much worse. +Their laws and their methods of enforcing the law were those of a very +young people. But, notwithstanding this, there was a spirit in their +laws different from and superior to ours.</p> + +<p>I have been trying to see into the soul of this people whom I love so +well, and nothing has struck me more than the way they regard crime and +punishment; nothing has seemed to me more worthy of note than their +ideas of the meaning and end of punishment, of its scope and its limits. +It is so very different from ours. As in our religion, so in our laws: +we believe in mercy at one time and in vengeance at another. We believe +in vicarious punishment and vicarious salvation; they believe in +absolute justice—always the same, eternal and unchangeable as the laws +of the stars. We purposely make punishment degrading; they think it +should be elevating, that in its purifying power lies its sole use and +justification. We believe in tearing a soiled garment; they think it +ought to be washed.</p> + +<p>Surely these are great differences, surely thoughts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> like these, +engraven in the hearts of a young people, will lead, in the great and +glorious future that lies before them, to a conception of justice, to a +method of dealing with crime, very different from what we know +ourselves. They are now very much as we were sixteen centuries ago, when +the Romans ruled us. Now we are a greater people, our justice is better, +our prisons are better, our morality is inconceivably better than +Imperial Rome ever dreamt of. And so with these people, when their time +shall come, when they shall have grown out of childhood into manhood, +when they shall have the wisdom and strength and experience to put in +force the convictions that are in their hearts, it seems to me that they +will bring out of these convictions something more wonderful than we +to-day have dreamt of.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>HAPPINESS</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'The thoughts of his heart, these are the wealth of a man.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Burmese saying.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>As I have said, there was this very remarkable fact in Burma—that when +you left the king, you dropped at once to the villager. There were no +intermediate classes. There were no nobles, hereditary officers, great +landowners, wealthy bankers or merchants.</p> + +<p>Then there is no caste; there are no guilds of trade, or art, or +science. If a man discovered a method of working silver, say, he never +hid it, but made it common property. It is very curious how absolutely +devoid Burma is of the exclusiveness of caste so universal in India, and +which survives to a great extent in Europe. The Burman is so absolutely +enamoured of freedom, that he cannot abide the bonds which caste +demands. He will not bind himself with other men for a slight temporal +advantage; he does not consider it worth the trouble. He prefers +remaining free and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> poor to being bound and rich. Nothing is further +from him than the feeling of exclusiveness. He abominates secrecy, +mystery. His religion, his women, himself, are free; there are no dark +places in his life where the light cannot come. He is ready that +everything should be known, that all men should be his brothers.</p> + +<p>And so all the people are on the same level. Richer and poorer there +are, of course, but there are no very rich; there is none so poor that +he cannot get plenty to eat and drink. All eat much the same food, all +dress much alike. The amusements of all are the same, for entertainments +are nearly always free. So the Burman does not care to be rich. It is +not in his nature to desire wealth, it is not in his nature to care to +keep it when it comes to him. Beyond a sufficiency for his daily needs +money has not much value. He does not care to add field to field or coin +to coin; the mere fact that he has money causes him no pleasure. Money +is worth to him what it will buy. With us, when we have made a little +money we keep it to be a nest-egg to make more from. Not so a Burman: he +will spend it. And after his own little wants are satisfied, after he +has bought himself a new silk, after he has given his wife a gold +bangle, after he has called all his village together and entertained +them with a dramatic entertainment—sometimes even before all this—he +will spend the rest on charity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>He will build a pagoda to the honour of the great teacher, where men +may go to meditate on the great laws of existence. He will build a +monastery school where the village lads are taught, and where each +villager retires some time in his life to learn the great wisdom. He +will dig a well or build a bridge, or make a rest-house. And if the sum +be very small indeed, then he will build, perhaps, a little house—a +tiny little house—to hold two or three jars of water for travellers to +drink. And he will keep the jars full of water, and put a little +cocoanut-shell to act as cup.</p> + +<p>The amount spent thus every year in charity is enormous. The country is +full of pagodas; you see them on every peak, on every ridge along the +river. They stand there as do the castles of the robber barons on the +Rhine, only with what another meaning! Near villages and towns there are +clusters of them, great and small. The great pagoda in Rangoon is as +tall as St. Paul's; I have seen many a one not three feet high—the +offering of some poor old man to the Great Name, and everywhere there +are monasteries. Every village has one, at least; most have two or +three. A large village will have many. More would be built if there was +anyone to live in them, so anxious is each man to do something for the +monks. As it is, more are built than there is actual need for.</p> + +<p>And there are rest-houses everywhere. Far away in the dense forests by +the mountain-side you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> find them, built in some little hollow by +the roadside by someone who remembered his fellow-traveller. You cannot +go five miles along any road without finding them. In villages they can +be counted by tens, in towns by fifties. There are far more than are required.</p> + +<p>In Burmese times such roads and bridges as were made were made in the +same way by private charity. Nowadays, the British Government takes that +in hand, and consequently there is probably more money for rest-house +building than is needed. As time goes on, the charity will flow into +other lines, no doubt, in addition. They will build and endow hospitals, +they will devote money to higher education, they will spend money in +many ways, not in what we usually call charity, for that they already +do, nor in missions, as whatever missions they may send out will cost +nothing. Holy men are those vowed to extreme poverty. But as their +civilization (<i>their</i> civilization, not any imposed from outside) +progresses, they will find out new wants for the rich to supply, and +they will supply them. That is a mere question of material progress.</p> + +<p>The inclination to charity is very strong. The Burmans give in charity +far more in proportion to their wealth than any other people. It is +extraordinary how much they give, and you must remember that all of this +is quite voluntary. With, I think, two or three exceptions, such as +gilding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> the Shwe Dagon pagoda, collections are never made for any +purpose. There is no committee of appeal, no organized collection. It is +all given straight from the giver's heart. It is a very marvellous thing.</p> + +<p>I remember long ago, shortly after I had come to Burma, I was staying +with a friend in Toungoo, and I went with him to the house of a Burman +contractor. We had been out riding, and as we returned my friend said he +wished to see the contractor about some business, and so we rode to his +house. He came out and asked us in, and we dismounted and went up the +stairs into the veranda, and sat down. It was a little house built of +wood, with three rooms. Behind was a little kitchen and a stable. The +whole may have cost a thousand rupees. As my friend and the Burman +talked of their business I observed the furniture. There was very +little; three or four chairs, two tables and a big box were all I could +see. Inside, no doubt, were a few beds and more chairs. While we sat, +the wife and daughter came out and gave us cheroots, and I talked to +them in my very limited Burmese till my friend was ready. Then we went away.</p> + +<p>That contractor, so my friend told me as we went home, made probably a +profit of six or seven thousand rupees a year. He spent on himself about +a thousand of this; the rest went in charity. The great new monastery +school, with the marvellous carved façade, just to the south of the +town, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> his, the new rest-house on the mountain road far up in the +hills was his. He supported many monks, he gave largely to the gilding +of the pagoda. If a theatrical company came that way, he subscribed +freely. Soon he thought he would retire from contracting altogether, for +he had enough to live on quietly for the rest of his life.</p> + +<p>His action is no exception, but the rule. You will find that every +well-to-do man has built his pagoda or his monastery, and is called +'school-builder' or 'pagoda-builder.' These are the only titles the +Burman knows, and they always are given most scrupulously. The builder +of a bridge, a well, or a rest-house may also receive the title of +'well-builder,' and so on, but such titles are rarely used in common +speech. Even the builder of a long shed for water-jars may call himself +after it if he likes, but it is only big builders who receive any title +from their fellows. But the satisfaction to the man himself, the +knowledge that he has done a good deed, is much the same, I think.</p> + +<p>A Burman's wants are very few, such wants as money can supply—a little +house, a sufficiency of plain food, a cotton dress for weekdays and a +silk one for holidays, and that is nearly all.</p> + +<p>They are still a very young people. Many wants will come, perhaps, later +on, but just now their desires are easily satisfied.</p> + +<p>The Burman does not care for a big house, for there are always the great +trees and the open spaces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> by the village. It is far pleasanter to sit +out of doors than indoors. He does not care for books. He has what is +better than many books—the life of his people all about him, and he has +the eyes to see it and the heart to understand it. He cares not to see +with other men's eyes, but with his own; he cares not to read other +men's thoughts, but to think his own, for a love of books only comes to +him who is shut always from the world by ill-health, by poverty, by +circumstance. When we are poor and miserable, we like to read of those +who are happier. When we are shut in towns, we love to read of the +beauties of the hills. When we have no love in our hearts, we like to +read of those who have. Few men who think their own thoughts care much +to read the thoughts of others, for a man's own thoughts are worth more +to him than all the thoughts of all the world besides. That a man should +think, that is a great thing. Very, very few great readers are great +thinkers. And he who can live his life, what cares he for reading of the +lives of other people? To have loved once is more than to have read all +the poets that ever sang. So a Burman thinks. To see the moon rise on +the river as you float along, while the boat rocks to and fro and +someone talks to you—is not that better than any tale?</p> + +<p>So a Burman lives his life, and he asks a great deal from it. He wants +fresh air and sunshine, and the great thoughts that come to you in the +forest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> He wants love and companionship, the voice of friends, the low +laugh of women, the delight of children. He wants his life to be a full +one, and he wants leisure to teach his heart to enjoy all these things; +for he knows that you must learn to enjoy yourself, that it does not +always come naturally, that to be happy and good-natured and +open-hearted requires an education. To learn to sympathize with your +neighbours, to laugh with them and cry with them, you must not shut +yourself away and work. His religion tells him that the first of all +gifts is sympathy; it is the first step towards wisdom, and he holds it +true. After that, all shall be added to you. He believes that happiness +is the best of all things.</p> + +<p>We think differently. We are content with cheerless days, with an +absence of love, of beauty, of all that is valuable to the heart, if we +can but put away a little money, if we can enlarge our business, if we +can make a bigger figure in the world. Nay, we go beyond this: we +believe that work, that drudgery, is a beautiful thing in itself, that +perpetual toil and effort is admirable.</p> + +<p>This we do because we do not know what to do with our leisure, because +we do not know for what to seek, because we cannot enjoy. And so we go +back to work, to feverish effort, because we cannot think, and see, and +understand. 'Work is a means to leisure,' Aristotle told us long ago, +and leisure, adds the Burman, is needed that you may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> compose your own +soul. Work, no doubt, is a necessity, too, but not excess of it.</p> + +<p>The necessary thing to a man is not gold, nor position, nor power, but +simply his own soul. Nothing is worth anything to him compared with +that, for while a man lives, what is the good of all these things if he +have no leisure to enjoy them? And when he dies, shall they go down into +the void with him? No; but a man's own soul shall go with and be with him for ever.</p> + +<p>A Burman's ideas of this world are dominated by his religion. His +religion says to him, 'Consider your own soul, that is the main thing.' +His religion says to him, 'The aim of every man should be happiness.' +These are the fundamental parts of his belief; these he learns from his +childhood: they are born in him. He looks at all the world by their +light. Later on, when he grows older, his religion says to him, 'And +happiness is only to be found by renouncing the whole world.' This is a +hard teaching. This comes to him slowly, or all Buddhists would be +monks; but, meanwhile, if he does but remember the first two precepts, +he is on the right path.</p> + +<p>He does do this. Happiness is the aim he seeks. Work and power and money +are but the means by which he will arrive at the leisure to teach his +own soul. First the body, then the spirit; but with us it is surely +first the body, and then the body again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p><p>He often watches us with surprise. He sees us work and work and work; +he sees us grow old quickly, and our minds get weary; he sees our +sympathies grow very narrow, our ideas bent into one groove, our whole +souls destroyed for a little money, a little fame, a little promotion, +till we go home, and do not know what to do with ourselves, because we +have no work and no sympathy with anything; and at last we die, and take +down with us our souls—souls fit for nothing but to be driven for ever +with a goad behind and a golden fruit in front.</p> + +<p>But do not suppose that the Burmese are idle. Such a nation of workers +was never known. Every man works, every woman works, every child works. +Life is not an easy thing, but a hard, and there is a great deal of work +to be done. There is not an idle man or woman in all Burma. The class of +those who live on other men's labour is unknown. I do not think the +Burman would care for such a life, for a certain amount of work is good, +he knows. A little work he likes; a good deal of work he does, because +he is obliged often to do so to earn even the little he requires. And +that is the end. He is a free man, never a slave to other men, nor to himself.</p> + +<p>Therefore I do not think his will ever make what we call a great nation. +He will never try to be a conqueror of other peoples, either with the +sword, with trade, or with religion. He will never care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> to have a great +voice in the management of the world. He does not care to interfere with +other people: he never believes interference can do other than harm to both sides.</p> + +<p>He will never be very rich, very powerful, very advanced in science, +perhaps not even in art, though I am not sure about that. It may be he +will be very great in literature and art. But, however that may be, in +his own idea his will be always the greatest nation in the world, +because it is the happiest.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE MONKHOOD—I</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Let his life be kindness, his conduct righteousness; then in the +fulness of gladness he will make an end of grief.'—<i>Dammapada.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>During his lifetime, that long lifetime that remained to him after he +had found the light, Gaudama the Buddha gathered round him many +disciples. They came to learn from his lips of that truth which he had +found, and they remained near him to practise that life which alone can +lead unto the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>From time to time, as occasion arose, the teacher laid down precepts and +rules to assist those who desired to live as he did—precepts and rules +designed to help his disciples in the right way. Thus there arose about +him a brotherhood of those who were striving to purify their souls, and +lead the higher life, and that brotherhood has lasted ever since, till +you see in it the monkhood of to-day, for that is all that the monks +are—a brotherhood of men who are trying to live as their great master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +lived, to purify their souls from the lust of life, to travel the road +that reaches unto deliverance. Only that, nothing more.</p> + +<p>There is no idea of priesthood about it at all, for by a priest we +understand one who has received from above some power, who is, as it +were, a representative on earth of God. Priests, to our thinking, are +those who have delegated to them some of that authority of which God is +the fountainhead. They can absolve from sin, we think; they can accept +into the faith; they can eject from it; they can exhort with authority; +they can administer the sacraments of religion; they can speed the +parting soul to God; they can damn the parting soul to hell. A priest is +one who is clothed with much authority and holiness.</p> + +<p>But in Buddhism there is not, there cannot be, anything of all this. The +God who lies far beyond our ken has delegated His authority to no one. +He works through everlasting laws. His will is manifested by +unchangeable sequences. There is nothing hidden about His laws that +requires exposition by His agents, nor any ceremonies necessary for +acceptance into the faith. Buddhism is a free religion. No one holds the +keys of a man's salvation but himself. Buddhism never dreams that anyone +can save or damn you but yourself, and so a Buddhist monk is as far away +from our ideas of a priest as can be. Nothing could be more abhorrent to +Buddhism than any claim of authority,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> of power, from above, of holiness +acquired except by the earnest effort of a man's own soul.</p> + +<p>These monks, who are so common all through Burma, whose monasteries are +outside every village, who can be seen in every street in the early +morning begging their bread, who educate the whole youth of the country, +are simply men who are striving after good.</p> + +<p>This is a difficult thing for us to understand, for our minds are bent +in another direction. A religion without a priesthood seems to us an +impossibility, and yet here it is so. The whole idea and thing of a +priesthood would be repugnant to Buddhism.</p> + +<p>It is a wonderful thing to contemplate how this brotherhood has existed +all these many centuries, how it has always gained the respect and +admiration of the people, how it has always held in its hands the +education of the children, and yet has never aspired to sacerdotalism. +Think of the temptation resisted here. The temptation to interfere in +government was great, the temptation to arrogate to themselves priestly +powers is far, far greater. Yet it has been always resisted. This +brotherhood of monks is to-day as it was twenty-three centuries ago—a +community of men seeking for the truth.</p> + +<p>Therefore, in considering these monks, we must dismiss from our minds +any idea of priesthood, any idea of extra human sanctity, of extra human +authority. We must never liken them in any way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> to our priests, or even +to our friars. I use the word monk, because it is the nearest of any +English word I can find, but even that is not quite correct. I have +often found this difficulty. I do not like to use the Burmese terms if I +can help it, for this reason, that strange terms and names confuse us. +They seem to lift us into another world—a world of people differing +from us, not in habits alone, but in mind and soul. It is a dividing +partition. It is very difficult to read a book speaking of people under +strange terms, and feel that they are flesh and blood with us, and +therefore I have, if possible, always used an English word where I can +come anywhere near the meaning, and in this case I think monk comes +closest to what I mean. Hermits they are not, for they live always in +communities by villages, and they do not seclude themselves from human +intercourse. Priests they are not, ministers they are not, clergymen +they are not; mendicants only half describe them, so I use the word monk +as coming nearest to what I wish to say.</p> + +<p>The monks, then, are those who are trying to follow the teaching of +Gaudama the Buddha, to wean themselves from the world, 'who have turned +their eyes towards heaven, where is the lake in which all passions shall +be washed away.' They are members of a great community, who are governed +by stringent regulations—the regulations laid down in the Wini for +observance by all monks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> When a man enters the monkhood, he makes four +vows—that he will be pure from lust, from desire of property, from the +taking of any life, from the assumption of any supernatural powers. +Consider this last, how it disposes once and for all of any desire a +monk may have toward mysticism, for this is what he is taught:</p> + +<p>'No member of our community may ever arrogate to himself extraordinary +gifts or supernatural perfection, or through vainglory give himself out +to be a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary +places on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the Ariahs, and afterwards +to presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. +Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green +again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy +station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an excess.'</p> + +<p>Is not this teaching the very reverse of that of all other peoples and +religions? Can you imagine the religious teachers of any other religion +being warned to keep themselves free from visions? Are not visions and +trances, dreams and imaginations, the very proof of holiness? But here +it is not so. These are vain things, foolish imaginations, and he who +would lead the pure life must put behind him all such things as mere +dram-drinking of the soul.</p> + +<p>This is a most wonderful thing, a religion that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> condemns all +mysticisms. It stands alone here amongst all religions, pure from the +tinsel of miracle, either past, or present, or to come. And yet this +people is, like all young nations, given to superstition: its young men +dream dreams, its girls see visions. There are interpreters of dreams, +many of them, soothsayers of all kinds, people who will give you charms, +and foretell events for you. Just as it was with us not long ago, the +mystery, <i>what is</i> beyond the world, exercises a curious fascination +over them. Everywhere you will meet with traces of it, and I have in +another chapter told some of the principal phases of these. But the +religion has kept itself pure. No hysteric visions, no madman's dreams, +no clever conjurer's tricks, have ever shed a tawdry glory on the +monkhood of the Buddha. Amid all the superstition round about them they +have remained pure, as they have from passion and desire. Here in the +far East, the very home, we think, of the unnatural and superhuman, the +very cradle of the mysterious and the wonderful, is a religion which +condemns it all, and a monkhood who follow their religion. Does not this +out-miracle any miracle?</p> + +<p>With other faiths it is different: they hold out to those who follow +their tenets and accept their ministry that in exchange for the worldly +things which their followers renounce they shall receive other gifts, +heavenly ones; they will be endued with power from above; they will have +authority<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> from on high; they will become the chosen messengers of God; +they may even in their trances enter into His heaven, and see Him face to face.</p> + +<p>Buddhism has nothing of all this to offer. A man must surrender all the +world, with no immediate gain. There is only this: that if he struggle +along in the path of righteousness, he will at length attain unto the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>A monk who dreamed dreams, who said that the Buddha had appeared to him +in a vision, who announced that he was able to prophesy, would be not +exalted, but expelled. He would be deemed silly or mad; think of +that—mad—for seeing visions, not holy at all! The boys would jeer at +him; he would be turned out of his monastery.</p> + +<p>A monk is he who observes purity and sanity of life. Hysteric dreams, +the childishness of the mysterious, the insanity of the miraculous, are +no part of that.</p> + +<p>And so a monk has to put behind him everything that is called good in +this life, and govern his body and his soul in strict temperance.</p> + +<p>He must wear but yellow garments, ample and decent, but not beautiful; +he must shave his head; he must have none but the most distant +intercourse with women; he must beg his food daily in the streets; he +must eat but twice, and then but a certain amount, and never after noon; +he must take no interest in worldly affairs; he must own no property, +must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> attend no plays or performances; 'he must eat, not to satisfy his +appetite, but to keep his body alive; he must wear clothes, not from +vanity, but from decency; he must live under a roof, not because of +vainglory, but because the weather renders it necessary.' All his life +is bounded by the very strictest poverty and purity.</p> + +<p>There is no austerity. A monk may not over-eat, but he must eat enough; +he must not wear fine clothes, but he must be decent and comfortable; he +must not have proud dwellings, but he should be sheltered from the weather.</p> + +<p>There is no self-punishment in Buddhism. Did not the Buddha prove the +futility of this long ago? The body must be kept in health, that the +soul may not be hampered. And so the monks live a very healthy, very +temperate life, eating and drinking just enough to keep the body in good +health; that is the first thing, that is the very beginning of the pure life.</p> + +<p>And as he trains his body by careful treatment, so does he his soul. He +must read the sacred books, he must meditate on the teachings of the +great teacher, he must try by every means in his power to bring these +truths home to himself, not as empty sayings, but as beliefs that are to +be to him the very essence of all truth. He is not cut off from society. +There are other monks, and there are visitors, men and women. He may +talk to them—he is no recluse; but he must not talk too much about +worldly matters.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> He must be careful of his thoughts, that they do not +lead him into wrong paths. His life is a life of self-culture.</p> + +<p>Being no priest, he has few duties to others to perform; he is not +called upon to interfere in the business of others. He does not visit +the sick; he has no concern with births and marriages and deaths. On +Sunday, and on certain other occasions, he may read the laws to the +people, that is all. Of this I will speak in another chapter. It does +not amount to a great demand upon his time. He is also the schoolmaster +of the village, but this is aside entirely from his sacred profession. +Certain duties he has, however. Every morning as the earliest sunlight +comes upon the monastery spires, when the birds are still calling to the +day, and the cool freshness of the morning still lies along the +highways, you will see from every monastery the little procession come +forth. First, perhaps, there will be two schoolboys with a gong slung on +a bamboo between them, which they strike now and then. And behind them, +in their yellow robes, their faces cast upon the ground, and the +begging-bowls in their hands, follow the monks. Very slowly they pass +along the streets, amid the girls hurrying to their stalls in the bazaar +with baskets of fruit upon their heads, the housewives out to buy their +day's requirements, the workman going to his work, the children running +and laughing and falling in the dust. Everyone makes room for them as +they go in slow and solemn <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>procession, and from this house and that +come forth women and children with a little rice that they have risen +before daylight to cook, a little curry, a little fruit, to put into the +bowls. Never is there any money given: a monk may not touch money, and +his wants are very few. Presents of books, and so on, are made at other +times; but in the morning only food is given.</p> + +<p>The gifts are never acknowledged. The cover of the bowl is removed, and +when the offering has been put in, it is replaced, and the monk moves +on. And when they have made their accustomed round, they return, as they +went, slowly to the monastery, their bowls full of food. I do not know +that this food is always eaten by the monks. Frequently in large towns +they are fed by rich men, who send daily a hot, fresh, well-cooked meal +for each monk, and the collected alms are given to the poor, or to +schoolboys, or to animals. But the begging round is never neglected, nor +is it a form. It is a very real thing, as anyone who has seen them go +knows. They must beg their food, and they do; it is part of the +self-discipline that the law says is necessary to help the soul to +humility. And the people give because it is a good thing to give alms. +Even if they know the monks are fed besides, they will fill the bowls as +the monks pass along. If the monks do not want it, there are the poor, +there are the schoolboys, sons of the poorest of the people, who may +often be in need of a meal; and if a little be left,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> then there are the +birds and the beasts. It is a good thing to give alms—good for +yourself, I mean. So that this daily procession does good in two ways: +it is good for the monk because he learns humility; it is good for the +people because they have thereby offered them a chance of giving a +little alms. Even the poorest may be able to give his spoonful of rice. +All is accepted. Think not a great gift is more acceptable than a little +one. You must judge by the giver's heart.</p> + +<p>At every feast, every rejoicing, the central feature is presents to the +monks. If a man put his son into a monastery, if he make merry at a +stroke of good fortune, if he wish to celebrate a mark of favour from +government, the principal ceremony of the feast will be presents to +monks. They must be presents such as the monks can accept; that is understood.</p> + +<p>Therefore, a man enters a monastery simply for this: to keep his body in +health by perfect moderation and careful conduct, and to prepare his +soul for heaven by meditation. That is the meaning of it all.</p> + +<p>If you see a grove of trees before you on your ride, mangoes and +tamarinds in clusters, with palms nodding overhead, and great +broad-leaved plantains and flowering shrubs below, you may be sure that +there is a monastery, for it is one of the commands to the monks of the +Buddha to live under the shade of lofty trees, and this command they +always keep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> They are most beautiful, many of these monasteries—great +buildings of dark-brown teak, weather-stained, with two or three roofs +one above the other, and at one end a spire tapering up until it ends in +a gilded 'tee.' Many of the monasteries are covered with carving along +the façades and up the spires, scroll upon scroll of daintiest design, +quaint groups of figures here and there, and on the gateways moulded +dragons. All the carvings tell a story taken from the treasure-house of +the nation's infancy, quaint tales of genii and fairy and wonderful +adventure. Never, I think, do the carvings tell anything of the sacred +life or teaching. The Burmese are not fond, as we are, of carving and +painting scenes from sacred books. Perhaps they think the subject too +holy for the hand of the craftsman, and so, with, as far as I know, but +one exception in all Burma—a pagoda built by Indian architects long +ago—you will look in vain for any sacred teaching in the carvings. But +they are very beautiful, and their colour is so good, the deep rich +brown of teak against the light green of the tamarinds, and the great +leaves of the plantains all about. Within the monastery it will be all +bare. However beautiful the building is without, no relaxation of his +rules is allowed to the monk within. All is bare: only a few mats, +perhaps, here and there on the plank floor, a hard wooden bed, a box or two of books.</p> + +<p>At one end there will be sure to be the image<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> of the teacher, wrought +in alabaster. These are always one of three stereotyped designs; they +are not works of art at all. The wealth of imagination and desire of +beauty that finds its expression in the carved stories in the façades +has no place here at all. It would be thought a sacrilege to attempt in +any way to alter the time-honoured figures that have come down to us from long ago.</p> + +<p>Over the head of the image there will be a white or golden umbrella, +whence we have derived our haloes, and perhaps a lotus-blossom in an +earthen pot in front. That will be all. There is this very remarkable +fact: of all the great names associated with the life of the Buddha, you +never see any presentment at all.</p> + +<p>The Buddha stands alone. Of Maya his mother, of Yathodaya his wife, of +Rahoula his son, of his great disciple Thariputra, of his dearest +disciple and brother Ananda, you see nothing. There are no saints in +Buddhism at all, only the great teacher, he who saw the light. Surely +this is a curious thing, that from the time of the prince to now, two +thousand four hundred years, no one has arisen to be worthy of mention +of record beside him. There is only one man holy to Buddhism—Gaudama the Buddha.</p> + +<p>On one side of the monasteries there will be many pagodas, tombs of the +Buddha. They are usually solid cones, topped with a gilded 'tee,' and +there are many of them. Each man will build one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> in his lifetime if he +can. They are always white or gold.</p> + +<p>So there is much colour about a monastery—the brown of the wood and the +white of the pagoda, and tender green of the trees. The ground is always +kept clean-swept and beaten and neat. And there is plenty of sound, +too—the fairy music of little bells upon the pagoda-tops when the +breeze moves, the cooing of the pigeons in the eaves, the voices of the +schoolboys. Monastery land is sacred. No life may be taken there, no +loud sounds, no noisy merriment, no abuse is permitted anywhere within +the fence. Monasteries are places of meditation and peace.</p> + +<p>Of course, all monasteries are not great and beautiful buildings; many +are but huts of bamboo and straw, but little better than the villager's +hut. Some villages are so poor that they can afford but little for their +holy men. But always there will be trees, always the ground will be +swept, always the place will be respected just the same. And as soon as +a good crop gives the village a little money, it will build a teak +monastery, be sure of that.</p> + +<p>Monasteries are free to all. Any stranger may walk into a monastery and +receive shelter. The monks are always hospitable. I have myself lived, +perhaps, a quarter of my life in Burma in monasteries, or in the +rest-houses attached to them. We break all their laws: we ride and wear +boots within the sacred enclosure; our servants kill fowls for our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +dinners there, where all life is protected; we treat these monks, these +who are the honoured of the nation, much in the offhand, unceremonious +way that we treat all Orientals; we often openly laugh at their +religion. And yet they always receive us; they are often even glad to +see us and talk to us. Very, very seldom do you meet with any return in +kind for your contempt of their faith and habits. I have heard it said +sometimes that some monks stand aloof, that they like to keep to +themselves. If they should do so, can you wonder? Would any people, not +firmly bound by their religion, put up with it all for a moment? If you +went into a Mahommedan mosque in Delhi with your boots on, you would +probably be killed. Yet we clump round the Shwe Dagon pagoda at our +ease, and no one interferes. Do not suppose that it is because the +Burman believes less than the Hindu or Mahommedan. It is because he +believes more, because he is taught that submission and patience are +strong Buddhist virtues, and that a man's conduct is an affair of his +own soul. He is willing to believe that the Englishman's breaches of +decorum are due to foreign manners, to the necessities of our life, to +ignorance. But even if he supposed that we did these things out of sheer +wantonness it would make no difference. If the foreigner is dead to +every feeling of respect, of courtesy, of sympathy, that is an affair of +the foreigner's own heart. It is not for the monk to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> enforce upon +strangers the respect and reverence due to purity, to courage, to the +better things. Each man is responsible for himself, the foreigner no +less than the Burman. If a foreigner have no respect for what is good, +that is his own business. It can hurt no one but himself if he is +blatant, ignorant, contemptuous. No one is insulted by it, or requires +revenge for it. You might as well try and insult gravity by jeering at +Newton and his pupils, as injure the laws of righteousness by jeering at +the Buddha or his monks. And so you will see foreigners take all sorts +of liberties in monasteries and pagodas, break every rule wantonly, and +disregard everything the Buddhist holds holy, and yet very little notice +will be taken openly. Burmans will have their own opinion of you, do +have their own opinion of you, without a doubt; but because you are lost +to all sense of decency, that is no reason why the Buddhist monk or +layman should also lower himself by getting angry and resent it; and so +you may walk into any monastery or rest-house and act as you think fit, +and no one will interfere with you. Nay, if you even show a little +courtesy to the monks, your hosts, they will be glad to talk to you and +tell you of their lives and their desires. It is very seldom that a +pleasant word or a jest will not bring the monks into forgetting all +your offences, and talking to you freely and openly. I have had, I have +still, many friends among the monkhood; I have been beholden to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> them +for many kindnesses; I have found them always, peasants as they are, +courteous and well-mannered. Nay, there are greater things than these.</p> + +<p>When my dear friend was murdered at the outbreak of the war, wantonly +murdered by the soldiers of a brutal official, and his body drifted down +the river, everyone afraid to bury it, for fear of the wrath of +government, was it not at last tenderly and lovingly buried by the monks +near whose monastery it floated ashore? Would all people have done this? +Remember, he was one of those whose army was engaged in subduing the +kingdom; whose army imprisoned the king, and had killed, and were +killing, many, many hundreds of Burmans. 'We do not remember such +things. All men are brothers to the dead.' They are brothers to the +living, too. Is there not a monastery near Kindat, built by an +Englishman as a memorial to the monk who saved his life at peril of his +own at that same time, who preserved him till help came?</p> + +<p>Can anyone ever tell when the influence of a monk has been other than +for pity or mercy? Surely they believe their religion? I did not know +how people could believe till I saw them.</p> + +<p>Martyrdom—what is martyrdom, what is death, for your religion, compared +to living within its commands? Death is easy; life it is that is +difficult. Men have died for many things: love and hate, and religion +and science, for patriotism and avarice, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> self-conceit and sheer +vanity, for all sorts of things, of value and of no value. Death proves +nothing. Even a coward can die well. But a pure life is the outcome only +of the purest religion, of the greatest belief, of the most magnificent +courage. Those who can live like this can die, too, if need be—have +done so often and often; that is but a little matter indeed. No Buddhist +would consider that as a very great thing beside a holy life.</p> + +<p>There is another difference between us. We think a good death hallows an +evil life; no Buddhist would hear of this for a moment.</p> + +<p>The reverence in which a monk—ay, even the monk to-day who was but an +ordinary man yesterday—is held by the people is very great. All those +who address him do so kneeling. Even the king himself was lower than a +monk, took a lower seat than a monk in the palace. He is addressed as +'Lord,' and those who address him are his disciples. Poor as he is, +living on daily charity, without any power or authority of any kind, the +greatest in the land would dismount and yield the road that he should +pass. Such is the people's reverence for a holy life. Never was such +voluntary homage yielded to any as to these monks. There is a special +language for them, the ordinary language of life being too common to be +applied to their actions. They do not sleep or eat or walk as do other men.</p> + +<p>It seems strange to us, coming from our land where poverty is an +offence, where the receipt of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> alms is a degradation, where the ideal is +power, to see here all this reversed. The monks are the poorest of the +poor, they are dependent on the people for their daily bread; for +although lands may be given to a monastery as a matter of fact, very few +have any at all, and those only a few palm-trees. They have no power at +all, either temporal or eternal; they are not very learned, and yet they +are the most honoured of all people. Without any of the attributes which +in our experience gather the love and honour of mankind, they are +honoured above all men.</p> + +<p>The Burman demands from the monk no assistance in heavenly affairs, no +interference in worldly, only this, that he should live as becomes a +follower of the great teacher. And because he does so live the Burman +reverences him beyond all others. The king is feared, the wise man +admired, perhaps envied, the rich man is respected, but the monk is +honoured and loved. There is no one beside him in the heart of the +people. If you would know what a Burman would be, see what a monk is: +that is his ideal. But it is a very difficult ideal. The Burman is very +fond of life, very full of life, delighting in the joy of existence, +brimming over with vitality, with humour, with merriment. They are a +young people, in the full flush of early nationhood. To them of all +people the restraints of a monk's life must be terrible and hard to +maintain. And because it is so, because they all know how hard it is to +do right, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> because the monks do right, they honour them, and they +know they deserve honour. Remember that all these people have been monks +themselves at one time or other; they know how hard the rules are, they +know how well they are observed. They are reverencing what they +thoroughly understand; they have seen their monkhood from the inside; +their reverence is the outcome of a very real knowledge.</p> + +<p>Of the internal management of the monkhood I have but little to say. +There is the Thathanabaing, who is the head of the community; there are +under him Gaing-oks, who each have charge of a district; each Gaing-ok +has an assistant, 'a prop,' called Gaing-dauk; and there are the heads +of monasteries. The Thathanabaing is chosen by the heads of the +monasteries, and appoints his Gaing-oks and Gaing-dauks. There is no +complication about it. Usually any serious dispute is decided by a court +of three or four heads of monasteries, presided over by the Gaing-ok. +But note this: no monk can be tried by any ecclesiastical court without +his consent. Each monastery is self-governing; no monk can be called to +account by any Gaing-ok or Gaing-dauk unless he consents. The discipline +is voluntary entirely. There are no punishments by law for disobedience +of an ecclesiastical court. A monk cannot be unfrocked by his fellows.</p> + +<p>Therefore, it would seem that there would be no check over abuses, that +monks could do as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> liked, that irregularities could creep in, and +that, in fact, there is nothing to prevent a monastery becoming a +disgrace. This would be a great mistake. It must never be forgotten that +monks are dependent on their village for everything—food and clothes, +and even the monastery itself. Do not imagine that the villagers would +allow their monks, their 'great glories,' to become a scandal to them. +The supervision exercised by the people over their monks is most +stringent. As long as the monks act as monks should, they are held in +great honour, they are addressed by titles of great respect, they are +supplied with all they want within the rules of the Wini, they are the +glory of the village. But do you think a Burman would render this homage +to a monk whom he could not respect, who did actions he should not? A +monk is one who acts as a monk. Directly he breaks his laws, his +holiness is gone. The villagers will have none such as he. They will +hunt him out of the village, they will refuse him food, they will make +him a byword, a scorn. I have known this to happen. If a monk's holiness +be suspected, he must clear himself before a court, or leave that place +quickly, lest worse befall him. It is impossible to conceive any +supervision more close than this of the people over their monks, and so +the breaches of any law by the monks are very rare—very rare indeed. +You see, for one thing, that a monk never takes the vows for life. He +takes them for six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> months, a year, two years, very often for five +years; then, if he finds the life suit him, he continues. If he finds +that he cannot live up to the standard required, he is free to go. There +is no compulsion to stay, no stigma on going. As a matter of fact, very +few monks there are but have left the monastery at one time or another. +It is impossible to over-estimate the value of this safety-valve. What +with the certainty of detection and punishment from his people, and the +knowledge that he can leave the monastery if he will at the end of his +time without any reproach, a monk is almost always able to keep within his rules.</p> + +<p>I have had for ten years a considerable experience of criminal law. I +have tried hundreds of men for all sorts of offences; I have known of +many hundreds more being tried, and the only cases where a monk was +concerned that I can remember are these: three times a monk has been +connected in a rebellion, once in a divorce case, once in another +offence. This last case happened just as we annexed the country, and +when our courts were not established. He was detected by the villagers, +stripped of his robes, beaten, and hunted out of the place with every +ignominy possible. There is only one opinion amongst all those who have +tried to study the Buddhist monkhood—that their conduct is admirable. +Do you suppose the people would reverence it as they do if it were +corrupt? They know: they have seen it from the inside. It is not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +outside knowledge they have. And when it is understood that anyone can +enter a monastery—thieves and robbers, murderers and sinners of every +description, can enter, are even urged to enter monasteries, and try to +live the holy life; and many of them do, either as a refuge against +pursuit, or because they really repent—it will be conceded that the +discipline of the monks, if obtained in a different way to elsewhere, is very effective.</p> + +<p>The more you study the monkhood, the more you see that this community is +the outcome of the very heart of the people. It is a part of the people, +not cut off from them, but of them; it is recruited in great numbers +from all sorts and conditions of men. In every village and town—nearly +every man has been a monk at one time or another—it is honoured alike +by all; it is kept in the straight way, not only from the inherent +righteousness of its teaching, but from the determination of the people +to allow no stain to rest upon what they consider as their 'great +glory.' This whole monkhood is founded on freedom. It is held together +not by a strong organization, but by general consent. There is no +mystery about it, there are no dark places here where the sunlight of +inquiry may not come. The whole business is so simple that the very +children can and do understand it. I shall have expressed myself very +badly if I have not made it understood how absolutely voluntary this +monkhood is, held together by no everlasting vows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> restrained by no +rigid discipline. It is simply the free outcome of the free beliefs of +the people, as much a part of them as the fruit is of the tree. You +could no more imagine grapes without a vine than a Buddhist monkhood +that did not spring directly from, and depend entirely on, the people. +It is the higher expression of their life.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>In writing this account of the Burmese and their religion, I have tried +always to see with my own eyes, to write my own thoughts without any +reference to what anyone else may have thought or written. I have +believed that whatever value may attach to any man's opinions consists +in the fact that they are his opinions, and not a <i>rechauffé</i> of the +thoughts of others, and therefore I have not even referred to, or quoted +from, any other writer, preferring to write only what I have myself seen +and thought. But I cannot end this chapter on the monks of the Buddha +without a reference to what Bishop Bigandet has said on the same +subject, for he is no observer prejudiced in favour of Buddhism, but the +reverse. He was a bishop of the Church of Rome, believing always that +his faith contained all truth, and that the Buddha was but a 'pretended +saviour,' his teachings based on 'capital and revolting errors,' and +marked with an 'inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity.' Bishop +Bigandet was in no sympathy with Buddhism, but its avowed foe, desirous +of undermining and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>destroying its influence over the hearts of men, and +yet this is the way he ends his chapter:</p> + +<p>'There is in that religious body—the monks—a latent principle of +vitality that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength +and energy that has hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, +revolutionary and political, convulsions of all descriptions. Whether +supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and +unchanged. It is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a +phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such +extraordinary vitality, a cause independent of ordinary occurrences of +time and circumstances, a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the +populations that exhibit before the observer this great and striking +religious feature.</p> + +<p>'That cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm +faith, that pervades the mass of Buddhists. The laity admire and +venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to +their maintenance and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is +constantly recruited. There is hardly a man that has not been a member +of the fraternity for a certain period of time.</p> + +<p>'Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long unless +it were maintained by a powerful religious connection.</p> + +<p>'The members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of +their profession. The rules and regulations are tolerably well +observed;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> the grades of hierarchy are maintained with scrupulous +exactitude. The life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual +control. He is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could +such a system of self-denial ever be maintained, were it not for the +belief which the Rahans have in the merits that they amass by following +a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to Nature? It cannot be +denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the +religious, but, divested of faith and the sentiments supplied by even a +false belief, their action could not produce in a lasting and +persevering manner the extraordinary and striking fact that we witness +in Buddhist countries.'</p> + +<p>This monkhood is the proof of how the people believe. Has any religion +ever had for twenty-four centuries such a proof as this?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE MONKHOOD—II</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'The restrained in hand, restrained in foot, restrained in speech, +of the greatest self-control. He whose delight is inward, who is +tranquil and happy when alone—him they call +"mendicant."'—<i>Acceptance into the Monkhood.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Besides being the ideal of the Buddhists, the monk is more: he is the +schoolmaster of all the boys. It must be remembered that this is a thing +aside from his monkhood. A monk need not necessarily teach; the aim and +object of the monkhood is, as I have written in the last chapter, purity +and abstraction from the world. If the monk acts as schoolmaster, that +is a thing apart. And yet all monasteries are schools. The word in +Burmese is the same; they are identified in popular speech and in +popular opinion. All the monasteries are full of scholars, all the monks +teach. I suppose much the same reasons have had influence here as in +other nations; the desire of the parents that their children should +learn religion in their childhood, the fact that the wisest and most +honoured men entered the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>monkhood, the leisure of the monks giving them +opportunity for such occupation.</p> + +<p>Every man all through Burma has gone to a monastery school as a lad, has +lived there with the monks, has learnt from them the elements of +education and a knowledge of his faith. It is an exception to find a +Burman who cannot read and write. Sometimes from lack of practice the +art is lost in later manhood, but it has always been acquired. The +education is not very deep—reading Burmese and writing; simple, very +simple, arithmetic; a knowledge of the days and months, and a little +geography, perhaps, and history—that is all that is secular. But of +their religion they learn a great deal. They have to get by heart great +portions of the sacred books, stories and teachings, and they have to +learn many precepts. They have to recite them, too, as those who have +lived much near monasteries know. Several times a day, at about nine +o'clock at night, and again before dawn, you will hear the lads intoning +clearly and loudly some of the sacred teachings. I have been awakened +many a time in the early morning, before the dawn, before even the +promise of the dawn in the eastern sky, by the children's voices +intoning. And I have put aside my curtain and looked out from my +rest-house and seen them in the dim starlight kneeling before the +pagoda, the tomb of the great teacher, saying his laws. The light comes +rapidly in this country: the sky reddens, the stars die quickly +overhead, the first long beams<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> of sunrise are trembling on the dewy +bamboo feathers ere they have finished. It is one of the most beautiful +sights imaginable to see monks and children kneeling on the bare ground, +singing while the dawn comes.</p> + +<p>The education in their religion is very good, very thorough, not only in +precept, but in practice; for in the monastery you must live a holy +life, as the monks live, even if you are but a schoolboy.</p> + +<p>But the secular education is limited. It is up to the standard of +education amongst the people at large, but that is saying little. Beyond +reading and writing and arithmetic it generally does not go. I have seen +the little boys do arithmetic. They were adding sums, and they began, +not as we would, on the right, but on the left. They added, say, the +hundreds first; then they wrote on the slate the number of hundreds, and +added up the tens. If it happened that the tens mounted up so as to add +one or more to the hundreds, a grimy little finger would wipe out the +hundreds already written and write in the correct numbers. It follows +that if the units on being added up came to over ten, the tens must be +corrected with the grimy little finger, first put in the mouth. Perhaps +both tens and hundreds had to be written again. It will be seen that +when you come to thousands and tens of thousands, a good deal of wiping +out and re-writing may be required. A Burman is very bad at arithmetic; +a villager will often write 133 as 100,303; he would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> almost as soon +write 43 as 34; both figures are in each number, you see.</p> + +<p>I never met a Burman who had any idea of cubic measurement, though land +measurement they pick up very quickly.</p> + +<p>I have said that the education in the monasteries is up to the average +education of the people. That is so. Whether when civilization +progresses and more education is required the monasteries will be able +to provide it is another thing.</p> + +<p>The education given now is mostly a means to an end: to learning the +precepts of religion. Whether the monks will provide an education beyond +such a want, I doubt. A monk is by his vows, by the whole tenour of his +life, apart from the world; too keen a search after knowledge, any kind +of secular knowledge, would be a return to the things of this life, +would, perhaps, re-kindle in him the desires that the whole meaning of +his life is to annihilate. 'And after thou hast run over all things, +what will it profit thee if thou hast neglected thyself?'</p> + +<p>Besides, no knowledge, except mere theoretical knowledge, can be +acquired without going about in the world. You cannot cut yourself off +from the world and get knowledge of it. Yet the monk is apart from the +world. It is true that Buddhism has no antagonism to science—nay, has +every sympathy with, every attraction to, science. Buddhism will never +try and block the progress of the truth, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> light, secular or +religious; but whether the monks will find it within their vows to +provide that science, only time can prove. However it may be, it will +not make any difference to the estimation in which the monks are held. +They are not honoured for their wisdom—they often have but little; nor +for their learning—they often have none at all; nor for their +industry—they are never industrious; but because they are men trying to +live—nay, succeeding in living—a life void of sin. Up till now the +education given by the monks has met the wants of the people; in future +it will do so less and less. But a community that has lived through +twenty-four centuries of change, and is now of the strength and vitality +that the Buddhist monkhood is, can have nothing to fear from any such +change. Schoolmasters, except religious and elementary, they may cease +to be, perhaps; the pattern and ensample of purity and righteousness +they will always remain.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>PRAYER</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'What is there that can justify tears and lamentations?'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>Down below my house, in a grove of palms near the river, was a little +rest-house. It was but a roof and a floor of teak boarding without any +walls, and it was plainly built. It might have held, perhaps, twenty +people; and here, as I strolled past in the evening when the sun was +setting, I would see two or three old men sitting with beads in their +hands. They were making their devotions, saying to themselves that the +world was all trouble, all weariness, and that there was no rest +anywhere except in observing the laws of righteousness. It was very +pathetic, I thought, to see them there, saying this over and over again, +as they told their beads through their withered fingers, for surely +there was no necessity for them to learn it. Has not everyone learnt it, +this, the first truth of Buddhism, long before his hair is gray, before +his hands are shaking, before his teeth are gone? But there they would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +sit, evening after evening, thinking of the change about to come upon +them soon, realizing the emptiness of life, wishing for the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>On Sundays the rest-house, like many others round the village, was +crowded. Old men there would be, and one or two young men, a few +children, and many women. Early in the morning they would come, and a +monk would come down from the monastery near by, and each one would vow, +with the monk as witness, that he or she would spend the day in +meditation and in holy thought, would banish all thought of evil, and be +for the day at least holy. And then, the vow made, the devotee would go +and sit in the rest-house and meditate. The village is not very near; +the sounds come very softly through the trees, not enough to disturb the +mind; only there is the sigh of the wind wandering amid the leaves, and +the occasional cry of birds. Once before noon a meal will be eaten, +either food brought with them cold, or a simple pot of rice boiled +beside the rest-house, and there they will stay till the sun sets and +darkness is gathering about the foot of the trees. There is no service +at all. The monk may come and read part of the sacred books—some of the +Abidama, or a sermon from the Thoots—and perhaps sometimes he may +expound a little; that is all. There is nothing akin to our ideas of +worship. For consider what our service consists of: there is +thanksgiving and praise, there is prayer, there is reading of the Bible, +there is a sermon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> Our thanksgiving and praise is rendered to God for +things He has done, the pleasure that He has allowed us to enjoy, the +punishment that He might have inflicted upon us and has not. Our prayer +is to Him to preserve us in future, to assist us in our troubles, to +give us our daily food, not to be too severe upon us, not to punish us +as we deserve, but to be merciful and kind. We ask Him to protect us +from our enemies, not to allow them to triumph over us, but to give us triumph over them.</p> + +<p>But the Buddhist has far other thoughts than these. He believes that the +world is ruled by everlasting, unchangeable laws of righteousness. The +great God lives far behind His laws, and they are for ever and ever. You +cannot change the laws of righteousness by praising them, or by crying +against them, any more than you can change the revolution of the earth. +Sin begets sorrow, sorrow is the only purifier from sin; these are +eternal sequences; they cannot be altered; it would not be good that +they should be altered. The Buddhist believes that the sequences are +founded on righteousness, are the path to righteousness, and he does not +believe he could alter them for the better, even if he had the power by +prayer to do so. He believes in the everlasting <i>righteousness</i>, that +all things work for <i>good</i> in the end; he has no need for prayer or +praise; he thinks that the world is governed with far greater wisdom +than any of his—perfect wisdom, that is too great, too wonderful, for his petty praise.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p><p>God lives far behind His laws; think not He has made them so badly as +to require continual rectification at the prayer of man. Think not that +God is not bound by His own laws. The Buddhist will never believe that +God can break His own laws; that He is like an earthly king who imagines +one code of morality for his subjects and another for himself. Not so; +the great laws are founded in righteousness, so the Buddhist believes, +in everlasting righteousness; they are perfect, far beyond our +comprehension; they are the eternal, unchangeable, marvellous will of +God, and it is our duty not to be for ever fretfully trying to change +them, but to be trying to understand them. That is the Buddhist belief +in the meaning of religion, and in the laws of righteousness; that is, +he believes the duty of him who would follow religion to try to +understand these laws, to bring them home to the heart, so to order life +as to bring it into harmony with righteousness.</p> + +<p>Now see the difference. We believe that the world is governed not by +eternal laws, but by a changeable and continually changing God, and that +it is our duty to try and persuade Him to make it better.</p> + +<p>We believe, really, that we know a great deal better than God what is +good, not only for us, but for others; we do not believe His will is +always righteous—not at all: God has wrath to be deprecated; He has +mercy to be aroused; He has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> partiality to be turned towards us, and +hence our prayers.</p> + +<p>But to the Buddhist the whole world is ruled by righteousness, the same +for all, the same for ever, and the only sin is ignorance of these laws.</p> + +<p>The Buddha is he who has found for us the light to see these laws, and +to order our life in accordance with them.</p> + +<p>Now it will be understood, I think, why there is no prayer, no gathering +together for any ceremonial, in Buddhism; why there is no praise, no +thanksgiving of any kind; why it is so very different in this way from +our faith. Buddhism is a wisdom, a seeking of the light, a following of +the light, each man as best he can, and it has very little to correspond +with our prayer, our services of praise, our meetings together in the name of Christ.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when you see a man kneeling before a pagoda, moving silent +lips of prayer, when you see the people sitting quietly in the +rest-houses on a Sunday, when you see the old men telling their beads to +themselves slowly and sadly, when you hear the resonant chant of monks +and children, lending a soul to the silence of the gloaming, you will +know what they are doing. They are trying to understand and bring home +to themselves the eternal laws of righteousness; they are honouring their great teacher.</p> + +<p>This is all that there is; this is the meaning of all that you see and +hear. The Buddhist praises and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> honours the Buddha, the Indian prince +who so long ago went out into the wilderness to search for truth, and +after many years found it in his own heart; he reverences the Buddha for +seeing the light; he thanks the Buddha for his toil and exertion in +making this light known to all men. It can do the Buddha no good, all +this praise, for he has come to his eternal peace; but it can arouse the +enthusiasm of the follower, can bring into his heart love for the memory +of the great teacher, and a firm resolve to follow his teaching.</p> + +<p>The service of his religion is to try and follow these laws, to take +them home into the heart, that the follower, too, may come soon into the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>This has been called pessimism. Surely it is the greatest optimism the +world has known—this certainty that the world is ruled by +righteousness, that the world has been, that the world will always be, +ruled by perfect righteousness.</p> + +<p>To the Buddhist this is a certainty. The laws are laws of righteousness, +if man would but see, would but understand. Do not complain and cry and +pray, but open your eyes and see. The light is all about you, if you +would only cast the bandage from your eyes and look. It is so wonderful, +so beautiful, far beyond what any man has dreamt of, has prayed for, and +it is for ever and for ever.</p> + +<p>This is the attitude of Buddhism towards prayer, towards thanksgiving. +It considers them an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>impertinence and a foolishness, born of ignorance, +akin to the action of him who would daily desire Atlas not to allow the +heavens to drop upon the earth.</p> + +<p>And yet, and yet.</p> + +<p>I remember standing once on the platform of a famous pagoda, the golden +spire rising before us, and carved shrines around us, and seeing a woman +lying there, her face to the pagoda. She was praying fervently, so +fervently that her words could be heard, for she had no care for anyone +about, in such trouble was she; and what she was asking was this, that +her child, her baby, might not die. She held the little thing in her +arms, and as she looked upon it her eyes were full of tears. For it was +very sick; its little limbs were but thin bones, with big knees and +elbows, and its face was very wan. It could not even take any interest +in the wonderful sights around, but hardly opened its careworn eyes now +and then to blink upon the world.</p> + +<p>'Let him recover, let him be well once more!' the woman cried, again and again.</p> + +<p>Whom was she beseeching? I do not know.</p> + +<p>'Thakin, there will be Someone, Someone. A Spirit may hear. Who can +tell? Surely someone will help me? Men would help me if they could, but +they cannot; surely there will be someone?'</p> + +<p>So she did not remember the story of Ma Pa Da.</p> + +<p>Women often pray, I think—they pray that their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> husbands and those they +love may be well. It is a frequent ending to a girl's letter to her +lover: 'And I pray always that you may be well.' I never heard of their +praying for anything but this: that they may be loved, and those they +love may be well. Nothing else is worth praying for besides this. The +queen would pray at the pagoda in the palace morning and evening. 'What +did she pray for?' 'What should she pray for, thakin? Surely she prayed +that her husband might be true to her, and that her children might live +and be strong. That is what women pray for. Do you think a queen would +pray differently to any other woman?'</p> + +<p>'Women,' say the Buddhist monks, 'never understand. They <i>will</i> not +understand; they cannot learn. And so we say that most women must be +born again, as men, before they can see the light and understand the +laws of righteousness.'</p> + +<p>What do women care for laws of righteousness? What do they care for +justice? What for the everlasting sequences that govern the world? Would +not they involve all other men, all earth and heaven, in bottomless +chaos, to save one heart they loved? That is woman's religion.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>FESTIVALS</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'The law is sweet, filling the soul with joy.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>The three months of the rains, from the full moon of July to the full +moon of October, is the Buddhist Lent. It was during these months that +the Buddha would retire to some monastery and cease from travelling and +teaching for a time. The custom was far older even than that—so old +that we do not know how it arose. Its origin is lost in the mists of +far-away time. But whatever the beginning may have been, it fits in very +well with the habits of the people; for in the rains travelling is not +easy. The roads are very bad, covered even with water, often deep in +mud; and the rest-houses, with open sides, are not very comfortable with +the rain drifting in. Even if there were no custom of Lent, there would +be but little travelling then. People would stay at home, both because +of the discomfort of moving, and because there is much work then at the +village. For this is the time to plough, this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> the time to sow; on +the villagers' exertions in these months depends all their maintenance +for the rest of the year. Every man, every woman, every child, has hard +work of some kind or another.</p> + +<p>What with the difficulties of travelling, what with the work there is to +do, and what with the custom of Lent, everyone stays at home. It is the +time for prayer, for fasting, for improving the soul. Many men during +these months will live even as the monks live, will eat but before +mid-day, will abstain from tobacco. There are no plays during Lent, and +there are no marriages. It is the time for preparing the land for the +crop; it is the time for preparing the soul for eternity. The +congregations on the Sundays will be far greater at this time than at +any other; there will be more thought of the serious things of life.</p> + +<p>It is a very long Lent—three months; but with the full moon of October +comes the end. The rains then are over; the great black bank of clouds +that walled up all the south so long is gone. The south wind has died +away, and the light, fresh north wind is coming down the river. The +roads are drying up, the work in the fields is over for a time, awaiting +the ripening of the grain. The damp has gone out of the air, and it is +very clear. You can see once more the purple mountains that you have +missed so long; there is a new feeling in the wind, a laughter in the +sunshine, a flush of blossom along the fields like the awakening of a +new joy. The rains are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> gone and the cool weather is coming; Lent is +over and gladness is returned; the crop has been sown, and soon will +come the reaping. And so at this full moon of October is the great feast +of the year. There are other festivals: of the New Year, in March, with +its water-throwing; of each great pagoda at its appointed time; but of +all, the festival at the end of Lent is the greatest.</p> + +<p>Wherever there are great pagodas the people will come in from far and +near for the feast. There are many great pagodas in Burma; there is the +Arakan pagoda in Mandalay, and there was the Incomparable pagoda, which +has been burnt; there are great pagodas at Pegu, at Prome, at many other +places; but perhaps the greatest of all is the Shwe Dagon at Rangoon.</p> + +<p>You see it from far away as you come up the river, steaming in from the +open sea, a great tongue of flame before you. It stands on a small +conical hill just behind the city of Rangoon, about two miles away from +the wharves and shipping in the busy river. The hill has been levelled +on the top and paved into a wide platform, to which you ascend by a +flight of many steps from the gate below, where stand the dragons. This +entrance-way is all roofed over, and the pillars and the ceiling are red +and painted. Here it was that much fighting took place in the early +wars, in 1852 especially, and many men, English and Burmese, were killed +in storming and defending this strong place. For it had been made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> a +very strong place, this holy place of him who taught that peace was the +only good, and the defences round about it are standing still. Upon the +top of this hill, the flat paved top, stands the pagoda, a great solid +tapering cone over three hundred feet high, ending in an iron fretwork +spire that glitters with gold and jewels; and the whole pagoda is +covered with gold—pure leaf-gold. Down below it is being always renewed +by the pious offerings of those who come to pray and spread a little +gold-leaf on it; but every now and then it is all regilt, from the top, +far away above you, to the golden lions that guard its base. It is a +most wonderful sight, this great golden cone, in that marvellous +sunlight that bathes its sides like a golden sea. It seems to shake and +tremble in the light like a fire. And all about the platform, edging it +ere it falls away below, are little shrines, marvels of carven woodwork +and red lacquer. They have tapering roofs, one above another, till they, +too, end in a golden spire full of little bells with tongues. As the +wind blows the tongues move to and fro, and the air is full of music, so +faint, so clear, like 'silver stir of strings in hollow shells.'</p> + +<p>In most of these shrines there are statues of the great teacher, cut in +white alabaster, glimmering whitely in the lustrous shadows there +within; and in one shrine is the great bell. Long ago we tried to take +this great bell; we tried to send it home as a war trophy, this bell +stolen from their sacred place,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> but we failed. As it was being put on +board a ship, it slipped and fell into the river into the mud, where the +fierce tides are ever coming and going. And when all the efforts of our +engineers to raise it had failed, the Burmese asked: 'The bell, our +bell, is there in the water. You cannot get it up. You have tried and +you have failed. If we can get it up, may we have it back to hang in our +pagoda as our own again?' And they were told, with a laugh, perhaps, +that they might; and so they raised it up again, the river giving back +to them what it had refused to us, and they took and hung it where it +used to be. There it is now, and you may hear it when you go, giving out +a long, deep note, the beat of the pagoda's heart.</p> + +<p>There are many trees, too, about the pagoda platform—so many, that seen +far off you can only see the trees and the pagoda towering above them. +Have not trees been always sacred things? Have not all religions been +glad to give their fanes the glory and majesty of great trees?</p> + +<p>You may look from the pagoda platform over the whole country, over the +city and the river and the straight streets; and on the other side you +may see the long white lakes and little hills covered with trees. It is +a very beautiful place, this pagoda, and it is steeped in an odour of +holiness, the perfume of the thousand thousand prayers that have been +prayed there, of the thousand thousand holy thoughts that have been +thought there.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>The pagoda platform is always full of people kneeling, saying over and +over the great precepts of their faith, trying to bring into their +hearts the meaning of the teaching of him of whom this wonderful pagoda +represents the tomb. There are always monks there passing to and fro, or +standing leaning on the pillars of the shrines; there are always a crowd +of people climbing up and down the long steps that lead from the road +below. It is a place I always go to when I am in Rangoon; for, besides +its beauty, there are the people; and if you go and stand near where the +stairway reaches the platform you will see the people come up. They come +up singly, in twos, in groups. First a nun, perhaps, walking very +softly, clad in her white dress with her beads about her neck, and there +in a corner by a little shrine she will spread a cloth upon the hard +stones and kneel and bow her face to the great pagoda. Then she will +repeat, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble,' over and over again, running her +beads through her fingers, repeating the words in the hope that in the +end she may understand whither they should lead her. 'Sorrow, misery, +trouble'—ah! surely she must know what they mean, or she would not be a +nun. And then comes a young man, and after a reverence to the pagoda he +goes wandering round, looking for someone, maybe; and then comes an old +man with his son. They stop at the little stalls on the stairs, and they +have bought there each a candle. The old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> man has a plain taper, but the +little lad must have one with his emblem on it. Each day has its own +sign, a tiger for Monday, and so on, and the lad buys a candle like a +little rat, for his birthday is Friday, and the father and son go on to +the platform. There they kneel down side by side, the old man and the +little chubby lad, and they, too, say that all is misery and delusion. +Presently they rise and advance to the pagoda's golden base, and put +their candles thereon and light them. This side of the pagoda is in +shadow now, and so you can see the lights of the candles as little stars.</p> + +<p>And then come three girls, sisters, perhaps, all so prettily dressed, +with meek eyes, and they, too, buy candles; they, too, kneel and make +their devotions, for long, so long, that you wonder if anything has +happened, if there has been any trouble that has brought them thus in +the sunset to the remembrance of religion. But at last they rise, and +they light their little candles near by where the old man and the boy +have lit theirs, and then they go away. They are so sad, they keep their +faces so turned upon the ground, that you fear there has been something, +some trouble come upon them. You feel so sorry for them, you would like +to ask them what it all is; you would like to help them if you could. +But you can do nothing. They go away down the steps, and you hear the +nun repeating always, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble.'</p> + +<p>So they come and go.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>But on the festival days at the end of Lent it is far more wonderful. +Then for units there are tens, for tens there are hundreds—all come to +do reverence to the great teacher at this his great holy place. There is +no especial ceremony, no great service, such as we are accustomed to on +our festivals. Only there will be many offerings; there will be a +procession, maybe, with offerings to the pagoda, with offerings to the +monks; there will be much gold-leaf spread upon the pagoda sides; there +will be many people kneeling there—that is all. For, you see, Buddhism +is not an affair of a community, but of each man's own heart.</p> + +<p>To see the great pagoda on the festival days is one of the sights of the +world. There are a great crowd of people coming and going, climbing up +the steps. There are all sorts of people, rich and poor, old and young. +Old men there are, climbing wearily up these steps that are so steep, +steps that lead towards the Great Peace; and there are old women, +too—many of them.</p> + +<p>Young men will be there, walking briskly up, laughing and talking to +each other, very happy, very merry, glad to see each other, to see so +many people, calling pleasant greetings to their friends as they pass. +They are all so gaily dressed, with beautiful silks and white jackets +and gay satin head-cloths, tied with a little end sticking up as a plume.</p> + +<p>And the girls, how shall I describe them, so sweet they are, so pretty +in their fresh dresses, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>downcast eyes of modesty, tempered with +little side-glances. They laugh, too, as they go, and they talk, never +forgetting the sacredness of the place, never forgetting the reverences +due, kneeling always first as they come up to the great pagoda, but +being of good courage, happy and contented. There are children, too, +numbers and numbers of them, walking along, with their little hands +clasping so tightly some bigger ones, very fearful lest they should be +lost. They are as gay as butterflies in their dress, but their looks are +very solemn. There is no solemnity like that of a little child; it takes +all the world so very, very seriously, walking along with great eyes of +wonder at all it sees about it.</p> + +<p>They are all well dressed who come here; on a festival day even the poor +can be dressed well. Pinks and reds are the prevailing colours, in +checks, in stripes, mixed usually with white. These colours go best with +their brown skins, and they are fondest of them. But there are other +colours, too: there is silver and green embroidery, and there are +shot-silks in purple and orange, and there is dark blue. All the +jackets, or nearly all the jackets, are white with wide sleeves, showing +the arm nearly up to the elbow. Each man has his turban very gay, while +each girl has a bright handkerchief which she drapes as she likes upon +her arm, or carries in her hand. Such a blaze of colour would not look +well with us. Under our dull skies and with our sober lights it would be +too bright; but here it is not so. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>Everything is tempered by the sun; +it is so brilliant, this sunlight, such a golden flood pouring down and +bathing the whole world, that these colours are only in keeping. Before +them is the gold pagoda, and about them the red lacquer and dark-brown +carving of the shrines.</p> + +<p>You hear voices like the murmur of a summer sea, rising and falling, +full of laughter low and sweet, and above is the music of the fairy bells.</p> + +<p>Everything is in keeping—the shining pagoda and the gaily-dressed +people, their voices and the bells, even the great bell far beyond, and +all are so happy.</p> + +<p>The feast lasts for seven days; but of these there are three that are +greater, and of these, one, the day of the full moon, is the greatest of +all. On that day the offerings will be most numerous, the crowd densest. +Down below the pagoda are many temporary stalls built, where you can buy +all sorts of fairings, from a baby's jointed doll to a new silk dress; +and there are restaurants where you may obtain refreshments; for the +pagoda is some way from the streets of the city, and on festival days +refreshments are much wanted.</p> + +<p>These stalls are always crowded with people buying and selling, or +looking anxiously at the many pretty wares, unable, perhaps, to buy. The +refreshments are usually very simple—rice and curry for supper, and for +little refreshments between whiles there are sugar-cakes and vermicelli, +and other little cates.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>The crowd going up and down the steps is like a gorgeous-coloured +flood, crested with white foam, flowing between the dragons of the gate; +and on the platform the crowd is thicker than ever. All day the festival +goes on—the praying, the offering of gifts, the burning of little +candles before the shrines—until the sun sets across the open country +far beyond in gold and crimson glory. But even then there is no pause, +no darkness, for hardly has the sun's last bright shaft faded from the +pagoda spire far above, while his streamers are still bright across the +west, than there comes in the east a new radiance, so soft, so +wonderful, it seems more beautiful than the dying day. Across the misty +fields the moon is rising; first a crimson globe hung low among the +trees, but rising fast, and as it rises growing whiter. Its light comes +flooding down upon the earth, pure silver with very black shadows. Then +the night breeze begins to blow, very softly, very gently, and the trees +give out their odour to the night, which woos them so much more sweetly +than the day, till the air is heavy with incense.</p> + +<p>Behold, the pagoda has started into a new glory, for it is all hung +about with little lamps, myriads of tiny cressets, and the façades of +the shrines are lit up, too. The lamps are put in long rows or in +circles, to fit the places they adorn. They are little earthenware jars +full of cocoanut-oil, with a lip where is the wick. They burn very +redly, and throw a red light about the platform, breaking the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> shadows +that the moonlight throws and staining its whiteness.</p> + +<p>In the streets, too, there are lamps—the houses are lined with +them—and there are little pagodas and ships curiously designed in flame.</p> + +<p>All the people come out to see the illuminations, just as they do with +us at Christmas to see the shop-windows, and the streets are crowded +with people going to and fro, laughing and talking. And there are +dramatic entertainments going on, dances and marionette shows, all in +the open air. The people are all so happy, they take their pleasure so +pleasantly, that it is a delight to see them. You cannot help but be +happy, too. The men joke and laugh, and you laugh, too; the children +smile at you as they pass, and you must smile, too; can you help it? And +to see the girls makes the heart glad within you. There is an infection +from the good temper and the gaiety about you that is irresistible, even +if you should want to resist it.</p> + +<p>The festival goes on till very late. The moon is so bright that you +forget how late it is, and only remember how beautiful it is all around. +You are very loath to leave it, and so it is not till the moon itself is +falling low down in the same path whither the sun went before her, it is +not till the lamps are dying one by one and the children are yawning +very sleepily, that the crowd disperses and the pagoda is at rest.</p> + +<p>Such is a great feast at a great pagoda.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>But whenever I think of a great feast, whenever the growing autumn moon +tells me that the end of Lent is drawing nigh, it is not the great feast +of the Shwe Dagon, nor of any other famous pagoda that comes into my +mind, but something far different.</p> + +<p>It was on a frontier long ago that there was the festival that I +remember so well. The country there was very far away from all the big +towns; the people were not civilized as those of Mandalay or of Rangoon; +the pagoda was a very small one. There was no gilding upon it at all, +and no shrines were about it; it stood alone, just a little white +plastered pagoda, with a few trees near it, on a bare rice-field. There +were a few villages about, dotted here and there in the swamp, and the +people of these were all that came to our festival.</p> + +<p>For long before the villages were preparing for it, saving a little +money here, doing a little extra work there, so that they might be able +to have presents ready for the monks, so that they might be able to +subscribe to the lights, so that they would have a good dress in which +they might appear.</p> + +<p>The men did a little more work at the fields, bamboo-cutting in the +forest, making baskets in the evening, and the women wove. All had to +work very hard to have even a little margin; for there, although +food—plain rice—was very cheap, all other things were very expensive. +It was so far to bring them, and the roads were so bad. I remember that +the only European things to be bought there then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> were matches and +tinned milk, and copper money was not known. You paid a rupee, and took +the change in rice or other commodities.</p> + +<p>The excitement of the great day of the full moon began in the morning, +about ten o'clock, with the offerings to the monks. Outside the village +gate there was a piece of straight road, dry and open, and on each side +of this, in rows, were the people with their gifts; mostly they were +eatables. You see that it is very difficult to find any variety of +things to give a monk; he is very strictly limited in the things he is +allowed to receive. Garments, yellow garments, curtains to partition off +corners of the monasteries and keep away the draughts, sacred books and +eatables—that is nearly all. But eatables allow a very wide range. A +monk may accept and eat any food—not drink, of course—provided he eat +but the one big meal a day before noon; and so most of the offerings +were eatables. Each donor knelt there upon the road with his or her +offerings in a tray in front. There was rice cooked in all sorts of +shapes, ordinary rice for eating with curry, and the sweet purple rice, +cooked in bamboos and coming out in sticks. There were vegetables, too, +of very many kinds, and sugar and cakes and oil and honey, and many +other such things. There were a few, very few, books, for they are very +hard to get, being all in manuscript; and there were one or two tapestry +curtains; but there were heaps of flowers. I remember there was one girl +whose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> whole offering was a few orchid sprays, and a little, very +little, heap of common rice. She was so poor; her father and mother were +dead, and she was not married. It was all she could give. She sat behind +her little offering, as did all the donors. And my gift? Well, although +an English official, I was not then very much richer than the people +about me, so my gift must be small, too—a tin of biscuits, a tin or two +of jam, a new pair of scissors. I did not sit behind them myself, but +gave them to the headman to put with his offerings; for the monks were +old friends of mine. Did I not live in one of their monasteries for over +two months when we first came and camped there with a cavalry squadron? +And if there is any merit in such little charity, as the Burmese say +there is, why should I not gain it, too? The monks said my present was +best of all, because it was so uncommon; and the biscuits, they said, +though they did not taste of much while you were eating them, had a very +pleasant after-taste that lasted a long time. They were like charity, +maybe: that has a pleasant after-taste, too, they tell me.</p> + +<p>When all the presents, with the donors behind them, dressed all in their +best, were ready, the monks came. There were four monasteries near by, +and the monks, perhaps in all thirty, old and young, monks and novices, +came in one long procession, walking very slowly, with downcast eyes, +between the rows of gifts and givers. They did not look at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> them at all. +It is not proper for a monk to notice the gifts he receives; but +schoolboys who came along behind attending on them, they saw and made +remarks. Perhaps they saw the chance of some overflow of these good +things coming their way. 'See,' one nudged the other; 'honey—what a +lot! I can smell it, can't you?' And, '<i>My mother!</i> what a lot of sweet +rice. Who gave that? Oh, I see, old U Hman.' 'I wonder what's in that +tin box?' remarked one as he passed my biscuits. 'I hope it's coming to +our monastery, any way.'</p> + +<p>Thus the monks passed, paying no sort of attention, while the people +knelt to them; and when the procession reached the end of the line of +offerings, it went on without stopping, across the fields, the monks of +each monastery going to their own place; and the givers of presents rose +up and followed them, each carrying his or her gifts. And so they went +across the fields till each little procession was lost to sight.</p> + +<p>That was all the ceremony for the day, but at dusk the illuminations +began. The little pagoda in the fields was lighted up nearly to its top +with concentric rings of lamps till it blazed like a pyramid of flame, +seen far across the night. All the people came there, and placed little +offerings of flowers at the foot of the pagoda, or added each his candle +to the big illumination.</p> + +<p>The house of the headman of the village was lit up with a few rows of +lamps, and all the monasteries,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> too, were lit. There were no +restaurants—everyone was at home, you see—but there were one or two +little stalls, at which you could buy a cheroot, or even perhaps a cup +of vermicelli; and there was a dance. It was only the village girls who +had been taught, partly by their own mothers, partly by an old man, who +knew something of the business. They did not dance very well, perhaps; +they were none of them very beautiful; but what matter? We knew them +all; they were our neighbours, the kinswomen of half the village; +everyone liked to see them dance, to hear them sing; they were all +young, and are not all young girls pretty? And amongst the audience were +there not the girls' relations, their sisters, their lovers? would not +that alone make the girls dance well, make the audience enthusiastic? +And so, what with the illuminations, and the chat and laughter of +friends, and the dance, we kept it up till very late; and we all went to +bed happy and well pleased with each other, well pleased with ourselves. +Can you imagine a more successful end than that?</p> + +<p>To write about these festivals is so pleasant, it brings back so many +delightful memories, that I could go on writing for long and long. But +there is no use in doing so, as they are all very much alike, with +little local differences depending on the enterprise of the inhabitants +and the situation of the place. There might be boat-races, perhaps, on a +festival day, or pony-races, or boxing. I have seen all these, if not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +at the festival at the end of Lent, at other festivals. I remember once +I was going up the river on a festival night by the full moon, and we +saw point after point crowned with lights upon the pagodas; and as we +came near the great city we saw a new glory; for there was a boat +anchored in mid-stream, and from this boat there dropped a stream of +fire; myriads of little lamps burned on tiny rafts that drifted down the +river in a golden band. There were every now and then bigger rafts, with +figures made in light—boats and pagodas and monasteries. The lights +heaved with the long swell of the great river, and bent to and fro like +a great snake following the tides, until at length they died far away +into the night.</p> + +<p>I do not know what is the meaning of all these lights; I do not know +that they have any inner meaning, only that the people are very glad, +only that they greatly honour the great teacher who died so long ago, +only that they are very fond of light and colour and laughter and all beautiful things.</p> + +<p>But although these festivals often become also fairs, although they are +the great centres for amusement, although the people look to them as +their great pleasure of the year, it must not be forgotten that they are +essentially religious feasts, holy days. Though there be no great +ceremony of prayer, or of thanksgiving, no public joining in any +religious ceremony, save, perhaps, the giving of alms to the monks, yet +religion is the heart and soul of them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> Their centre is the pagoda, +their meaning is a religious meaning.</p> + +<p>What if the people make merry, too, if they make their holy days into +holidays, is that any harm? For their pleasures are very simple, very +innocent; there is nothing that the moon, even the cold and distant +moon, would blush to look upon. The people make merry because they are +merry, because their religion is to them a very beautiful thing, not to +be shunned or feared, but to be exalted to the eye of day, to be rejoiced in.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>WOMEN—I</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Her cheek is more beautiful than the dawn, her eyes are deeper +than the river pools; when she loosens her hair upon her shoulders, +it is as night coming over the hills.'—<i>Burmese Love-Song.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>If you were to ask a Burman 'What is the position of women in Burma?' he +would reply that he did not know what you meant. Women have no position, +no fixed relation towards men beyond that fixed by the fact that women +are women and men are men. They differ a great deal in many ways, so a +Burman would say; men are better in some things, women are better in +others; if they have a position, their relative superiority in certain +things determines it. How else should it be determined?</p> + +<p>If you say by religion, he laughs, and asks what religion has to do with +such things? Religion is a culture of the soul; it is not concerned with +the relationship of men and women. If you say by law, he says that law +has no more to do with it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> than religion. In the eye of the law both are +alike. 'You wouldn't have one law for a man and another for a woman?' he asks.</p> + +<p>In the life of the Buddha nothing is said upon the subject. The great +teacher never committed himself to an opinion as to whether men or women +were the highest. He had men disciples, he had women disciples; he +honoured both. Nowhere in any of his sayings can anything be found to +show that he made any difference between them. That monks should be +careful and avoid intercourse with women is merely the counterpart of +the order that nuns should be careful in their intercourse with men. +That man's greatest attraction is woman does not infer wickedness in +woman; that woman's greatest attraction is man does not show that man is +a devil. Wickedness is a thing of your own heart. If he could be sure +that his desire towards women was dead, a monk might see them as much as +he liked. The desire is the enemy, not the woman; therefore a woman is +not damned because by her man is often tempted to evil; therefore a +woman is not praised because by her a man may be led to better thoughts. +She is but the outer and unconscious influence.</p> + +<p>If, for instance, you cannot see a precipice without wishing to throw +yourself down, you blame not the precipice, but your giddiness; and if +you are wise you avoid precipices in future. You do not rail against +steep places because you have a bad <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>circulation. So it is with women: +you should not contemn women because they rouse a devil in man.</p> + +<p>And it is the same with man. Men and women are alike subject to the +eternal laws. And they are alike subject to the laws of man; in no +material points, hardly even in minor points, does the law discriminate against women.</p> + +<p>The law as regards marriage and inheritance and divorce will come each +in its own place. It is curiously the same both for the man and the woman.</p> + +<p>The criminal law was the same for both; I have tried to find any +difference, and this is all I have found: A woman's life was less +valuable than a man's. The price of the body, as it is called, of a +woman was less than that of a man. If a woman were accidentally killed, +less compensation had to be paid than for a man. I asked a Burman about this once.</p> + +<p>'Why is this difference?' I said. 'Why does the law discriminate?'</p> + +<p>'It isn't the law,' he said, 'it is a fact. A woman is worth less than a +man in that way. A maidservant can be hired for less than a manservant, +a daughter can claim less than a son. They cannot do so much work; they +are not so strong. If they had been worth more, the law would have been +the other way; of course they are worth less.'</p> + +<p>And so this sole discrimination is a fact, not dogma. It is a fact, no +doubt, everywhere. No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> one would deny it. The pecuniary value of a woman +is less than that of a man. As to the soul's value, that is not a +question of law, which confines itself to material affairs. But I +suppose all laws have been framed out of the necessities of mankind. It +was the incessant fighting during the times when our laws grew slowly +into shape, the necessity of not allowing the possession of land, and +the armed wealth that land gave, to fall into the weaker hands of women, +that led to our laws of inheritance.</p> + +<p>Laws then were governed by the necessity of war, of subjecting +everything else to the ability to fight. Consequently, as women were not +such good fighters as men, they went to the wall. But feudalism never +obtained at all in Burma. What fighting they did was far less severe +than that of our ancestors, was not the dominant factor in the position, +and consequently woman did not suffer.</p> + +<p>She has thus been given the inestimable boon of freedom. Freedom from +sacerdotal dogma, from secular law, she has always had.</p> + +<p>And so, in order to preserve the life of the people, it has never been +necessary to pass laws treating woman unfairly as regards inheritance; +and as religion has left her free to find her own position, so has the +law of the land.</p> + +<p>And yet the Burman man has a confirmed opinion that he is better than a +woman, that men are on the whole superior as a sex to women. 'We may be +inferior in some ways,' he will tell you. 'A woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> may steal a march on +us here and there, but in the long-run the man will always win. Women have no patience.'</p> + +<p>I have heard this said over and over again, even by women, that they +have less patience than a man. We have often supposed differently. Some +Burmans have even supposed that a woman must be reincarnated as a man to +gain a step in holiness. I do not mean that they think men are always +better than women, but that the best men are far better than the best +women, and there are many more of them. However all this may be, it is +only an opinion. Neither in their law, nor in their religion, nor—what +is far more important—in their daily life, do they acknowledge any +inferiority in women beyond those patent weaknesses of body that are, +perhaps, more differences than inferiorities.</p> + +<p>And so she has always had fair-play, from religion, from law, and from +her fellow man and woman.</p> + +<p>She has been bound by no ties, she has had perfect freedom to make for +herself just such a life as she thinks best fitted for her. She has had +no frozen ideals of a long dead past held up to her as eternal copies. +She has been allowed to change as her world changed, and she has lived +in a very real world—a world of stern facts, not fancies. You see, she +has had to fight her own way; for the same laws that made woman lower +than man in Europe compensated her to a certain extent by protection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +and guidance. In Burma she has been neither confined nor guided. In +Europe and India for very long the idea was to make woman a hot-house +plant, to see that no rough winds struck her, that no injuries overtook +her. In Burma she has had to look out for herself: she has had freedom +to come to grief as well as to come to strength. You see, all such laws +cut both ways. Freedom to do ill must accompany freedom to do well. You +cannot have one without the other. The Burmese woman has had both. +Ideals act for good as well as for evil; if they cramp all progress, +they nevertheless tend to the sustentation of a certain level of +thought. She has had none. Whatever she is, she has made herself, +finding under the varying circumstances of life what is the best for +her; and as her surroundings change, so will she. What she was a +thousand years ago I do not care, what she may be a thousand years hence +I do not know; it is of what she is to-day that I have tried to know and write.</p> + +<p>Children in Burma have, I think, a very good time when they are young. +Parentage in Burma has never degenerated into a sort of slavery. It has +never been supposed that gaiety and goodness are opposed. And so they +grow up little merry naked things, sprawling in the dust of the gardens, +sleeping in the sun with their arms round the village dogs, very sedate, +very humorous, very rarely crying. Boys and girls when they are babies +grow up together, but with the schooldays comes a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> division. All the +boys go to school at the monastery without the walls, and there learn in +noisy fashion their arithmetic, letters, and other useful knowledge. But +little girls have nowhere to go. They cannot go to the monasteries, +these are for boys alone, and the nunneries are very scarce. For twenty +monasteries there is not one nunnery. Women do not seem to care to learn +to become nuns as men do to become monks. Why this is so I cannot tell, +but there is no doubt of the fact. And so there are no schools for girls +as there are for boys, and consequently the girls are not well educated +as a rule. In great towns there are, of course, regular schools for +girls, generally for girls and boys together; but in the villages these +very seldom exist. The girls may learn from their mothers how to read +and write, but most of them cannot do so. It is an exception in country +places to find a girl who can read, as it is to find a boy who cannot. +If there were more nunneries, there would be more education among the +women; here is cause and effect. But there are not, so the little girls +work instead. While their brothers are in the monasteries, the girls are +learning to weave and herd cattle, drawing water, and collecting +firewood. They begin very young at this work, but it is very light; they +are never overworked, and so it does them no harm usually, but good.</p> + +<p>The daughters of better-class people, such as merchants, and clerks, and +advocates, do not, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> course, work at field labour. They usually learn +to read and write at home, and they weave, and many will draw water. For +to draw water is to go to the well, and the well is the great +meeting-place of the village. As they fill their jars they lean over the +curb and talk, and it is here that is told the latest news, the latest +flirtation, the little scandal of the place. Very few men or boys come +for water; carrying is not their duty, and there is a proper place for +flirtation. So the girls have the well almost to themselves.</p> + +<p>Almost every girl can weave. In many houses there are looms where the +girls weave their dresses and those of their parents; and many girls +have stalls in the bazaar. Of this I will speak later. Other duties are +the husking of rice and the making of cheroots. Of course, in richer +households there will be servants to do all this; but even in them the +daughter will frequently weave either for herself or her parents. Almost +every girl will do something, if only to pass the time.</p> + +<p>You see, they have no accomplishments. They do not sing, nor play, nor +paint. It must never be forgotten that their civilization is relatively +a thousand years behind ours. Accomplishments are part of the polish +that a civilization gives, and this they have not yet reached. +Accomplishments are also the means to fill up time otherwise unoccupied; +but very few Burmese girls have any time on their hands. There is no +leisured class, and there are very few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> girls who have not to help, in +one way or another, at the upkeep of the household.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rudyard Kipling tells of an astonishing young lady who played the +banjo. He has been more fortunate than myself, for I have never had such +good luck. They have no accomplishments at all. Housekeeping they have +not very much of. You see, houses are small, and households also are +small; there is very little furniture; and as the cooking is all the +same, there is not much to learn in that way. I fear, too, that their +houses could not compete as models of neatness with any other nation. +Tidiness is one of the last gifts of civilization. We now pride +ourselves on our order; we forget how very recent an accomplishment it +is. To them it will come with the other gifts of age, for it must never +be forgotten that they are a very young people—only children, big +children—learning very slowly the lessons of experience and knowledge.</p> + +<p>When they are between eight and fourteen years of age the boys become +monks for a time, as every boy must, and they have a great festival at +their entrance into the monastery. Girls do not enter nunneries, but +they, too, have a great feast in their honour. They have their ears +bored. It is a festival for a girl of great importance, this ear-boring, +and, according to the wealth of the parents, it is accompanied by pwès +and other rejoicings.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>A little girl, the daughter of a shopkeeper here in this town, had her +ears bored the other day, and there were great rejoicings. There was a +pwè open to all for three nights, and there were great quantities of +food, and sweets, and many presents given away, and on the last night +the river was illuminated. There was a boat anchored in mid-stream, and +from this were launched myriads of tiny rafts, each with a little lamp +on board. The lamps gleamed bright with golden light as they drifted on +the bosom of the great water, a moving line of living fire. There were +little boats, too, with the outlines marked with lamps, and there were +pagodas and miniature houses all floating, floating down the river, +till, in far distance by the promontory, the lamps flickered out one by +one, and the river fell asleep again.</p> + +<p>'There is only one great festival in a girl's life,' a woman told me. +'We try to make it as good as we can. Boys have many festivals, girls +have but one. It is only just that it should be good.'</p> + +<p>And so they grow up very quiet, very sedate, looking on the world about +them with very clear eyes. It is strange, talking to Burmese girls, to +see how much they know and understand of the world about them. It is to +them no great mystery, full of unimaginable good and evil, but a world +that they are learning to understand, and where good and evil are never +unmixed. Men are to them neither angels nor devils, but just men, and so +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> world does not hold for them the disappointments, the +disillusionings, that await those who do not know. They have their +dreams—who shall doubt it?—dreams of him who shall love them, whom +they shall love, who shall make life one great glory to them; but their +dreams are dreams that can come true. They do not frame to themselves +ideals out of their own ignorance and imagine these to be good, but they +keep their eyes wide open to the far more beautiful realities that are +around them every day. They know that a living lover is greater, and +truer, and better than any ideal of a girl's dream. They live in a real +world, and they know that it is good.</p> + +<p>In time the lover comes. There is a delightful custom all through Burma, +an institution, in fact, called 'courting-time.' It is from nine till +ten o'clock, more especially on moonlight nights, those wonderful tropic +nights, when the whole world lies in a silver dream, when the little +wandering airs that touch your cheek like a caress are heavy with the +scent of flowers, and your heart comes into your throat for the very +beauty of life.</p> + +<p>There is in front of every house a veranda, raised perhaps three feet +from the ground, and there the girl will sit in the shadow of the eaves, +sometimes with a friend, but usually alone; and her suitors will come +and stand by the veranda, and talk softly in little broken sentences, as +lovers do. There maybe be many young men come, one by one, if they mean<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +business, with a friend if it be merely a visit of courtesy. And the +girl will receive them all, and will talk to them all; will laugh with a +little humorous knowledge of each man's peculiarities; and she may give +them cheroots, of her own making; and, for one perhaps, for one, she +will light the cheroot herself first, and thus kiss him by proxy.</p> + +<p>And is the girl alone? Well, yes. To all intents and purposes she is +alone; but there is always someone near, someone within call, for the +veranda is free to all. She cannot tell who may come, and some men, as +we know, are but wolves in sheep's clothing. Usually marriages are +arranged by the parents. Girls are not very different here to elsewhere; +they are very biddable, and ready to do what their mothers tell them, +ready to believe that it is the best. And so if a lad comes wooing, and +can gain the mother's ear, he can usually win the girl's affection, too; +but I think there are more exceptions here than elsewhere. Girls are +freer; they fall in love of their own accord oftener than elsewhere; +they are very impulsive, full of passion. Love is a very serious matter, +and they are not trained in self-restraint.</p> + +<p>There are very many romances played out every day in the dusk beside the +well, in the deep shadows of the palm-groves, in the luminous nights by +the river shore—romances that end sometimes well, sometimes in terrible +tragedies. For they are a very passionate people; the language is full +of little love-songs, songs of a man to a girl, of a girl to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> man. 'No +girl,' a woman once told me, 'no good, quiet girl would tell a man she +loved him first.' It may be so; if this be true, I fear there are many +girls here who are not good and quiet. How many romances have I not seen +in which the wooing began with the girl, with a little note perhaps, +with a flower, with a message sent by someone whom she could trust! Of +course many of these turned out well. Parents are good to their +children, and if they can, they will give their daughter the husband of +her choice. They remember what youth is—nay, they themselves never grow +old, I think; they never forget what once was to them now is to their +children. So if it be possible all may yet go well. Social differences +are not so great as with us, and the barrier is easily overcome. I have +often known servants in a house marry the daughters, and be taken into +the family; but, of course, sometimes things do not go so smoothly. And +then? Well, then there is usually an elopement, and a ten days' scandal; +and sometimes, too, there is an elopement for no reason at all save that +hot youth cannot abide the necessary delay.</p> + +<p>For life is short, and though to-day be to us, who can tell for the +morrow? During the full moon there is no night, only a change to silver +light from golden; and the forest is full of delight. There are +wood-cutters' huts in the ravines where the water falls, soft beds of +torn bracken and fragrant grasses where great trees make a shelter from +the heat; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> for food, that is easily arranged. A basket of rice with +a little salt-fish and spices is easily hidden in a favourable place. +You only want a jar to cook it, and there is enough for two for a week; +or it is brought day by day by some trusted friend to a place previously agreed upon.</p> + +<p>All up and down the forest there are flowers for her hair, scarlet dak +blossoms and orchid sprays and jasmine stars; and for occupation through +the hours each has a new world to explore full of wonderful undreamt-of +discoveries, lit with new light and mysterious with roseate shadows, a +world of 'beautiful things made new' for those forest children. So that +when the confidante, an aunt maybe or a sister, meets them by the sacred +fig-tree on the hill, and tells them that all difficulties are removed, +and their friends called together for the marriage, can you wonder that +it is not without regret that they fare forth from that enchanted land +to ordinary life again?</p> + +<p>It is, as I have said, not always the man who is the proposer of the +flight. Nay, I think indeed that it is usually the girl. 'Men have more patience.'</p> + +<p>I had a Burmese servant, a boy, who may have been twenty, and he had +been with me a year, and was beginning to be really useful. He had at +last grasped the idea that electro-plate should not be cleaned with +monkey-brand soap, and he could be trusted not to put up rifle +cartridges for use with a double-barrelled gun; and he chose this time +to fall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> in love with the daughter of the headman of a certain village +where I was in camp.</p> + +<p>He had good excuse, for she was a delicious little maiden with great +coils of hair, and the voice of a wood-pigeon cooing in the forest, and +she was very fond of him, without a doubt.</p> + +<p>So one evening he came to me and said that he must leave me—that he +wanted to get married, and could not possibly delay. Then I spoke to him +with all that depth of wisdom we are so ready to display for the benefit +of others. I pointed out to him that he was much too young, that she was +much too young also—she was not eighteen—and that there was absolutely +nothing for them to marry on. I further pointed out how ungrateful it +would be of him to leave me; that he had been paid regularly for a year, +and that it was not right that now, when he was at last able to do +something besides destroy my property, he should go away.</p> + +<p>The boy listened to all I had to say, and agreed with it all, and made +the most fervent and sincere promise to be wise; and he went away after +dinner to see the girl and tell her, and when I awoke in the morning my +other servants told me the boy had not returned.</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards the headman came to say that his daughter had also +disappeared. They had fled, those two, into the forest, and for a week +we heard nothing. At last one evening, as I sat under the great fig-tree +by my tent, there came to me the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> mother of the girl, and she sat down +before me, and said she had something of great importance to impart: and +this was that all had been arranged between the families, who had found +work for the boy whereby he might maintain himself and his wife, and the +marriage was arranged. But the boy would not return as long as I was in +camp there, for he was bitterly ashamed of his broken vows and afraid to +meet my anger. And so the mother begged me to go away as soon as I +could, that the young couple might return. I explained that I was not +angry at all, that the boy could return without any fear; on the +contrary, that I should be pleased to see him and his wife. And, at the +old lady's request, I wrote a Burmese letter to that effect, and she +went away delighted.</p> + +<p>They must have been in hiding close by, for it was early next morning +that the boy came into my tent alone and very much abashed, and it was +some little time before he could recover himself and talk freely as he +would before, for he was greatly ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>But, after all, could he help it?</p> + +<p>If you can imagine the tropic night, and the boy, full of high resolve, +passing up the village street, now half asleep, and the girl, with +shining eyes, coming to him out of the hibiscus shadows, and whispering +in his ear words—words that I need not say—if you imagine all that, +you will understand how it was that I lost my servant.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>They both came to see me later on in the day after the marriage, and +there was no bashfulness about either of them then. They came +hand-in-hand, with the girl's father and mother and some friends, and +she told me it was all her fault: she could not wait.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps,' she said, with a little laugh and a side-glance at her +husband—'perhaps, if he had gone with the thakin to Rangoon, he might +have fallen in love with someone there and forgotten me; for I know they +are very pretty, those Rangoon ladies, and of better manners than I, who +am but a jungle girl.'</p> + +<p>And when I asked her what it was like in the forest, she said it was the +most beautiful place in all the world.</p> + +<p>Things do not always go so well. Parents may be obdurate, and flight be +impossible; or even her love may not be returned, and then terrible +things happen. I have held, not once nor twice alone, inquests over the +bodies, the fair, innocent bodies, of quite young girls who died for +love. Only that, because their love was unreturned; and so the sore +little heart turned in her trouble to the great river, and gave herself +and her hot despair to the cold forgetfulness of its waters.</p> + +<p>They love so greatly that they cannot face a world where love is not. +All the country is full of the romance of love—of love passionate and +great as woman has ever felt. It seems to me here that woman has +something of the passions of man, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> only the enduring affection of a +woman, but the hot love and daring of a man. It is part of their +heritage, perhaps, as a people in their youth. One sees so much of it, +hears so much of it, here. I have seen a girl in man's attire killed in +a surprise attack upon an insurgent camp. She had followed her outlawed +lover there, and in the mêlée she caught up sword and gun to fight by +his side, and was cut down through neck and shoulder; for no one could +tell in the early dawn that it was a girl.</p> + +<p>She died about an hour afterwards, and though I have seen many sorrowful +things in many lands, in war and out of it, the memory of that dying +girl, held up by one of the mounted police, sobbing out her life beneath +the wild forest shadow, with no one of her sex, no one of her kin to +help her, comes back to me as one of the saddest and strangest.</p> + +<p>Her lover was killed in action some time later fighting against us, and +he died as a brave man should, his face to his enemy. He played his +game, he lost, and paid; but the girl?</p> + +<p>I have seen and heard so much of this love of women and of its +tragedies. Perhaps it is that to us it is usually the tragedies that are +best remembered. Happiness is void of interest. And this love may be, +after all, a good thing. But I do not know. Sometimes I think they would +be happier if they could love less, if they could take love more +quietly, more as a matter of course, as something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> that has to be gone +through, as part of a life's training; not as a thing that swallows up +all life and death and eternity in one passion.</p> + +<p>In Burmese the love-songs are in a short, sweet rhythm, full of quaint +conceits and word-music. I cannot put them into English verse, or give +the flow of the originals in a translation. It always seems to me that +Don Quixote was right when he said that a translation was like the wrong +side of an embroidered cloth, giving the design without the beauty. But +even in the plain, rough outline of a translation there is beauty here, +I think:</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3><i>From a Man to a Girl.</i></h3> + +<p>The moon wooed the lotus in the night, the lotus was wooed by the moon, +and my sweetheart is their child. The blossom opened in the night, and +she came forth; the petals moved, and she was born.</p> + +<p>She is more beautiful than any blossom; her face is as delicate as the +dusk; her hair is as night falling over the hills; her skin is as bright +as the diamond. She is very full of health, no sickness can come near her.</p> + +<p>When the wind blows I am afraid, when the breezes move I fear. I fear +lest the south wind take her, I tremble lest the breath of evening woo +her from me—so light is she, so graceful.</p> + +<p>Her dress is of gold, even of silk and gold, and her bracelets are of +fine gold. She hath precious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> stones in her ears, but her eyes, what +jewels can compare unto them?</p> + +<p>She is proud, my mistress; she is very proud, and all men are afraid of +her. She is so beautiful and so proud that all men fear her.</p> + +<p>In the whole world there is none anywhere that can compare unto her.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>WOMEN—II</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'The husband is lord of the wife.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Laws of Manu.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>Marriage is not a religious ceremony among the Burmese. Religion has no +part in it at all; as religion has refrained from interfering with +Government, so does it in the relations of man and wife. Marriage is +purely a worldly business, like entering into partnership; and religion, +the Buddhist religion, has nothing to do with such things. Those who +accept the teachings of the great teacher in all their fulness do not marry.</p> + +<p>Indeed, marriage is not a ceremony at all. It is strange to find that +the Burmese have actually no necessary ceremonial. The Laws of Manu, +which are the laws governing all such matters, make no mention of any +marriage ceremony; it is, in fact, a status. Just as two men may go into +partnership in business without executing any deed, so a man and a woman +may enter into the marriage state without undergoing any form. Amongst +the richer Burmese there is, however, sometimes a ceremony.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p><p>Friends are called to the wedding, and a ribbon is stretched round the +couple, and then their hands are clasped; they also eat out of the same +dish. All this is very pretty, but not at all necessary.</p> + +<p>It is, indeed, not a settled point in law what constitutes a marriage, +but there are certain things that will render it void. For instance, no +marriage can be a marriage without the consent of the girl's parents if +she be under age, and there are certain other conditions which must be fulfilled.</p> + +<p>But although there be this doubt about the actual ceremony of marriage, +there is none at all about the status. There is no confusion between a +woman who is married and a woman who is not. The condition of marriage +is well known, and it brings the parties under the laws that pertain to +husband and wife. A woman not married does not, of course, obtain these +privileges; there is a very strict line between the two.</p> + +<p>Amongst the poorer people a marriage is frequently kept secret for +several days. The great pomp and ceremony which with us, and +occasionally with a few rich Burmese, consecrate a man and a woman to +each other for life, are absent at the greater number of Burmese +marriages; and the reason they tell me is that the girl is shy. She does +not like to be stared at, and wondered at, as a maiden about to be a +wife; it troubles her that the affairs of her heart, her love, her +marriage, should be so public. The young men come at night and throw +stones<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> upon the house roof, and demand presents from the bridegroom. He +does not mind giving the presents; but he, too, does not like the +publicity. And so marriage, which is with most people a ceremony +performed in full daylight with all accessories of display, is with the +Burmese generally a secret. Two or three friends, perhaps, will be +called quietly to the house, and the man and woman will eat together, +and thus become husband and wife. Then they will separate again, and not +for several days, or even weeks perhaps, will it be known that they are +married; for it is seldom that they can set up house for themselves just +at once. Often they will marry and live apart for a time with their +parents. Sometimes they will go and live together with the man's +parents, but more usually with the girl's mother. Then after a time, +when they have by their exertions made a little money, they build a +house and go to live there; but sometimes they will live on with the +girl's parents for years.</p> + +<p>A girl does not change her name when she marries, nor does she wear any +sign of marriage, such as a ring. Her name is always the same, and there +is nothing to a stranger to denote whether she be married or not, or +whose wife she is; and she keeps her property as her own. Marriage does +not confer upon the husband any power over his wife's property, either +what she brings with her, what she earns, or what she inherits +subsequently; it all remains her own, as does his remain his own. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +usually property acquired after marriage is held jointly. You will +inquire, for instance, who is the owner of this garden, and be told +Maung Han, Ma Shwè, the former being the husband's name and the latter +the wife's. Both names are used very frequently in business and in legal +proceedings, and indeed it is usual for both husband and wife to sign +all deeds they may have occasion to execute. Nothing more free than a +woman's position in the marriage state can be imagined. By law she is +absolutely the mistress of her own property and her own self; and if it +usually happens that the husband is the head of the house, that is +because his nature gives him that position, not any law.</p> + +<p>With us marriage means to a girl an utter breaking of her old ties, the +beginning of a new life, of new duties, of new responsibilities. She +goes out into a new and unknown world, full of strange facts, leaving +one dependence for another, the shelter of a father for the shelter of a +husband. She has even lost her own name, and becomes known but as the +mistress of her husband; her soul is merged in his. But in Burma it is +not so at all. She is still herself, still mistress of herself, an equal +partner for life.</p> + +<p>I have said that the Burmese have no ideals, and this is true; but in +the Laws of Manu there are laid down some of the requisite qualities for +a perfect wife. There are seven kinds of wife, say the Laws of Manu: a +wife like a thief, like an enemy, like a master, like a friend, like a +sister, like a mother, like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> a slave. The last four of these are good, +but the last is the best, and these are some of her qualities:</p> + +<p>'She should fan and soothe her master to sleep, and sit by him near the +bed on which he lies. She will fear and watch lest anything should +disturb him. Every noise will be a terror to her; the hum of a mosquito +as the blast of a trumpet; the fall of a leaf without will sound as loud +as thunder. Even she will guard her breath as it passes her lips to and +fro, lest she awaken him whom she fears.</p> + +<p>'And she will remember that when he awakens he will have certain wants. +She will be anxious that the bath be to his custom, that his clothes are +as he wishes, that his food is tasteful to him. Always she will have +before her the fear of his anger.'</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that the Laws of Manu are of Indian origin, and +are not totally accepted by the Burmese. I fear a Burmese girl would +laugh at this ideal of a wife. She would say that if a wife were always +afraid of her husband's wrath, she and he, too, must be poor things. A +household is ruled by love and reverence, not by fear. A girl has no +idea when she marries that she is going to be her husband's slave, but a +free woman, yielding to him in those things in which he has most +strength, and taking her own way in those things that pertain to a +woman. She has a very keen idea of what things she can do best, and what +things she should leave to her husband. Long experience has taught her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +that there are many things she should not interfere with; and she knows +it is experience that has proved it, and not any command. She knows that +the reason women are not supposed to interfere in public affairs is +because their minds and bodies are not fitted for them. Therefore she +accepts this, in the same way as she accepts physical inferiority, as a +fact against which it is useless and silly to declaim, knowing that it +is not men who keep her out, but her own unfitness. Moreover, she knows +that it is made good to her in other ways, and thus the balance is +redressed. You see, she knows her own strength and her own weakness. Can +there be a more valuable knowledge for anyone than this?</p> + +<p>In many ways she will act for her husband with vigour and address, and +she is not afraid of appearing in his name or her own in law courts, for +instance, or in transacting certain kinds of business. She knows that +she can do certain business as well as or better than her husband, and +she does it. There is nothing more remarkable than the way in which she +makes a division of these matters in which she can act for herself, and +those in which, if she act at all, it is for her husband.</p> + +<p>Thus, as I have said, she will, as regards her own property or her own +business, act freely in her own name, and will also frequently act for +her husband too. They will both sign deeds, borrow money on joint +security, lend money repayable to them jointly. But in public affairs +she will never allow her name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> to appear at all. Not that she does not +take a keen interest in such things. She lives in no world apart; all +that affects her husband interests her as keenly as it does him. She +lives in a world of men and women, and her knowledge of public affairs, +and her desire and powers of influencing them, is great. But she learnt +long ago that her best way is to act through and by her husband, and +that his strength and his name are her bucklers in the fight. Thus women +are never openly concerned in any political matters. How strong their +feeling is can better be illustrated by a story than in any other way.</p> + +<p>In 1889 I was stationed far away on the north-west frontier of Burma, in +charge of some four thousand square miles of territory which had been +newly incorporated. I went up there with the first column that ever +penetrated that country, and I remained there when, after the partial +pacification of the district, the main body of the troops were +withdrawn. It was a fairly exciting place to live in. To say nothing of +the fever which swept down men in batches, and the trans-frontier people +who were always peeping over to watch a good opportunity for a raid, my +own charge simply swarmed with armed men, who seemed to rise out of the +very ground—so hard was it to follow their movements—attack anywhere +they saw fit, and disappear as suddenly. There was, of course, a +considerable force of troops and police to suppress these insurgents, +but the whole country was so roadless, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> unexplored, such a tangled +labyrinth of hill and forest, dotted with sparse villages, that it was +often quite impossible to trace the bands who committed these attacks; +and to the sick and weary pursuers it sometimes seemed as if we should +never restore peace to the country.</p> + +<p>The villages were arranged in groups, and over each group there was a +headman with certain powers and certain duties, the principal of the +latter being to keep his people quiet, and, if possible, protect them from insurgents.</p> + +<p>Now, it happened that among these headmen was one named Saw Ka, who had +been a free-lance in his day, but whose services were now enlisted on +the side of order—or, at least, we hoped so. He was a fighting-man, and +rather fond of that sort of exercise; so that I was not much surprised +one day when I got a letter from him to say that his villagers had +pursued and arrested, after a fight, a number of armed robbers, who had +tried to lift some of the village cattle. The letter came to me when I +was in my court-house, a tent ten feet by eight, trying a case. So, +saying I would see Saw Ka's people later, and giving orders for the +prisoners to be put in the lock-up, I went on with my work. When my case +was finished, I happened to notice that among those sitting and waiting +without my tent-door was Saw Ka himself, so I sent to call him in, and I +complimented him upon his success. 'It shall be reported,' I said, 'to +the Commissioner, who will, no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> doubt, reward you for your care and +diligence in the public service.'</p> + +<p>As I talked I noticed that the man seemed rather bewildered, and when I +had finished he said that he really did not understand. He was aware, he +added modestly, that he was a diligent headman, always active in good +deeds, and a terror to dacoits and other evil-doers; but as to these +particular robbers and this fighting he was a little puzzled.</p> + +<p>I was considerably surprised, naturally, and I took from the table the +Burmese letter describing the affair. It began, 'Your honour, I, Maung +Saw Ka, headman,' etc., and was in the usual style. I handed it to Saw +Ka, and told him to read it. As he read, his wicked black eyes twinkled, +and when he had finished he said he had not been home for a week.</p> + +<p>'I came in from a visit to the river,' he said, 'where I have gathered +for your honour some private information. I had not been here five +minutes before I was called in. All this the letter speaks of is news to +me, and must have happened while I was away.'</p> + +<p>'Then, who wrote the letter?' I asked.</p> + +<p>'Ah!' he said, 'I think I know; but I will go and make sure.'</p> + +<p>Then Saw Ka went to find the guard who had come in with the prisoners, +and I dissolved court and went out shooting. After dinner, as we sat +round a great bonfire before the mess, for the nights<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> were cold, Saw Ka +and his brother came to me, and they sat down beside the fire and told me all about it.</p> + +<p>It appeared that three days after Saw Ka left his village, some robbers +came suddenly one evening to a small hamlet some two miles away and +looted from there all the cattle, thirty or forty head, and went off +with them. The frightened owners came in to tell the headman about it, +and in his absence they told his wife. And she, by virtue of the order +of appointment as headman, which was in her hands, ordered the villagers +to turn out and follow the dacoits. She issued such government arms as +she had in the house, and the villagers went and pursued the dacoits by +the cattle tracks, and next day they overtook them, and there was a +fight. When the villagers returned with the cattle and the thieves, she +had the letter written to me, and the prisoners were sent in, under her +husband's brother, with an escort. Everything was done as well, as +successfully, as if Saw Ka himself had been present. But if it had not +been for the accident of Saw Ka's sudden appearance, I should probably +never have known that this exploit was due to his wife; for she was +acting for her husband, and she would not have been pleased that her name should appear.</p> + +<p>'A good wife,' I said to Saw Ka.</p> + +<p>'Like many,' he answered.</p> + +<p>But in her own line she has no objection to publicity. I have said that +nearly all women work,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> and that is so. Married or unmarried, from the +age of sixteen or seventeen, almost every woman has some occupation +besides her own duties. In the higher classes she will have property of +her own to manage; in the lower classes she will have some trade. I +cannot find that in Burma there have ever been certain occupations told +off for women in which they may work, and others tabooed to them. As +there is no caste for the men, so there is none for the women. They have +been free to try their hands at anything they thought they could excel +in, without any fear of public opinion. But nevertheless, as is +inevitable, it has been found that there are certain trades in which +women can compete successfully with men, and certain others in which +they cannot. And these are not quite the same as in the West. We usually +consider sewing to be a feminine occupation. In Burma, there being no +elaborately cut and trimmed garments, the amount of sewing done is +small, but that is usually done by men. Women often own and use small +hand-machines, but the treadles are always used by men only. As I am +writing, my Burmese orderly is sitting in the garden sewing his jacket. +He is usually sewing when not sent on messages. He seems to sew very well.</p> + +<p>Weaving is usually done by women. Under nearly every house there will be +a loom, where the wife or daughter weaves for herself or for sale. But +many men weave also, and the finest silks are all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> woven by men. I once +asked a woman why they did not weave the best silks, instead of leaving +them all to the men.</p> + +<p>'Men do them better,' she said, with a laugh. 'I tried once, but I +cannot manage that embroidery.'</p> + +<p>They also work in the fields—light work, such as weeding and planting. +The heavy work, such as ploughing, is done by men. They also work on the +roads carrying things, as all Oriental women do. It is curious that +women carry always on their heads, men always on their shoulders. I do +not know why.</p> + +<p>But the great occupation of women is petty trading. I have already said +that there are few large merchants among the Burmese. Nearly all the +retail trade is small, most of it is very small indeed, and practically +the whole of it is in the hands of the women.</p> + +<p>Women do not often succeed in any wholesale trade. They have not, I +think, a wide enough grasp of affairs for that. Their views are always +somewhat limited; they are too pennywise and pound-foolish for big +businesses. The small retail trade, gaining a penny here and a penny +there, just suits them, and they have almost made it a close profession.</p> + +<p>This trade is almost exclusively done in bazaars. In every town there is +a bazaar, from six till ten each morning. When there is no town near, +the bazaar will be held on one day at one village and on another at a +neighbouring one. It depends on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> density of population, the means of +communication, and other matters. But a bazaar within reach there must +always be, for it is only there that most articles can be bought. The +bazaar is usually held in a public building erected for the purpose, and +this may vary from a great market built of brick and iron to a small +thatched shed. Sometimes, indeed, there is no building at all, merely a +space of beaten ground.</p> + +<p>The great bazaar in Mandalay is one of the sights of the city. The +building in which it is held is the property of the municipality, but is +leased out. It is a series of enormous sheds, with iron roofs and beaten +earth floor. Each trade has a shed or sheds to itself. There is a place +for rice-sellers, for butchers, for vegetable-sellers, for the vendors +of silks, of cottons, of sugars and spices, of firewood, of jars, of +fish. The butchers are all natives of India. I have explained elsewhere +why this should be. The firewood-sellers will mostly be men, as will +also the large rice-merchants, but nearly all the rest are women.</p> + +<p>You will find the sellers of spices, fruit, vegetables, and other such +matters seated in long rows, on mats placed upon the ground. Each will +have a square of space allotted, perhaps six feet square, and there she +will sit with her merchandise in a basket or baskets before her. For +each square they will pay the lessee a halfpenny for the day, which is +only three hours or so. The time to go is in the morning from six till +eight, for that is the busy time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> Later on all the stalls will be +closed, but in the early morning the market is thronged. Every +householder is then buying his or her provisions for the day, and the +people crowd in thousands round the sellers. Everyone is bargaining and +chaffing and laughing, both buyers and sellers; but both are very keen, too, on business.</p> + +<p>The cloth and silk sellers, the large rice-merchants, and a few other +traders, cannot carry on business sitting on a mat, nor can they carry +their wares to and fro every day in a basket. For such there are +separate buildings or separate aisles, with wooden stalls, on either +side of a gangway. The wooden floor of the stalls is raised two to three +feet, so that the buyer, standing on the ground, is about on a level +with the seller sitting in the stall. The stall will be about eight feet +by ten, and each has at the back a strong lock-up cupboard or wardrobe, +where the wares are shut at night; but in the day they will be taken out +and arranged daintily about the girl-seller. Home-made silks are the +staple—silks in checks of pink and white, of yellow and orange, of +indigo and dark red. Some are embroidered in silk, in silver, or in +gold; some are plain. All are thick and rich, none are glazed, and none +are gaudy. There will also be silks from Bangkok, which are of two +colours—purple shot with red, and orange shot with red, both very +beautiful. All the silks are woven the size of the dress: for men, about +twenty-eight feet long and twenty inches broad;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> and for women, about +five feet long and much broader. Thus, there is no cutting off the +piece. The <i>anas</i>, too, which are the bottom pieces for a woman's dress, +are woven the proper size. There will probably, too, be piles of showy +cambric jackets and gauzy silk handkerchiefs; but often these are sold at separate stalls.</p> + +<p>But prettier than the silks are the sellers, for these are nearly all +girls and women, sweet and fresh in their white jackets, with flowers in +their hair. And they are all delighted to talk to you and show you their +goods, even if you do not buy; and they will take a compliment sedately, +as a girl should, and they will probably charge you an extra rupee for +it when you come to pay for your purchases. So it is never wise for a +man, unless he have a heart of stone, to go marketing for silks. He +should always ask a lady friend to go with him and do the bargaining, +and he will lose no courtesy thereby, for these women know how to be +courteous to fellow-women as well as to fellow-men.</p> + +<p>In the provincial bazaars it is much the same. There may be a few +travelling merchants from Rangoon or Mandalay, most of whom are men; but +nearly all the retailers are women. Indeed, speaking broadly, it may be +said that the retail trade of the country is in the hands of the women, +and they nearly all trade on their own account. Just as the men farm +their own land, the women own their businesses. They are not saleswomen +for others,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> but traders on their own account; and with the exception of +the silk and cloth branches of the trade, it does not interfere with +home-life. The bazaar lasts but three hours, and a woman has ample time +for her home duties when her daily visit to the bazaar is over; she is +never kept away all day in shops and factories.</p> + +<p>Her home-life is always the centre of her life; she could not neglect it +for any other: it would seem to her a losing of the greater in the less. +But the effect of this custom of nearly every woman having a little +business of her own has a great influence on her life. It broadens her +views; it teaches her things she could not learn in the narrow circle of +home duties; it gives her that tolerance and understanding which so +forcibly strikes everyone who knows her. It teaches her to know her own +strength and weakness, and how to make the best of each. Above all, by +showing her the real life about her, and how much beauty there is +everywhere, to those whose eyes are not shut by conventions, it saves +her from that dreary, weary pessimism that seeks its relief in fancied +idealism, in a smattering of art, of literature, or of religion, and +which is the curse of so many of her sisters in other lands.</p> + +<p>And yet, with all their freedom, Burmese women are very particular in +their conduct. Do not imagine that young girls are allowed, or allow +themselves, to go about alone except on very frequented roads. I suppose +there are certain limits in all countries to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> the freedom a woman allows +herself, that is to say, if she is wise. For she knows that she cannot +always trust herself; she knows that she is weak sometimes, and she +protects herself accordingly. She is timid, with a delightful timidity +that fears, because it half understands; she is brave, with the bravery +of a girl who knows that as long as she keeps within certain limits she +is safe. Do not suppose that they ever do, or ever can, allow themselves +that freedom of action that men have; it is an impossibility. Girls are +very carefully looked after by their mothers, and wives by their +husbands; and they delight in observing the limits which experience has +indicated to them. There is a funny story which will illustrate what I +mean. A great friend of mine, an officer in Government service, went +home not very long ago and married, and came out again to Burma with his +wife. They settled down in a little up-country station. His duties were +such as obliged him to go very frequently on tour far away from his +home, and he would be absent ten days at a time or more. So when it came +for the first time that he was obliged to go out and leave his wife +behind him alone in the house, he gave his head-servant very careful +directions. This servant was a Burman who had been with him for many +years, who knew all his ways, and who was a very good servant. He did +not speak English; and my friend gave him strict orders.</p> + +<p>'The mistress,' he said, 'has only just come here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> to Burma, and she +does not know the ways of the country, nor what to do. So you must see +that no harm comes to her in any way while I am in the jungle.'</p> + +<p>Then he gave directions as to what was to be done in any eventuality, +and he went out.</p> + +<p>He was away for about a fortnight, and when he returned he found all +well. The house had not caught fire, nor had thieves stolen anything, +nor had there been any difficulty at all. The servant had looked after +the other servants well, and my friend was well pleased. But his wife +complained.</p> + +<p>'It has been very dull,' she said, 'while you were away. No one came to +see me; of all the officers here, not one ever called. I saw only two or +three ladies, but not a man at all.'</p> + +<p>And my friend, surprised, asked his servant how it was.</p> + +<p>'Didn't anyone come to call?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh yes,' the servant answered; 'many gentlemen came to call—the +officers of the regiment and others. But I told them the thakin was out, +and that the thakinma could not see anyone. I sent them all away.'</p> + +<p>At the club that evening my friend was questioned as to why in his +absence no one was allowed to see his wife. The whole station laughed at +him, but I think he and his wife laughed most of all at the careful +observances of Burmese etiquette by the servant; for it is the Burmese +custom for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> wife not to receive in her husband's absence. Anyone who +wants to see her must stay outside or in the veranda, and she will come +out and speak to him. It would be a grave breach of decorum to receive +visitors while her husband is out.</p> + +<p>So even a Burmese woman is not free from restrictions—restrictions +which are merely rules founded upon experience. No woman, no man, can +ever free herself or himself from the bonds that even a young +civilization demands. A freedom from all restraint would be a return, +not only to savagery, but to the condition of animals—nay, even animals +are bound by certain conventions.</p> + +<p>The higher a civilization, the more conventions are required; and +freedom does not mean an absence of all rules, but that all rules should +be founded on experience and common-sense.</p> + +<p>There are certain restrictions on a woman's actions which must be +observed as long as men are men and women women. That the Burmese woman +never recognises them unless they are necessary, and then accepts the +necessity as a necessity, is the fact wherein her freedom lies. If at +any time she should recognise that a restriction was unnecessary, she +would reject it. If experience told her further restrictions were +required, she would accept them without a doubt.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>WOMEN—III</h3> + +<div class="block"><div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'For women are very tender-hearted.'</div> +<div class="right"><i>Wethandaya.</i></div></div></div></div> + +<p>'You know, thakin,' said a man to me, 'that we say sometimes that women +cannot attain unto the great deliverance, that only men will come there. +We think that a woman must be born again as a man before she can enter +upon the way that leads to heaven.'</p> + +<p>'Why should that be so?' I asked. 'I have looked at the life of the +Buddha, I have read the sacred books, and I can find nothing about it. +What makes you think that?'</p> + +<p>He explained it in this way: 'Before a soul can attain deliverance it +must renounce the world, it must have purified itself by wisdom and +meditation from all the lust of the flesh. Only those who have done this +can enter into the Great Peace. Many men do this. The country is full of +monks, men who have left the world, and are trying to follow in the path +of the great teacher. Not all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> these will immediately attain to heaven, +for purification is a very long process; but they have entered into the +path, they have seen the light, if it be even a long way off yet. They +know whither they would go. But women, see how few become nuns! Only +those who have suffered such shipwreck in life that this world holds +nothing more for them worth having become nuns. And they are very few. +For a hundred monks there is not one nun. Women are too attached to +their home, to their fathers, their husbands, their children, to enter +into the holy life; and, therefore, how shall they come to heaven except +they return as men? Our teacher says nothing about it, but we have eyes, +and we can see.'</p> + +<p>All this is true. Women have no desire for the holy life. They cannot +tear themselves away from their home-life. If their passions are less +than those of men, they have even less command over them than men have. +Only the profoundest despair will drive a woman to a renunciation of the +world. If on an average their lives are purer than those of men, they +cannot rise to the heights to which men can. How many monks there +are—how few nuns! Not one to a hundred.</p> + +<p>Yet in some ways women are far more religious than men. If you go to the +golden pagoda on the hilltop and count the people kneeling there doing +honour to the teacher, you will find they are nearly all women. If you +go to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>rest-houses by the monastery, where the monks recite the law +on Sundays, you will find that the congregations are nearly all women. +If you visit the monastery without the gate, you will see many visitors +bringing little presents, and they will be women.</p> + +<p>'Thakin, many men do not care for religion at all, but when a man does +do so, he takes it very seriously. He follows it out to the end. He +becomes a monk, and surrenders the whole world. But with women it is +different. Many women, nearly all women, will like religion, and none +will take it seriously. We mix it up with our home-life, and our +affections, and our worldly doings; for we like a little of everything.' +So said a woman to me.</p> + +<p>Is this always true? I do not know, but it is very true in Burma. Nearly +all the women are religious, they like to go to the monastery and hear +the law, they like to give presents to the monks, they like to visit the +pagoda and adore Gaudama the Buddha. I am sure that if it were not for +their influence the laws against taking life and against intoxicants +would not be observed as stringently as they are. So far they will go. +As far as they can use the precepts of religion and retain their +home-life they will do so; as it was with Yathodaya so long ago, so it +is now. But when religion calls them and says, 'Come away from the +world, leave all that you love, all that your heart holds good, for it +is naught; see the light, and prepare your soul for peace,' they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> hold +back. This they cannot do; it is far beyond them. 'Thakin, we <i>cannot do +so</i>. It would seem to us terrible,' that is what they say.</p> + +<p>A man who renounces the world is called 'the great glory,' but not so a woman.</p> + +<p>I have said that the Buddhist religion holds men and women as equal. If +women can observe its laws as men do, it is surely their own fault if +they be held the less worthy.</p> + +<p>Women themselves admit this. They honour a man greatly who becomes a +monk, not so a nun. Nuns have but little consideration. And why? Because +what is good for a man is not good for a woman; and if, indeed, +renunciation of the world be the only path to the Great Peace, then +surely it must be true that women must be born again.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>DIVORCE</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'They are to each other as a burning poison falling into a man's +eye.'—<i>Burmese saying.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>I remember a night not so long ago; it was in the hot weather, and I was +out in camp with my friend the police-officer. It was past sunset, and +the air beneath the trees was full of luminous gloom, though overhead a +flush still lingered on the cheek of the night. We were sitting in the +veranda of a Government rest-house, enjoying the first coolness of the +coming night, and talking in disjointed sentences of many things; and +there came up the steps of the house into the veranda a woman. She came +forward slowly, and then sat down on the floor beside my friend, and +began to speak. There was a lamp burning in an inner room, and a long +bar of light came through the door and lit her face. I could see she was +not good-looking, but that her eyes were full of tears, and her face +drawn with trouble. I recognised who she was, the wife of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>head-constable in charge of the guard near by, a woman I had noticed +once or twice in the guard.</p> + +<p>She spoke so fast, so fast; the words fell over each other as they came +from her lips, for her heart was very full.</p> + +<p>I sat quite still and said nothing; I think she hardly noticed I was +there. It was all about her husband. Everything was wrong; all had gone +crooked in their lives, and she did not know what she could do. At first +she could hardly tell what it was all about, but at last she explained. +For some years, three or four years, matters had not been very smooth +between them. They had quarrelled often, she said, about this thing and +the other, little things mostly; and gradually the rift had widened till +it became very broad indeed.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps,' she said, 'if I had been able to have a child it would have +been different.' But fate was unkind and no baby came, and her husband +became more and more angry with her. 'And yet I did all for the best, +thakin; I always tried to act for the best. My husband has sisters at +Henzada, and they write to him now and then, and say, "Send ten rupees," +or "Send five rupees," or even twenty rupees. And I always say, "Send, +send." Other wives would say, "No, we cannot afford it;" but I said +always, "Send, send." I have always done for the best, always for the best.'</p> + +<p>It was very pitiable to hear her opening her whole heart, such a sore +troubled heart, like this. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> words were full of pathos; her uncomely +face was not beautified by the sorrow in it. And at last her husband +took a second wife.</p> + +<p>'She is a girl from a village near; the thakin knows, Taungywa. He did +not tell me, but I soon heard of it; and although I thought my heart +would break, I did not say anything. I told my husband, "Bring her here, +let us live all together; it will be best so." I always did for the +best, thakin. So he brought her, and she came to live with us a week +ago. Ah, thakin, I did not know! She tramples on me. My head is under +her feet. My husband does not care for me, only for her. And to-day, +this evening, they went out together for a walk, and my husband took +with him the concertina. As they went I could hear him play upon it, and +they walked down through the trees, he playing and she leaning upon him. +I heard the music.'</p> + +<p>Then she began to cry bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. The +sunset died out of the sky, and the shadows took all the world and made +it gray and dark. No one said anything, only the woman cried.</p> + +<p>'Thakin,' she said at last, 'what am I to do? Tell me.'</p> + +<p>Then my friend spoke.</p> + +<p>'You can divorce him,' he said; 'you can go to the elders and get a +divorce. Won't that be best?'</p> + +<p>'But, thakin, you do not know. We are both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> Christians; we are married +for ever. We were both at the mission-school in Rangoon, and we were +married there, "for ever and for ever," so the padre said. We are not +married according to Burmese customs, but according to your religion; we +are husband and wife for ever.'</p> + +<p>My friend said nothing. It seemed to him useless to speak to her of the +High Court, five hundred miles away, and a decree nisi; it would have +been a mockery of her trouble.</p> + +<p>'Your husband had no right to take a second wife, if you are Christians +and married,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' she answered, 'we are Burmans; it is allowed by Burmese law. Other +officials do it. What does my husband care that we were married by your +law? Here we are alone with no other Christians near. But I would not +mind so much,' she went on, 'only she treads me under her feet. And he +takes her out and not me, who am the elder wife, and he plays music to +her; and I did all for the best. This trouble has come upon me, though +all my life I have acted for the best.'</p> + +<p>There came another footstep up the stair, and a man entered. It was her +husband. On his return he had missed his wife, and guessed whither she +had gone, and had followed her. He came alone.</p> + +<p>Then there was a sad scene, only restrained by respect for my friend. I +need not tell it. There was a man's side to the question, a strong one. +The wife had a terrible temper, a peevish, nagging,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> maddening fashion +of talking. She was a woman very hard for a man to live with.</p> + +<p>Does it matter much which was right or wrong, now that the mischief was +done? They went away at last, not reconciled. Could they be reconciled? +I cannot tell. I left there next day, and have never returned.</p> + +<p>There they had lived for many years among their own people, far away +from the influence that had come upon their childhood, and led them into +strange ways. And now all that was left of that influence was the chain +that bound them together. Had it not been for that they would have been +divorced long ago; for they had never agreed very well, and both sides +had bitter grounds for complaint. They would have been divorced, and +both could have gone their own way. But now, what was to be done?</p> + +<p>That is one of my memories: this is another.</p> + +<p>There was a girl I knew, the daughter of a man who had made some money +by trading, and when the father died the property was divided according +to law between the girl and her brother. She was a little heiress in her +way, owning a garden, where grew many fruit-trees, and a piece of rice +land. She had also a share in a little shop which she managed, and she +had many gold bracelets and fine diamond earrings. She was much wooed by +the young men about there, and at last she married. He was a young man, +good-looking, a sergeant of police, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> for a time they were very +happy. And then trouble came. The husband took to bad ways. The +knowledge that he could get money for nothing was too much for him. He +drank and he wasted her money, and he neglected his work, and at last he +was dismissed from Government employ. And his wife got angry with him, +and complained of him to the neighbours; and made him worse, though she +was at heart a good girl. Quickly he went from bad to worse, until in a +very short time, six months, I think, he had spent half her little +fortune. Then she began to limit supplies—the husband did no work at +all—and in consequence he began to neglect her; they had many quarrels, +and her tongue was sharp, and matters got worse and worse until they +were the talk of the village. All attempts of the headman and elders to +restrain him were useless. He became quarrelsome, and went on from one +thing to another, until at last he was suspected of being concerned in a +crime. So then when all means had failed to restore her husband to her, +when they had drifted far apart and there was nothing before them but +trouble, she went to the elders of the village and demanded a divorce. +And the elders granted it to her. Her husband objected; he did not want +to be divorced. He claimed this, and he claimed that, but it was all of +no use. So the tie that had united them was dissolved, as the love had +been dissolved long before, and they parted. The man went away to Lower +Burma. They tell me he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> has become a cultivator and has reformed, and is +doing well; and the girl is ready to marry again. Half her property is +gone, but half remains, and she has still her little business. I think +they will both do well. But if they had been chained together, what then?</p> + +<p>In Burma divorce is free. Anyone can obtain it by appearing before the +elders of the village and demanding it. A writing of divorcement is made +out, and the parties are free. Each retains his or her own property, and +that earned during marriage is divided; only that the party claiming the +divorce has to leave the house to the other—that is the only penalty, +and it is not always enforced, unless the house be joint property.</p> + +<p>As religion has nothing to do with marriage, neither has it with +divorce. Marriage is a status, a partnership, nothing more. But it is +all that. Divorce is a dissolution of that partnership. A Burman would +not ask, 'Were they married?' but, 'Are they man and wife?' And so with +divorce, it is a cessation of the state of marriage.</p> + +<p>Elders tell me that women ask for divorce far more than men do. 'Men +have patience, and women have not,' that is what they say. For every +little quarrel a woman will want a divorce. 'Thakin, if we were to grant +divorces every time a woman came and demanded it, we should be doing +nothing else all day long. If a husband comes home to find dinner not +cooked, and speaks angrily, his wife<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> will rush to us in tears for a +divorce. If he speaks to another woman and smiles, if he does not give +his wife a new dress, if he be fond of going out in the evenings, all +these are reasons for a breathless demand for a divorce. The wives get +cross and run to us and cry, "My husband has been angry with me. Never +will I live with him again. Give me a divorce." Or, "See my clothes, how +old they are. I cannot buy any new dress. I will have a divorce." And we +say, "Yes, yes; it is very sad. Of course, you must have a divorce; but +we cannot give you one to-night. Go away, and come again in three days +or in four days, when we have more time." They go away, thakin, and they +do not return. Next day it is all forgotten. You see, they don't know +what they want; they turn with the wind—they have no patience.'</p> + +<p>Yet sometimes they repent too late. Here is another of my memories about divorce:</p> + +<p>There was a man and his wife, cultivators, living in a small village. +The land that he cultivated belonged to his wife, for she had inherited +it from her father, together with a house and a little money. The man +had nothing when he married her, but he was hardworking and honest and +good-tempered, and they kept themselves going comfortably enough. But he +had one fault: every now and then he would drink too much. This was in +Lower Burma, where liquor shops are free to Burmans. In Upper Burma no +liquor can be sold to them. He did not drink<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> often. He was a teetotaler +generally; but once a month, or once in two months, he would meet some +friends, and they would drink in good fellowship, and he would return +home drunk. His wife felt this very bitterly, and when he would come +into the house, his eyes red and his face swollen, she would attack him +with bitter words, as women do. She would upbraid him for his conduct, +she would point at him the finger of scorn, she would tell him in biting +words that he was drinking the produce of her fields, of her +inheritance; she would even impute to him, in her passion, worse things +than these, things that were not true. And the husband was usually +good-natured, and admitted his wrong, and put up with all her abuse, and +they lived more or less happily till the next time.</p> + +<p>And after this had been going on for a few years, instead of getting +accustomed to her husband, instead of seeing that if he had this fault +he had many virtues, and that he was just as good a husband as she was a +wife, or perhaps better, her anger against him increased every time, +till now she would declare that she would abide it no longer, that he +was past endurance, and she would have a divorce; and several times she +even ran to the elders to demand it. But the elders would put it by. +'Let it wait,' they said, 'for a few days, and then we will see;' and by +that time all was soothed down again. But at last the end came. One +night she passed all bounds in her anger, using words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> that could never +be forgiven; and when she declared as usual that she must have a +divorce, her husband said: 'Yes, we will divorce. Let there be an end of +it.' And so next day they went to the elders both of them, and as both +demanded the divorce, the elders could not delay very long. A few days' +delay they made, but the man was firm, and at last it was done. They +were divorced. I think the woman would have drawn back at the last +moment, but she could not, for very shame, and the man never wavered. He +was offended past forgiveness.</p> + +<p>So the divorce was given, and the man left the house and went to live elsewhere.</p> + +<p>In a few days—a very few days—the wife sent for him again. 'Would he +return?' And he refused. Then she went to the headman and asked him to +make it up, and the headman sent for the husband, who came.</p> + +<p>The woman asked her husband to return.</p> + +<p>'Come back,' she said, 'come back. I have been wrong. Let us forgive. It +shall never happen again.'</p> + +<p>But the man shook his head.</p> + +<p>'No,' he said; 'a divorce is a divorce. I do not care to marry and +divorce once a week. You were always saying "I will divorce you, I will +divorce you." Now it is done. Let it remain.'</p> + +<p>The woman was struck with grief.</p> + +<p>'But I did not know,' she said; 'I was hot-tempered. I was foolish. But +now I know. Ah!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> the house is so lonely! I have but two ears, I have but +two eyes, and the house is so large.'</p> + +<p>But the husband refused again.</p> + +<p>'What is done, is done. Marriage is not to be taken off and put on like +a jacket. I have made up my mind.'</p> + +<p>Then he went away, and after a little the woman went away too. She went +straight to the big, lonely house, and there she hanged herself.</p> + +<p>You see, she loved him all the time, but did not know till too late.</p> + +<p>Men do not often apply for divorce except for very good cause, and with +their minds fully made up to obtain it. They do obtain it, of course.</p> + +<p>With this facility for divorce, it is remarkable how uncommon it is. In +the villages and amongst respectable Burmans in all classes of life it +is a great exception to divorce or to be divorced. The only class +amongst whom it is at all common is the class of hangers-on to our +Administration, the clerks and policemen, and so on. I fear there is +little that is good to be said of many of them. It is terrible to see +how demoralizing our contact is to all sorts and conditions of men. To +be attached to our Administration is almost a stigma of +disreputableness. I remember remarking once to a headman that a certain +official seemed to be quite regardless of public opinion in his life, +and asked him if the villagers did not condemn him. And the headman +answered with surprise: 'But he is an official;'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> as if officials were +quite <i>super grammaticam</i> of morals.</p> + +<p>And yet this is the class from whom we most of us obtain our knowledge +of Burmese life, whom we see most of, whose opinions we accept as +reflecting the truth of Burmese thought. No wonder we are so often astray.</p> + +<p>Amongst these, the taking of second, and even third, wives is not at all +uncommon, and naturally divorce often follows. Among the great mass of +the people it is very uncommon. I cannot give any figures. There are no +records kept of marriage or of divorce. What the proportion is it is +impossible to even guess. I have heard all sorts of estimates, none +founded on more than imagination. I have even tried to find out in small +villages what the number of divorces were in a year, and tried to +estimate from this the percentage. I made it from 2 to 5 per cent. of +the marriages. But I cannot offer these figures as correct for any large +area. Probably they vary from place to place and from year to year. In +the old time the queen was very strict upon the point. As she would +allow no other wife to her king, so she would allow no taking of other +wives, no abuse of divorce among her subjects. Whatever her influence +may have been in other ways, here it was all for good. But the queen has +gone, and there is no one left at all. No one but the hangers-on of whom +I have spoken, examples not to be followed, but to be shunned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>But of this there is no manner of doubt, that this freedom of marriage +and divorce leads to no license. There is no confusion between marriage +or non-marriage, and even yet public opinion is a very great check upon +divorce. It is considered not right to divorce your husband or your wife +without good—very good and sufficient cause. And what is good and +sufficient cause is very well understood. That a woman should have a +nagging tongue, that a man should be a drunkard, what could be better +cause than this? The gravity of the offence lies in whether it makes +life unbearable together, not in the name you may give it.</p> + +<p>The facility for divorce has other effects too. It makes a man and a +woman very careful in their behaviour to each other. The chain that +binds them is a chain of mutual forbearance, of mutual endurance, of +mutual love; and if these be broken, then is the bond gone. Marriage is +no fetter about a man or woman, binding both to that which they may get to hate.</p> + +<p>In the first Burmese war in 1825 there was a man, an Englishman, taken +prisoner in Ava and put in prison, and there he found certain Europeans +and Americans. After a time, for fear of attempts at escape, these +prisoners were chained together two and two. He tells you, this +Englishman, how terrible this was, and of the hate and repulsion that +arose in your heart to your co-bondsman. Before they were chained +together they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> lived in close neighbourhood, in peace and amity; but +when the chains came it was far otherwise, though they were no nearer +than before. They got to hate each other.</p> + +<p>And this is the Burmese idea of marriage, that it is a partnership of +love and affection, and that when these die, all should be over. An +unbreakable marriage appears to them as a fetter, a bond, something +hateful and hate inspiring. They are a people who love to be free: they +hate bonds and dogmas of every description. It is always religion that +has made a bond of marriage, and here religion has not interfered. +Theirs is a religion of free men and free women.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>DRINK</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'The ignorant commit sins in consequence of drunkenness, and also +make others drunk.'—<i>Acceptance into the Monkhood.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>The Buddhist religion forbids the use of all stimulants, including opium +and other drugs; and in the times of the Burmese rule this law was +stringently kept. No one was allowed to make, to sell, or to consume, +liquors of any description. That this law was kept as firmly as it was +was due, not to the vigilance of the officials, but to the general +feeling of the people. It was a law springing from within, and therefore +effectual; not imposed from without, and useless. That there were +breaches and evasions of the law is only natural. The craving for some +stimulant amongst all people is very great—so great as to have forced +itself to be acknowledged and regulated by most states, and made a great +source of revenue. Amongst the Burmans the craving is, I should say, as +strong as amongst other people; and no mere legal prohibition would have +had much effect in a country like this, full of jungle, where palms grow +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> profusion, and where little stills might be set up anywhere to +distil their juice. But the feelings of the respectable people and the +influence of the monks is very great, very strong; and the Burmans were, +and in Upper Burma, where the old laws remain in force, are still, an +absolutely teetotal people. No one who was in Upper Burma before and +just after the war but knows how strictly the prohibition against liquor +was enforced. The principal offenders against the law were the high +officials, because they were above popular reach. No bribe was so +gratefully accepted as some whisky. It was a sure step to safety in trouble.</p> + +<p>A gentleman—not an Englishman—in the employ of a company who traded in +Upper Burma in the king's time told me lately a story about this.</p> + +<p>He lived in a town on the Irrawaddy, where was a local governor, and +this governor had a head clerk. This head clerk had a wife, and she was, +I am told, very beautiful. I cannot write scandal, and so will not +repeat here what I have heard about this lady and the merchant; but one +day his Burman servant rushed into his presence and told him +breathlessly that the bailiff of the governor's court was just entering +the garden with a warrant for his arrest, for, let us say, undue +flirtation. The merchant, horrified at the prospect of being lodged in +gaol and put in stocks, fled precipitately out of the back-gate and +gained the governor's court. The governor was in session, seated on a +little daïs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> and the merchant ran in and knelt down, as is the custom, +in front of the daïs. He began to hurriedly address the governor:</p> + +<p>'My lord, my lord, an unjust complaint has been made against me. Someone +has abused your justice and caused a warrant to be taken out against me. +I have just escaped the bailiff, and came to your honour for protection. +It is all a mistake. I will explain. I——'</p> + +<p>But here the governor interposed. He bent forward till his head was +close to the merchant's head, and whispered:</p> + +<p>'Friend, have you any whisky?'</p> + +<p>The merchant gave a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>'A case newly arrived is at your honour's disposal,' he answered +quickly. 'I will give orders for it to be sent over at once. No, two +cases—I have two. And this charge is all a mistake.'</p> + +<p>The governor waved his hand as if all explanation were superfluous. Then +he drew himself up, and, addressing the officials and crowd before him, said:</p> + +<p>'This is my good friend. Let no one touch him.' And in an undertone to +the merchant: 'Send it soon.'</p> + +<p>So the merchant went home rejoicing, and sent the whisky. And the lady? +Well, my story ends there with the governor and the whisky. No doubt it +was all a mistake about the lady, as the merchant said. All officials +were not so bad as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> this, and many officials were as strongly against +the use of liquor, as urgent in the maintenance of the rules of the +religion, as the lowest peasant.</p> + +<p>It was the same with opium: its use was absolutely prohibited. Of +course, Chinese merchants managed to smuggle enough in for their own +use, but they had to bribe heavily to be able to do so, and the people +remained uncontaminated. 'Opium-eater,' 'gambler,' are the two great +terms of reproach and contempt.</p> + +<p>It used to be a custom in the war-time—it has died out now, I +think—for officers of all kinds to offer to Burmans who came to see +them—officials, I mean—a drink of whisky or beer on parting, just as +you would to an Englishman. It was often accepted. Burmans are, as I +have said, very fond of liquor, and an opportunity like this to indulge +in a little forbidden drink, under the encouragement of the great +English soldier or official, was too much for them. Besides, it would +have been a discourtesy to refuse. And so it was generally accepted. I +do not think it did much harm to anyone, or to anything, except, +perhaps, to our reputation.</p> + +<p>I remember in 1887 that I went up into a semi-independent state to see +the prince. I travelled up with two of his officials, men whom I had +seen a good deal of for some months before, as his messengers and +spokesmen, about affairs on the border. We travelled for three days, and +came at last to where he had pitched his camp in the forest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> He had +built me a house, too, next to his camp, where I put up. I had a long +interview with him about official matters—I need not tell of that +here—and after our business was over we talked of many things, and at +last I got up to take my leave. I had seen towards the end that the +prince had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but was +afraid, or too shy, to mention; and when I got up, instead of moving +away, I laughed and said:</p> + +<p>'Well, what is it? I think there is something the prince wants to say +before I go.'</p> + +<p>And the prince smiled back awkwardly, still desirous to have his say, +still clearly afraid to do so, and at last it was his wife who spoke.</p> + +<p>'It is about the whisky,' she said. 'We know that you drink it. That is +your own business. We hear, too, that it is the custom in the part of +the country you have taken for English officers to give whisky and beer +to officials who come to see you—to <i>our</i> officials,' and she looked at +the men who had come up with me, and they blushed. 'The prince wishes to +ask you not to do it here. Of course, in your own country you do what +you like, but in the prince's country no one is allowed to drink or to +smoke opium. It is against our faith. That is what the prince wanted to +say. The thakin will not be offended if he is asked that here in our +country he will not tempt any of us to break our religion.'</p> + +<p>I almost wished I had not encouraged the prince<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> to speak. I am afraid +that the embarrassment passed over to my side. What could I say but that +I would remember, that I was not offended, but would be careful? I had +been lecturing the prince about his shortcomings; I had been warning him +of trouble to come, unless he mended his ways; I had been telling him +wonderful things of Europe and our power. I thought that I had produced +an impression of superiority—I was young then—but when I left I had my +doubts who it was that scored most in that interview. However, I have +remembered ever since. I was not a frequent offender before—I have +never offered a Burman liquor since.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>MANNERS</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Not where others fail, or do, or leave undone—the wise should +notice what himself has done, or left undone.'—<i>Dammapada.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>A remarkable trait of the Burmese character is their unwillingness to +interfere in other people's affairs. Whether it arises from their +religion of self-culture or no, I cannot say, but it is in full keeping +with it. Every man's acts and thoughts are his own affair, think the +Burmans; each man is free to go his own way, to think his own thoughts, +to act his own acts, as long as he does not too much annoy his +neighbours. Each man is responsible for himself and for himself alone, +and there is no need for him to try and be guardian also to his fellows. +And so the Burman likes to go his own way, to be a free man within +certain limits; and the freedom that he demands for himself, he will +extend also to his neighbours. He has a very great and wide tolerance +towards all his neighbours, not thinking it necessary to disapprove of +his neighbours' acts because they may not be the same as his own,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> never +thinking it necessary to interfere with his neighbours as long as the +laws are not broken. Our ideas that what habits are different to our +habits must be wrong, and being wrong, require correction at our hands, +is very far from his thoughts. He never desires to interfere with +anyone. Certain as he is that his own ideas are best, he is contented +with that knowledge, and is not ceaselessly desirous of proving it upon +other people. And so a foreigner may go and live in a Burman village, +may settle down there and live his own life and follow his own customs +in perfect freedom, may dress and eat and drink and pray and die as he +likes. No one will interfere. No one will try and correct him; no one +will be for ever insisting to him that he is an outcast, either from +civilization or from religion. The people will accept him for what he +is, and leave the matter there. If he likes to change his ways and +conform to Burmese habits and Buddhist forms, so much the better; but if +not, never mind.</p> + +<p>It is, I think, a great deal owing to this habit of mind that the +manners of the Burmese are usually so good, children in civilization as +they are. There is amongst them no rude inquisitiveness and no desire to +in any way circumscribe your freedom, by either remark or act. Surely of +all things that cause trouble, nothing is so common amongst us as the +interference with each other's ways, as the needless giving of advice. +It seems to each of us that we are responsible, not only for ourselves, +but also for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> everyone else near us; and so if we disapprove of any act, +we are always in a hurry to express our disapproval and to try and +persuade the actor to our way of thinking. We are for ever thinking of +others and trying to improve them; as a nation we try to coerce weaker +nations and to convert stronger ones, and as individuals we do the same. +We are sure that other people cannot but be better and happier for being +brought into our ways of thinking, by force even, if necessary. We call it philanthropy.</p> + +<p>But the Buddhist does not believe this at all. Each man, each nation, +has, he thinks, enough to do managing his or its own affairs. +Interference, any sort of interference, he is sure can do nothing but +harm. <i>You</i> cannot save a man. He can save himself; you can do nothing +for him. You may force or persuade him into an outer agreement with you, +but what is the value of that? All dispositions that are good, that are +of any value at all, must come spontaneously from the heart of man. +First, he must desire them, and then struggle to obtain them; by this +means alone can any virtue be reached. This, which is the key of his +religion, is the key also of his private life. Each man is a free man to +do what he likes, in a way that we have never understood.</p> + +<p>Even under the rule of the Burmese kings there was the very widest +tolerance. You never heard of a foreigner being molested in any way, +being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> forbidden to live as he liked, being forbidden to erect his own +places of worship. He had the widest freedom, as long as he infringed no +law. The Burmese rule may not have been a good one in many ways, but it +was never guilty of persecution, of any attempt at forcible conversion, +of any desire to make such an attempt.</p> + +<p>This tolerance, this inclination to let each man go his own way, is +conspicuous even down to the little events of life. It is very marked, +even in conversation, how little criticism is indulged in towards each +other, how there is an absolute absence of desire to proselytize each +other in any way. 'It is his way,' they will say, with a laugh, of any +peculiar act of any person; 'it is his way. What does it matter to us?' +Of all the lovable qualities of the Burmese, and they are many, there +are none greater than these—their light-heartedness and their tolerance.</p> + +<p>A Burman will always assume that you know your own business, and will +leave you alone to do it. How great a boon this is I think we hardly can +understand, for we have none of it. And he carries it to an extent that +sometimes surprises us.</p> + +<p>Suppose you are walking along a road and there is a broken bridge on the +way, a bridge that you might fall through. No one will try and prevent +you going. Any Burman who saw you go will, if he think at all about it, +give you the credit for knowing what you are about. It will not enter +into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> his head to go out of his way to give you advice about that +bridge. If you ask him he will help you all he can, but he will not +volunteer; and so if you depend on volunteered advice, you may fall +through the bridge and break your neck, perhaps.</p> + +<p>At first this sort of thing seems to us to spring from laziness or from +discourtesy. It is just the reverse of this latter; it is excess of +courtesy that assumes you to be aware of what you are about, and capable +of judging properly.</p> + +<p>You may get yourself into all sorts of trouble, and unless you call out +no one will assist you. They will suppose that if you require help you +will soon ask for it. You could drift all the way from Bhamo to Rangoon +on a log, and I am sure no one would try to pick you up unless you +shouted for help. Let anyone try to drift down from Oxford to Richmond, +and he will be forcibly saved every mile of his journey, I am sure. The +Burman boatmen you passed would only laugh and ask how you were getting +on. The English boatman would have you out of that in a jiffy, saving +you despite yourself. You might commit suicide in Burma, and no one +would stop you. 'It is your own look-out,' they would say; 'if you want +to die why should we prevent you? What business is it of ours?'</p> + +<p>Never believe for a moment that this is cold-heartedness. Nowhere is +there any man so kind-hearted as a Burman, so ready to help you, so +hospitable, so charitable both in act and thought.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>It is only that he has another way of seeing these things to what we +have. He would resent as the worst discourtesy that which we call having +a friendly interest in each other's doings. Volunteered advice comes, so +he thinks, from pure self-conceit, and is intolerable; help that he has +not asked for conveys the assumption that he is a fool, and the helper +ever so much wiser than he. It is in his eyes simply a form of +self-assertion, an attempt at governing other people, an infringement of +good manners not to be borne.</p> + +<p>Each man is responsible for himself, each man is the maker of himself. +Only he can do himself good by good thought, by good acts; only he can +hurt himself by evil intentions and deeds. Therefore in your intercourse +with others remember always yourself, remember that no one can injure +you but yourself; be careful, therefore, of your acts for your own sake. +For if you lose your temper, who is the sufferer? Yourself; no one but +yourself. If you are guilty of disgraceful acts, of discourteous words, +who suffers? Yourself. Remember that; remember that courtesy and good +temper are due from you to everyone. What does it matter who the other +person be? you should be courteous to him, not because he deserves it, +but because you deserve it. Courtesy is measured by the giver, not by +the receiver. We are apt sometimes to think that this continual care of +self is selfishness; it is the very reverse. Self-reverence is the +antipode of self-conceit, of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>selfishness. If you honour yourself, you +will be careful that nothing dishonourable shall come from you. +'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control;' we, too, have had a poet +who taught this.</p> + +<p>And so dignity of manner is very marked amongst this people. It is +cultivated as a gift, as the outward sign of a good heart.</p> + +<p>'A rough diamond;' no Burman would understand this saying. The value of +a diamond is that it can be polished. As long as it remains in the +rough, it has no more beauty than a lump of mud. If your heart be good, +so, too, will be your manners. A good tree will bring forth good fruit. +If the fruit be rotten, can the tree be good? Not so. If your manners +are bad, so, too, is your heart. To be courteous, even tempered, to be +tolerant and full of sympathy, these are the proofs of an inward +goodness. You cannot have one without the other. Outward appearances are +not deceptive, but are true.</p> + +<p>Therefore they strive after even temper. Hot-tempered as they are, +easily aroused to wrath, easily awakened to pleasure, men with the +passions of a child, they have very great command over themselves. They +are ashamed of losing their temper; they look upon it as a disgrace. We +are often proud of it; we think sometimes we do well to be angry.</p> + +<p>So they are very patient, very long-suffering, accepting with +resignation the troubles of this world,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> the kicks and spurns of +fortune, secure in this, that each man's self is in his own keeping. If +there be trouble for to-day, what can it matter if you do but command +yourself? If others be discourteous to you, that cannot hurt you, if you +do not allow yourself to be discourteous in return. Take care of your +own soul, sure that in the end you will win, either in this life or in +some other, that which you deserve. What you have made your soul fit +for, that you will obtain, sooner or later, whether it be evil or +whether it be good. The law of righteousness is for ever this, that what +a man deserves that he will obtain. And in the end, if you cultivate +your soul with unwearying patience, striving always after what is good, +purifying yourself from the lust of life, you will come unto that lake +where all desire shall be washed away.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>'NOBLESSE OBLIGE'</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than +may he who kills any living being be admitted into our +society.'—<i>Acceptance into the Monkhood.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>It is very noticeable throughout the bazaars of Burma that all the beef +butchers are natives of India. No Burman will kill a cow or a bullock, +and no Burman will sell its meat. It is otherwise with pork and fowls. +Burmans may sometimes be found selling these; and fish are almost +invariably sold by the wives of the fishermen. During the king's time, +any man who was even found in possession of beef was liable to very +severe punishment. The only exception, as I have explained elsewhere, +was in the case of the queen when expecting an addition to her family, +and it was necessary that she should be strengthened in all ways. None, +not even foreigners, were allowed to kill beef, and this law was very +stringently observed. Other flesh and fish might, as far as the law of +the country went, be sold with impunity. You could not be fined for +killing and eating goats, or fowls, or pigs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> and these were sold +occasionally. It is now ten years since King Thibaw was overthrown, and +there is now no law against the sale of beef. And yet, as I have said, +no respectable Burman will even now kill or sell beef. The law was +founded on the beliefs of the people, and though the law is dead, the beliefs remain.</p> + +<p>It is true that the taking of life is against Buddhist commands. No life +at all may be taken by him who adheres to Buddhistic teaching. Neither +for sport, nor for revenge, nor for food, may any animal be deprived of +the breath that is in it. And this is a command wonderfully well kept. +There are a few exceptions, but they are known and accepted as breaches +of the law, for the law itself knows no exceptions. Fish, as I have +said, can be obtained almost everywhere. They are caught in great +quantities in the river, and are sold in most bazaars, either fresh or +salted. It is one of the staple foods of the Burmese. But although they +will eat fish, they despise the fisherman. Not so much, perhaps, as if +he killed other living things, but still, the fisherman is an outcast +from decent society. He will have to suffer great and terrible +punishment before he can be cleansed from the sins that he daily +commits. Notwithstanding this, there are many fishermen in Burma.</p> + +<p>A fish is a very cold-blooded beast. One must be very hard up for +something to love to have any affection to spare upon fishes. They +cannot be, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> at all events they never are, domesticated, and most of +them are not beautiful. I am not aware that they have ever been known to +display any attachment to anyone, which accounts, perhaps, for the +comparatively lenient eye with which their destruction is contemplated.</p> + +<p>For with warm-blooded animals it is very different. Cattle, as I have +said, can never be killed nor their meat sold by a Burman, and with +other animals the difficulty is not much less.</p> + +<p>I was in Upper Burma for some months before the war, and many a time I +could get no meat at all. Living in a large town among prosperous +people, I could get no flesh at all, only fish and rice and vegetables. +When, after much trouble, my Indian cook would get me a few fowls, he +would often be waylaid and forced to release them. An old woman, say, +anxious to do some deed of merit, would come to him as he returned +triumphantly home with his fowls and tender him money, and beg him to +release the fowls. She would give the full price or double the price of +the fowls; she had no desire to gain merit at another person's expense, +and the unwilling cook would be obliged to give up the fowls. Public +opinion was so strong he dare not refuse. The money was paid, the fowls +set free, and I dined on tinned beef.</p> + +<p>And yet the villages are full of fowls. Why they are kept I do not know. +Certainly not for food. I do not mean to say that an accidental meeting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +between a rock and a fowl may not occasionally furnish forth a dinner, +but this is not the object with which they are kept—of this I am sure.</p> + +<p>You would not suppose that fowls were capable of exciting much +affection, yet I suppose they are. Certainly in one case ducks were. +There is a Burman lady I know who is married to an Englishman. He kept +ducks. He bought a number of ducklings, and had them fed up so that they +might be fat and succulent when the time came for them to be served at +table. They became very fine ducks, and my friend had promised me one. I +took an interest in them, and always noticed their increasing fatness +when I rode that way. Imagine, then, my disappointment when one day I +saw that all the ducks had disappeared.</p> + +<p>I stopped to inquire. Yes, truly they were all gone, my friend told me. +In his absence his wife had gone up the river to visit some friends, and +had taken the ducks with her. She could not bear, she said, that they +should be killed, so she took them away and distributed them among her +friends, one here and one there, where she was sure they would be well +treated and not killed. When she returned she was quite pleased at her +success, and laughed at her husband and me.</p> + +<p>This same lady was always terribly distressed when she had to order a +fowl to be killed for her husband's breakfast, even if she had never +seen it before. I have seen her, after telling the cook to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> kill a fowl +for breakfast, run away and sit down in the veranda with her hands over +her ears, and her face the very picture of misery, fearing lest she +should hear its shrieks. I think that this was the one great trouble to +her in her marriage, that her husband would insist on eating fowls and +ducks, and that she had to order them to be killed.</p> + +<p>As she is, so are most Burmans. If there is all this trouble about +fowls, it can be imagined how the trouble increases when it comes to +goats or any larger beasts. In the jungle villages meat of any kind at +all is never seen: no animals of any kind are allowed to be killed. An +officer travelling in the district would be reduced to what he could +carry with him, if it were not for an Act of Government obliging +villages to furnish—on payment, of course—supplies for officers and +troops passing through. The mere fact of such a law being necessary is +sufficient proof of the strength of the feeling against taking life.</p> + +<p>Of course, all shooting, either for sport or for food, is looked upon as +disgraceful. In many jungle villages where deer abound there are one or +two hunters who make a living by hunting. But they are disgraced men. +They are worse than fishermen, and they will have a terrible penalty to +pay for it all. It will take much suffering to wash from their souls the +cruelty, the blood-thirstiness, the carelessness to suffering, the +absence of compassion, that hunting must produce. 'Is there no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> food in +the bazaar, that you must go and take the lives of animals?' has been +said to me many a time. And when my house-roof was infested by sparrows, +who dropped grass and eggs all over my rooms, so that I was obliged to +shoot them with a little rifle, this was no excuse. 'You should have +built a sparrow-cote,' they told me. 'If you had built a sparrow-cote, +they would have gone away and left you in peace. They only wanted to +make nests and lay eggs and have little ones, and you went and shot +them.' There are many sparrow-cotes to be seen in the villages.</p> + +<p>I might give example after example of this sort, for they happen every +day. We who are meat-eaters, who delight in shooting, who have a horror +of insects and reptiles, are continually coming into collision with the +principles of our neighbours; for even harmful reptiles they do not care +to kill. Truly I believe it is a myth, the story of the Burmese mother +courteously escorting out of the house the scorpion which had just +bitten her baby. A Burmese mother worships her baby as much as the woman +of any other nation does, and I believe there is no crime she would not +commit in its behalf. But if she saw a scorpion walking about in the +fields, she would not kill it as we should. She would step aside and +pass on. 'Poor beast!' she would say, 'why should I hurt it? It never hurt me.'</p> + +<p>The Burman never kills insects out of sheer brutality. If a beetle drone +annoyingly, he will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> catch it in a handkerchief and put it outside, and +so with a bee. It is a great trouble often to get your Burmese servants +to keep your house free of ants and other annoying creatures. If you +tell them to kill the insects they will, for in that case the sin falls +on you. Without special orders they would rather leave the ants alone.</p> + +<p>In the district in which I am now living snakes are very plentiful. +There are cobras and keraits, but the most dreaded is the Russell's +viper. He is a snake that averages from three to four feet long, and is +very thick, with a big head and a stumpy tail. His body is marked very +prettily with spots and blurs of light on a dark, grayish green, and he +is so like the shadows of the grass and weeds in a dusty road, that you +can walk on him quite unsuspectingly. Then he will bite you, and you +die. He comes out usually in the evening before dark, and lies about on +footpaths to catch the home-coming ploughman or reaper, and, contrary to +the custom of other snakes, he will not flee on hearing a footstep. When +anyone approaches he lies more still than ever, not even a movement of +his head betraying him. He is so like the colour of the ground, he hopes +he will be passed unseen; and he is slow and lethargic in his movements, +and so is easy to kill when once detected. As a Burman said, 'If he sees +you first, he kills you; if you see him first, you kill him.'</p> + +<p>In this district no Burman hesitates a moment in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> killing a viper when +he has the chance. Usually he has to do it in self-defence. This viper +is terribly feared, as over a hundred persons a year die here by his +bite. He is so hated and feared that he has become an outcast from the +law that protects all life.</p> + +<p>But with other snakes it is not so. There is the hamadryad, for +instance. He is a great snake about ten to fourteen feet long, and he is +the only snake that will attack you first. He is said always to do so, +certainly he often does. One attacked me once when out quail-shooting. +He put up his great neck and head suddenly at a distance of only five or +six feet, and was just preparing to strike, when I literally blew his +head off with two charges of shot.</p> + +<p>You would suppose he was vicious enough to be included with the +Russell's viper in the category of the exceptions, but no. Perhaps he is +too rare to excite such fierce and deadly hate as makes the Burman +forget his law and kill the viper. However it may be, the Burman is not +ready to kill the hamadryad. A few weeks ago a friend of mine and myself +came across two little Burman boys carrying a jar with a piece of broken +tile over it. The lads kept lifting up the tile and peeping in, and then +putting the tile on again in a great hurry, and their actions excited +our curiosity. So we called them to come to us, and we looked into the +jar. It was full of baby hamadryads. The lads had found a nest of them +in the absence of the mother, who would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> have killed them if she had +been there, and had secured all the little snakes. There were seven of them.</p> + +<p>We asked the boys what they intended to do with the snakes, and they +answered that they would show them to their friends in the village. 'And +then?' we asked. And then they would let them go in the water. My friend +killed all the hamadryads on the spot, and gave the boys some coppers, +and we went on. Can you imagine this happening anywhere else? Can you +think of any other schoolboys sparing any animal they caught, much less +poisonous snakes? The extraordinary hold that this tenet of their +religion has upon the Burmese must be seen to be understood. What I +write will sound like some fairy story, I fear, to my people at home. It +is far beneath the truth. The belief that it is wrong to take life is a +belief with them as strong as any belief could be. I do not know +anywhere any command, earthly or heavenly, that is acted up to with such +earnestness as this command is amongst the Burmese. It is an abiding +principle of their daily life.</p> + +<p>Where the command came from I do not know. I cannot find any allusion to +it in the life of the great teacher. We know that he ate meat. It seems +to me that it is older even than he. It has been derived both by the +Burmese Buddhists and the Hindus from a faith whose origin is hidden in +the mists of long ago. It is part of that far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> older faith on which +Buddhism was built, as was Christianity on Judaism.</p> + +<p>But if not part of his teaching—and though it is included in the sacred +books, we do not know how much of them are derived from the Buddha +himself—it is in strict accordance with all his teaching. That is one +of the most wonderful points of Buddhism, it is all in accordance; there +are no exceptions.</p> + +<p>I have heard amongst Europeans a very curious explanation of this +refusal of Buddhists to take life. 'Buddhists,' they say, 'believe in +the transmigration of souls. They believe that when a man dies his soul +may go into a beast. You could not expect him to kill a bull, when +perchance his grandfather's soul might inhabit there.' This is their +explanation, this is the way they put two and two together to make five. +They know that Buddhists believe in transmigration, they know that +Buddhists do not like to take life, and therefore one is the cause of the other.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned this explanation to Burmans while talking of the +subject, and they have always laughed at it. They had never heard of it +before. It is true that it is part of their great theory of life that +the souls of men have risen from being souls of beasts, and that we may +so relapse if we are not careful. Many stories are told of cases that +have occurred where a man has been reincarnated as an animal, and where +what is now the soul of a man used to live in a beast. But that makes no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>difference. Whatever a man may have been, or may be, he is a man now; +whatever a beast may have been, he is a beast now. Never suppose that a +Burman has any other idea than this. To him men are men, and animals are +animals, and men are far the higher. But he does not deduce from this +that man's superiority gives him permission to illtreat or to kill +animals. It is just the reverse. It is because man is so much higher +than the animal that he can and must observe towards animals the very +greatest care, feel for them the very greatest compassion, be good to +them in every way he can. The Burman's motto should be <i>Noblesse +oblige</i>; he knows the meaning, if he knows not the words.</p> + +<p>For the Burman's compassion towards animals goes very much farther than +a mere reluctance to kill them. Although he has no command on the +subject, it seems to him quite as important to treat animals well during +their lives as to refrain from taking those lives. His refusal to take +life he shares with the Hindu; his perpetual care and tenderness to all +living creatures is all his own. And here I may mention a very curious +contrast, that whereas in India the Hindu will not take life and the +Mussulman will, yet the Mussulman is by reputation far kinder to his +beasts than the Hindu. Here the Burman combines both qualities. He has +all the kindness to animals that the Mahommedan has, and more, and he +has the same horror of taking life that the Hindu has.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>Coming from half-starved, over-driven India, it is a revelation to see +the animals in Burma. The village ponies and cattle and dogs in India +are enough to make the heart bleed for their sordid misery, but in Burma +they are a delight to the eye. They are all fat, every one of them—fat +and comfortable and impertinent; even the ownerless dogs are well fed. I +suppose the indifference of the ordinary native of India to animal +suffering comes from the evil of his own lot. He is so very poor, he has +such hard work to find enough for himself and his children, that his +sympathy is all used up. He has none to spare. He is driven into a dumb +heartlessness, for I do not think he is actually cruel.</p> + +<p>The Burman is full of the greatest sympathy towards animals of all +kinds, of the greatest understanding of their ways, of the most +humorously good-natured attitude towards them. Looking at them from his +manhood, he has no contempt for them; but the gentle toleration of a +father to very little children who are stupid and troublesome often, but +are very lovable. He feels himself so far above them that he can +condescend towards them, and forbear with them.</p> + +<p>His ponies are pictures of fatness and impertinence and go. They never +have any vice because the Burman is never cruel to them; they are never +well trained, partly because he does not know how to train them, partly +because they are so near the aboriginal wild pony as to be incapable of +very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> much training. But they are willing; they will go for ever, and +are very strong, and they have admirable constitutions and tempers. You +could not make a Burman ill-use his pony if you tried, and I fancy that +to break these little half-wild ponies to go in cabs in crowded streets +requires severe treatment. At least, I never knew but one +hackney-carriage driver either in Rangoon or Mandalay who was a Burman, +and he very soon gave it up. He said that the work was too heavy either +for a pony or a man. I think, perhaps, it was for the safety of the +public that he resigned, for his ponies were the very reverse of +meek—which a native of India says a hackney-carriage pony should +be—and he drove entirely by the light of Nature.</p> + +<p>So all the drivers of gharries, as we call them, are natives of India or +half-breeds, and it is amongst them that the work of the Society for the +Prevention of Cruelty to Animals principally lies. While I was in +Rangoon I tried a number of cases of over-driving, of using ponies with +sore withers and the like. I never tried a Burman. Even in Rangoon, +which has become almost Indianized, his natural humanity never left the +Burman. As far as Burmans are concerned, the Society for the Prevention +of Cruelty to Animals need not exist. They are kinder to their animals +than even the members of the Society could be. Instances occur every +day; here is one of the most striking that I remember.</p> + +<p>There is a town in Burma where there are some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> troops stationed, and +which is the headquarters of the civil administration of the district. +It is, or was then, some distance from a railway-station, and it was +necessary to make some arrangement for the carriage of the mails to and +from the town and station. The Post-Office called for tenders, and at +length it was arranged through the civil authorities that a coach should +run once a day each way to carry the mails and passengers. A native of +India agreed to take the contract—for Burmans seldom or never care to +take them—and he was to comply with certain conditions and receive a +certain subsidy.</p> + +<p>There was a great deal of traffic between the town and station, and it +was supposed that the passenger traffic would pay the contractor well, +apart from his mail subsidy. For Burmans are always free with their +money, and the road was long and hot and dusty. I often passed that +coach as I rode. I noticed that the ponies were poor, very poor, and +were driven a little hard, but I saw no reason for interference. It did +not seem to me that any cruelty was committed, nor that the ponies were +actually unfit to be driven. I noticed that the driver used his whip a +good deal, but then some ponies require the whip. I never thought much +about it, as I always rode my own ponies, and they always shied at the +coach, but I should have noticed if there had been anything remarkable. +Towards the end of the year it became necessary to renew the contract, +and the contractor was approached on the subject.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> He said he was +willing to continue the contract for another year if the mail subsidy +was largely increased. He said he had lost money on that year's working. +When asked how he could possibly have lost considering the large number +of people who were always passing up and down, he said that they did not +ride in his coach. Only the European soldiers and a few natives of India +came with him. Officers had their own ponies and rode, and the Burmans +either hired a bullock-cart or walked. They hardly ever came in his +coach, but he could not say what the reason might be.</p> + +<p>So an inquiry was made, and the Burmese were asked why they did not ride +on the coach. Were the fares too high?—was it uncomfortable? But no, it +was for neither of these reasons that they left the coach to the +soldiers and natives of India. It was because of the ponies. No Burman +would care to ride behind ponies who were treated as these ponies +were—half fed, overdriven, whipped. It was a misery to see them; it was +twice a misery to drive behind them. 'Poor beasts!' they said; 'you can +see their ribs, and when they come to the end of a stage they are fit to +fall down and die. They should be turned out to graze.'</p> + +<p>The opinion was universal. The Burmans preferred to spend twice or +thrice the money and hire a bullock-cart and go slowly, while the coach +flashed past them in a whirl of dust, or they preferred to walk. Many +and many times have I seen the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>roadside rest-houses full of travellers +halting for a few minutes' rest. They walked while the coach came by +empty; and nearly all of them could have afforded the fare. It was a +very striking instance of what pure kind-heartedness will do, for there +would have been no religious command broken by going in the coach. It +was the pure influence of compassion towards the beasts and refusal to +be a party to such hard-heartedness. And yet, as I have said, I do not +think the law could have interfered with success. Surely a people who +could act like this have the very soul of religion in their hearts, +although the act was not done in the name of religion.</p> + +<p>All the animals—the cattle, the ponies, and the buffaloes—are so tame +that it is almost an unknown thing for anyone to get hurt.</p> + +<p>The cattle are sometimes afraid of the white face and strange attire of +a European, but you can walk through the herds as they come home in the +evening with perfect confidence that they will not hurt you. Even a cow +with a young calf will only eye you suspiciously; and with the Burmans +even the huge water buffaloes are absolutely tame. You can see a herd of +these great beasts, with horns six feet across, come along under the +command of a very small boy or girl perched on one of their broad backs. +He flourishes a little stick, and issues his commands like a general. It +is one of the quaintest imaginable sights to see this little fellow get +off his steed, run after a straggler, and beat him with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> stick. The +buffalo eyes his master, whom he could abolish with one shake of his +head, submissively, and takes the beating, which he probably feels about +as much as if a straw fell on him, good-humouredly. The children never +seem to come to grief. Buffaloes occasionally charge Europeans, but the +only place where I have known of Burmans being killed by buffaloes is in +the Kalè Valley. There the buffaloes are turned out into the jungle for +eight months in the year, and are only caught for ploughing and carting. +Naturally they are quite wild; in fact, many of them are the offspring of wild bulls.</p> + +<p>The Burmans, too, are very fond of dogs. Their villages are full of +dogs; but, as far as I know, they never use them for anything, and they +are never trained to do anything. They are supposed to be useful as +watch-dogs, but I do not think they are very good even at that. I have +surrounded a village before dawn, and never a dog barked, and I have +heard them bark all night at nothing.</p> + +<p>But when a Burman sees a fox-terrier or any English dog his delight is +unfeigned. When we first took Upper Burma, and such sights were rare, +half a village would turn out to see the little 'tail-less' dog trotting +along after its master. And if the terrier would 'beg,' then he would +win all hearts. I am not only referring to children, but to grown men +and women; and then there is always something peculiarly childlike and +frank in these children of the great river.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p><p>Only to-day, as I was walking up the bank of the river in the early +dawn, I heard some Burman boatmen discussing my fox-terrier. They were +about fifteen yards from the shore, poling their boat up against the +current, which is arduous work; and as I passed them my little dog ran +down the bank and looked at them across the water, and they saw her.</p> + +<p>'See now,' said one man to another, pausing for a moment with his pole +in his hand—'see the little white dog with the brown face, how wise she looks!'</p> + +<p>'And how pretty!' said a man steering in the stern. 'Come!' he cried, +holding out his hand to it.</p> + +<p>But the dog only made a splash in the water with her paws, and then +turned and ran after me. The boatmen laughed and resumed their poling, +and I passed on. In the still morning across the still water I could +hear every word, but I hardly took any note; I have heard it so often. +Only now when I come to write on this subject do I remember.</p> + +<p>It has been inculcated in us from childhood that it is a manly thing to +be indifferent to pain—not to our own pain only, but to that of all +others. To be sorry for a hunted hare, to compassionate the wounded +deer, to shrink from torturing the brute creation, has been accounted by +us as namby-pamby sentimentalism, not fit for man, fit only for a +squeamish woman. To the Burman it is one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> highest of all virtues. +He believes that all that is beautiful in life is founded on compassion +and kindness and sympathy—that nothing of great value can exist without +them. Do you think that a Burmese boy would be allowed to birds'-nest, +or worry rats with a terrier, or go ferreting? Not so. These would be crimes.</p> + +<p>That this kindness and compassion for animals has very far-reaching +results no one can doubt. If you are kind to animals, you will be kind, +too, to your fellow-man. It is really the same thing, the same feeling +in both cases. If to be superior in position to an animal justifies you +in torturing it, so it would do with men. If you are in a better +position than another man, richer, stronger, higher in rank, that +would—that does often in our minds—justify ill-treatment and contempt. +Our innate feeling towards all that we consider inferior to ourselves is +scorn; the Burman's is compassion. You can see this spirit coming out in +every action of their daily life, in their dealings with each other, in +their thoughts, in their speech. 'You are so strong, have you no +compassion for him who is weak, who is tempted, who has fallen?' How +often have I heard this from a Burman's lips! How often have I seen him +act up to it! It seems to them the necessary corollary of strength that +the strong man should be sympathetic and kind. It seems to them an +unconscious confession of weakness to be scornful, revengeful, +inconsiderate. Courtesy, they say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> is the mark of a great man, +discourtesy of a little one. No one who feels his position secure will +lose his temper, will persecute, will be disdainful. Their word for a +fool and for a hasty-tempered man is the same. To them it is the same +thing, one infers the other. And so their attitude towards animals is +but an example of their attitude to each other. That an animal or a man +should be lower and weaker than you is the strongest claim he can have +on your humanity, and your courtesy and consideration for him is the +clearest proof of your own superiority. And so in his dealings with +animals the Buddhist considers himself, consults his own dignity, his +own strength, and is kind and compassionate to them out of the greatness +of his own heart. Nothing is more beautiful than the Burman in his ways +with his children, and his beasts, with all who are lesser than himself.</p> + +<p>Even to us, who think so very differently from him on many points, there +is a great and abiding charm in all this, to which we can find only one +exception; for to our ideas there is one exception, and it is this: No +Burman will take any life if he can help it, and therefore, if any +animal injure itself, he will not kill it—not even to put it out of its +pain, as we say. I have seen bullocks split on slippery roads, I have +seen ponies with broken legs, I have seen goats with terrible wounds +caused by accidental falls, and no one would kill them. If, when you are +out shooting, your beaters pick up a wounded hare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> or partridge, do not +suppose that they wring its neck; you must yourself do that, or it will +linger on till you get home. Under no circumstances will they take the +life even of a wounded beast. And if you ask them, they will say: 'If a +man be sick, do you shoot him? If he injure his spine so that he will be +a cripple for life, do you put him out of his pain?'</p> + +<p>If you reply that men and beasts are different, they will answer that in +this point they do not recognise the difference. 'Poor beast! let him +live out his little life.' And they will give him grass and water till he dies.</p> + +<p>This is the exception that I meant, but now, after I have written it, I +am not so sure. Is it an exception?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>ALL LIFE IS ONE</h3> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'I heard a voice that cried,</div> +<div>"Balder the Beautiful</div> +<div>Is dead, is dead,"</div> +<div>And through the misty air</div> +<div>Passed like the mournful cry</div> +<div>Of sunward-sailing cranes.'</div> +<div class="i10"><span class="smcap">Tegner's</span> <i>Drapa</i>.</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>All romance has died out of our woods and hills in England, all our +fairies are dead long ago. Knowledge so far has brought us only death. +Later on it will bring us a new life. It is even now showing us how this +may be, and is bringing us face to face again with Nature, and teaching +us to know and understand the life that there is about us. Science is +telling us again what we knew long ago and forgot, that our life is not +apart from the life about us, but of it. Everything is akin to us, and +when we are more accustomed to this knowledge, when we have ceased to +regard it as a new, strange teaching, and know that we are but seeing +again with clearer eyes what a half-knowledge blinded us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> to, then the +world will be bright and beautiful to us as it was long ago.</p> + +<p>But now all is dark. There are no dryads in our trees, nor nymphs among +the reeds that fringe the river; even our peaks hold for us no guardian +spirit, that may take the reckless trespasser and bind him in a rock for +ever. And because we have lost our belief in fairies, because we do not +now think that there are goblins in our caves, because there is no +spirit in the winds nor voice in the thunder, we have come to think that +the trees and the rocks, the flowers and the storm, are all dead things. +They are made up, we say, of materials that we know, they are governed +by laws that we have discovered, and there is no life anywhere in Nature.</p> + +<p>And yet this cannot be true. Far truer is it to believe in fairies and +in spirits than in nothing at all; for surely there is life all about +us. Who that has lived out alone in the forest, that has lain upon the +hillside and seen the mountains clothe themselves in lustrous shadows +shot with crimson when the day dies, who that has heard the sigh come up +out of the ravines where the little breezes move, that has watched the +trees sway their leaves to and fro, beckoning to each other with wayward +amorous gestures, but has known that these are not dead things?</p> + +<p>Watch the stream coming down the hill with a flash and a laugh in the +sunlight, look into the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> brown pools in the deep shadows beneath +the rocks, or voyage a whole night upon the breast of the great river, +drifting past ghostly monasteries and silent villages, and then say if +there be no life in the waters, if they, too, are dead things. There is +no consolation like the consolation of Nature, no sympathy like the +sympathy of the hills and streams; and sympathy comes from life. There +is no sympathy with the dead.</p> + +<p>When you are alone in the forest all this life will come and talk to +you, if you are quiet and understand. There is love deep down in the +passionate heart of the flower, as there is in the little quivering +honeysucker flitting after his mate, as there was in Romeo long ago. +There is majesty in the huge brown precipice greater than ever looked +from the face of a king. All life is one. The soul that moves within you +when you hear the deer call to each other far above in the misty meadows +of the night is the same soul that moves in everything about you. No +people who have lived much with Nature have failed to descry this. They +have recognised the life, they have felt the sympathy of the world about +them, and to this life they have given names and forms as they would to +friends whom they loved. Fairies and goblins, fauns and spirits, these +are but names and personifications of a real life. But to him who has +never felt this life, who has never been wooed by the trees and hills, +these things are but foolishness, of course.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>To the Burman, not less than to the Greek of long ago, all nature is +alive. The forest and the river and the mountains are full of spirits, +whom the Burmans call Nats. There are all kinds of Nats, good and bad, +great and little, male and female, now living round about us. Some of +them live in the trees, especially in the huge fir-tree that shades half +an acre without the village; or among the fernlike fronds of the +tamarind; and you will often see beneath such a tree, raised upon poles +or nestled in the branches, a little house built of bamboo and thatch, +perhaps two feet square. You will be told when you ask that this is the +house of the Tree-Nat. Flowers will be offered sometimes, and a little +water or rice maybe, to the Nat, never supposing that he is in need of +such things, but as a courteous and graceful thing to do; for it is not +safe to offend these Nats, and many of them are very powerful. There is +a Nat of whom I know, whose home is in a great tree at the crossing of +two roads, and he has a house there built for him, and he is much +feared. He is such a great Nat that it is necessary when you pass his +house to dismount from your pony and walk to a respectful distance. If +you haughtily ride past, trouble will befall you. A friend of mine +riding there one day rejected all the advice of his Burmese companions +and did not dismount, and a few days later he was taken deadly sick of +fever. He very nearly died, and had to go away to the Straits for a +sea-trip to take the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> fever out of his veins. It was a very near thing +for him. That was in the Burmese times, of course. After that he always +dismounted. But all Nats are not so proud nor so much to be feared as +this one, and it is usually safe to ride past.</p> + +<p>Even as I write I am under the shadow of a tree where a Nat used to +live, and the headman of the village has been telling me all about it. +This is a Government rest-house on a main road between two stations, and +is built for Government officials travelling on duty about their +districts. To the west of it is a grand fig-tree of the kind called +Nyaungbin by the Burmese. It is a very beautiful tree, though now a +little bare, for it is just before the rains; but it is a great tree +even now, and two months hence it will be glorious. It was never +planted, the headman tells me, but came up of itself very many years +ago, and when it was grown to full size a Nat came to live in it. The +Nat lived in the tree for many years, and took great care of it. No one +might injure it or any living creature near it, so jealous was the Nat +of his abode. And the villagers built a little Nat-house, such as I have +described, under the branches, and offered flowers and water, and all +things went well with those who did well. But if anyone did ill the Nat +punished him. If he cut the roots of the tree, the Nat hurt his feet; +and if he injured the branches, the Nat injured his arms; and if he cut +the trunk, the Nat came down out of the tree, and killed the +sacrilegious man right off. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> was no running away, because, as you +know, the headman said, Nats can go a great deal faster than any man. +Many men, careless strangers, who camped under the tree and then abused +the hospitality of the Nat by hunting near his home, came to severe grief.</p> + +<p>But the Nat has gone now, alas! The tree is still there, but the Nat has +fled away these many years.</p> + +<p>'I suppose he didn't care to stay,' said the headman. 'You see that the +English Government officials came and camped here, and didn't fear the +Nats. They had fowls killed here for their dinner, and they sang and +shouted; and they shot the green pigeons who ate his figs, and the +little doves that nested in his branches.'</p> + +<p>All these things were an abomination to the Nat, who hated loud, rough +talk and abuse, and to whom all life was sacred.</p> + +<p>So the Nat went away. The headman did not know where he was gone, but +there are plenty of trees.</p> + +<p>'He has gone somewhere to get peace,' the headman said. 'Somewhere in +the jungle, where no one ever comes save the herd-boy and the deer, he +will be living in a tree, though I do not think he will easily find a +tree so beautiful as this.'</p> + +<p>The headman seemed very sorry about it, and so did several villagers who +were with him; and I suggested that if the Nat-houses were rebuilt, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +flowers and water offered, the Nat might know and return. I even offered +to contribute myself, that it might be taken as an <i>amende honorable</i> on +behalf of the English Government. But they did not think this would be +any use. No Nat would come where there was so much going and coming, so +little care for life, such a disregard for pity and for peace. If we +were to take away our rest-house, well then, perhaps, after a time, +something could be done, but not under present circumstances.</p> + +<p>And so, besides dethroning the Burmese king, and occupying his golden +palace, we are ousting from their pleasant homes the guardian spirits of +the trees. They flee before the cold materialism of our belief, before +the brutality of our manners. The headman did not say this; he did not +mean to say this, for he is a very courteous man and a great friend of +all of us; but that is what it came to, I think.</p> + +<p>The trunk of this tree is more than ten feet through—not a round bole, +but like the pillar in a Gothic cathedral, as of many smaller boles +growing together; and the roots spread out into a pedestal before +entering the ground. The trunk does not go up very far. At perhaps +twenty-five feet above the ground it divides into a myriad of smaller +trunks, not branches, till it looks more like a forest than a single +tree; it is full of life still. Though the pigeons and the doves come +here no longer, there are a thousand other birds flitting to and fro in +their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> aerial city and chirping to each other. Two tiny squirrels have +just run along a branch nearly over my head, in a desperate hurry +apparently, their tails cocked over their backs, and a sky blue +chameleon is standing on the trunk near where it parts. There is always +a breeze in this great tree; the leaves are always moving, and there is +a continuous rustle and murmur up there. A mango-tree and tamarind near +by are quite still. Not a breath shakes their leaves; they are as still +as stone, but the shadow of the fig-tree is chequered with ever-changing +lights. Is the Nat really gone? Perhaps not; perhaps he is still there, +still caring for his tree, only shy now and distrustful, and therefore +no more seen.</p> + +<p>Whole woods are enchanted sometimes, and no one dare enter them. Such a +wood I know, far away north, near the hills, which is full of Nats. +There was a great deal of game in it, for animals sought shelter there, +and no one dared to disturb them; not the villagers to cut firewood, nor +the girls seeking orchids, nor the hunter after his prey, dared to +trespass upon that enchanted ground.</p> + +<p>'What would happen,' I asked once, 'if anyone went into that wood? Would +he be killed, or what?'</p> + +<p>And I was told that no one could tell what would happen, only that he +would never be seen again alive. 'The Nats would confiscate him,' they +said, 'for intruding on their privacy.' But what they would do to him +after the confiscation no one seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> to be quite sure. I asked the +official who was with me, a fine handsome Burman who had been with us in +many fights, whether he would go into the wood with me, but he declined +at once. Enemies are one thing, Nats are quite another, and a very much +more dreadful thing. You can escape from enemies, as witness my +companion, who had been shot at times without number and had only once +been hit, in the leg, but you cannot escape Nats. Once, he told me, +there were two very sacrilegious men, hunters by profession, only more +abandoned than even the majority of hunters, and they went into this +wood to hunt 'They didn't care for Nats,' they said. They didn't care +for anything at all apparently. 'They were absolutely without reverence, +worse than any beast,' said my companion.</p> + +<p>So they went into the wood to shoot, and they never came out again. A +few days later their bare bones were found, flung out upon the road near +the enchanted wood. The Nats did not care to have even the bones of such +scoundrels in their wood, and so thrust them out. That was what happened +to them, and that was what might happen to us if we went in there. We did not go.</p> + +<p>Though the Nats of the forest will not allow even one of their beasts to +be slain, the Nats of the rivers are not so exclusive. I do not think +fish are ever regarded in quite the same light as animals. It is true +that a fervent Buddhist will not kill even a fish, but a fisherman is +not quite such a reprobate as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> hunter in popular estimation. And the +Nats think so too, for the Nat of a pool will not forbid all fishing. +You must give him his share; you must be respectful to him, and not +offend him; and then he will fill your nets with gleaming fish, and all +will go well with you. If not, of course, you will come to grief; your +nets will be torn, and your boat upset; and finally, if obstinate, you +will be drowned. A great arm will seize you, and you will be pulled +under and disappear for ever.</p> + +<p>A Nat is much like a human being; if you treat him well he will treat +you well, and conversely. Courtesy is never wasted on men or Nats, at +least, so a Burman tells me.</p> + +<p>The highest Nats live in the mountains. The higher the Nat the higher +the mountain; and when you get to a very high peak indeed, like +Mainthong Peak in Wuntho, you encounter very powerful Nats.</p> + +<p>They tell a story of Mainthong Peak and the Nats there, how all of a +sudden, one day in 1885, strange noises came from the hill. High up on +his mighty side was heard the sound of great guns firing slowly and +continuously; there was the thunder of falling rocks, cries as of +someone bewailing a terrible calamity, and voices calling from the +precipices. The people living in their little hamlets about his feet +were terrified. Something they knew had happened of most dire import to +them, some catastrophe which they were powerless to prevent, which they +could not even guess. But when a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> weeks later there came even into +those remote villages the news of the fall of Mandalay, of the surrender +of the king, of the 'great treachery,' they knew that this was what the +Nats had been sorrowing over. All the Nats everywhere seem to have been +distressed at our arrival, to hate our presence, and to earnestly desire +our absence. They are the spirits of the country and of the people, and +they cannot abide a foreign domination.</p> + +<p>But the greatest place for Nats is the Popa Mountain, which is an +extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and +the Shan Mountains. It is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it +to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals, +it is very well known in history and legend. It is covered with dense +forest, and the villages close about are few. At the top there is a +crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break +down the mountain. Probably it was the denseness of its forests, the +abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian +Nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the +half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. But the +Nats of Popa Mountains are very famous.</p> + +<p>When any foreigner was taken into the service of the King of Burma he +had to swear an oath of fidelity. He swore upon many things, and among +them were included 'all the Nats in Popa.' No Burman would have dared to +break an oath sworn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> in such a serious way as this, and they did not +imagine that anyone else would. It was and is a very dangerous thing to +offend the Popa Nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and +everyone who goes there must do them reverence.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch +the last of the robber chiefs who hid near Popa, told me that when he +went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. Some way +up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream +flows slowly along it. It is an enchanted valley, and if you look +closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it +flows uphill. It comes rushing into the valley with a great display of +foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks, +and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley +itself it lies under a spell. It is slow and dark, and has a surface +like a mirror, and it flows uphill. There is no doubt about it; anyone +can see it. When they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt, +and the Burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. He did not want +to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but +for the Nats. All his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats, +and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a +tree. Then the hunters called upon the Nats to come and take anything +they desired, while my friend wondered what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> should do if the Nats +took all his food and left him with nothing. But no Nats came, although +the Burmans called again and again. So they packed up the food, saying +that now the Nats would be pleased at the courtesy shown to them, and +that my friend would have good sport. Presently they went on, leaving, +however, an egg or two and a little salt, in case the Nats might be +hungry later, and true enough it was that they did have good luck. At +other times, my friend says, when he did not observe this ceremony, he +saw nothing to shoot at all, but on this day he did well.</p> + +<p>The former history of all Nats is not known. Whether they have had a +previous existence in another form, and if so, what, is a secret that +they usually keep carefully to themselves, but the history of the Popa +Nats is well known. Everyone who lives near the great hill can tell you +that, for it all happened not so long ago. How long exactly no one can +say, but not so long that the details of the story have become at all +clouded by the mists of time.</p> + +<p>They were brother and sister, these Popa Nats, and they had lived away +up North. The brother was a blacksmith, and he was a very strong man. He +was the strongest man in all the country; the blow of his hammer on the +anvil made the earth tremble, and his forge was as the mouth of hell. No +one was so much feared and so much sought after as he. And as he was +strong, so his sister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> was beautiful beyond all the maidens of the time. +Their father and mother were dead, and there was no one but those two, +the brother and sister, so they loved each other dearly, and thought of +no one else. The brother brought home no wife to his house by the forge. +He wanted no one while he had his sister there, and when lovers came +wooing to her, singing amorous songs in the amber dusk, she would have +nothing to do with them. So they lived there together, he growing +stronger and she more beautiful every day, till at last a change came.</p> + +<p>The old king died, and a new king came to the throne, and orders were +sent about to all the governors of provinces and other officials that +the most beautiful maidens were to be sent down to the Golden City to be +wives to the great king. So the governor of that country sent for the +blacksmith and his sister to his palace, and told them there what orders +he had received, and asked the blacksmith to give his sister that she +might be sent as queen to the king. We are not told what arguments the +governor used to gain his point, but only this, that when he failed, he +sent the girl in unto his wife, and there she was persuaded to go. There +must have been something very tempting, to one who was but a village +girl, in the prospect of being even one of the lesser queens, of living +in the palace, the centre of the world. So she consented at last, and +her brother consented, and the girl was sent down under fitting escort +to find favour in the eyes of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> king. But the blacksmith refused to +go. It was no good the governor saying such a great man as he must come +to high honour in the Golden City, it was useless for the girl to beg +and pray him to come with her—he always refused. So she sailed away +down the great river, and the blacksmith returned to his forge.</p> + +<p>As the governor had said, the girl was acceptable in the king's sight, +and she was made at last one of the principal queens, and of all she had +most power over the king. They say she was most beautiful, that her +presence was as soothing as shade after heat, that her form was as +graceful as a young tree, and the palms of her hands were like lotus +blossoms. She had enemies, of course. Most of the other queens were her +enemies, and tried to do her harm. But it was useless telling tales of +her to the king, for the king never believed; and she walked so wisely +and so well, that she never fell into any snare. But still the plots never ceased.</p> + +<p>There was one day when she was sitting alone in the garden pavilion, +with the trees making moving shadows all about her, that the king came +to her. They talked for a time, and the king began to speak to her of +her life before she came to the palace, a thing he had never done +before. But he seemed to know all about it, nevertheless, and he spoke +to her of her brother, and said that he, the king, had heard how no man +was so strong as this blacksmith, the brother of the queen. The queen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +said it was true, and she talked on and on and praised her brother, and +babbled of the days of her childhood, when he carried her on his great +shoulder, and threw her into the air, catching her again. She was +delighted to talk of all these things, and in her pleasure she forgot +her discretion, and said that her brother was wise as well as strong, +and that all the people loved him. Never was there such a man as he. The +king did not seem very pleased with it all, but he said only that the +blacksmith was a great man, and that the queen must write to him to come +down to the city, that the king might see him of whom there was such great report.</p> + +<p>Then the king got up and went away, and the queen began to doubt; and +the more she thought the more she feared she had not been acting wisely +in talking as she did, for it is not wise to praise anyone to a king. +She went away to her own room to consider, and to try if she could hear +of any reason why the king should act as he had done, and desire her +brother to come to him to the city; and she found out that it was all a +plot of her enemies. Herself they had failed to injure, so they were now +plotting against her through her brother. They had gone to the king, and +filled his ear with slanderous reports. They had said that the queen's +brother was the strongest man in all the kingdom. 'He was cunning, too,' +they said, 'and very popular among all the people; and he was so puffed +up with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> pride, now that his sister was a queen, that there was nothing +he did not think he could do.' They represented to the king how +dangerous such a man was in a kingdom, that it would be quite easy for +him to raise such rebellion as the king could hardly put down, and that +he was just the man to do such a thing. Nay, it was indeed proved that +he must be disloyally plotting something, or he would have come down +with his sister to the city when she came. But now many months had +passed, and he never came. Clearly he was not to be trusted. Any other +man whose sister was a queen would have come and lived in the palace, +and served the king and become a minister, instead of staying up there +and pretending to be a blacksmith.</p> + +<p>The king's mind had been much disturbed by this, for it seemed to him +that it must be in part true; and he went to the queen, as I have said, +and his suspicions had not been lulled by what she told him, so he had +ordered her to write to her brother to come down to the palace.</p> + +<p>The queen was terrified when she saw what a mistake she had made, and +how she had fallen into the trap of her enemies; but she hoped that the +king would forget, and she determined that she would send no order to +her brother to come. But the next day the king came back to the subject, +and asked her if she had yet sent the letter, and she said 'No!' The +king was very angry at this disobedience to his orders, and he asked her +how it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> came that she had not done as he had commanded, and sent a +letter to her brother to call him to the palace.</p> + +<p>Then the queen fell at the king's feet and told him all her fears that +her brother was sent for only to be imprisoned or executed, and she +begged and prayed the king to leave him in peace up there in his +village. She assured the king that he was loyal and good, and would do no evil.</p> + +<p>The king was rather abashed that his design had been discovered, but he +was firm in his purpose. He assured the queen that the blacksmith should +come to no harm, but rather good; and he ordered the queen to obey him, +threatening her that if she refused he would be sure that she was +disloyal also, and there would be no alternative but to send and arrest +the blacksmith by force, and punish her, the queen, too. Then the queen +said that if the king swore to her that her brother should come to no +harm, she would write as ordered. <i>And the king swore.</i></p> + +<p>So the queen wrote to her brother, and adjured him by his love to her to +come down to the Golden City. She said she had dire need of him, and she +told him that the king had sworn that no harm should come to him.</p> + +<p>The letter was sent off by a king's messenger. In due time the +blacksmith arrived, and he was immediately seized and thrown into prison +to await his trial.</p> + +<p>When the queen saw that she had been deceived,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> she was in despair. She +tried by every way, by tears and entreaties and caresses, to move the +king, but all without avail. Then she tried by plotting and bribery to +gain her brother's release, but it was all in vain. The day for trial +came quickly, and the blacksmith was tried, and he was condemned and +sentenced to be burnt alive by the river on the following day.</p> + +<p>On the evening of the day of trial the queen sent a message to the king +to come to her; and when the king came reluctantly, fearing a renewal of +entreaties, expecting a woman made of tears and sobs, full of grief, he +found instead that the queen had dried her eyes and dressed herself +still more beautifully than ever, till she seemed to the king the very +pearl among women. And she told the king that he was right, and she was +wrong. She said, putting her arms about him and caressing him, that she +had discovered that it was true that her brother had been plotting +against the king, and therefore his death was necessary. It was +terrible, she said, to find that her brother, whom she had always held +as a pattern, was no better than a traitor; but it was even so, and her +king was the wisest of all kings to find it out.</p> + +<p>The king was delighted to find his queen in this mood, and he soothed +her and talked to her kindly and sweetly, for he really loved her, +though he had given in to bad advice about the brother. And when the +king's suspicions were lulled, the queen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> said to him that she had now +but one request to make, and that was that she might have permission to +go down with her maids to the river-shore in the early morning, and see +herself the execution of her traitor brother. The king, who would now +have granted her anything—anything she asked, except just that one +thing, the life of her brother—gave permission; and then the queen said +that she was tired and wished to rest after all the trouble of the last +few days, and would the king leave her. So the king left her to herself, +and went away to his own chambers.</p> + +<p>Very early in the morning, ere the crimson flush upon the mountains had +faded in the light of day, a vast crowd was gathered below the city, by +the shore of the great river. Very many thousands were there, of many +countries and peoples, crowding down to see a man die, to see a traitor +burnt to death for his sins, for there is nothing men like so much as to +see another man die.</p> + +<p>Upon a little headland jutting out into the river the pyre was raised, +with brushwood and straw, to burn quickly, and an iron post in the +middle to which the man was to be chained. At one side was a place +reserved, and presently down from the palace in a long procession came +the queen and her train of ladies to the place kept for her. Guards were +put all about to prevent the people crowding; and then came the +soldiers, and in the midst of them the blacksmith; and amid many cries +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> 'Traitor, traitor!' and shouts of derision, he was bound to the iron +post within the wood and the straw, and the guards fell back.</p> + +<p>The queen sat and watched it all, and said never a word. Fire was put to +the pyre, and it crept rapidly up in long red tongues with coils of +black smoke. It went very quickly, for the wood was very dry, and a +light breeze came laughing up the river and helped it. The flames played +about the man chained there in the midst, and he made never a sign; only +he looked steadily across at the purple mountain where his home lay, and +it was clear that in a few more moments he would be dead. There was a +deep silence everywhere.</p> + +<p>Then of a sudden, before anyone knew, before a hand could be held out to +hinder her, the queen rose from her seat and ran to the pyre. In a +moment she was there and had thrown herself into the flames, and with +her arms about her brother's neck she turned and faced the myriad eyes +that glared upon them—the queen, in all the glory of her beauty, +glittering with gems, and the man with great shackled bare limbs, +dressed in a few rags, his muscles already twisted with the agony of the +fire. A great cry of horror came from the people, and there was the +movement of guards and officers rushing to stop the fire; but it was all +of no use. A flash of red flames came out of the logs, folding these +twain like an imperial cloak, a whirl of sparks towered into the air, +and when one could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> again the woman and her brother were no longer +there. They were dead and burnt, and the bodies mingled with the ashes +of the fire. She had cost her brother his life, and she went with him into death.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>Some days after this a strange report was brought to the palace. By the +landing-place near the spot where the fire had been was a great +fig-tree. It was so near to the landing-place, and was such a +magnificent tree, that travellers coming from the boats, or waiting for +a boat to arrive, would rest in numbers under its shade. But the report +said that something had happened there. To travellers sleeping beneath +the tree at night it was stated that two Nats had appeared, very large +and very beautiful, a man Nat and a woman Nat, and had frightened them +very much indeed. Noises were heard in the tree, voices and cries, and a +strange terror came upon those who approached it. Nay, it was even said +that men had been struck by unseen hands and severely hurt, and others, +it was said, had disappeared. Children who went to play under the tree +were never seen again: the Nats took them, and their parents sought for +them in vain. So the landing-place was deserted, and a petition was +brought to the king, and the king gave orders that the tree should be +hewn down. So the tree was cut down, and its trunk was thrown into the +river; it floated away out of sight, and nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> happened to the men +who cut the tree, though they were deadly afraid.</p> + +<p>The tree floated down for days, until at last it stranded near a +landing-place that led to a large town, where the governor of these +parts lived; and at this landing-place the portents that had frightened +the people at the great city reappeared and terrified the travellers +here too, and they petitioned the governor.</p> + +<p>The governor sought out a great monk, a very holy man learned in these +matters, and sent him to inquire, and the monk came down to the tree and +spoke. He said that if any Nats lived in the tree, they should speak to +him and tell him what they wanted. 'It is not fit,' he said, 'for great +Nats to terrify the poor villagers at the landing-place. Let the Nats +speak and say what they require. All that they want shall be given.' And +the Nats spake and said that they wanted a place to live in where they +could be at peace, and the monk answered for the governor that all his +land was at their disposal. 'Let the Nats choose,' he said; 'all the +country is before them.' So the Nats chose, and said that they would +have Popa Mountain, and the monk agreed.</p> + +<p>The Nats then left the tree and went away, far away inland, to the great +Popa Mountain, and took up their abode there, and all the people there +feared and reverenced them, and even made to their honour two statues +with golden heads and set them up on the mountain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>This is the story of the Popa Nats, the greatest Nats of all the +country of Burma, the guardian spirits of the mysterious mountain. The +golden heads of the statues are now in one of our treasuries, put there +for safe custody during the troubles, though it is doubtful if even then +anyone would have dared to steal them, so greatly are the Nats feared. +And the hunters and the travellers there must offer to the Nats little +offerings, if they would be safe in these forests, and even the young +man must obtain permission from the Nats before he marry.</p> + +<p>I think these stories that I have told, stories selected from very many +that I have heard, will show what sort of spirits these are that the +Burmese have peopled their trees and rivers with; will show what sort of +religion it is that underlies, without influencing, the creed of the +Buddha that they follow. It is of the very poetry of superstition, free +from brutality, from baseness, from anything repulsive, springing, as I +have said, from their innate sympathy with Nature and recognition of the +life that works in all things. It always seems to me that beliefs such +as these are a great key to the nature of a people, are, apart from all +interest in their beauty, and in their akinness to other beliefs, of +great value in trying to understand the character of a nation.</p> + +<p>For to beings such as Nats and fairies the people who believe in them +will attribute such qualities as are predominant in themselves, as they +consider<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> admirable; and, indeed, all supernatural beings are but the +magnified shadows of man cast by the light of his imagination upon the +mists of his ignorance.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when you find that a people make their spirits beautiful and +fair, calm and even tempered, loving peace and the beauty of the trees +and rivers, shrinkingly averse from loud words, from noises, and from +the taking of life, it is because the people themselves think that these +are great qualities. If no stress be laid upon their courage, their +activity, their performance of great deeds, it is because the people who +imagine them care not for such things. There is no truer guide, I am +sure, to the heart of a young people than their superstitions; these +they make entirely for themselves, apart from their religion, which is, +to a certain extent, made for them. That is why I have written this +chapter on Nats: not because I think it affects Buddhism very much one +way or another, but because it seems to me to reveal the people +themselves, because it helps us to understand them better, to see more +with their eyes, to be in unison with their ideas—because it is a great +key to the soul of the people.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>DEATH, THE DELIVERER</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'The end of my life is near at hand; seven days hence, like a man +who rids himself of a heavy load, I shall be free from the burden +of my body.'—<i>Death of the Buddha.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>There is a song well known to all the Burmese, the words of which are +taken from the sacred writings. It is called the story of Ma Pa Da, and +it was first told to me by a Burmese monk, long ago, when I was away on +the frontier.</p> + +<p>It runs like this:</p> + +<p>In the time of the Buddha, in the city of Thawatti, there was a certain +rich man, a merchant, who had many slaves. Slaves in those days, and, +indeed, generally throughout the East, were held very differently to +slaves in Europe. They were part of the family, and were not saleable +without good reason, and there was a law applicable to them. They were +not <i>hors de la loi</i>, like the slaves of which we have conception. There +are many cases quoted of sisters being slaves to sisters, and of +brothers to brothers, quoted not for the purpose of saying that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> this +was an uncommon occurrence, but merely of showing points of law in such cases.</p> + +<p>One day in the market the merchant bought another slave, a young man, +handsome and well mannered, and took him to his house, and kept him +there with his family and the other slaves. The young man was earnest +and careful in his work, and the merchant approved of him, and his +fellow-slaves liked him. But Ma Pa Da, the merchant's daughter, fell in +love with him. The slave was much troubled at this, and he did his best +to avoid her; but he was a slave and under orders, and what could he do? +When she would come to him secretly and make love to him, and say, 'Let +us flee together, for we love each other,' he would refuse, saying that +he was a slave, and the merchant would be very angry. He said he could +not do such a thing. And yet when the girl said, 'Let us flee, for we +love each other,' he knew that it was true, and that he loved her as she +loved him; and it was only his honour to his master that held him from +doing as she asked.</p> + +<p>But because his heart was not of iron, and there are few men that can +resist when a woman comes and woos them, he at last gave way; and they +fled away one night, the girl and the slave, taking with them her jewels +and some money. They travelled rapidly and in great fear, and did not +rest till they came to a city far away where the merchant would never, +they thought, think of searching for them.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p><p>Here, in this city where no one knew of their history, they lived in +great happiness, husband and wife, trading with the money they had with them.</p> + +<p>And in time a little child was born to them.</p> + +<p>About two or three years after this it became necessary for the husband +to take a journey, and he started forth with his wife and child. The +journey was a very long one, and they were unduly delayed; and so it +happened that while still in the forest the wife fell ill, and could not +go on any further. So the husband built a hut of branches and leaves, +and there, in the solitude of the forest, was born to them another little son.</p> + +<p>The mother recovered rapidly, and in a little time she was well enough +to go on. They were to start next morning on their way again; and in the +evening the husband went out, as was his custom, to cut firewood, for +the nights were cold and damp.</p> + +<p>Ma Pa Da waited and waited for him, but he never came back.</p> + +<p>The sun set and the dark rose out of the ground, and the forest became +full of whispers, but he never came. All night she watched and waited, +caring for her little ones, fearful to leave them alone, till at last +the gray light came down, down from the sky to the branches, and from +the branches to the ground, and she could see her way. Then, with her +new-born babe in her arms and the elder little fellow trotting by her +side, she went out to search for her husband. Soon enough she found him, +not far off,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> stiff and cold beside his half-cut bundle of firewood. A +snake had bitten him on the ankle, and he was dead.</p> + +<p>So Ma Pa Da was alone in the great forest, but a girl still, with two +little children to care for.</p> + +<p>But she was brave, despite her trouble, and she determined to go on and +gain some village. She took her baby in her arms and the little one by +the hand, and started on her journey.</p> + +<p>And for a time all went well, till at last she came to a stream. It was +not very deep, but it was too deep for the little boy to wade, for it +came up to his neck, and his mother was not strong enough to carry both +at once. So, after considering for a time, she told the elder boy to +wait. She would cross and put the baby on the far side, and return for him.</p> + +<p>'Be good,' she said; 'be good, and stay here quietly till I come back;' +and the boy promised.</p> + +<p>The stream was deeper and swifter than she thought; but she went with +great care and gained the far side, and put the baby under a tree a +little distance from the bank, to lie there while she went for the other +boy. Then, after a few minutes' rest, she went back.</p> + +<p>She had got to the centre of the stream, and her little boy had come +down to the margin to be ready for her, when she heard a rush and a cry +from the side she had just left; and, looking round, she saw with terror +a great eagle sweep down upon the baby, and carry it off in its claws. +She turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> round and waved her arms and cried out to the eagle, 'He! +he!' hoping it would be frightened and drop the baby. But it cared +nothing for her cries or threats, and swept on with long curves over the +forest trees, away out of sight.</p> + +<p>Then the mother turned to gain the bank once more, and suddenly she +missed her son who had been waiting for her. He had seen his mother wave +her arms; he had heard her shout, and he thought she was calling him to +come to her. So the brave little man walked down into the water, and the +black current carried him off his feet at once. He was gone, drowned in +the deep water below the ford, tossing on the waves towards the sea.</p> + +<p>No one can write of the despair of the girl when she threw herself under +a tree in the forest. The song says it was very terrible.</p> + +<p>At last she said to herself, 'I will get up now and return to my father +in Thawatti; he is all I have left. Though I have forsaken him all these +years, yet now that my husband and his children are dead, my father will +take me back again. Surely he will have pity on me, for I am much to be pitied.'</p> + +<p>So she went on, and at length, after many days, she came to the gates of +the great city where her father lived.</p> + +<p>At the entering of the gates she met a large company of people, +mourners, returning from a funeral, and she spoke to them and asked them:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>'Who is it that you have been burying to-day so grandly with so many +mourners?'</p> + +<p>And the people answered her, and told her who it was. And when she +heard, she fell down upon the road as one dead: for it was her father +and mother who had died yesterday, and it was their funeral train that +she saw. They were all dead now, husband and sons and father and mother; +in all the world she was quite alone.</p> + +<p>So she went mad, for her trouble was more than she could bear. She threw +off all her clothes, and let down her long hair and wrapped it about her +naked body, and walked about raving.</p> + +<p>At last she came to where the Buddha was teaching, seated under a +fig-tree. She came up to the Buddha, and told him of her losses, and how +she had no one left; and she demanded of the Buddha that he should +restore to her those that she had lost. And the Buddha had great +compassion upon her, and tried to console her.</p> + +<p>'All die,' he said; 'it comes to everyone, king and peasant, animal and +man. Only through many deaths can we obtain the Great Peace. All this +sorrow,' he said, 'is of the earth. All this is passion which we must +get rid of, and forget before we reach heaven. Be comforted, my +daughter, and turn to the holy life. All suffer as you do. It is part of +our very existence here, sorrow and trouble without any end.'</p> + +<p>But she would not be comforted, but demanded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> her dead of the Buddha. +Then, because he saw it was no use talking to her, that her ears were +deaf with grief, and her eyes blinded with tears, he said to her that he +would restore to her those who were dead.</p> + +<p>'You must go,' he said, 'my daughter, and get some mustard-seed, a pinch +of mustard-seed, and I can bring back their lives. Only you must get +this seed from the garden of him near whom death has never come. Get +this, and all will be well.'</p> + +<p>So the woman went forth with a light heart. It was so simple, only a +pinch of mustard-seed, and mustard grew in every garden. She would get +the seed and be back very quickly, and then the Lord Buddha would give +her back those she loved who had died. She clothed herself again and +tied up her hair, and went cheerfully and asked at the first house, +'Give me a pinch of mustard-seed,' and it was given readily. So with her +treasure in her hand she was going forth back to the Buddha full of +delight, when she remembered.</p> + +<p>'Has ever anyone died in your household?' she asked, looking round wistfully.</p> + +<p>The man answered 'Yes,' that death had been with them but recently. Who +could this woman be, he thought, to ask such a question? And the woman +went forth, the seed dropping from her careless fingers, for it was of +no value. So she would try again and again, but it was always the same. +Death had taken his tribute from all. Father or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> mother, son or brother, +daughter or wife, there was always a gap somewhere, a vacant place +beside the meal. From house to house throughout the city she went, till +at last the new hope faded away, and she learned from the world, what +she had not believed from the Buddha, that death and life are one.</p> + +<p>So she returned, and she became a nun, poor soul! taking on her the two +hundred and twenty-seven vows, which are so hard to keep that nowadays +nuns keep but five of them.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>This is the teaching of the Buddha, that death is inevitable; this is +the consolation he offers, that all men must know death; no one can +escape death; no one can escape the sorrow of the death of those whom he +loves. Death, he says, and life are one; not antagonistic, but the same; +and the only way to escape from one is to escape from the other too. +Only in the Great Peace, when we have found refuge from the passion and +tumult of life, shall we find the place where death cannot come. Life +and death are one.</p> + +<p>This is the teaching of the Buddha, repeated over and over again to his +disciples when they sorrowed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> for the death of Thariputra, when they +were in despair at the swift-approaching end of the great teacher +himself. Hear what he says to Ananda, the beloved disciple, who is +mourning over Thariputra.</p> + +<p>'Ananda,' he said, 'often and often have I sought to bring shelter to +your soul from the misery caused by such grief as this. There are two +things alone that can separate us from father and mother, from brother +and sister, from all those who are most cherished by us, and those two +things are distance and death. Think not that I, though the Buddha, have +not felt all this even as any other of you; was I not alone when I was +seeking for wisdom in the wilderness?</p> + +<p>'And yet what would I have gained by wailing and lamenting either for +myself or for others? Would it have brought to me any solace from my +loneliness? Would it have been any help to those whom I had left? There +is nothing that can happen to us, however terrible, however miserable, +that can justify tears and lamentations and make them aught but a weakness.'</p> + +<p>And so, we are told, in this way the Buddha soothed the affliction of +Ananda, and filled his soul with consolation—the consolation of resignation.</p> + +<p>For there is no other consolation possible but this, resignation to the +inevitable, the conviction of the uselessness of sorrow, the vanity and +selfishness of grief.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>There is no meeting again with the dead. Nowhere in the recurring +centuries shall we meet again those whom we have loved, whom we love, +who seem to us to be parts of our very soul. That which survives of us, +the part which is incarnated again and again, until it be fit for +heaven, has nothing to do with love and hate.</p> + +<p>Even if in the whirlpool of life our paths should cross again the paths +of those whom we have loved, we are never told that we shall know them +again and love them.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine has just lost his mother, and he is very much +distressed. He must have been very fond of her, for although he has a +wife and children, and is happy in his family, he is in great sorrow. He +proposes even to build a pagoda over her remains, a testimony of respect +which in strict Buddhism is reserved to saints. He has been telling me +about this, and how he is trying to get a sacred relic to put in the +pagoda, and I asked him if he never hoped again to meet the soul of his +mother on earth or in heaven, and he answered:</p> + +<p>'No. It is very hard, but so are many things, and they have to be borne. +Far better it is to face the truth than to escape by a pleasant +falsehood. There is a Burmese proverb that tells us that all the world +is one vast burial-ground; there are dead men everywhere.'</p> + +<p>'One of our great men has said the same,' I answered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>He was not surprised.</p> + +<p>'As it is true,' he said, 'I suppose all great men would see it.'</p> + +<p>Thus there is no escape, no loophole for a delusive hope, only the +cultivation of the courage of sorrow.</p> + +<p>There are never any exceptions to the laws of the Buddha. If a law is a +law, that is the end of it. Just as we know of no exceptions to the law +of gravitation, so there are no exceptions to the law of death.</p> + +<p>But although this may seem to be a religion of despair, it is not really +so. This sorrow to which there is no relief is the selfishness of +sorrow, the grief for our own loneliness; for of sorrow, of fear, of +pity for the dead, there is no need. We know that in time all will be +well with them. We know that, though there may be before them vast +periods of suffering, yet that they will all at last be in Nebhan with +us. And if we shall not know them there, still we shall know that they +are there, all of them—not one will be wanting. Purified from the lust +of life, white souls steeped in the Great Peace, all living things will +attain rest at last.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>There is this remarkable fact in Buddhism, that nowhere is any fear +expressed of death itself, nowhere any apprehension of what may happen +to the dead. It is the sorrow of separation, the terror of death to the +survivors, that is always dwelt upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> with compassion, and the agony of +which it is sought to soothe.</p> + +<p>That the dying man himself should require strengthening to face the King +of Terrors is hardly ever mentioned. It seems to be taken for granted +that men should have courage in themselves to take leave of life +becomingly, without undue fears. Buddhism is the way to show us the +escape from the miseries of life, not to give us hope in the hour of death.</p> + +<p>It is true that to all Orientals death is a less fearful thing than it +is to us. I do not know what may be the cause of this, courage certainly +has little to do with it; but it is certain that the purely physical +fear of death, that horror and utter revulsion that seizes the majority +of us at the idea of death, is absent from most Orientals. And yet this +cannot explain it all. For fear of death, though less, is still there, +is still a strong influence upon their lives, and it would seem that no +religion which ignored this great fact could become a great living religion.</p> + +<p>Religion is made for man, to fit his necessities, not man for religion, +and yet the faith of Buddhism is not concerned with death.</p> + +<p>Consider our faith, how much of its teaching consists of how to avoid +the fear of death, how much of its consolation is for the death-bed. How +we are taught all our lives that we should live so as not to fear death; +how we have priests and sacraments to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> soothe the dying man, and give +him hope and courage, and how the crown and summit of our creed is that +we should die easily. And consider that in Buddhism all this is +absolutely wanting. Buddhism is a creed of life, of conduct; death is +the end of that life, that is all.</p> + +<p>We have all seen death. We have all of us watched those who, near and +dear to us, go away out of our ken. There is no need for me to recall +the last hours of those of our faith, to bring up again the fading eye +and waning breath, the messages of hope we search for in our Scriptures +to give hope to him who is going, the assurances of religion, the cross +held before the dying eyes.</p> + +<p>Many men, we are told, turn to religion at the last after a life of +wickedness, and a man may do so even at the eleventh hour and be saved.</p> + +<p>That is part of our belief; that is the strongest part of our belief; +and that is the hope that all fervent Christians have, that those they +love may be saved even at the end.</p> + +<p>I think it may truly be said that our Western creeds are all directed at +the hour of death, as the great and final test of that creed.</p> + +<p>And now think of Buddhism; it is a creed of life. In life you must win +your way to salvation by urgent effort, by suffering, by endurance. On +your death-bed you can do nothing. If you have done well, then it is +well; if ill, then you must in future life try again and again till you +succeed. A life is not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> washed, a soul is not made fit for the dwelling +of eternity, in a moment.</p> + +<p>Repentance to a Buddhist is but the opening of the eyes to see the path +to righteousness; it has no virtue in itself. To have seen that we are +sinners is but the first step to cleansing our sin; in itself it cannot purify.</p> + +<p>As well ask a robber of the poor to repent, and suppose thereby that +those who have suffered from his guilt are compensated for the evil done +to them by his repentance, as to ask a Buddhist to believe that a sinner +can at the last moment make good to his own soul all the injuries caused +to that soul by the wickedness of his life.</p> + +<p>Or suppose a man who has destroyed his constitution by excess to be by +the very fact of acknowledging that excess restored to health.</p> + +<p>The Buddhist will not have that at all. A man is what he makes himself; +and that making is a matter of terrible effort, of unceasing endeavour +towards the right, of constant suppression of sin, till sin be at last +dead within him. If a man has lived a wicked life, he dies a wicked man, +and no wicked man can obtain the perfect rest of the sinless dead. +Heaven is shut to him. But if heaven is shut it is not shut for ever; if +hell may perhaps open to him it is only for a time, only till he is +purified and washed from the stain of his sins; and then he can begin +again, and have another chance to win heaven. If there is no immediate +heaven there is no eternal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> hell, and in due time all will reach heaven; +all will have learnt, through suffering, the wisdom the Buddha has shown +to us, that only by a just life can men reach the Great Peace even as he did.</p> + +<p>So that if Buddhism has none of the consolation for the dying man that +Christianity holds out, in the hope of heaven, so it has none of the +threats and terrors of our faith. There is no fear of an angry Judge—of +a Judge who is angry.</p> + +<p>And yet when I came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that +surely there must be something to calm him in the face of death. If +Buddhism does not furnish this consolation, he must go elsewhere for it. +And I was not satisfied, because I could find nothing in the sacred +books about a man's death, that therefore the creed of the people had +ignored it. A living creed must, I was sure, provide for this somehow.</p> + +<p>So I went to a friend of mine, a Burman magistrate, and I asked him:</p> + +<p>'When a man is dying, what does he try to think of? What do you say to +comfort him that his last moments may be peace? The monks do not come, I know.'</p> + +<p>'The monks!' he said, shaking his head; 'what could they do?'</p> + +<p>I did not know.</p> + +<p>'Can you do anything,' I asked, 'to cheer him? Do you speak to him of +what may happen after death, of hopes of another life?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p><p>'No one can tell,' said my friend, 'what will happen after death. It +depends on a man's life, if he has done good or evil, what his next +existence will be, whether he will go a step nearer to the Peace. When +the man is dying no monks will come, truly; but an old man, an old +friend, father, perhaps, or an elder of the village, and he will talk to +the dying man. He will say, "Think of your good deeds; think of all that +you have done well in this life. Think of your good deeds."'</p> + +<p>'What is the use of that?' I asked. 'Suppose you think of your good +deeds, what then? Will that bring peace?'</p> + +<p>The Burman seemed to think that it would.</p> + +<p>'Nothing,' he said, 'was so calming to a man's soul as to think of even +one deed he had done well in his life.'</p> + +<p>Think of the man dying. The little house built of bamboo and thatch, +with an outer veranda, where the friends are sitting, and the inner +room, behind a wall of bamboo matting, where the man is lying. A pot of +flowers is standing on a shelf on one side, and a few cloths are hung +here and there beneath the brown rafters. The sun comes in through +little chinks in roof and wall, making curious lights in the +semi-darkness of the room, and it is very hot.</p> + +<p>From outside come the noises of the village, cries of children playing, +grunts of cattle, voices of men and women clearly heard through the +still clear air<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> of the afternoon. There is a woman pounding rice near +by with a steady thud, thud of the lever, and there is a clink of a loom +where a girl is weaving ceaselessly. All these sounds come into the +house as if there were no walls at all, but they are unheeded from long custom.</p> + +<p>The man lies on a low bed with a fine mat spread under him for bedding. +His wife, his grown-up children, his sister, his brother are about him, +for the time is short, and death comes very quickly in the East. They +talk to him kindly and lovingly, but they read to him no sacred books; +they give him no messages from the world to which he is bound; they +whisper to him no hopes of heaven. He is tortured with no fears of +everlasting hell. Yet life is sweet and death is bitter, and it is hard +to go; and as he tosses to and fro in his fever there comes in to him an +old friend, the headman of the village perhaps, with a white muslin +fillet bound about his kind old head, and he sits beside the dying man +and speaks to him.</p> + +<p>'Remember,' he says slowly and clearly, 'all those things that you have +done well. Think of your good deeds.'</p> + +<p>And as the sick man turns wearily, trying to move his thoughts as he is +bidden, trying to direct the wheels of memory, the old man helps him to remember.</p> + +<p>'Think,' he says, 'of your good deeds, of how you have given charity to +the monks, of how you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> have fed the poor. Remember how you worked and +saved to build the little rest-house in the forest where the traveller +stays and finds water for his thirst. All these are pleasant things, and +men will always be grateful to you. Remember your brother, how you +helped him in his need, how you fed him and went security for him till +he was able again to secure his own living. You did well to him, surely +that is a pleasant thing.'</p> + +<p>I do not think it difficult to see how the sick man's face will lighten, +how his eyes will brighten at the thoughts that come to him at the old +man's words. And he goes on:</p> + +<p>'Remember when the squall came up the river and the boat upset when you +were crossing here; how it seemed as if no man could live alone in such +waves, and yet how you clung to and saved the boy who was with you, +swimming through the water that splashed over your head and very nearly +drowned you. The boy's father and mother have never forgotten that, and +they are even now mourning without in the veranda. It is all due to you +that their lives have not been full of misery and despair. Remember +their faces when you brought their little son to them saved from death +in the great river. Surely that is a pleasant thing. Remember your wife +who is now with you; how you have loved her and cherished her, and kept +faithful to her before all the world. You have been a good husband to +her, and you have honoured her. She loves you, and you have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> loved her +all your long life together. Surely that is a pleasant thing.'</p> + +<p>Yes, surely these are pleasant things to have with one at the last. +Surely a man will die easier with such memories as these before his +eyes, with love in those about him, and the calm of good deeds in his +dying heart. If it be a different way of soothing a man's end from those +which other nations use, is it the worse for that?</p> + +<p>Think of your good deeds. It seems a new idea to me that in doing well +in our life we are making for ourselves a pleasant death, because of the +memory of those things. And if we have none? or if evil so outnumbered +the good deeds as to hide and overwhelm them, what then? A man's death +will be terrible indeed if he cannot in all his days remember one good +deed that he has done.</p> + +<p>'All a man's life comes before him at the hour of death,' said my +informant; 'all, from the earliest memory to the latest breath. Like a +whole landscape called by a flash of lightning out of the dark night. It +is all there, every bit of it, good and evil, pleasure and pain, sin and +righteousness.'</p> + +<p>A man cannot escape from his life even in death. In our acts of to-day +we are determining what our death will be; if we have lived well, we +shall die well; and if not, then not. As a man lives so shall he die, is +the teaching of Buddhism as of other creeds.</p> + +<p>So what Buddhism has to offer to the dying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> believer is this, that if he +live according to its tenets he will die happily, and that in the life +that he will next enter upon he will be less and less troubled by sin, +less and less wedded to the lust of life, until sometime, far away, he +shall gain the great Deliverance. He shall have perfect Peace, perfect +rest, perfect happiness, he and his, in that heaven where his teacher +went before him long ago.</p> + +<p>And if we should say that this Deliverance from life, this Great Peace, +is Death, what matter, if it be indeed Peace?</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> These five vows are:</p> + +<div class="block"> +<p>1. Not to take life.<br />2. To be honest.<br /> +3. To tell the truth.<br />4. To abstain from intoxicants.<br />5. Chastity.</p> +</div></div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>THE POTTER'S WHEEL</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'Life is like a great whirlpool wherein we are dashed to and fro by +our passions.'—<i>Saying of the Buddha.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>It is a hard teaching, this of the Buddha about death. It is a teaching +that may appeal to the reason, but not to the soul, that when life goes +out, this thing which we call 'I' goes out with it, and that love and +remembrance are dead for ever.</p> + +<p>It is so hard a teaching that in its purity the people cannot believe +it. They accept it, but they have added on to it a belief which changes +the whole form of it, a belief that is the outcome of that weakness of +humanity which insists that death is not and cannot be all.</p> + +<p>Though to the strict Buddhist death is the end of all worldly passion, +to the Burmese villager that is not so. He cannot grasp, he cannot +endure that it should be so, and he has made for himself out of Buddhism +a belief that is opposed to all Buddhism in this matter.</p> + +<p>He believes in the transmigration of souls, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> survival of the 'I.' +The teaching that what survives is not the 'I,' but only the result of +its action, is too deep for him to hold. True, if a flame dies the +effects that it has caused remain, and the flame is dead for ever. A new +flame is a new flame. But the 'I' of man cannot die, he thinks; it lives +and loves for all time.</p> + +<p>He has made out of the teaching a new teaching that is very far from +that of the Buddha, and the teaching is this: When a man dies his soul +remains, his 'I' has only changed its habitation. Still it lives and +breathes on earth, not the effect, but the soul itself. It is reborn +among us, and it may even be recognised very often in its new abode.</p> + +<p>And that we should never forget this, that we should never doubt that +this is true, it has been so ordered that many can remember something of +these former lives of theirs. This belief is not to a Burman a mere +theory, but is as true as anything he can see. For does he not daily see +people who know of their former lives? Nay, does he not himself, often +vaguely, have glimpses of that former life of his? No man seems to be +quite without it, but of course it is clearer to some than others. Just +as we tell stories in the dusk of ghosts and second sight, so do they, +when the day's work is over, gossip of stories of second birth; only +that they believe in them far more than we do in ghosts.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine put up for the night once at a monastery far away in +the forest near a small<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> village. He was travelling with an escort of +mounted police, and there was no place else to sleep but in the +monastery. The monk was, as usual, hospitable, and put what he had, bare +house-room, at the officer's disposal, and he and his men settled down for the night.</p> + +<p>After dinner a fire was built on the ground, and the officer went and +sat by it and talked to the headman of the village and the monk. First +they talked of the dacoits and of crops, unfailing subjects of interest, +and gradually they drifted from one subject to another till the +Englishman remarked about the monastery, that it was a very large and +fine one for such a small secluded village to have built. The monastery +was of the best and straightest teak, and must, he thought, have taken a +very long time and a great deal of labour to build, for the teak must +have been brought from very far away; and in explanation he was told a curious story.</p> + +<p>It appeared that in the old days there used to be only a bamboo and +grass monastery there, such a monastery as most jungle villages have; +and the then monk was distressed at the smallness of his abode and the +little accommodation there was for his school—a monastery is always a +school. So one rainy season he planted with great care a number of teak +seedlings round about, and he watered them and cared for them. 'When +they are grown up,' he would say, 'these teak-trees shall provide<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +timber for a new and proper building; and I will myself return in +another life, and with those trees will I build a monastery more worthy +than this.' Teak-trees take a hundred years to reach a mature size, and +while the trees were still but saplings the monk died, and another monk +taught in his stead. And so it went on, and the years went by, and from +time to time new monasteries of bamboo were built and rebuilt, and the +teak-trees grew bigger and bigger. But the village grew smaller, for the +times were troubled, and the village was far away in the forest. So it +happened that at last the village found itself without a monk at all: +the last monk was dead, and no one came to take his place.</p> + +<p>It is a serious thing for a village to have no monk. To begin with, +there is no one to teach the lads to read and write and do arithmetic; +and there is no one to whom you can give offerings and thereby get +merit, and there is no one to preach to you and tell you of the sacred +teaching. So the village was in a bad way.</p> + +<p>Then at last one evening, when the girls were all out at the well +drawing water, they were surprised by the arrival of a monk walking in +from the forest, weary with a long journey, footsore and hungry. The +villagers received him with enthusiasm, fearing, however, that he was +but passing through, and they furbished up the old monastery in a hurry +for him to sleep in. But the curious thing was that the monk seemed to +know it all. He knew the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> monastery and the path to it, and the ways +about the village, and the names of the hills and the streams. It +seemed, indeed, as if he must once have lived there in the village, and +yet no one knew him or recognised his face, though he was but a young +man still, and there were villagers who had lived there for seventy +years. Next morning, instead of going on his way, the monk came into the +village with his begging-bowl, as monks do, and went round and collected +his food for the day; and in the evening, when the villagers went to see +him at the monastery, he told them he was going to stay. He recalled to +them the monk who had planted the teak-trees, and how he had said that +when the trees were grown he would return. 'I,' said the young monk, 'am +he that planted these trees. Lo, they are grown up, and I am returned, +and now we will build a monastery as I said.'</p> + +<p>When the villagers, doubting, questioned him, and old men came and +talked to him of traditions of long-past days, he answered as one who +knew all. He told them he had been born and educated far away in the +South, and had grown up not knowing who he had been; and that he had +entered a monastery, and in time became a Pongyi. The remembrance came +to him, he went on, in a dream of how he had planted the trees and had +promised to return to that village far away in the forest.</p> + +<p>The very next day he had started, and travelled day after day and week +upon week, till at length he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> had arrived, as they saw. So the villagers +were convinced, and they set to work and cut down the great boles, and +built the monastery such as my friend saw. And the monk lived there all +his life, and taught the children, and preached the marvellous teaching +of the great Buddha, till at length his time came again and he returned; +for of monks it is not said that they die, but that they return.</p> + +<p>This is the common belief of the people. Into this has the mystery of +Dharma turned, in the thoughts of the Burmese Buddhists, for no one can +believe the incomprehensible. A man has a soul, and it passes from life +to life, as a traveller from inn to inn, till at length it is ended in +heaven. But not till he has attained heaven in his heart will he attain +heaven in reality.</p> + +<p>Many children, the Burmese will tell you, remember their former lives. +As they grow older the memories die away and they forget, but to the +young children they are very clear. I have seen many such.</p> + +<p>About fifty years ago in a village named Okshitgon were born two +children, a boy and a girl. They were born on the same day in +neighbouring houses, and they grew up together, and played together, and +loved each other. And in due course they married and started a family, +and maintained themselves by cultivating their dry, barren fields about +the village. They were always known as devoted to each other, and they +died as they had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>lived—together. The same death took them on the same +day; so they were buried without the village and were forgotten; for the times were serious.</p> + +<p>It was the year after the English army had taken Mandalay, and all Burma +was in a fury of insurrection. The country was full of armed men, the +roads were unsafe, and the nights were lighted with the flames of +burning villages. It was a bad time for peace-loving men, and many such, +fleeing from their villages, took refuge in larger places nearer the +centres of administration.</p> + +<p>Okshitgon was in the midst of one of the worst of all the distressed +districts, and many of its people fled, and one of them, a man named +Maung Kan, with his young wife went to the village of Kabyu and lived there.</p> + +<p>Now, Maung Kan's wife had born to him twin sons. They were born at +Okshitgon shortly before their parents had to run away, and they were +named, the eldest Maung Gyi, which is Brother Big-fellow, and the +younger Maung Ngè, which means Brother Little-fellow. These lads grew up +at Kabyu, and soon learned to talk; and as they grew up their parents +were surprised to hear them calling to each other at play, and calling +each other, not Maung Gyi and Maung Ngè, but Maung San Nyein and Ma +Gywin. The latter is a woman's name, and the parents remembered that +these were the names of the man and wife who had died in Okshitgon about +the time the children were born.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p><p>So the parents thought that the souls of the man and wife had entered +into the children, and they took them to Okshitgon to try them. The +children knew everything in Okshitgon; they knew the roads and the +houses and the people, and they recognised the clothes they used to wear +in a former life; there was no doubt about it. One of them, the younger, +remembered, too, how she had borrowed two rupees once of a woman, Ma +Thet, unknown to her husband, and left the debt unpaid. Ma Thet was +still living, and so they asked her, and she recollected that it was +true she had lent the money long ago.</p> + +<p>Shortly afterwards I saw these two children. They are now just over six +years old. The elder, into whom the soul of the man entered, is a fat, +chubby little fellow, but the younger twin is smaller, and has a curious +dreamy look in his face, more like a girl than a boy. They told me much +about their former lives. After they died they said they lived for some +time without a body at all, wandering in the air and hiding in the +trees. This was for their sins. Then, after some months, they were born +again as twin boys. 'It used,' said the elder boy, 'to be so clear, I +could remember everything; but it is getting duller and duller, and I +cannot now remember as I used to do.'</p> + +<p>Of children such as this you may find any number. Only you have to look +for them, as they are not brought forward spontaneously. The Burmese, +like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> other people, hate to have their beliefs and ideas ridiculed, and +from experience they have learned that the object of a foreigner in +inquiring into their ways is usually to be able to show by his contempt +how very much cleverer a man he is than they are. Therefore they are +very shy. But once they understand that you only desire to learn and to +see, and that you will always treat them with courtesy and +consideration, they will tell you all that they think.</p> + +<p>A fellow officer of mine has a Burmese police orderly, a young man about +twenty, who has been with him since he came to the district two years +ago. Yet my friend only discovered accidentally the other day that his +orderly remembers his former life. He is very unwilling to talk about +it. He was a woman apparently in that former life, and lived about +twenty miles away. He must have lived a good life, for it is a step of +promotion to be a man in this life; but he will not talk of it. He +forgets most of it, he says, though he remembered it when he was a child.</p> + +<p>Sometimes this belief leads to lawsuits of a peculiarly difficult +nature. In 1883, two years before the annexation of Upper Burma, there +was a case that came into the local Court of the oil district, which +depended upon this theory of transmigration.</p> + +<p>Opposite Yenangyaung there are many large islands in the river. These +islands during the low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> water months are joined to the mainland, and are +covered with a dense high grass in which many deer live.</p> + +<p>When the river rises, it rises rapidly, communication with the mainland +is cut off, and the islands are for a time, in the higher rises, +entirely submerged. During the progress of the first rise some hunters +went to one of these islands where many deer were to be found and set +fire to the grass to drive them out of cover, shooting them as they came +out. Some deer, fleeing before the fire, swam across and escaped, others +fell victims, but one fawn, barely half grown, ran right down the +island, and in its blind terror it leaped into a boat at anchor there. +This boat was that of a fisherman who was plying his trade at some +distance, and the only occupant of the boat was his wife. Now this woman +had a year or so before lost her son, very much loved by her, but who +was not quite of the best character, and when she saw the deer leaping +into the boat, she at once fancied that she saw the soul of her erring +son looking at her out of its great terrified eyes. So she got up and +took the poor panting beast in her arms and soothed it, and when the +hunters came running to her to claim it she refused. 'He is my son,' she +said, 'he is mine. Shall I give him up to death?' The hunters clamoured +and threatened to take the deer by force, but the woman was quite firm. +She would never give him up except with her life. 'You can see,' she +said, 'that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> it is true that he is my son. He came running straight to +me, as he always did in his trouble when he was a boy, and he is now +quite quiet and contented, instead of being afraid of me as an ordinary +deer would be.' And it was quite true that the deer took to her at once, +and remained with her willingly. So the hunters went off to the court of +the governor and filed a suit for the deer.</p> + +<p>The case was tried in open court, and the deer was produced with a +ribbon round its neck. Evidence there was naturally but little. The +hunters claimed the deer because they had driven it out of the island by +their fire. The woman resisted the claim on the ground that it was her son.</p> + +<p>The decision of the court was this:</p> + +<p>'The hunters are not entitled to the deer because they cannot prove that +the woman's son's soul is not in the animal. The woman is not entitled +to the deer because she cannot prove that it is. The deer will therefore +remain with the court until some properly authenticated claim is put in.'</p> + +<p>So the two parties were turned out, the woman in bitter tears, and the +hunters angry and vexed, and the deer remained the property of the judge.</p> + +<p>But this decision was against all Burmese ideas of justice. He should +have given the deer to the woman. 'He wanted it for himself,' said a +Burman, speaking to me of the affair. 'He probably killed it and ate it. +Surely it is true that officials are of all the five evils the +greatest.' Then my friend <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>remembered that I was myself an official, and +he looked foolish, and began to make complimentary remarks about English +officials, that they would never give such an iniquitous decision. I +turned it off by saying that no doubt the judge was now suffering in +some other life for the evil wrought in the last, and the Burman said +that probably he was now inhabiting a tiger.</p> + +<p>It is very easy to laugh at such beliefs; nothing is, indeed, easier +than to be witty at the expense of any belief. It is also very easy to +say that it is all self-deception, that the children merely imagine that +they remember their former lives, or are citing conversation of their elders.</p> + +<p>How this may be I do not know. What is the explanation of this, perhaps +the only belief of which we have any knowledge which is at once a living +belief to-day and was so as far back as we can get, I do not pretend to +say. For transmigration is no theory of Buddhism at all, but was a +leading tenet in the far older faith of Brahmanism, of which Buddhism +was but an offshoot, as was Christianity of Judaism.</p> + +<p>I have not, indeed, always attempted to reach the explanation of things +I have seen. When I have satisfied myself that a belief is really held +by the people, that I am not the subject of conscious deception, either +by myself or others, I have conceived that my work was ended.</p> + +<p>There are those who, in investigating any foreign<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> customs and strange +beliefs, can put their finger here and say, 'This is where they are +right'; and there and say, 'This belief is foolishly wrong and idiotic.' +I am not, unfortunately, one of these writers. I have no such confident +belief in my own infallibility of judgment as to be able to sit on high +and say, 'Here is truth, and here is error.'</p> + +<p>I will leave my readers to make their own judgment, if they desire to do +so; only asking them (as they would not like their own beliefs to be +scoffed and sneered at) that they will treat with respect the sincere +beliefs of others, even if they cannot accept them. It is only in this +way that we can come to understand a people and to sympathize with them.</p> + +<p>It is hardly necessary to emphasize the enormous effect that a belief in +transmigration such as this has upon the life and intercourse of the +people. Of their kindness to animals I have spoken elsewhere, and it is +possible this belief in transmigration has something to do with it, but +not, I think, much. For if you wished to illtreat an animal, it would be +quite easy, even more easy, to suppose that an enemy or a murderer +inhabited the body of the animal, and that you were but carrying out the +decrees of fate by ill-using it. But when you love an animal, it may +increase that love and make it reasonable, and not a thing to be ashamed +of; and it brings the animal world nearer to you in general, it bridges +over the enormous void between man and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> beast that other religions have +made. Nothing humanizes a man more than love of animals.</p> + +<p>I do not know if this be a paradox, I know that it is a truth.</p> + +<p>There was one point that puzzled me for a time in some of these stories +of transmigration, such as the one I told about the man and wife being +reborn twins. It was this: A man dies and leaves behind children, let us +say, to whom he is devoutly attached. He is reborn in another family in +the same village, maybe. It would be natural to suppose that he would +love his former family as much as, or even more than, his new one. +Complications might arise in this way which it is easy to conceive would +cause great and frequent difficulties.</p> + +<p>I explained this to a Burman one day, and asked him what happened, and +this is what he said: 'The affection of mother to son, of husband to +wife, of brother to sister, belongs entirely to the body in which you +may happen to be living. When it dies, so do these affections. New +affections arise from the new body. The flesh of the son, being of one +with his father, of course loves him; but as his present flesh has no +sort of connection with his former one, he does not love those to whom +he was related in his other lives. These affections are as much a part +of the body as the hand or the eyesight; with one you put off the other.'</p> + +<p>Thus all love, to the learned, even the purest affection of daughter to +mother, of man to his friend,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> is in theory a function of the body—with +the one we put off the other; and this may explain, perhaps, something +of what my previous chapter did not make quite clear, that in the +hereafter<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> of Buddhism there is no affection.</p> + +<p>When we have put off all bodies, when we have attained Nirvana, love and +hate, desire and repulsion, will have fallen from us for ever.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, in each life, we are obliged to endure the affections of the +body into which we may be born. It is the first duty of a monk, of him +who is trying to lead the purer life, to kill all these affections, or +rather to blend them into one great compassion to all the world alike. +'Gayūna,' compassion, that is the only passion that will be left to +us. So say the learned.</p> + +<p>I met a little girl not long ago, a wee little maiden about seven years +old, and she told me all about her former life when she was a man. Her +name was Maung Mon, she said, and she used to work the dolls in a +travelling marionette show. It was through her knowledge and partiality +for marionettes that it was first suspected, her parents told me, whom +she had been in her former life. She could even as a sucking-child +manipulate the strings of a marionette-doll. But the actual discovery +came when she was about four years old, and she recognised a certain +marionette booth and dolls as her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> own. She knew all about them, knew +the name of each doll, and even some of the words they used to say in +the plays. 'I was married four times,' she told me. 'Two wives died, one +I divorced; one was living when I died, and is living still. I loved her +very much indeed. The one I divorced was a dreadful woman. See,' +pointing to a scar on her shoulder, 'this was given me once in a +quarrel. She took up a chopper and cut me like this. Then I divorced +her. She had a dreadful temper.'</p> + +<p>It was immensely quaint to hear this little thing discoursing like this. +The mark was a birth-mark, and I was assured that it corresponded +exactly with one that had been given to the man by his wife in just such +a quarrel as the one the little girl described.</p> + +<p>The divorced wife and the much-loved wife are still alive and not yet +old. The last wife wanted the little girl to go and live with her. I +asked her why she did not go.</p> + +<p>'You loved her so much,' I said. 'She was such a good wife to you. +Surely you would like to live with her again.'</p> + +<p>'But all that,' she replied, 'was in a former life.'</p> + +<p>Now she loved only her present father and mother. The last life was like +a dream. Broken memories of it still remained, but the loves and hates, +the passions and impulses, were all dead.</p> + +<p>Another little boy told me once that the way remembrance came to him was +by seeing the silk he used to wear made into curtains, which are given +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> the monks and used as partitions in their monasteries, and as walls +to temporary erections made at festival times. He was taken when some +three years old to a feast at the making of a lad, the son of a wealthy +merchant, into a monk. There he recognised in the curtain walling in +part of the bamboo building his old dress. He pointed it out at once.</p> + +<p>This same little fellow told me that he passed three months between his +death and his next incarnation without a body. This was because he had +once accidentally killed a fowl. Had he killed it on purpose, he would +have been punished very much more severely. Most of this three months he +spent dwelling in the hollow shell of a palm-fruit. The nuisance was, he +explained, that this shell was close to the cattle-path, and that the +lads as they drove the cattle afield in the early morning would bang +with a stick against the shell. This made things very uncomfortable for him inside.</p> + +<p>It is not an uncommon thing for a woman when about to be delivered of a +baby to have a dream, and to see in that dream the spirit of someone +asking for permission to enter the unborn child; for, to a certain +extent, it lies within a woman's power to say who is to be the life of her child.</p> + +<p>There was a woman once who loved a young man, not of her village, very +dearly. And he loved her, too, as dearly as she loved him, and he +demanded her in marriage from her parents; but they refused. Why they +refused I do not know, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> probably because they did not consider the +young man a proper person for their daughter to marry. Then he tried to +run away with her, and nearly succeeded, but they were caught before +they got clear of the village.</p> + +<p>The young man had to leave the neighbourhood. The attempted abduction of +a girl is an offence severely punishable by law, so he fled; and in +time, under pressure from her people, the girl married another man; but +she never forgot. She lived with her husband quite happily; he was good +to her, as most Burmese husbands are, and they got along well enough +together. But there were no children.</p> + +<p>After some years, four or five, I believe, the former lover returned to +his village. He thought that after this lapse of time he would be safe +from prosecution, and he was, moreover, very ill.</p> + +<p>He was so ill that very soon he died, without ever seeing again the girl +he was so fond of; and when she heard of his death she was greatly +distressed, so that the desire of life passed away from her. It so +happened that at this very time she found herself enceinte with her +first child, and not long before the due time came for the child to be +born she had a dream.</p> + +<p>She dreamt that her soul left her body, and went out into space and met +there the soul of her lover who had died. She was rejoiced to meet him +again, full of delight, so that the return of her soul to her body, her +awakening to a world in which he was not,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> filled her with despair. So +she prayed her lover, if it was now time for him again to be incarnated, +that he would come to her—that his soul would enter the body of the +little baby soon about to be born, so that they two might be together in +life once more.</p> + +<p>And in the dream the lover consented. He would come, he said, into the +child of the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>When the woman awoke she remembered it all, and the desire of life +returned to her again, and all the world was changed because of the new +life she felt within her. But she told no one then of the dream or of +what was to happen.</p> + +<p>Only she took the greatest care of herself; she ate well, and went +frequently to the pagoda with flowers, praying that the body in which +her lover was about to dwell might be fair and strong, worthy of him who +took it, worthy of her who gave it.</p> + +<p>In due time the baby was born. But alas and alas for all her hopes! The +baby came but for a moment, to breathe a few short breaths, to cry, and +to die; and a few hours later the woman died also. But before she went +she told someone all about it, all about the dream and the baby, and +that she was glad to go and follow her lover. She said that her baby's +soul was her lover's soul, and that as he could not stay, neither would +she; and with these words on her lips she followed him out into the void.</p> + +<p>The story was kept a secret until the husband<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> died, not long +afterwards; but when I came to the village all the people knew it.</p> + +<p>I must confess that this story is to me full of the deepest reality, +full of pathos. It seems to me to be the unconscious protestation of +humanity against the dogmas of religion and of the learned. However it +may be stated that love is but one of the bodily passions that dies with +it; however, even in some of the stories themselves, this explanation is +used to clear certain difficulties; however opposed eternal love may be +to one of the central doctrines of Buddhism, it seems to me that the +very essence of this story is the belief that love does not die with the +body, that it lives for ever and ever, through incarnation after +incarnation. Such a story is the very cry of the agony of humanity.</p> + +<p>'Love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love;' ay, and love +is stronger than death. Not any dogmas of any religion, not any +philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent +him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he +loves.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The hereafter = the state to which we attain when we have +done with earthly things.</p></div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE FOREST OF TIME</h3> + +<blockquote><p class="center">'The gate of that forest was Death.'</p></blockquote> + +<p>There was a great forest. It was full of giant trees that grew so high +and were so thick overhead that the sunshine could not get down below. +And there were huge creepers that ran from tree to tree climbing there, +and throwing down great loops of rope. Under the trees, growing along +the ground, were smaller creepers full of thorns, that tore the wayfarer +and barred his progress. The forest, too, was full of snakes that crept +along the ground, so like in their gray and yellow skins to the earth +they travelled on that the traveller trod upon them unawares and was +bitten; and some so beautiful with coral red and golden bars that men +would pick them up as some dainty jewel till the snake turned upon them.</p> + +<p>Here and there in this forest were little glades wherein there were +flowers. Beautiful flowers they were, with deep white cups and broad +glossy leaves hiding the purple fruit; and some had scarlet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> blossoms +that nodded to and fro like drowsy men, and there were long festoons of +white stars. The air there was heavy with their scent. But they were all +full of thorns, only you could not see the thorns till after you had +plucked the blossom.</p> + +<p>This wood was pierced by roads. Many were very broad, leading through +the forest in divers ways, some of them stopping now and then in the +glades, others avoiding them more or less, but none of them were +straight. Always, if you followed them, they bent and bent until after +much travelling you were where you began; and the broader the road, the +softer the turf beneath it; the sweeter the glades that lined it, the +quicker did it turn.</p> + +<p>One road there was that went straight, but it was far from the others. +It led among the rocks and cliffs that bounded one side of the valley. +It was very rough, very far from all the glades in the lowlands. No +flowers grew beside it, there was no moss or grass upon it, only hard +sharp rocks. It was very narrow, bordered with precipices.</p> + +<p>There were many lights in this wood, lights that flamed out like sunsets +and died, lights that came like lightning in the night and were gone. +This wood was never quite dark, it was so full of these lights that +flickered aimlessly.</p> + +<p>There were men in this wood who wandered to and fro. The wood was full of them.</p> + +<p>They did not know whither they went; they did not know whither they +wished to go. Only this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> they knew, that they could never keep still; +for the keeper of this wood was Time. He was armed with a keen whip, and +kept driving them on and on; there was no rest.</p> + +<p>Many of these when they first came loved the wood. The glades, they +said, were very beautiful, the flowers very sweet. They wandered down +the broad roads into the glades, and tried to lie upon the moss and love +the flowers; but Time would not let them. Just for a few moments they +could have peace, and then they must on and on. But they did not care. +'The forest is full of glades,' they said; 'if we cannot live in one, we +can find another.' And so they went on finding others and others, and +each one pleased them less.</p> + +<p>Some few there were who did not go to the glades at all. 'They are very +beautiful,' they said, 'but these roads that pass through them, whither +do they lead? Round and round and round again. There is no peace there. +Time rules in those glades, Time with his whip and goad, and there is no +peace. What we want is rest. And those lights,' they said, 'they are +wandering lights, like the summer lightning far down in the South, +moving hither and thither. We care not for such lights. Our light is +firm and clear. What we desire is peace; we do not care to wander for +ever round this forest, to see for ever those shifting lights.'</p> + +<p>And so they would not go down the winding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> roads, but essayed the path +upon the cliffs. 'It is narrow,' they said, 'it has no flowers, it is +full of rocks, but it is straight. It will lead us somewhere, not round +and round and round again—it will take us somewhere. And there is a +light,' they said, 'before us, the light of a star. It is very small +now, but it is always steady; it never flickers or wanes. It is the star +of Truth. Under that star we shall find that which we seek.'</p> + +<p>And so they went upon their road, toiling upon the rocks, falling now +and then, bleeding with wounds from the sharp points, sore-footed, but +strong-hearted. And ever as they went they were farther and farther from +the forest, farther and farther from the glades and the flowers with +deadly scents; they heard less and less the crack of the whip of Time +falling upon the wanderers' shoulders.</p> + +<p>The star grew nearer and nearer, the light grew greater and greater, the +false lights died behind them, until at last they came out of the +forest, and there they found the lake that washes away all desire under +the sun of Truth.</p> + +<p>They had won their way. Time and Life and Fight and Struggle were behind +them, could not follow them, as they came, weary and footsore, into the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>And of those who were left behind, of those who stayed in the glades to +gather the deadly flowers, to be driven ever forward by the whip of +Time—what of them? Surely they will learn. The kindly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> whip of Time is +behind: he will never let them rest in such a deadly forest; they must +go ever forward; and as they go they grow more and more weary, the +glades are more and more distasteful, the heavy-scented blossoms more +and more repulsive. They will find out the thorns too. At first they +forgot the thorns in the flowers. 'The blossoms are beautiful,' they +said; 'what care we for the thorns? Nay, the thorns are good. It is a +pleasure to fight with them. What would the forest be without its +thorns? If we could gather the flowers and find no thorns, we should not +care for them. The more the thorns, the more valuable the blossoms.'</p> + +<p>So they said, and they gathered the blossoms, and they faded. But the +thorns did not fade; they were ever there. The more blossoms a man had +gathered, the more thorns he had to wear, and Time was ever behind him. +They wanted to rest in the glades, but Time willed that ever they must +go forward; no going back, no rest, ever and ever on. So they grew very weary.</p> + +<p>'These flowers,' they said at last, 'are always the same. We are tired +of them; their smell is heavy; they are dead. This forest is full of +thorns only. How shall we escape from it? Ever as we go round and round +we hate the flowers more, we feel the thorns more acutely. We must +escape! We are sick of Time and his whip, our feet are very, very weary, +our eyes are dazzled and dim. We, too, would seek the Peace. We laughed +at those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> before who went along the rocky path; we did not want peace; +but now it seems to us the most beautiful thing in the world. Will Time +never cease to drive us on and on? Will these lights <i>never</i> cease to +flash to and fro?'</p> + +<p>Each man at last will turn to the straight road. He will find out. Every +man will find out at last that the forest is hateful, that the flowers +are deadly, that the thorns are terrible; every man will learn to fear Time.</p> + +<p>Then, when the longing for peace has come, he will go to the straight +way and find it; no man will remain in the forest for ever. He will +learn. When he is very, very weary, when his feet are full of thorns, +and his back scarred with the lashes of Time—great, kindly Time, the +schoolmaster of the world—he will learn.</p> + +<p>Not till he has learnt will he desire to enter into the straight road.</p> + +<p>But in the end all men will come. We at the last shall all meet together +where Time and Life shall be no more.</p> + +<p>This is a Burman allegory of Buddhism. It was told me long ago. I trust +I have not spoilt it in the retelling.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> + +<p>This is the end of my book. I have tried always as I wrote to remember +the principles that I laid down for myself in the first chapter. Whether +I have always done so I cannot say. It is so difficult, so very +difficult, to understand a people—any people—to separate their beliefs +from their assents, to discover the motives of their deeds, that I fear +I must often have failed.</p> + +<p>My book is short. It would have been easy to make a book out of each +chapter, to write volumes on each great subject that I have touched on; +but I have not done so—I have always been as brief as I could.</p> + +<p>I have tried always to illustrate only the central thought, and not the +innumerable divergencies, because only so can a great or strange thought +be made clear. Later, when the thought is known, then it is easy to +stray into the byways of thought, always remembering that they are +byways, wandering from a great centre.</p> + +<p>For the Burman's life and belief is one great whole.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p><p>I thought before I began to write, and I have become more and more +certain of it as I have taken up subject after subject, that to all the +great differences of thought between them and us there is one key. And +this key is that they believe the world is governed by eternal laws, +that have never changed, that will never change, that are founded on +absolute righteousness; while we believe in a personal God, altering +laws, and changing moralities according to His will.</p> + +<p>If I were to rewrite this book, I should do so from this standpoint of +eternal laws, making the book an illustration of the proposition.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it is better as it is, in that I have discovered the key at the +end of my work instead of at the beginning. I did not write the book to +prove the proposition, but in writing the book this truth has become +apparent to me.</p> + +<p>The more I have written, the clearer has this teaching become to me, +until now I wonder that I did not understand long ago—nay, that it has +not always been apparent to all men.</p> + +<p>Surely it is the beginning of all wisdom.</p> + +<p>Not until we had discarded Atlas and substituted gravity, until we had +forgotten Enceladus and learned the laws of heat, until we had rejected +Thor and his hammer and searched after the laws of electricity, could +science make any strides onward.</p> + +<p>An irresponsible spirit playing with the world as his toy killed all science.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p><p>But now science has learned a new wisdom, to look only at what it can +see, to leave vain imaginings to children and idealists, certain always +that the truth is inconceivably more beautiful than any dream.</p> + +<p>Science with us has gained her freedom, but the soul is still in bonds.</p> + +<p>Only in Buddhism has this soul-freedom been partly gained. How beautiful +this is, how full of great thoughts, how very different to the barren +materialism it has often been said to be, I have tried to show.</p> + +<p>I believe myself that in this teaching of the laws of righteousness we +have the grandest conception, the greatest wisdom, the world has known.</p> + +<p>I believe that in accepting this conception we are opening to ourselves +a new world of unimaginable progress, in justice, in charity, in +sympathy, and in love.</p> + +<p>I believe that as our minds, when freed from their bonds, have grown +more and more rapidly to heights of thought before undreamed of, to +truths eternal, to beauty inexpressible, so shall our souls, when freed, +as our minds now are, rise to sublimities of which now we have no conception.</p> + +<p>Let each man but open his eyes and see, and his own soul shall teach him +marvellous things.</p> + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + +<h4>BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a People, by H. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Soul of a People + +Author: H. Fielding + +Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29527] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE *** + + + + +Produced by Steven Gibbs, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + +[Illustration: Publisher's logo] + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + + +BY + +H. FIELDING + + +'For to see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth' + +MATTHEW ARNOLD + + +London +MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED +NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +1899 + + +_First Edition, 1898_ +_Second Edition, 1898_ +_Third Edition, 1899_ + + + + +DEDICATION TO SECOND EDITION + + +_I dedicate this book to you about whom it is written. It has been made +a reproach to me by the critics that I have only spoken well of you, +that I have forgotten your faults and remembered only your virtues. If +it is wrong to have done this, I must admit the wrong. I have written of +you as a friend does of a friend. Where I could say kind things of you I +have done so, where I could not I have been silent. You will find plenty +of people who can see only your faults, and who like to tell you of +them. You will find in the inexorable sequence of events a corrector of +these faults more potent than any critics can be. But I am not your +critic, but your friend. If many of you had not admitted me, a stranger, +into your friendship during my many very solitary years, of what sort +should I be now? How could I have lived those years alone? You kept +alive my sympathies, and so saved me from many things. Do you think I +could now turn round and criticise you? No; but this book is my tribute +of gratitude for many kindnesses._ + + + + +PREFACE + + +In most of the quotations from Burmese books containing the life of the +Buddha I am indebted, if not for the exact words, yet for the sense, to +Bishop Bigandet's translation. + +I do not think I am indebted to anyone else. I have, indeed, purposely +avoided quoting from any other book and using material collected by +anyone else. + +The story of Ma Pa Da has appeared often before, but my version is taken +entirely from the Burmese song. It is, as I have said, known to nearly +every Burman. + +I wanted to write only what the Burmese themselves thought; whether I +have succeeded or not, the reader can judge. + +I am indebted to Messrs. William Blackwood and Sons for permission to +use parts of my article on 'Burmese Women'--_Blackwood's Magazine_, May, +1895--in the present work. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I. LIVING BELIEFS 1 + + II. HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--I. 17 + + III. HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--II. 34 + + IV. THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE 46 + + V. WAR--I. 56 + + VI. WAR--II. 77 + + VII. GOVERNMENT 87 + + VIII. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 102 + + IX. HAPPINESS 116 + + X. THE MONKHOOD--I. 127 + + XI. THE MONKHOOD--II. 153 + + XII. PRAYER 158 + + XIII. FESTIVALS 166 + + XIV. WOMEN--I. 185 + + XV. WOMEN--II. 205 + + XVI. WOMEN--III. 224 + + XVII. DIVORCE 228 + +XVIII. DRINK 242 + + XIX. MANNERS 248 + + XX. 'NOBLESSE OBLIGE' 256 + + XXI. ALL LIFE IS ONE 277 + + XXII. DEATH, THE DELIVERER 302 + +XXIII. THE POTTER'S WHEEL 322 + + XXIV. THE FOREST OF TIME 342 + + XXV. CONCLUSION 348 + + + + +THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +LIVING BELIEFS + + 'The observance of the law alone entitles to the right of belonging + to my religion.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +For the first few years of my stay in Burma my life was so full of +excitement that I had little care or time for any thought but of to-day. +There was, first of all, my few months in Upper Burma in the King's time +before the war, months which were full of danger and the exhilaration of +danger, when all the surroundings were too new and too curious to leave +leisure for examination beneath the surface. Then came the flight from +Upper Burma at the time of the war, and then the war itself. And this +war lasted four years. Not four years of fighting in Burma proper, for +most of the Irrawaddy valley was peaceful enough by the end of 1889; but +as the central parts quieted down, I was sent to the frontier, first on +the North and then on the East by the Chin mountains; so that it was not +until 1890 that a transfer to a more settled part gave me quiet and +opportunity for consideration of all I had seen and known. For it was in +those years that I gained most of whatever little knowledge I have of +the Burmese people. + +Months, very many months, I passed with no one to speak to, with no +other companions but Burmese. I have been with them in joy and in +sorrow, I have fought with them and against them, and sat round the +camp-fire after the day's work and talked of it all. I have had many +friends amongst them, friends I shall always honour; and I have seen +them killed sometimes in our fights, or dead of fever in the marshes of +the frontier. I have known them from the labourer to the Prime Minister, +from the little neophyte just accepted into the faith to the head of all +the Burmese religion. I have known their wives and daughters; have +watched many a flirtation in the warm scented evenings; and have seen +girls become wives and wives mothers while I have lived amongst them. So +that although when the country settled down, and we built houses for +ourselves and returned more to English modes of living, I felt that I +was drifting away from them into the conventionality and ignorance of +our official lives, yet I had in my memory much of what I had seen, much +of what I had done, that I shall never forget. I felt that I had +been--even if it were only for a time--behind the veil, where it is so +hard to come. + +In looking over these memories it seemed to me that there were many +things I did not understand, acts of theirs and customs, which I had +seen and noted, but of which I did not know the reason. We all know how +hard it is to see into the heart even of our own people, those of our +flesh and blood who are with us always, whose ways are our ways, and +whose thoughts are akin to ours. And if this be so with them, it is ten +thousand times harder with those whose ways are not our ways, and from +whose thoughts we must be far apart. It is true that there are no dark +places in the lives of the Burmese as there are in the lives of other +Orientals. All is open to the light of day in their homes and in their +religion, and their women are the freest in the world. Yet the barriers +of a strange tongue and a strange religion, and of ways caused by +another climate than ours, is so great that, even to those of us who +have every wish and every opportunity to understand, it seems sometimes +as if we should never know their hearts. It seems as if we should never +learn more of their ways than just the outside--that curiously varied +outside which is so deceptive, and which is so apt to prevent our +understanding that they are men just as we are, and not strange +creations from some far-away planet. + +So when I settled down and sought to know more of the meaning of what I +had seen, I thought that first of all I must learn somewhat of their +religion, of that mainspring of many actions, which seemed sometimes +admirable, sometimes the reverse, and nearly always foreign to my ideas. +It is true that I knew they were Buddhists, that I recognized the +yellow-robed monks as followers of the word of Gaudama the Buddha, and +that I had a general acquaintance with the theory of their faith as +picked up from a book or two--notably, Rhys Davids' 'Buddhism' and +Bishop Bigandet's book--and from many inconsequent talks with the monks +and others. But the knowledge was but superficial, and I was painfully +aware that it did not explain much that I had seen and that I saw every +day. + +So I sent for more books, such books as had been published in English, +and I studied them, and hoped thereby to attain the explanations I +wanted; and as I studied, I watched as I could the doings of the people, +that I might see the effects of causes and the results of beliefs. I +read in these sacred books of the mystery of Dharma, of how a man has no +soul, no consciousness after death; that to the Buddhist 'dead men rise +up never,' and that those who go down to the grave are known no more. I +read that all that survives is the effect of a man's actions, the evil +effect, for good is merely negative, and that this is what causes pain +and trouble to the next life. Everything changes, say the sacred books, +nothing lasts even for a moment. It will be, and it has been, is the +life of man. The life that lives tomorrow in the next incarnation is no +more the life that died in the last than the flame we light in the lamp +to-day is the same that went out yesternight. It is as if a stone were +thrown into a pool--that is the life, the splash of the stone; all that +remains, when the stone lies resting in the mud and weeds below the +waters of forgetfulness, are the circles ever widening on the surface, +and the ripples never dying, but only spreading farther and farther +away. All this seemed to me a mystery such as I could not understand. +But when I went to the people, I found that it was simple enough to +them; for I found that they remembered their former lives often, that +children, young children, could tell who they were before they died, and +remember details of that former existence. As they grew older the +remembrance grew fainter and fainter, and at length almost died away. +But in many children it was quite fresh, and was believed in beyond +possibility of a doubt by all the people. So I saw that the teachings of +their sacred books and the thoughts of the people were not at one in +this matter. + +Again, I read that there was no God. Nats there were, spirits of great +power like angels, and there was the Buddha (the just man made perfect), +who had worked out for all men the way to reach surcease from evil; but +of God I saw nothing. And because the Buddha had reached heaven +(Nirvana), it would be useless to pray to him. For, having entered into +his perfect rest, he could not be disturbed by the sharp cry of those +suffering below; and if he heard, still he could not help; for each man +must through pain and sorrow work out for himself his own salvation. So +all prayer is futile. + +Then I remembered I had seen the young mother going to the pagoda on the +hilltop with a little offering of a few roses or an orchid spray, and +pouring out her soul in passionate supplication to Someone--Someone +unknown to her sacred books--that her firstborn might recover of his +fever, and be to her once more the measureless delight of her life; and +it would seem to me that she must believe in a God and in prayer after +all. + +So though I found much in these books that was believed by the people, +and much that was to them the guiding influence of their lives, yet I +was unable to trust to them altogether, and I was in doubt where to seek +for the real beliefs of these people. If I went to their monks, their +holy men, the followers of the great teacher, Gaudama, they referred me +to their books as containing all that a Buddhist believed; and when I +pointed out the discrepancies, they only shook their heads, and said +that the people were an ignorant people and confused their beliefs in +that way. + +And when I asked what was a Buddhist, I was told that, to be a Buddhist, +a man must be accepted into the religion with certain rites, certain +ceremonies, he must become for a time a member of the community of the +monks of the Buddha, and that a Buddhist was he who was so accepted, and +who thereafter held by the teachings of the Buddha. + +But when I searched the life of the Buddha, I could not find any such +ceremonies necessary at all. So that it seemed that the religion of the +Buddha was one religion, and the religion of the Buddhists another; but +when I said so to the monks, they were horror-struck, and said that it +was because I did not understand. + +In my perplexity I fell back, as we all must, to my own thoughts and +those of my own people; and I tried to imagine how a Burman would act if +he came to England to search into the religion of the English and to +know the impulses of our lives. + +I saw how he would be sent to the Bible as the source of our religion, +how he would be told to study that if he would know what we believed and +what we did not--what it was that gave colour to our lives. I followed +him in imagination as he took the Bible and studied it, and then went +forth and watched our acts, and I could see him puzzled, as I was now +puzzled when I studied his people. + +I thought of him reading the New Testament, and how he would come to +these verses: + +'27. But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them +which hate you, + +'28. Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use +you. + +'29. And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the +other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid him not to take thy +coat also. + +'30. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away +thy goods ask them not again.' + +He would read them again and again, these wonderful verses, that he was +told the people and Church believed, and then he would go forth to +observe the result of this belief. And what would he see? He would see +this: A nation proud and revengeful, glorying in her victories, always +at war, a conqueror of other peoples, a mighty hater of her enemies. He +would find that in the public life of the nation with other nations +there was no thought of this command. He would find, too, in her inner +life, that the man who took a cloak was not forgiven, but was terribly +punished--he used to be hanged. He would find---- But need I say what he +would find? Those who will read this are those very people--they know. +And the Burman would say at length to himself, Can this be the belief of +this people at all? Whatever their Book may say, they do not think that +it is good to humble yourself to your enemies--nay, but to strike hard +back. It is not good to let the wrong-doer go free. They think the best +way to stop crime is to punish severely. Those are their acts; the Book, +they say, is their belief. Could they act one thing and believe another? +Truly, _are_ these their beliefs? + +And, again, he would read how that riches are an offence to +righteousness: hardly shall a rich man enter into the kingdom of God. He +would read how the Teacher lived the life of the poorest among us, and +taught always that riches were to be avoided. + +And then he would go forth and observe a people daily fighting and +struggling to add field to field, coin to coin, till death comes and +ends the fight. He would see everywhere wealth held in great estimation; +he would see the very children urged to do well, to make money, to +struggle, to rise in the world. He would see the lives of men who have +become rich held up as examples to be followed. He would see the +ministers who taught the Book with fair incomes ranking themselves, not +with the poor, but with the middle classes; he would see the dignitaries +of the Church--the men who lead the way to heaven--among the wealthy of +the land. And he would wonder. Is it true, he would say to himself, that +these people believe that riches are an evil thing? Whence, then, come +their acts, for their acts seem to show that they hold riches to be a +good thing? What is to be accepted as their belief: the Book they say +they believe, which condemns riches, or their acts, by which they show +that they hold that wealth is a good thing--ay, and if used according to +their ideas of right, a very good thing indeed? + +So, it seemed to me, would a Burman be puzzled if he came to us to find +out our belief; and as the Burman's difficulty in England was, _mutatis +mutandis_, mine in Burma, I set to work to think the matter out. How +were the beliefs of a people to be known, and why should there be such +difficulties in the way? If I could understand how it was with us, it +might help me to know how it was with them. + +And I have thought that the difficulty arises from the fact that there +are two ways of seeing a religion--from within and from without--and +that these are as different as can possibly be. It is because we forget +there are the two standpoints that we fall into error. + +In every religion, to the believers in it, the crown and glory of their +creed is that it is a revelation of truth, a lifting of the veil, behind +which every man born into this mystery desires to look. + +They are sure, these believers, that they have the truth, that they +alone have the truth, and that it has come direct from where alone truth +can live. They believe that in their religion alone lies safety for man +from the troubles of this world and from the terrors and threats of the +next, and that those alone who follow its teaching will reach happiness +hereafter, if not here. They believe, too, that this truth only requires +to be known to be understood and accepted of all men; that as the sun +requires no witness of its warmth, so the truth requires no evidence of +its truth. + +It is to them so eternally true, so matchless in beauty, so convincing +in itself, that adherents of all other creeds have but to hear it +pronounced and they must believe. So, then, the question, How do you +know that your faith is true? is as vain and foolish as the cry of the +wind in an empty house. And if they be asked wherein lies their +religion, they will produce their sacred books, and declare that in them +is contained the whole matter. Here is the very word of truth, herein is +told the meaning of all things, herein alone lies righteousness. This, +they say, is their faith: that they believe in every line of it, this +truth from everlasting to everlasting, and that its precepts, and none +other, can be held by him who seeks to be a sincere believer. And to +these believers the manifestation of their faith is that its believers +attain salvation hereafter. But as that is in the next world, if the +unbeliever ask what is the manifestation in this, the believers will +answer him that the true mark and sign whereby a man may be known to +hold the truth is the observance of certain forms, the performance of +certain ceremonies, more or less mystical, more or less symbolical, of +some esoteric meaning. That a man should be baptized, should wear +certain marks on his forehead, should be accepted with certain rites, is +generally the outward and visible sign of a believer, and the badge +whereby others of the same faith have known their fellows. + +It has never been possible for any religion to make the acts and deeds +of its followers the test of their belief. And for these reasons: that +it is a test no one could apply, and that if anyone were to attempt to +apply it, there would soon be no Church at all. For to no one is it +given to be able to observe in their entirety all the precepts of their +prophet, whoever that prophet may be. All must fail, some more and some +less, but generally more, and thus all would fall from the faith at some +time or another, and there would be no Church left. And so another test +has been made necessary. If from his weakness a man cannot keep these +precepts, yet he can declare his belief in and his desire to keep them, +and here is a test that can be applied. Certain rites have been +instituted, and it has been laid down that those who by their submission +to these rites show their belief in the truth and their desire to follow +that truth as far as in them lies, shall be called the followers of the +faith. So in time it has come about that these ceremonial rites have +been held to be the true and only sign of the believer, and the fact +that they were but to be the earnest of the beginning and living of a +new life has become less and less remembered, till it has faded into +nothingness. Instead of the life being the main thing, and being +absolutely necessary to give value and emphasis to the belief, it has +come to pass that it is the belief, and the acceptance of the belief, +that has been held to hallow the life and excuse and palliate its +errors. + +Thus of every religion is this true, that its essence is a belief that +certain doctrines are revelations of eternal truth, and that the fruit +of this truth is the observance of certain forms. Morality and works +may or may not follow, but they are immaterial compared with the other. +This, put shortly, is the view of every believer. + +But to him who does not believe in a faith, who views it from without, +from the standpoint of another faith, the whole view is changed, the +whole perspective altered. Those landmarks which to one within the +circle seem to stand out and overtop the world are to the eyes of him +without dwarfed often into insignificance, and other points rise into +importance. + +For the outsider judges a religion as he judges everything else in this +world. He cannot begin by accepting it as the only revelation of truth; +he cannot proceed from the unknown to the known, but the reverse. First +of all, he tries to learn what the beliefs of the people really are, and +then he judges from their lives what value this religion has to them. He +looks to acts as proofs of beliefs, to lives as the ultimate effects of +thoughts. And he finds out very quickly that the sacred books of a +people can never be taken as showing more than approximately their real +beliefs. Always through the embroidery of the new creed he will find the +foundation of an older faith, of older faiths, perhaps, and below these, +again, other beliefs that seem to be part of no system, but to be the +outcome of the great fear that is in the world. + +The more he searches, the more he will be sure that there is only one +guide to a man's faith, to his soul, and that is not any book or system +he may profess to believe, but the real system that he follows--that is +to say, that a man's beliefs can be known even to himself from his acts +only. For it is futile to say that a man believes in one thing and does +another. That is not a belief at all. A man may cheat himself, and say +it is, but in his heart he knows that it is not. A belief is not a +proposition to be assented to, and then put away and forgotten. It is +always in our minds, and for ever in our thoughts. It guides our every +action, it colours our whole life. It is not for a day, but for ever. +When we have learnt that a cobra's bite is death, we do not put the +belief away in a pigeon-hole of our minds, there to rust for ever +unused, nor do we go straightway and pick up the first deadly snake that +we see. We remember it always; we keep it as a guiding principle of our +daily lives. + +A belief is a strand in the cord of our lives, that runs through every +fathom of it, from the time that it is first twisted among the others +till the time when that life shall end. And as it is thus impossible for +the onlooker to accept from adherents of a creed a definition of what +they really believe, so it is impossible for him to acknowledge the +forms and ceremonies of which they speak as the real manifestations of +their creed. + +It seems to the onlooker indifferent that men should be dipped in water +or not, that they should have their heads shaved or wear long hair. Any +belief that is worth considering at all must have results more +important to its believers, more valuable to mankind, than such signs as +these. It is true that of the great sign of all, that the followers of a +creed attain heaven hereafter, he cannot judge. He can only tell of what +he sees. This may or may not be true; but surely, if it be true, there +must be some sign of it here on earth beyond forms. A religion that fits +a soul for the hereafter will surely begin by fitting it for the +present, he will think. And it will show that it does so otherwise than +by ceremonies. + +For forms and ceremonies that have no fruit in action are not marks of a +living truth, but of a dead dogma. There is but little thought of forms +to him whose heart is full of the teaching of his Master, who has His +words within his heart, and whose soul is full of His love. It is when +beliefs die, and love has faded into indifference, that forms are +necessary, for to the living no monument is needed, but to the dead. +Forms and ceremonies are but the tombs of dead truths, put up to their +memory to recall to those who have never known them that they lived--and +died--long ago. + +And because men do not seek for signs of the living among the graveyards +of the dead, so it is not among the ceremonies of religions that we +shall find the manifestations of living beliefs. + +It is from the standpoint of this outsider that I have looked at and +tried to understand the soul of the Burmese people. When I have read or +heard of a teaching of Buddhism, I have always taken it to the test of +the daily life of the people to see whether it was a living belief or +no. I have accepted just so much as I could find the people have +accepted, such as they have taken into their hearts to be with them for +ever. A teaching that has been but a teaching or theory, a vain breath +of mental assent, has seemed to me of no value at all. The guiding +principles of their lives, whether in accordance with the teaching of +Buddhism or not, these only have seemed to me worthy of inquiry or +understanding. What I have desired to know is not their minds, but their +souls. And as this test of mine has obliged me to omit much that will be +found among the dogmas of Buddhism, so it has led me to accept many +things that have no place there at all. For I have thought that what +stirs the heart of man is his religion, whether he calls it religion or +not. That which makes the heart beat and the breath come quicker, love +and hate, and joy and sorrow--that has been to me as worthy of record as +his hopes of a future life. The thoughts that come into the mind of the +ploughman while he leads his team afield in the golden glory of the +dawn; the dreams that swell and move in the heart of the woman when she +knows the great mystery of a new life; whither the dying man's hopes and +fears are led--these have seemed to me the religion of the people as +well as doctrines of the unknown. For are not these, too, of the very +soul of the people? + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--I + + 'He who pointed out the way to those that had lost it.' + _Life of the Buddha._ + + +The life-story of Prince Theiddatha, who saw the light and became the +Buddha twenty-five centuries ago, has been told in English many times. +It has been told in translations from the Pali, from Burmese, and from +Chinese, and now everyone has read it. The writers, too, of these books +have been men of great attainments, of untiring industry in searching +out all that can be known of this life, of gifts such as I cannot aspire +to. There is now nothing new to learn of those long past days, nothing +fresh for me to tell, no discovery that can be made. Yet in thinking out +what I have to say about the religion of the Burmese, I have found that +I must tell again some of the life of the Buddha, I must rewrite this +ten-times-told tale, of which I know nothing new. And the reason is +this: that although I know nothing that previous writers have not known, +although I cannot bring to the task anything like their knowledge, yet +I have something to say that they have not said. For they have written +of him as they have learned from books, whereas I want to write of him +as I have learned from men. Their knowledge has been taken from the +records of the dead past, whereas mine is from the actualities of the +living present. + +I do not mean that the Buddha of the sacred books and the Buddha of the +Burman's belief are different persons. They are the same. But as I found +it with their faith, so I find it with the life of their teacher. The +Burmese regard the life of the Buddha from quite a different standpoint +to that of an outsider, and so it has to them quite a different value, +quite a different meaning, to that which it has to the student of +history. For to the writer who studies the life of the Buddha with a +view merely to learn what that life was, and to criticise it, everything +is very different to what it is to the Buddhist who studies that life +because he loves it and admires it, and because he desires to follow it. +To the former the whole detail of every portion of the life of the +Buddha, every word of his teaching, every act of his ministry, is sought +out and compared and considered. Legend is compared with legend, and +tradition with tradition, that out of many authorities some clue to the +actual fact may be found. But to the Buddhist the important parts in the +great teacher's life are those acts, those words, that appeal directly +to him, that stand out bravely, lit with the light of his own +experiences and feelings, that assist him in living his own life. His +Buddha is the Buddha he understands, and who understood and sympathized +with such as him. Other things may be true, but they are matters of +indifference. + +To hear of the Buddha from living lips in this country, which is full of +his influence, where the spire of his monastery marks every village, and +where every man has at one time or another been his monk, is quite a +different thing to reading of him in far countries, under other skies +and swayed by other thoughts. To sit in the monastery garden in the +dusk, in just such a tropic dusk as he taught in so many years ago, and +hear the yellow-robed monk tell of that life, and repeat his teaching of +love, and charity, and compassion--eternal love, perfect charity, +endless compassion--until the stars come out in the purple sky, and the +silver-voiced gongs ring for evening prayers, is a thing never to be +forgotten. As you watch the starlight die and the far-off hills fade +into the night, as the sounds about you still, and the calm silence of +the summer night falls over the whole earth, you know and understand the +teacher of the Great Peace as no words can tell you. A sympathy comes to +you from the circle of believers, and you believe, too. An influence and +an understanding breathes from the nature about you--the same nature +that the teacher saw--from the whispering fig-trees and the scented +champaks, and the dimly seen statues in the shadows of the shrines, that +you can never gain elsewhere. And as the monks tell you the story of +that great life, they bring it home to you with reflection and comment, +with application to your everyday existence, till you forget that he of +whom they speak lived so long ago, so very long ago, and your heart is +filled with sorrow when you remember that he is dead, that he is entered +into his peace. + +I do not hope that I can convey much of this in my writing. I always +feel the hopelessness of trying to put on paper the great thoughts, the +intense feeling, of which Buddhism is so full. But still I can, perhaps, +give something of this life as I have heard it, make it a little more +living than it has been to us, catch some little of that spirit of +sympathy that it holds for all the world. + +Around the life of the Buddha has gathered much myth, like dust upon an +ancient statue, like shadows upon the mountains far away, blurring +detail here and there, and hiding the beauty. There are all sorts of +stories of the great portents that foretold his coming: how the sun and +the stars knew, and how the wise men prophesied. Marvels attended his +birth, and miracles followed him in life and in death. And the +appearance of the miraculous has even been heightened by the style of +the chroniclers in telling us of his mental conflicts: by the +personification of evil in the spirit Man, and of desire in his three +beautiful daughters. + +All the teacher's thoughts, all his struggles, are materialized into +forms, that they may be more readily brought home to the reader, that +they may be more clearly realized by a primitive people as actual +conflicts. + +Therefore at first sight it seems that of all creeds none is so full of +miracle, so teeming with the supernatural, as Buddhism, which is, +indeed, the very reverse of the truth. For to the supernatural Buddhism +owes nothing at all. It is in its very essence opposed to all that goes +beyond what we can see of earthly laws, and miracle is never used as +evidence of the truth of any dogma or of any doctrine. + +If every supernatural occurrence were wiped clean out of the chronicles +of the faith, Buddhism would, even to the least understanding of its +followers, remain exactly where it is. Not in one jot or tittle would it +suffer in the authority of its teaching. The great figure of the teacher +would even gain were all the tinsel of the miraculous swept from him, so +that he stood forth to the world as he lived--would gain not only to our +eyes, but even to theirs who believe in him. For the Buddha was no +prophet. He was no messenger from any power above this world, revealing +laws of that power. No one came to whisper into his ear the secrets of +eternity, and to show him where truth lived. In no trance, in no +vision, did he enter into the presence of the Unknown, and return from +thence full of the wisdom of another world; neither did he teach the +worship of any god, of any power. He breathed no threatenings of revenge +for disobedience, of forgiveness for the penitent. He held out no +everlasting hell to those who refused to follow him, no easily gained +heaven to his believers. + +He went out to seek wisdom, as many a one has done, looking for the laws +of God with clear eyes to see, with a pure heart to understand, and +after many troubles, after many mistakes, after much suffering, he came +at last to the truth. + +Even as Newton sought for the laws of God in the movement of the stars, +in the falling of a stone, in the stir of the great waters, so this +Newton of the spiritual world sought for the secrets of life and death, +looking deep into the heart of man, marking its toil, its suffering, its +little joys, with a soul attuned to catch every quiver of the life of +the world. And as to Newton truth did not come spontaneously, did not +reveal itself to him at his first call, but had to be sought with toil +and weariness, till at last he reached it where it hid in the heart of +all things, so it was with the prince. He was not born with the +knowledge in him, but had to seek it as every other man has done. He +made mistakes as other men do. He wasted time and labour following wrong +roads, demonstrating to himself the foolishness of many thoughts. But, +never discouraged, he sought on till he found, and what he found he +gave as a heritage to all men for ever, that the way might be easier for +them than it had been for him. + +Nothing is more clear than this: that to the Buddhist his teacher was +but a man like himself, erring and weak, who made himself perfect, and +that even as his teacher has done, so, too, may he if he do but observe +the everlasting laws of life which the Buddha has shown to the world. +These laws are as immutable as Newton's laws, and come, like his, from +beyond our ken. + +And this, too, is another point wherein the parallel with Newton will +help us: that just as when Newton discovered gravitation he was obliged +to stop, for his knowledge of that did not lead him at once to the +knowledge of the infinite, so when he had attained the laws of +righteousness, Gaudama the Buddha also stopped, because here his +standing-ground failed. It is not true, that which has been imputed to +the Buddha by those who have never tried to understand him--that he +denied some power greater than ourselves; that because he never tried to +define the indefinite, to confine the infinite within the corners of a +phrase, therefore his creed was materialistic. We do not say of Newton +that he was an atheist because when he taught us of gravity he did not +go further and define to us in equations Him who made gravity; and as we +understand more of the Buddha, as we search into life and consider his +teaching, as we try to think as he thought, and to see as he saw, we +understand that he stopped as Newton stopped, because he had come to the +end of all that he could see, not because he declared that he knew all +things, and that beyond his knowledge there was nothing. + +No teacher more full of reverence, more humble than Gaudama the Buddha +ever lived to be an example to us through all time. He tells us of what +he knows; of what he knows not he is silent. Of the laws that he can +see, the great sequences of life to death, of evil to sorrow, of +goodness to happiness, he tells in burning words. Of the beginning and +the end of the world, of the intentions and the ways of the great +Unknown, he tells us nothing at all. He is no prophet, as we understand +the word, but a man; and all that is divine in him beyond what there is +in us is that he hated the darkness and sought the light, sought and was +not dismayed, and at last he found. + +And yet nothing could be further from the truth than to call the Buddha +a philosopher and Buddhism a philosophy. Whatever he was, he was no +philosopher. Although he knew not any god, although he rested his claims +to be heard upon the fact that his teachings were clear and +understandable, that you were not required to believe, but only to open +your eyes and see, and 'his delight was in the contemplation of +unclouded truth,' yet he was far from a philosopher. His was not an +appeal to our reason, to our power of putting two and two together and +making five of them; his teachings were no curious designs woven with +words, the counters of his thought. He appealed to the heart, not to the +brain; to our feelings, not to our power of arranging these feelings. He +drew men to him by love and reverence, and held them so for ever. Love +and charity and compassion, endless compassion, are the foundations of +his teachings; and his followers believe in him because they have seen +in him the just man made perfect, and because he has shown to them the +way in which all men may become even as he is. + +He was a prince in a little kingdom in the Northeast of India, the son +of King Thudoodana and his wife Maia. He was strong, we are told, and +handsome, famous in athletic exercises, and his father looked forward to +the time when he should be grown a great man, and a leader of armies. +His father's ambition for him was that he should be a great conqueror, +that he should lead his troops against the neighbouring kings and +overcome them, and in time make for himself a wide-stretching empire. +India was in those days, as in many later ones, split up into little +kingdoms, divided from each other by no natural boundary, overlooked by +no sovereign power, and always at war. And the king, as fathers are, was +full of dreams that this son of his should subdue all India to himself, +and be the glory of his dynasty, and the founder of a great race. + +Everything seemed to fall in with the desire of the king. The prince +grew up strong and valiant, skilled in action, wise in counsel, so that +all his people were proud of him. Everything fell in with the desire of +the king except the prince himself, for instead of being anxious to +fight, to conquer other countries, to be a great leader of armies, his +desires led him away from all this. Even as a boy he was meditative and +given to religious musings, and as he grew up he became more and more +confirmed in his wish to know of sacred things, more and more an +inquirer into the mysteries of life. + +He was taught all the faith of those days, a faith so old that we do not +know whence it came. He was brought up to believe that life is immortal, +that no life can ever utterly die. He was taught that all life is one; +that there is not one life of the beasts and one life of men, but that +all life was one glorious unity, one great essence coming from the +Unknown. Man is not a thing apart from this world, but of it. As man's +body is but the body of beasts, refined and glorified, so the soul of +man is but a higher stage of the soul of beasts. Life is a great ladder. +At the bottom are the lower forms of animals, and some way up is man; +but all are climbing upwards for ever, and sometimes, alas! falling +back. Existence is for each man a great struggle, punctuated with many +deaths; and each death ends one period but to allow another to begin, to +give us a new chance of working up and gaining heaven. + +He was taught that this ladder is very high, that its top is very far +away, above us, out of our sight, and that perfection and happiness lie +up there, and that we must strive to reach them. The greatest man, even +the greatest king, was farther below perfection than an animal was below +him. We are very near the beasts, but very far from heaven. So he was +taught to remember that even as a very great prince he was but a weak +and erring soul, and that unless he lived well, and did honest deeds, +and was a true man, instead of rising he might fall. + +This teaching appealed to the prince far more than all the urging of his +father and of the courtiers that he should strive to become a great +conqueror. It entered into his very soul, and his continual thought was +how he was to be a better man, how he was to use this life of his so +that he should gain and not lose, and where he was to find happiness. + +All the pomp and glory of the palace, all its luxury and ease, appealed +to him very little. Even in his early youth he found but little pleasure +in it, and he listened more to those who spoke of holiness than to those +who spoke of war. He desired, we are told, to become a hermit, to cast +off from him his state and dignity, and to put on the yellow garments of +a mendicant, and beg his bread wandering up and down upon the world, +seeking for peace. + +This disposition of the prince grieved his parents very much. That their +son, who was so full of promise, so brave and so strong, so wise and so +much beloved by everyone, should become a mendicant clad in unclean +garments, begging his daily food from house to house, seemed to them a +horrible thing. It could never be permitted that a prince should +disgrace himself in this way. Every effort must be taken to eradicate +such ideas; after all, it was but the melancholy of youth, and it would +pass. So stringent orders were given to distract his mind in every way +from solemn thoughts, to attempt by a continued round of pleasure and +luxury to attract him to more worldly things. And when he was eighteen +he was married to his cousin Yathodaya, in the hope that in marriage and +paternity he might forget his desire to be a hermit, might feel that +love was better than wisdom. And if Yathodaya had been other than she +was--who can tell?--perhaps after all the king might have succeeded; but +it was not to be so. For to Yathodaya, too, life was a very solemn +thing, not to be thrown away in laughter and frivolity, but to be used +as a great gift worthy of all care. To the prince in his trouble there +came a kindred soul, and though from the palace all the teachers of +religion, all who would influence the prince against the desires of his +father, were banished, yet Yathodaya more than made up to him for all he +had lost. For nearly ten years they lived together there such a life as +princes led in those days in the East, not, perhaps, so very different +from what they lead now. + +And all that time the prince had been gradually making up his mind, +slowly becoming sure that life held something better than he had yet +found, hardening his determination that he must leave all that he had +and go out into the world looking for peace. Despite all the efforts of +the king his father, despite the guards and his young men companions, +despite the beauty of the dancing-girls, the mysteries of life came home +to him, and he was afraid. It is a beautiful story told in quaint +imagery how it was that the knowledge of sickness and of death came to +him, a horror stalking amid the glories of his garden. He learnt, and he +understood, that he too would grow old, would fall sick, would die. And +beyond death? There was the fear, and no one could allay it. Daily he +grew more and more discontented with his life in the palace, more and +more averse to the pleasures that were around him. Deeper and deeper he +saw through the laughing surface to the depths that lay beneath. +Silently all these thoughts ripened in his mind, till at last the change +came. We are told that the end came suddenly, the resolve was taken in a +moment. The lake fills and fills until at length it overflows, and in a +night the dam is broken, and the pent-up waters are leaping far towards +the sea. + +As the prince returned from his last drive in his garden with resolve +firmly established in his heart, there came to him the news that his +wife had borne to him a son. Wife and child, his cup of desire was now +full. But his resolve was unshaken. 'See, here is another tie, alas! a +new and stronger tie that I must break,' he said; but he never wavered. + +That night the prince left the palace. Silently in the dead of night he +left all the luxury about him, and went out secretly with only his +faithful servant, Maung San, to saddle for him his horse and lead him +forth. Only before he left he looked in cautiously to see Yathodaya, the +young wife and mother. She was lying asleep, with one hand upon the face +of her firstborn, and the prince was afraid to go further. 'To see him,' +he said, 'I must remove the hand of his mother, and she may awake; and +if she awake, how shall I depart? I will go, then, without seeing my +son. Later on, when all these passions are faded from my heart, when I +am sure of myself, perhaps then I shall be able to see him. But now I +must go.' + +So he went forth very silently and very sadly, and leapt upon his +horse--the great white horse that would not neigh for fear of waking the +sleeping guards--and the prince and his faithful noble Maung San went +out into the night. He was only twenty-eight when he fled from all his +world, and what he sought was this: 'Deliverance for men from the misery +of life, and the knowledge of the truth that will lead them unto the +Great Peace.' + +This is the great renunciation. + +I have often talked about this with the monks and others, often heard +them speak about this great renunciation, of this parting of the prince +and his wife. + +'You see,' said a monk once to me, 'he was not yet the Buddha, he had +not seen the light, only he was desirous to look for it. He was just a +prince, just a man like any other man, and he was very fond of his wife. +It is very hard to resist a woman if she loves you and cries, and if you +love her. So he was afraid.' + +And when I said that Yathodaya was also religious, and had helped him in +his thoughts, and that surely she would not have stopped him, the monk +shook his head. + +'Women are not like that,' he said. + +And a woman said to me once: 'Surely she was very much to be pitied +because her husband went away from her and her baby. Do you think that +when she talked religion with her husband she ever thought that it would +cause him to leave her and go away for ever? If she had thought that, +she would never have done as she did. A woman would never help anything +to sever her husband from her, not even religion. And when after ten +years a baby had come to her! Surely she was very much to be pitied.' +This woman made me understand that the highest religion of a woman is +the true love of her husband, of her children; and what is it to her if +she gain the whole world, but lose that which she would have? + +All the story of Yathodaya and her dealings with her husband is full of +the deepest pathos, full of passionate protest against her loss, even in +order that her husband and all the world should gain. She would have +held him, if she could, against the world, and deemed that she did well. +And so, though it is probable that it was a great deal owing to +Yathodaya's help, to her sympathy, to her support in all his +difficulties, that Gaudama came to his final resolve to leave the world +and seek for the truth, yet she acted unwittingly of what would be the +end. + +'She did not know,' said the woman. 'She helped her husband, but she did +not know to what. And when she was ill, when she was giving birth to her +baby, then her husband left her. Surely she was very much to be pitied.' + +And so Yathodaya, the wife of the Prince Gaudama, who became the Buddha, +is held in high honour, in great esteem, by all Buddhists. By the men, +because she helped her husband to his resolve to seek for the truth, +because she had been his great stay and help when everyone was against +him, because if there had been no Yathodaya there had been perchance no +Buddha. And by the women--I need not say why she is honoured by all +women. If ever there was a story that appealed to woman's heart, surely +it is this: her love, her abandonment, her courage, her submission when +they met again in after-years, her protest against being sacrificed upon +the altar of her husband's religion. Truly, it is all of the very +essence of humanity. Whenever the story of the Buddha comes to be +written, then will be written also the story of the life of Yathodaya +his wife. If one is full of wisdom and teaching, the other is full of +suffering and teaching also. I cannot write it here. I have so much to +say on other matters that there is no room. But some day it will be +written, I trust, this old message to a new world. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +HE WHO FOUND THE LIGHT--II + + 'He who never spake but good and wise words, he who was the light + of the world, has found too soon the Peace.'--_Lament on the death + of the Buddha._ + + +The prince rode forth into the night, and as he went, even in the first +flush of his resolve, temptation came to him. As the night closed behind +he remembered all he was leaving: he remembered his father and his +mother; his heart was full of his wife and child. + +'Return!' said the devil to him. 'What seek you here? Return, and be a +good son, a good husband, a good father. Remember all that you are +leaving to pursue vain thoughts. You, a great man--you might be a great +king, as your father wishes--a mighty conqueror of nations. The night is +very dark, and the world before you is very empty.' + +The prince's heart was full of bitterness at the thought of those he +loved, of all that he was losing. Yet he never wavered. He would not +even turn to look his last on the great white city lying in a silver +dream behind him. He set his face upon his way, trampling beneath him +every worldly consideration, despising a power that was but vanity and +illusion; he went on into the dark. + +Presently he came to a river, the boundary of his father's kingdom, and +here he stopped. Then the prince turned to Maung San, and told him that +he must return. Beyond the river lay for the prince the life of a holy +man, who needed neither servant nor horse, and Maung San must return. +All his prayers were in vain; his supplications that he might be allowed +to follow his master as a disciple; his protestations of eternal faith. +No, he must return; so Maung San went back with the horse, and the +prince was alone. + +As he waited there alone by the river, alone in the dark waiting for the +dawn ere he could cross, alone with his own fears and thoughts, doubt +came to him again. He doubted if he had done right, whether he should +ever find the light, whether, indeed, there was any light to find, and +in his doubt and distress he asked for a sign. He desired that it might +be shown to him whether all his efforts would be in vain or not, whether +he should ever win in the struggle that was before him. We are told that +the sign came to him, and he knew that, whatever happened, in the end +all would go well, and he would find that which he sought. + +So he crossed the river out of his father's kingdom into a strange +country, and he put on the garment of a recluse, and lived as they did. + +He sought his bread as they did, going from house to house for the +broken victuals, which he collected in a bowl, retiring to a quiet spot +to eat. + +The first time he collected this strange meal and attempted to eat, his +very soul rose against the distastefulness of the mess. He who had been +a prince, and accustomed to the very best of everything, could not at +first bring himself to eat such fare, and the struggle was bitter. But +in the end here, too, he conquered. 'Was I not aware,' he said, with +bitter indignation at his weakness, 'that when I became a recluse I must +eat such food as this? Now is the time to trample upon the appetite of +nature.' He took up his bowl, and ate with a good appetite, and the +fight had never to be fought again. + +So in the fashion of those days he became a seeker after truth. Men, +then, when they desired to find holiness, to seek for that which is +better than the things of this world, had to begin their search by an +utter repudiation of all that which the world holds good. The rich and +worldly wore handsome garments, they would wear rags; those of the world +were careful of their personal appearance, they would despise it; those +of the world were cleanly, the hermits were filthy; those of the world +were decent, and had a care for outward observances, and so hermits had +no care for either decency or modesty. The world was evil, surely, and +therefore all that the world held good was surely evil too. Wisdom was +to be sought in the very opposites of the conventions of men. + +The prince took on him their garments, and went to them to learn from +all that which they had learnt. He went to all the wisest hermits of the +land, to those renowned for their wisdom and holiness; and this is what +they taught him, this is all the light they gave to him who came to them +for light. 'There is,' they said, 'the soul and the body of man, and +they are enemies; therefore, to punish the soul, you must destroy and +punish the body. All that the body holds good is evil to the soul.' So +they purified their souls by ceremonies and forms, by torture and +starvation, by nakedness and contempt of decency, by nameless +abominations. And the young prince studied all their teaching, and +essayed to follow their example, and he found it was all of no use. Here +he could find no way to happiness, no raising of the soul to higher +planes, but, rather, a degradation towards the beasts. For +self-punishment is just as much a submission to the flesh as luxury and +self-indulgence. How can you forget the body, and turn the soul to +better thoughts, if you are for ever torturing that body, and thereby +keeping it in memory? You can keep your lusts just as easily before your +eyes by useless punishment as by indulgence. And how can you turn your +mind to meditation and thought if your body is in suffering? So the +prince soon saw that here was not the way he wanted. His soul revolted +from them and their austerities, and he left them. As he fathomed the +emptiness of his counsellors of the palace, so he fathomed the emptiness +of the teachers of the cave and monastery. If the powerful and wealthy +were ignorant, wisdom was not to be found among the poor and feeble, and +he was as far from it as when he left the palace. Yet he did not +despair. Truth was somewhere, he was sure; it must be found if only it +be looked for with patience and sincerity, and he would find it. Surely +there was a greater wisdom than mere contempt of wealth and comfort, +surely a greater happiness than could be found in self-torture and +hysteria. And so, as he could find no one to teach him, he went out into +the forest to look for truth there. In the great forest where no one +comes, where the deer feed and the tiger creeps, he would seek what man +could not give him. They would know, those great trees that had seen a +thousand rains, and outlived thirty generations of men; they would know, +those streams that flashed from the far snow summits; surely the forest +and the hills, the dawn and the night, would have something to tell him +of the secrets of the world. Nature can never lie, and here, far away +from the homes of men, he would learn the knowledge that men could not +give him. With a body purified by abstinence, with a heart attuned by +solitude, he would listen as the winds talked to the mountains in the +dusk, and understand the beckoning of the stars. And so, as many others +did then and afterwards, he left mankind and went to Nature for help. +For six years he lived so in the fastnesses of the hills. + +We are told but very little of those six years, only that he was often +very lonely, often very sad with the remembrance of all whom he had +left. 'Think not,' he said many years later to a favourite +disciple--'think not that I, though the Buddha, have not felt all this +even as any other of you. Was I not alone when I was seeking for wisdom +in the wilderness? And yet what could I have gained by wailing and +lamentation either for myself or for others? Would it have brought to me +any solace from my loneliness? Would it have been any help to those I +had left?' + +We are told that his fame as a solitary, as a a man who communed with +Nature, and subdued his own lower feelings, was so great that all men +knew of it. His fame was as a 'bell hung in the canopy of the skies,' +that all nations heard; and many disciples came to him. But despite all +his fame among men, he himself knew that he had not yet come to the +truth. Even the great soul of Nature had failed to tell him what he +desired. The truth was as far off as ever, so he thought, and to those +that came to him for wisdom he had nothing to teach. So, at the end of +six years, despairing of finding that which he sought, he entered upon a +great fast, and he pushed it to such an extreme that at length he +fainted from sheer exhaustion and starvation. + +When he came to himself he recognised that he had failed again. No +light had shone upon his dimmed eyes, no revelation had come to him in +his senselessness. All was as before, and the truth--the truth, where +was that? + +For this man was no inspired teacher. He had no one to show him the way +he should go; he was tried with failure, with failure after failure. He +learnt as other men learn, through suffering and mistake. Here was his +third failure. The rich had failed him, and the poor; even the voices of +the hills had not told him of what he would know; the radiant finger of +dawn had pointed to him no way to happiness. Life was just as miserable, +as empty, as meaningless, as before. + +All that he had done was in vain, and he must try again, must seek out +some new way, if he were ever to find that which he sought. + +He rose from where he lay, and took his bowl in his hands and went to +the nearest village, and ate heartily and drank, and his strength came +back to him, and the beauty he had lost returned. + +And then came the final blow: his disciples left him in scorn. + +'Behold,' they said to each other, 'he has lived through six years of +mortification and suffering in vain. See, now, he goes forth and eats +food, and assuredly he who does this will never attain wisdom. Our +master's search is not after wisdom, but worldly things; we must look +elsewhere for the guidance that we seek.' + +They departed, leaving him to bear his disappointment alone, and they +went into the solitude far away, to continue in their own way and pursue +their search after their own method. He who was to be the Buddha had +failed, and was alone. + +To the followers of the Buddha, to those of our brothers who are trying +to follow his teachings and emulate his example to attain a like reward, +can there be any greater help than this: amid the failure and despair of +our own lives to remember that the teacher failed, even as we are doing? +If we find the way dark and weary, if our footsteps fail, if we wander +in wrong paths, did not he do the same? And if we find we have to bear +sufferings alone, so had he; if we find no one who can comfort us, +neither did he; as we know in our hearts that we stand alone, to fight +with our own hands, so did he. He is no model of perfection whom it is +hopeless for us to imitate, but a man like ourselves, who failed and +fought, and failed and fought again, and won. And so, if we fail, we +need not despair. Did not our teacher fail? What he has done, we can do, +for he has told us so. Let us be up again and be of good heart, and we, +too, shall win in the end, even as he did. The reward will come in its +own good time if we strive and faint not. + +Surely this comes home to all of our hearts--this failure of him who +found the light. That he should have won--ah, well, that is beautiful; +but that he should have failed--and failed, that is what comes home to +us, because we too have failed many times. Can you wonder that his +followers love him? Can you wonder that his teaching has come home to +them as never did teaching elsewhere? I do not think it is hard to see +why: it is simply because he was a man as we are. Had he been other than +a man, had truth been revealed to him from the beginning, had he never +fought, had he never failed, do you think that he would have held the +love of men as he does? I fear, had it been so, this people would have +lacked a soul. + +His disciples left him, and he was alone. He went away to a great grove +of trees near by--those beautiful groves of mango and palm and fig that +are the delight of the heart in that land of burning, flooding +sunshine--and there he slept, defeated, discredited, and abandoned; and +there the truth came to him. + +There is a story of how a young wife, coming to offer her little +offerings to the spirit of the great fig-tree, saw him, and took him for +the spirit, so beautiful was his face as he rose. + +There are spirits in all the great trees, in all the rivers, in all the +hills--very beautiful, very peaceful, loving calm and rest. + +The woman thought he was the spirit come down to accept her offering, +and she gave it to him--the cup of curdled milk--in fear and trembling, +and he took it. The woman went away again full of hope and joy, and the +prince remained in the grove. He lived there for forty-nine days, we +are told, under the great fig-tree by the river. And the fig-tree has +become sacred for ever because he sat there and because there he found +the truth. We are told of it all in wonderful trope and imagery--of his +last fight over sin, and of his victory. + +There the truth came to him at last out of his own heart. He had sought +for it in men and in Nature, and found it not, and, lo! it was in his +own heart. + +When his eyes were cleared of imaginings, and his body purified by +temperance, then at last he saw, down in his own soul, what he had +sought the world over for. Every man carries it there. It is never dead, +but lives with our life, this light that we seek. We darken it, and turn +our faces from it to follow strange lights, to pursue vague glimmers in +the dark, and there, all the time, is the light in each man's own heart. +Darkened it may be, crusted over with our ignorance and sin, but never +dead, never dead, always burning brightly for us when we care to seek +for it. + +The truth for each man is in his own soul. And so it came at last, and +he who saw the light went forth and preached it to all the world. He +lived a long life, a life full of wonderful teaching, of still more +marvellous example. All the world loved him. + +He saw again Yathodaya, she who had been his wife; he saw his son. Now, +when passion was dead in him, he could do these things. And Yathodaya +was full of despair, for if all the world had gained a teacher, she had +lost a husband. So it will be for ever. This is the difference between +men and women. She became a nun, poor soul! and her son--his son--became +one of his disciples. + +I do not think it is necessary for me to tell much more of his life. +Much has been told already by Professor Max Mueller and other scholars, +who have spared no pains to come to the truth of that life. I do not +wish to say more. So far, I have written to emphasize the view which, I +think, the Burmese take of the Buddha, and how he came to his wisdom, +how he loved, and how he died. + +He died at a great age, full of years and love. The story of his death +is most beautiful. There is nowhere anything more wonderful than how, at +the end of that long good life, he entered into the Great Peace for +which he had prepared his soul. + +'Ananda,' he said to his weeping disciple, 'do not be too much concerned +with what shall remain of me when I have entered into the Peace, but be +rather anxious to practise the works that lead to perfection; put on +those inward dispositions that will enable you also to reach the +everlasting rest.' + +And again: + +'When I shall have left life and am no more seen by you, do not believe +that I am no longer with you. You have the laws that I have found, you +have my teachings still, and in them I shall be ever beside you. Do +not, therefore, think that I have left you alone for ever.' + +And before he died: + +'Remember,' he said, 'that life and death are one. Never forget this. +For this purpose have I gathered you together; for life and death are +one.' + +And so 'the great and glorious teacher,' he who never spoke but good and +wise words, he who has been the light of the world, entered into the +Peace. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE WAY TO THE GREAT PEACE + + 'Come to Me: I teach a doctrine which leads to deliverance from all + the miseries of life.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +To understand the teaching of Buddhism, it must be remembered that to +the Buddhist, as to the Brahmin, man's soul is eternal. + +In other faiths and other philosophies this is not so. There the soul is +immortal; it cannot die, but each man's soul appeared newly on his +birth. Its beginning is very recent. + +To the Buddhist the beginning as well as the end is out of our ken. +Where we came from we cannot know, but certainly the soul that appears +in each newborn babe is not a new thing. It has come from everlasting, +and the present life is merely a scene in the endless drama of +existence. A man's identity, the sum of good and of evil tendencies, +which is his soul, never dies, but endures for ever. Each body is but a +case wherein the soul is enshrined for the time. + +And the state of that soul, whether good predominate in it or evil, is +purely dependent on that soul's thoughts and actions in time past. + +Men are not born by chance wise or foolish, righteous or wicked, strong +or feeble. A man's condition in life is the absolute result of an +eternal law that as a man sows so shall he reap; that as he reaps so has +he sown. + +Therefore, if you find a man's desires naturally given towards evil, it +is because he has in his past lives educated himself to evil. And if he +is righteous and charitable, long-suffering and full of sympathy, it is +because in his past existence he has cultivated these virtues; he has +followed goodness, and it has become a habit of his soul. + +Thus is every man his own maker. He has no one to blame for his +imperfections but himself, no one to thank for his virtues but himself. +Within the unchangeable laws of righteousness each man is absolutely the +creator of himself and of his own destiny. It has lain, and it lies, +within each man's power to determine what manner of man he shall be. +Nay, it not only lies within his power to do so, but a man _must_ +actually mould himself. There is no other way in which he can develop. + +Every man has had an equal chance. If matters are somewhat unequal now, +there is no one to blame but himself. It is within his power to retrieve +it, not perhaps in this short life, but in the next, maybe, or the next. + +Man is not made perfect all of a sudden, but takes time to grow, like +all valuable things. You might as well expect to raise a teak-tree in +your garden in a night as to make a righteous man in a day. And thus not +only is a man the sum of his passions, his acts and his thoughts, in +past time, but he is in his daily life determining his future--what sort +of man he shall be. Every act, every thought, has its effect, not only +upon the outer world, but upon the inner soul. If you follow after evil, +it becomes in time a habit of your soul. If you follow after good, every +good act is a beautifying touch to your own soul. + +Man is as he has made himself; man will be as he makes himself. This is +a very simple theory, surely. It is not at all difficult to understand +the Buddhist standpoint in the matter. It is merely the theory of +evolution applied to the soul, with this difference: that in its later +stages it has become a deliberate and a conscious evolution, and not an +unconscious one. + +And the deduction from this is also simple. It is true, says Buddhism, +that every man is the architect of himself, that he can make himself as +he chooses. Now, what every man desires is happiness. As a man can form +himself as he will, it is within his power to make himself happy, if he +only knows how. Let us therefore carefully consider what happiness is, +that we may attain it; what misery is, that we may avoid it. + +It is a commonplace of many religions, and of many philosophies--nay, +it is the actual base upon which they have been built, that this is an +evil world. + +Judaism, indeed, thought that the world was really a capital place, and +that it was worth while doing well in order to enjoy it. But most other +faiths thought very differently. Indeed, the very meaning of most +religions and philosophies has been that they should be refuges from the +wickedness and unhappiness of the world. According to them the world has +been a very weary world, full of wickedness and of deceit, of war and +strife, of untruth and of hate, of all sorts of evil. + +The world has been wicked, and man has been unhappy in it. + +'I do not know that any theory has usually been propounded to explain +why this is so. It has been accepted as a fact that man is unhappy, +accepted, I think, by most faiths over the world. Indeed, it is the +belief that has been, one thinks, the cause of faiths. Had the world +been happy, surely there had been no need of religions. In a summer sea, +where is the need of havens? It is a generally-accepted fact, accepted, +as I have said, without explanation. But the Buddhist has not been +contented to leave it so. He has thought that it is in the right +explanation of this cardinal fact that lies all truth. Life suffers from +a disease called misery. He would be free from it. Let us, then, says +the Buddhist, first discover the cause of this misery, and so only can +we understand how to cure it.' It is this explanation which is really +the distinguishing tenet of Buddhism, which differentiates it from all +other faiths and all philosophies. + +The reason, says Buddhism, why men are unhappy is that they are alive. +Life and sorrow are inseparable--nay, they are one and the same thing. +The mere fact of being alive is a misery. When you have clear eyes and +discern the truth, you shall see this without a doubt, says the +Buddhist. For consider, What man has ever sat down and said: 'Now am I +in perfect happiness; just as I now am would I like to remain for ever +and for ever without change'? No man has ever done so. What men desire +is change. They weary of the present, and desire the future; and when +the future comes they find it no better than the past. Happiness lies in +yesterday and in to-morrow, but never in to-day. In youth we look +forward, in age we look back. What is change but the death of the +present? Life is change, and change is death, so says the Buddhist. Men +shudder at and fear death, and yet death and life are the same +thing--inseparable, indistinguishable, and one with sorrow. We men who +desire life are as men athirst and drinking of the sea. Every drop we +drink of the poisoned sea of existence urges on men surely to greater +thirst still. Yet we drink on blindly, and say that we are athirst. + +This is the explanation of Buddhism. The world is unhappy because it is +alive, because it does not see that what it should strive for is not +life, not change and hurry and discontent and death, but peace--the +Great Peace. There is the goal to which a man should strive. + +See now how different it is from the Christian theory. In Christianity +there are two lives--this and the next. The present is evil, because it +is under the empire of the devil--the world, the flesh, and the devil. +The next will be beautiful, because it is under the reign of God, and +the devil cannot intrude. + +But Buddhism acknowledges only one life--an existence that has come from +the forever, that may extend to the forever. If this life is evil, then +is all life evil, and happiness can live but in peace, in surcease from +the troubles of this weary world. If, then, a man desire happiness--and +in all faiths that is the desired end--he must strive to attain peace. +This, again, is not a difficult idea to understand. It seems to me so +simple that, when once it has been listened to, it may be understood by +a child. I do not say believed and followed, but understood. Belief is a +different matter. 'The law is deep; it is difficult to know and to +believe it. It is very sublime, and can be comprehended only by means of +earnest meditation,' for Buddhism is not a religion of children, but of +men. + +This is the doctrine that has caused Buddhism to be called pessimism. +Taught, as we have been taught, to believe that life and death are +antagonistic, that life in the world to come is beautiful, that death +is a horror, it seems to us terrible to think that it is indeed our very +life itself that is the evil to be eradicated, and that life and death +are the same. But to those that have seen the truth, and believed it, it +is not terrible, but beautiful. When you have cleansed your eyes from +the falseness of the flesh, and come face to face with truth, it is +beautiful. 'The law is sweet, filling the heart with joy.' + +To the Buddhist, then, the end to be obtained is the Great Peace, the +mighty deliverance from all sorrow. He must strive after peace; on his +own efforts depends success or failure. + +When the end and the agent have been determined, there remains but to +discover the means, the road whereby the end may be reached. How shall a +man so think and so act that he shall come at length unto the Great +Peace? And the answer of Buddhism to this question is here: good deeds +and good thoughts--these are the gate wherein alone you may enter into +the way. Be honourable and just, be kind and compassionate, truth-loving +and averse to wrong--this is the beginning of the road that leads unto +happiness. Do good to others, not in order that they may do good to you, +but because, by doing so, you do good to your own soul. Give alms, and +be charitable, for these things are necessary to a man. Above all, learn +love and sympathy. Try to feel as others feel, try to understand them, +try to sympathize with them, and love will come. Surely he was a +Buddhist at heart who wrote: 'Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.' +There is no balm to a man's heart like love, not only the love others +feel towards him, but that he feels towards others. Be in love with all +things, not only with your fellows, but with the whole world, with every +creature that walks the earth, with the birds in the air, with the +insects in the grass. All life is akin to man. Man's life is not apart +from other life, but of it, and if a man would make his heart perfect, +he must learn to sympathize with and understand all the great world +about him. But he must always remember that he himself comes first. To +make others just, you must yourself be just; to make others happy, you +must yourself be happy first; to be loved, you must first love. Consider +your own soul, to make it lovely. Such is the teaching of Buddha. But if +this were all, then would Buddhism be but a repetition of the +commonplaces of all religions, of all philosophies. In this teaching of +righteousness is nothing new. Many teachers have taught it, and all have +learnt in the end that righteousness is no sure road to happiness, to +peace. Buddhism goes farther than this. Honour and righteousness, truth +and love, are, it says, very beautiful things, but are only the +beginning of the way; they are but the gate. In themselves they will +never bring a man home to the Great Peace. Herein lies no salvation from +the troubles of the world. Far more is required of a man than to be +righteous. Holiness alone is not the gate to happiness, and all that +have tried have found it so. It alone will not give man surcease from +pain. When a man has so purified his heart by love, has so weaned +himself from wickedness by good acts and deeds, then he shall have eyes +to see the further way that he should go. Then shall appear to him the +truth that it is indeed life that is the evil to be avoided; that life +is sorrow, and that the man who would escape evil and sorrow must escape +from life itself--not in death. The death of this life is but the +commencement of another, just as, if you dam a stream in one direction, +it will burst forth in another. To take one's life now is to condemn +one's self to longer and more miserable life hereafter. The end of +misery lies in the Great Peace. A man must estrange himself from the +world, which is sorrow. Hating struggle and fight, he will learn to love +peace, and to so discipline his soul that the world shall appear to him +clearly to be the unrest which it is. Then, when his heart is fixed upon +the Great Peace, shall his soul come to it at last. Weary of the earth, +it shall come into the haven where there are no more storms, where there +is no more struggle, but where reigns unutterable peace. It is not +death, but the Great Peace. + + + 'Ever pure, and mirror bright and even, + Life among the immortals glides away; + Moons are waning, generations changing, + Their celestial life flows everlasting, + Changeless 'midst a ruined world's decay.' + + +This is Nirvana, the end to which we must all strive, the only end that +there can be to the trouble of the world. Each man must realize this for +himself, each man will do so surely in time, and all will come into the +haven of rest. Surely this is a simple faith, the only belief that the +world has known that is free from mystery and dogma, from ceremony and +priestcraft; and to know that it is a beautiful faith you have but to +look at its believers and be sure. If a people be contented in their +faith, if they love it and exalt it, and are never ashamed of it, and if +it exalts them and makes them happy, what greater testimony can you have +than that? + +It will seem that indeed I have compressed the teaching of this faith +into too small a space--this faith about which so many books have been +written, so much discussion has taken place. But I do not think it is +so. I cannot see that even in this short chapter I have left out +anything that is important in Buddhism. It is such a simple faith that +all may be said in a very few words. It would be, of course, possible to +refine on and gloze over certain points of the teaching. Where would be +the use? The real proof of the faith is in the results, in the deeds +that men do in its name. Discussion will not alter these one way or +another. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +WAR--I + + 'Love each other and live in peace.' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +This is the Buddhist belief as I have understood it, and I have written +so far in order to explain what follows. For my object is not to explain +what the Buddha taught, but what the Burmese believe; and this is not +quite the same thing, though in nearly every action of their life the +influence of Buddhism is visible more or less strongly. Therefore I +propose to describe shortly the ideas of the Burmese people upon the +main objects of life; and to show how much or how little Buddhism has +affected their conceptions. I will begin with courage. + +I think it will be evident that there is no quality upon which the +success of a nation so much depends as upon its courage. No nation can +rise to a high place without being brave; it cannot maintain its +independence even; it cannot push forward upon any path of life without +courage. Nations that are cowards must fail. + +I am aware that the courage of a nation depends, as do its other +qualities, upon many things: its situation with regard to other nations, +its climate, its food, its occupations. It is a great subject that I +cannot go into. I wish to take all such things as I find them, and to +discuss only the effect of the religion upon the courage of the people, +upon its fighting capabilities. That religion may have a very serious +effect one way or the other, no one can doubt. I went through the war of +annexation, from 1885 to 1889, and from it I will draw my examples. + +When we declared war in Upper Burma, and the column advanced up the +river in November, 1885, there was hardly any opposition. A little fight +there was at the frontier fort of Minhla, but beyond that nothing. The +river that might have been blocked was open; the earthworks had no +cannon, the men no guns. Such a collapse was never seen. There was no +organization, no material, no money. The men wanted officers to command +and teach them; the officers wanted authority and ability to command. +The people looked to their rulers to repel the invaders; the rulers +looked to the people. There was no common intelligence or will between +them. Everything was wanting; nothing was as it should be. And so +Mandalay fell without a shot, and King Thibaw, the young, incapable, +kind-hearted king, was taken into captivity. + +That was the end of the first act, brief and bloodless. For a time the +people were stupefied. They could not understand what had happened; +they could not guess what was going to happen. They expected that the +English would soon retire, and that then their own government would +reorganize itself. Meanwhile they kept quiet. + +It is curious to think how peaceful the country really was from +November, 1885, till June, 1886. Then the trouble came. The people had +by that time, even in the wild forest villages, begun to understand that +we wanted to stay, that we did not intend going away unless forced to. +They felt that it was of no further use looking to Mandalay for help. We +had begun, too, to consider about collecting taxes, to interfere with +the simple machinery of local affairs, to show that we meant to govern. +And as the people did not desire to be governed--certainly not by +foreigners, at least--they began to organize resistance. They looked to +their local leaders for help, and, as too often these local governors +were not very capable men, they sought, as all people have done, the +assistance of such men of war as they could find--brigands, and +freelances, and the like--and put themselves under their orders. The +whole country rose, from Bhamo to Minhla, from the Shan Plateau to the +Chin Mountains. All Upper Burma was in a passion of insurrection, a very +fury of rebellion against the usurping foreigners. Our authority was +confined to the range of our guns. Our forts were attacked, our convoys +ambushed, our steamers fired into on the rivers. There was no safety for +an Englishman or a native of India, save within the lines of our +troops, and it was soon felt that these troops were far too few to cope +with the danger. To overthrow King Thibaw was easy, to subdue the people +a very different thing. + +It is almost impossible to describe the state of Upper Burma in 1886. It +must be remembered that the central government was never very strong--in +fact, that beyond collecting a certain amount of taxes, and appointing +governors to the different provinces, it hardly made itself felt outside +Mandalay and the large river towns. The people to a great extent +governed themselves. They had a very good system of village government, +and managed nearly all their local affairs. But beyond the presence of a +governor, there was but little to attach them to the central government. +There was, and is, absolutely no aristocracy of any kind at all. The +Burmese are a community of equals, in a sense that has probably never +been known elsewhere. All their institutions are the very opposite to +feudalism. Now, feudalism was instituted to be useful in war. The +Burmese customs were instituted that men should live in comfort and ease +during peace; they were useless in war. So the natural leaders of a +people, as in other countries, were absent. There were no local great +men; the governors were men appointed from time to time from Mandalay, +and usually knew nothing of their charges; there were no rich men, no +large land-holders--not one. There still remained, however, one +institution that other nations have made useful in war, namely, the +organization of religion. For Buddhism is fairly well +organized--certainly much better than ever the government was. It has +its heads of monasteries, its Gaing-dauks, its Gaing-oks, and finally +the Thathanabaing, the head of the Burmese Buddhism. The overthrow of +King Thibaw had not injured any of this. This was an organization in +touch with the whole people, revered and honoured by every man and woman +and child in the country. In this terrible scene of anarchy and +confusion, in this death peril of their nation, what were the monks +doing? + +We know what religion can do. We have seen how it can preach war and +resistance, and can organize that war and resistance. We know what ten +thousand priests preaching in ten thousand hamlets can effect in making +a people almost unconquerable, in directing their armies, in +strengthening their determination. We remember La Vendee, we remember +our Puritans, and we have had recent experience in the Soudan. We know +what Christianity has done again and again; what Judaism, what +Mahommedanism, what many kinds of paganism, have done. + +To those coming to Burma in those days, fresh from the teachings of +Europe, remembering recent events in history, ignorant of what Buddhism +means, there was nothing more surprising than the fact that in this war +religion had no place. They rode about and saw the country full of +monasteries; they saw the monasteries full of monks, whom they called +priests; they saw that the people were intensely attached to their +religion; they had daily evidence that Buddhism was an abiding faith in +the hearts of the people. And yet, for all the assistance it was to them +in the war, the Burmese might have had no faith at all. + +And the explanation is, that the teachings of the Buddha forbid war. All +killing is wrong, all war is hateful; nothing is more terrible than this +destroying of your fellow-man. There is absolutely no getting free of +this commandment. The teaching of the Buddha is that you must strive to +make your own soul perfect. This is the first of all things, and comes +before any other consideration. Be pure and kind-hearted, full of +charity and compassion, and so you may do good to others. These are the +vows the Buddhist monks make, these are the vows they keep; and so it +happened that all that great organization was useless to the patriot +fighter, was worse than useless, for it was against him. The whole +spectacle of Burma in those days, with the country seething with strife, +and the monks going about their business calmly as ever, begging their +bread from door to door, preaching of peace, not war, of kindness, not +hatred, of pity, not revenge, was to most foreigners quite inexplicable. +They could not understand it. I remember a friend of mine with whom I +went through many experiences speaking of it with scorn. He was a +cavalry officer, 'the model of a light cavalry officer'; he had with him +a squadron of his regiment, and we were trying to subdue a very troubled +part of the country. + +We were camping in a monastery, as we frequently did--a monastery on a +hill near a high golden pagoda. The country all round was under the sway +of a brigand leader, and sorely the villagers suffered at his hands now +that he had leapt into unexpected power. The villages were half +abandoned, the fields untilled, the people full of unrest; but the +monasteries were as full of monks as ever; the gongs rang, as they ever +did, their message through the quiet evening air; the little boys were +taught there just the same; the trees were watered and the gardens swept +as if there were no change at all--as if the king were still on his +golden throne, and the English had never come; as if war had never burst +upon them. And to us, after the very different scenes we saw now and +then, saw and acted in, these monks and their monasteries were difficult +to understand. The religion of the Buddha thus professed was strange. + +'What is the use,' said my friend, 'of this religion that we see so many +signs of? Suppose these men had been Jews or Hindus or Mussulmans, it +would have been a very different business, this war. These yellow-robed +monks, instead of sitting in their monasteries, would have pervaded the +country, preaching against us and organizing. No one organizes better +than an ecclesiastic. We should have had them leading their men into +action with sacred banners, and promising them heaven hereafter when +they died. They would have made Ghazis of them. Any one of these is a +religion worth having. But what is the use of Buddhism? What do these +monks do? I never see them in a fight, never hear that they are doing +anything to organize the people. It is, perhaps, as well for us that +they do not. But what is the use of Buddhism?' + +So, or somewhat like this, spoke my friend, speaking as a soldier. Each +of us speaks from our own standpoint. He was a brilliant soldier, and a +religion was to him a sword, a thing to fight with. That was one of the +first uses of a religion. He knew nothing of Buddhism; he cared to know +nothing, beyond whether it would fight. If so, it was a good religion in +its way. If not, then not. + +Religion meant to him something that would help you in your trouble, +that would be a stay and a comfort, a sword to your enemies and a prop +for yourself. Though he was himself an invader, he felt that the Burmans +did no wrong in resisting him. They fought for their homes, as he would +have fought; and their religion, if of any value, should assist them. It +should urge them to battle, and promise them peace and happiness if +dying in a good cause. His faith would do this for him. What was +Buddhism doing? What help did it give to its believers in their +extremity? It gave none. Think of the peasant lying there in the ghostly +dim-lit fields waiting to attack us at the dawn. Where was his help? He +thought, perhaps, of his king deported, his village invaded, his friends +killed, himself reduced to the subject of a far-off queen. He would +fight--yes, even though his faith told him not. There was no help there. +His was no faith to strengthen his arm, to straighten his aim, to be his +shield in the hour of danger. + +If he died, if in the strife of the morning's fight he were to be +killed, if a bullet were to still his heart, or a lance to pierce his +chest, there was no hope for him of the glory of heaven. No, but every +fear of hell, for he was sinning against the laws of +righteousness--'Thou shalt take no life.' There is no exception to that +at all, not even for a patriot fighting for his country. 'Thou shalt not +take the life even of him who is the enemy of thy king and nation.' He +could count on no help in breaking the everlasting laws that the Buddha +has revealed to us. If he went to his monks, they could but say: 'See +the law, the unchangeable law that man is subject to. There is no good +thing but peace, no sin like strife and war.' That is what the followers +of the great teacher would tell the peasant yearning for help to strike +a blow upon the invaders. The law is the same for all. There is not one +law for you and another for the foreigner; there is not one law to-day +and another to-morrow. Truth is for ever and for ever. It cannot change +even to help you in your extremity. Think of the English soldier and the +Burmese peasant. Can there be anywhere a greater contrast than this? + +Truly this is not a creed for a soldier, not a creed for a fighting-man +of any kind, for what the soldier wants is a personal god who will +always be on his side, always share his opinions, always support him +against everyone else. But a law that points out unalterably that right +is always right, and wrong always wrong, that nothing can alter one into +the other, nothing can ever make killing righteous and violence +honourable, that is no creed for a soldier. And Buddhism has ever done +this. It never bent to popular opinion, never made itself a tool in the +hands of worldly passion. It could not. You might as well say to +gravity, 'I want to lift this stone; please don't act on it for a time,' +as expect Buddhism to assist you to make war. Buddhism is the +unalterable law of righteousness, and cannot ally itself with evil, +cannot ever be persuaded that under any circumstances evil can be good. + +The Burmese peasant had to fight his own fight in 1885 alone. His king +was gone, his government broken up, he had no leaders. He had no god to +stand beside him when he fired at the foreign invaders; and when he lay +a-dying, with a bullet in his throat, he had no one to open to him the +gates of heaven. + +Yet he fought--with every possible discouragement he fought, and +sometimes he fought well. It has been thrown against him as a reproach +that he did not do better. Those who have said this have never thought, +never counted up the odds against him, never taken into consideration +how often he did well. + +Here was a people--a very poor people of peasants--with no leaders, +absolutely none; no aristocracy of any kind, no cohesion, no fighting +religion. They had for their leaders outlaws and desperadoes, and for +arms old flint-lock guns and soft iron swords. Could anything be +expected from this except what actually did happen? And yet they often +did well, their natural courage overcoming their bad weapons, their +passionate desire of freedom giving them the necessary impulse. + +In 1886, as I have said, all Burma was up. Even in the lower country, +which we held for so long, insurrection was spreading fast, and troops +and military police were being poured in from India. + +There is above Mandalay a large trading village--a small town +almost--called Shemmaga. It is the river port for a large trade in salt +from the inner country, and it was important to hold it. The village lay +along the river bank, and about the middle of it, some two hundred yards +from the river, rises a small hill. Thus the village was a triangle, +with the base on the river, and the hill as apex. On the hill were some +monasteries of teak, from which the monks had been ejected, and three +hundred Ghurkas were in garrison there. A strong fence ran from the hill +to the river like two arms, and there were three gates, one just by the +hill, and one on each end of the river face. + +Behind Shemmaga the country was under the rule of a robber chief called +Maung Yaing, who could raise from among the peasants some two hundred or +three hundred men, armed mostly with flint-locks. He had been in the +king's time a brigand with a small number of followers, who defied or +eluded the local authorities, and lived free in quarters among the most +distant villages. Like many a robber chief in our country and elsewhere, +he was liked rather than hated by the people, for his brutalities were +confined to either strangers or personal enemies, and he was open-handed +and generous. We look upon things now with different eyes to what we did +two or three hundred years ago, but I dare say Maung Yaing was neither +better nor worse than many a hero of ours long ago. He was a fairly good +fighter, and had a little experience fighting the king's troops; and so +it was very natural, when the machinery of government fell like a house +of cards, and some leaders were wanted, that the young men should crowd +to him, and put themselves under his orders. He had usually with him +forty or fifty men, but he could, as I have said, raise five or six +times as many for any particular service, and keep them together for a +few days. He very soon discovered that he and his men were absolutely no +match for our troops. In two or three attempts that he made to oppose +the troops he was signally worsted, so he was obliged to change his +tactics. He decided to boycott the enemy. No Burman was to accept +service under him, to give him information or supplies, to be his guide, +or to assist him in any way. This rule Maung Yaing made generally known, +and he announced his intention of enforcing it with rigour. He did so. +There was a head man of a village near Shemmaga whom he executed because +he had acted as guide to a body of troops, and he cut off all supplies +from the interior, lying on the roads, and stopping all men from +entering Shemmaga. He further issued a notice that the inhabitants of +Shemmaga itself should leave the town. They could not move the garrison, +therefore the people must move themselves. No assistance must be given +to the enemy. The villagers of Shemmaga, mostly small traders in salt +and rice, were naturally averse to leaving. This trade was their only +means of livelihood, the houses their only homes, and they did not like +the idea of going out into the unknown country behind. Moreover, the +exaction by Maung Yaing of money and supplies for his men fell most +heavily on the wealthier men, and on the whole they were not sorry to +have the English garrison in the town, so that they could trade in +peace. Some few left, but most did not, and though they collected +money, and sent it to Maung Yaing, they at the same time told the +English officer in command of Maung Yaing's threats, and begged that +great care should be taken of the town, for Maung Yaing was very angry. +When he found he could not cause the abandonment of the town, he sent in +word to say that he would burn it. Not three hundred foreigners, nor +three thousand, should protect these lazy, unpatriotic folk from his +vengeance. He gave them till the new moon of a certain month, and if the +town were not evacuated by that time he declared that he would destroy +it. He would burn it down, and kill certain men whom he mentioned, who +had been the principal assistants of the foreigners. This warning was +quite public, and came to the ears of the English officer almost at +once. When he heard it he laughed. + +He had three hundred men, and the rebels had three hundred. His were all +magnificently trained and drilled troops, men made for war; the Burmans +were peasants, unarmed, untrained. He was sure he could defeat three +thousand of them, or ten times that number, with his little force, and +so, of course, he could if he met them in the open; no one knew that +better, by bitter experience, than Maung Yaing. The villagers, too, +knew, but nevertheless they were stricken with fear, for Maung Yaing was +a man of his word. He was as good as his threat. + +One night, at midnight, the face of the fort where the Ghurkas lived on +the hill was suddenly attacked. Out of the brushwood near by a heavy +fire was opened upon the breastwork, and there was shouting and beating +of gongs. So all the Ghurkas turned out in a hurry, and ran to man the +breastwork, and the return fire became hot and heavy. In a moment, as it +seemed, the attackers were in the village. They had burst in the north +gate by the river face, killed the Burmese guard on it, and streamed in. +They lit torches from a fire they found burning, and in a moment the +village was on fire. Looking down from the hill, you could see the +village rushing into flame, and in the lurid light men and women and +children running about wildly. There were shouts and screams and shots. +No one who has never heard it, never seen it, can know what a village is +like when the enemy has burst in at night. Everyone is mad with hate, +with despair, with terror. They run to and fro, seeking to kill, seeking +to escape being killed. It is impossible to tell one from another. The +bravest man is dismayed. And the noise is like a great moan coming out +of the night, pierced with sharp cries. It rises and falls, like the +death-cry of a dying giant. It is the most terrible sound in the world. +It makes the heart stop. + +To the Ghurkas this sight and sound came all of a sudden, as they were +defending what they took to be a determined attack on their own +position. The village was lost ere they knew it was attacked. And two +steamers full of troops, anchored off the town, saw it, too. They were +on their way up country, and had halted there that night, anchored in +the stream. They were close by, but could not fire, for there was no +telling friend from foe. + +Before the relief party of Ghurkas could come swarming down the hill, +only two hundred yards, before the boats could land the eager troops +from the steamers, the rebels were gone. They went through the village +and out of the south gate. They had fulfilled their threat and destroyed +the town. They had killed the men they had declared they would kill. The +firing died away from the fort side, and the enemy were gone, no one +could tell whither, into the night. + +Such a scene of desolation as that village was next day! It was all +destroyed--every house. All the food was gone, all furniture, all +clothes, everything, and here and there was a corpse in among the +blackened cinders. The whole countryside was terror-stricken at this +failure to defend those who had depended on us. + +I do not think this was a particularly gallant act, but it was a very +able one. It was certainly war. It taught us a very severe lesson--more +severe than a personal reverse would have been. It struck terror in the +countryside. The memory of it hampered us for very long; even now they +often talk of it. It was a brutal act--that of a brigand, not a soldier. + +But there was no want of courage. If these men, inferior in number, in +arms, in everything, could do this under the lead of a robber chief, +what would they not have done if well led, if well trained, if well +armed? + +Of desperate encounters between our troops and the insurgents I could +tell many a story. I have myself seen such fights. They nearly always +ended in our favour--how could it be otherwise? + +There was Ta Te, who occupied a pagoda enclosure with some eighty men, +and was attacked by our mounted infantry. There was a long fight in that +hot afternoon, and very soon the insurgents' ammunition began to fail, +and the pagoda was stormed. Many men were killed, and Ta Te, when his +men were nearly all dead, and his ammunition quite expended, climbed up +the pagoda wall, and twisted off pieces of the cement and threw them at +the troops. He would not surrender--not he--and he was killed. There +were many like him. The whole war was little affairs of this kind--a +hundred, three hundred, of our men, and much the same, or a little more, +of theirs. They only once or twice raised a force of two thousand men. +Nothing can speak more forcibly of their want of organization than this. +The whole country was pervaded by bands of fifty or a hundred men, very +rarely amounting to more than two hundred, never, I think, to five +hundred, armed men, and no two bands ever acted in concert. + +It is probable that most of the best men of the country were against +us. It is certain, I think, that of those who openly joined us and +accompanied us in our expedition, very, very few were other than men who +had some private grudge to avenge, or some purpose to gain, by opposing +their own people. Of such as these you cannot expect very much. And yet +there were exceptions--men who showed up all the more brilliantly +because they were exceptions--men whom I shall always honour. There were +two I remember best of all. They are both dead now. + +One was the eldest son of the hereditary governor of a part of the +country called Kawlin. It is in the north-west of Upper Burma, and +bordered on a semi-independent state called Wuntho. In the troubles that +occurred after the deposition of King Thibaw, the Prince of Wuntho +thought that he would be able to make for himself an independent +kingdom, and he began by annexing Kawlin. So the governor had to flee, +and with him his sons, and naturally enough they joined our columns when +we advanced in that direction, hoping to be replaced. They were +replaced, the father as governor under the direction of an English +magistrate, and the son as his assistant. They were only kept there by +our troops, and upheld in authority by our power against Wuntho. But +they were desired by many of their own people, and so, perhaps, they +could hardly be called traitors, as many of those who joined us were. +The father was a useless old man, but his son, he of whom I speak, was +brave and honourable, good tempered and courteous, beyond most men whom +I have met. It was well known that he was the real power behind his +father. It was he who assisted us in an attempt to quell the +insurrections and catch the raiders that troubled our peace, and many a +time they tried to kill him, many a time to murder him as he slept. + +There was a large gang of insurgents who came across the Mu River one +day, and robbed one of his villages, so a squadron of cavalry was sent +in pursuit. We travelled fast and long, but we could not catch the +raiders. We crossed the Mu into unknown country, following their tracks, +and at last, being without guides, we camped that night in a little +monastery in the forest. At midnight we were attacked. A road ran +through our camp, and there was a picket at each end of the road, and +sentries were doubled. + +It was just after midnight that the first shot was fired. We were all +asleep when a sudden volley was poured into the south picket, killing +one sentry and wounding another. There was no time to dress, and we ran +down the steps as we were (in sleeping dresses), to find the men rapidly +falling in, and the horses kicking at their pickets. It was pitch-dark. +The monastery was on a little cleared space, and there was forest all +round that looked very black. Just as we came to the foot of the steps +an outbreak of firing and shouts came from the north, and the Burmese +tried to rush our camp from there; then they tried to rush it again from +the south, but all their attempts were baffled by the steadiness of the +pickets and the reinforcements that were running up. So the Burmese, +finding the surprise ineffectual, and that the camp could not be taken, +spread themselves about in the forest in vantage places, and fired into +the camp. Nothing could be seen except the dazzling flashes from their +guns as they fired here and there, and the darkness was all the darker +for those flashes of flame, that cut it like swords. It was very cold. I +had left my blanket in the monastery, and no one was allowed to ascend, +because there, of all places, the bullets flew thickest, crushing +through the mat walls, and going into the teak posts with a thud. There +was nothing we could do. The men, placed in due order about the camp, +fired back at the flashes of the enemy's guns. That was all they had to +fire at. It was not much guide. The officers went from picket to picket +encouraging the men, but I had no duty; when fighting began my work as a +civilian was at a standstill. I sat and shivered with cold under the +monastery, and wished for the dawn. In a pause of the firing you could +hear the followers hammering the pegs that held the foot-ropes of the +horses. Then the dead and wounded were brought and put near me, and in +the dense dark the doctor tried to find out what injuries the men had +received, and dress them as well as he could. No light dare be lit. The +night seemed interminable. There were no stars, for a dense mist hung +above the trees. After an hour or two the firing slackened a little, and +presently, with great caution, a little lamp, carefully shrouded with a +blanket, was lit. A sudden burst of shots that came splintering into the +posts beside us caused the lamp to be hurriedly put out; but presently +it was lit again, and with infinite caution one man was dressed. At last +a little very faint silver dawn came gleaming through the tree-tops--the +most beautiful sight I ever saw--and the firing stopped. The dawn came +quickly down, and very soon we were able once more to see what we were +about, and count our losses. + +Then we moved out. We had hardly any hope of catching the enemy, we who +were in a strange country, who were mounted on horses, and had a heavy +transport, and they who knew every stream and ravine, and had every +villager for a spy. So we moved back a march into a more open country, +where we hoped for better news, and two days later that news came. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WAR--II + + 'Never in the world does hatred cease by hatred. Hatred ceases by + love.'--_Dammapada._ + + +We were encamped at a little monastery in some fields by a village, with +a river in front. Up in the monastery there was but room for the +officers, so small was it, and the men were camped beneath it in little +shelters. It was two o'clock, and very hot, and we were just about to +take tiffin, when news came that a party of armed men had been seen +passing a little north of us. It was supposed they were bound to a +village known to be a very bad one--Laka--and that they would camp +there. So 'boot and saddle' rang from the trumpets, and in a few moments +later we were off, fifty lances. Just as we started, his old Hindostani +Christian servant came up to my friend, the commandant, and gave him a +little paper. 'Put it in your pocket, sahib,' he said. The commandant +had no time to talk, no time even to look at what it could be. He just +crammed it into his breast-pocket, and we rode on. The governor's son +was our guide, and he led us through winding lanes into a pass in the +low hills. The road was very narrow, and the heavy forest came down to +our elbows as we passed. Now and again we crossed the stream, which had +but little water in it, and the path would skirt its banks for awhile. +It was beautiful country, but we had no time to notice it then, for we +were in a hurry, and whenever the road would allow we trotted and +cantered. After five or six miles of this we turned a spur of the hills, +and came out into a little grass-glade on the banks of the stream, and +at the far end of this was the village where we expected to find those +whom we sought. They saw us first, having a look-out on a high tree by +the edge of the forest; and as our advanced guard came trotting into the +open, he fired. The shot echoed far up the hills like an angry shout, +and we could see a sudden stir in the village--men running out of the +houses with guns and swords, and women and children running, too, poor +things! sick with fear. They fired at us from the village fence, but had +no time to close the gate ere our sowars were in. Then they escaped in +various ways to the forest and scrub, running like madmen across the +little bit of open, and firing at us directly they reached shelter where +the cavalry could not come. Of course, in the open they had no chance, +but in the dense forest they were safe enough. The village was soon +cleared, and then we had to return. It was no good to wait. The valley +was very narrow, and was commanded from both its sides, which were very +steep and dense with forest. Beyond the village there was only forest +again. We had done what we could: we had inflicted a very severe +punishment on them; it was no good waiting, so we returned. They fired +on us nearly all the way, hiding in the thick forest, and perched on +high rocks. At one place our men had to be dismounted to clear a +breastwork, run up to fire at us from. All the forest was full of +voices--voices of men and women and even children--cursing our guide. +They cried his name, that the spirits of the hills might remember that +it was he who had brought desolation to their village. Figures started +up on pinnacles of cliff, and cursed him as he rode by. Us they did not +curse; it was our guide. + +And so after some trouble we got back. That band never attacked us +again. + +As we were dismounting, my friend put his hand in his pocket, and found +the little paper. He took it out, looked at it, and when his servant +came up to him he gave the paper back with a curious little smile full +of many thoughts. 'You see,' he said, 'I am safe. No bullet has hit me.' +And the servant's eyes were dim. He had been very long with his master, +and loved him, as did all who knew him. 'It was the goodness of God,' he +said--'the great goodness of God. Will not the sahib keep the paper?' +But the sahib would not. 'You may need it as well as I. Who can tell in +this war?' And he returned it. + +And the paper? It was a prayer--a prayer used by the Roman Catholic +Church, printed on a sheet of paper. At the top was a red cross. The +paper was old and worn, creased at the edges; it had evidently been much +used, much read. Such was the charm that kept the soldier from danger. + +The nights were cold then, when the sun had set, and after dinner we +used to have a camp-fire built of wood from the forest, to sit round for +a time and talk before turning in. The native officers of the cavalry +would come and sit with us, and one or two of the Burmans, too. We were +a very mixed assembly. I remember one night very well--I think it must +have been the very night after the fight at Laka, and we were all of us +round the fire. I remember there was a half-moon bending towards the +west, throwing tender lights upon the hills, and turning into a silver +gauze the light white mist that lay upon the rice-fields. Opposite to +us, across the little river, a ridge of hill ran down into the water +that bent round its foot. The ridge was covered with forest, very black, +with silver edges on the sky-line. It was out of range for a Burmese +flint-gun, or we should not have camped so near it. On all the other +sides the fields stretched away till they ended in the forest that +gloomed beyond. I was talking to the governor's son (our guide of the +fight at Laka) of the prospects of the future, and of the intentions of +the Prince of Wuntho, in whose country Laka lay. I remarked to him how +the Burmans of Wuntho seemed to hate him, of how they had cursed him +from the hills, and he admitted that it was true. 'All except my +friends,' he said, 'hate me. And yet what have I done? I had to help my +father to get back his governorship. They forget that they attacked us +first.' + +He went on to tell me of how every day he was threatened, of how he was +sure they would murder him some time, because he had joined us. 'They +are sure to kill me some time,' he said. He seemed sad and depressed, +not afraid. + +So we talked on, and I asked him about charms. 'Are there not charms +that will prevent you being hurt if you are hit, and that will not allow +a sword to cut you? We hear of invulnerable men. There were the +Immortals of the King's Guard, for instance.' + +And he said, yes, there were charms, but no one believed in them except +the villagers. He did not, nor did men of education. Of course, the +ignorant people believed in them. There were several sorts of charms. +You could be tattooed with certain mystic letters that were said to +insure you against being hit, and there were certain medicines you could +drink. There were also charms made out of stone, such as a little +tortoise he had once seen that was said to protect its wearer. There +were mysterious writings on palm-leaves. There were men, he said +vaguely, who knew how to make these things. For himself, he did not +believe in them. + +I tried to learn from him then, and I have tried from others since, +whether these charms have any connection with Buddhism. I cannot find +that they have. They are never in the form of images of the Buddha, or +of extracts from the sacred writings. There is not, so far as I can make +out, any religious significance in these charms; mostly they are simply +mysterious. I never heard that the people connect them with their +religion. Indeed, all forms of enchantment and of charms are most +strictly prohibited. One of the vows that monks take is never to have +any dealings with charms or with the supernatural, and so Buddhism +cannot even give such little assistance to its believers as to furnish +them with charms. If they have charms, it is against their faith; it is +a falling away from the purity of their teachings; it is simply the +innate yearning of man to the supernatural, to the mysterious. Man's +passions are very strong, and if he must fight, he must also have a +charm to protect him in fight. If his religion cannot give it him, he +must find it elsewhere. You see that, as the teachings of the Buddha +have never been able to be twisted so as to permit war directly, neither +have they been able to assist indirectly by furnishing charms, by +making the fighter bullet-proof. And I thought then of the little prayer +and the cross that were so certain a defence against hurt. + +We talked for a long time in the waning moonlight by the ruddy fire, and +at last we broke up to go to bed. As we rose a voice called to us across +the water from the little promontory. In the still night every word was +as clear as the note of a gong. + +'Sleep well,' it cried--'sleep well--sle-e-ep we-l-l.' + +We all stood astonished--those who did not know Burmese wondering at the +voice; those who did, wondering at the meaning. The sentries peered +keenly towards the sound. + +'Sleep well,' the voice cried again; 'eat well. It will not be for long. +Sleep well while you may.' + +And then, after a pause, it called the governor's son's name, and +'Traitor, traitor!' till the hills were full of sound. + +The Burman turned away. + +'You see,' he said, 'how they hate me. What would be the good of +charms?' + +The voice was quiet, and the camp sank into stillness, and ere long the +moon set, and it was quite dark. + +He was a brave man, and, indeed, there are many brave men amongst the +Burmese. They kill leopards with sticks and stones very often, and even +tigers. They take their frail little canoes across the Irrawaddy in +flood in a most daring way. They in no way want for physical courage, +but they have never made a cult of bravery; it has never been a +necessity to them; it has never occurred to them that it is the prime +virtue of a man. You will hear them confess in the calmest way, 'I was +afraid.' We would not do that; we should be much more afraid to say it. +And the teaching of Buddhism is all in favour of this. Nowhere is +courage--I mean aggressive courage--praised. No soldier could be a +fervent Buddhist; no nation of Buddhists could be good soldiers; for not +only does Buddhism not inculcate bravery, but it does not inculcate +obedience. Each man is the ruler of his life, but the very essence of +good fighting is discipline, and discipline, subjection, is unknown to +Buddhism. Therefore the inherent courage of the Burmans could have no +assistance from their faith in any way, but the very contrary: it fought +against them. + +There is no flexibility in Buddhism. It is a law, and nothing can change +it. Laws are for ever and for ever, and there are no exceptions to them. +The law of the Buddha is against war--war of any kind at all--and there +can be no exception. And so every Burman who fought against us knew that +he was sinning. He did it with his eyes open; he could never imagine any +exception in his favour. Never could he in his bivouac look at the +stars, and imagine that any power looked down in approbation of his +deeds. No one fought for him. Our bayonets and lances were no keys to +open to him the gates of paradise; no monks could come and close his +dying eyes with promises of rewards to come. He was sinning, and he must +suffer long and terribly for this breach of the laws of righteousness. + +If such be the faith of the people, and if they believe their faith, it +is a terrible handicap to them in any fight; it delivers them bound into +the hands of the enemy. Such is Buddhism. + +But it must never be forgotten that, if this faith does not assist the +believer in defence, neither does it in offence. What is so terrible as +a war of religion? There can never be a war of Buddhism. + +No ravished country has ever borne witness to the prowess of the +followers of the Buddha; no murdered men have poured out their blood on +their hearthstones, killed in his name; no ruined women have cursed his +name to high Heaven. He and his faith are clean of the stain of blood. +He was the preacher of the Great Peace, of love, of charity, of +compassion, and so clear is his teaching that it can never be +misunderstood. Wars of invasion the Burmese have waged, that is true, in +Siam, in Assam, and in Pegu. They are but men, and men will fight. If +they were perfect in their faith, the race would have died out long ago. +They have fought, but they have never fought in the name of their faith. +They have never been able to prostitute its teachings to their own +wants. Whatever the Burmans have done, they have kept their faith pure. +When they have offended against the laws of the Buddha they have done so +openly. Their souls are guiltless of hypocrisy--for whatever that may +avail them. They have known the difference between good and evil, even +if they have not always followed the good. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +GOVERNMENT + + 'Fire, water, storms, robbers, rulers--these are the five great + evils.'--_Burmese saying._ + + +It would be difficult, I think, to imagine anything worse than the +government of Upper Burma in its later days. I mean by 'government' the +king and his counsellors and the greater officials of the empire. The +management of foreign affairs, of the army, the suppression of greater +crimes, the care of the means of communication, all those duties which +fall to the central government, were badly done, if done at all. It must +be remembered that there was one difficulty in the way--the absence of +any noble or leisured class to be entrusted with the greater offices. As +I have shown in another chapter, there was no one between the king and +the villager--no noble, no landowner, no wealthy or educated class at +all. The king had to seek for his ministers among the ordinary people, +consequently the men who were called upon to fill great offices of state +were as often as not men who had no experience beyond the narrow limits +of a village. + +The breadth of view, the knowledge of other countries, of other +thoughts, that comes to those who have wealth and leisure, were wanting +to these ministers of the king. Natural capacity many of them had, but +that is not of much value until it is cultivated. You cannot learn in +the narrow precincts of a village the knowledge necessary to the +management of great affairs; and therefore in affairs of state this want +of any noble or leisured class was a very serious loss to the government +of Burma. It had great and countervailing advantages, of which I will +speak when I come to local government, but that it was a heavy loss as +far as the central government goes no one can doubt. There was none of +that check upon the power of the king which a powerful nobility will +give; there was no trained talent at his disposal. The king remained +absolutely supreme, with no one near his throne, and the ministers were +mere puppets, here to-day and gone to-morrow. They lived by the breath +of the king and court, and when they lost favour there was none to help +them. They had no faction behind them to uphold them against the king. +It can easily be understood how disastrous all this was to any form of +good government. All these ministers and governors were corrupt; there +was corruption to the core. + +When it is understood that hardly any official was paid, and that those +who were paid were insufficiently paid, and had unlimited power, there +will be no difficulty in seeing the reason. In circumstances like this +all people would be corrupt. The only securities against bribery and +abuse of power are adequate pay, restricted authority, and great +publicity. None of these obtained in Burma any more than in the Europe +of five hundred years ago, and the result was the same in both. The +central government consisted of the king, who had no limit at all to his +power, and the council of ministers, whose only check was the king. The +executive and judicial were all the same: there was no appeal from one +to the other. The only appeal from the ministers was to the king, and as +the king shut himself up in his palace, and was practically inaccessible +to all but high officials, the worthlessness of this appeal is evident. +Outside Mandalay the country was governed by _wuns_ or governors. These +were appointed by the king, or by the council, or by both, and they +obtained their position by bribery. Their tenure was exceedingly +insecure, as any man who came and gave a bigger bribe was likely to +obtain the former governor's dismissal and his own appointment. +Consequently the usual tenure of office of a governor was a year. Often +there were half a dozen governors in a year; sometimes a man with strong +influence managed to retain his position for some years. From the orders +of the governor there was an appeal to the council. This was in some +matters useful, but in others not so. If a governor sentenced a man to +death--all governors had power of life and death--he would be executed +long before an appeal could reach the council. Practically no check was +possible by the palace over distant governors, and they did as they +liked. Anything more disastrous and fatal to any kind of good government +than this it is impossible to imagine. The governors did what they +considered right in their own eyes, and made as much money as they +could, while they could. They collected the taxes and as much more as +they could get; they administered the laws of Manu in civil and criminal +affairs, except when tempted to deviate therefrom by good reasons; they +carried out orders received from Mandalay, when these orders fell in +with their own desires, or when they considered that disobedience might +be dangerous. It is a Burmese proverb that officials are one of the five +great enemies of mankind, and there was, I think (at all events in the +latter days of the kingdom) good reason to remember it. And yet these +officials were not bad men in themselves; on the contrary, many of them +were men of good purpose, of natural honesty, of right principles. In a +well-organized system they would have done well, but the system was +rotten to the core. + +It may be asked why the Burmese people remained quiet under such a rule +as this; why they did not rise and destroy it, raising a new one in its +place; how it was that such a state of corruption lasted for a year, let +alone for many years. + +The answer is this: However bad the government may have been, it had +the qualities of its defects. If it did not do much to help the people, +it did little to hinder them. To a great extent it left them alone to +manage their own affairs in their own way. Burma in those days was like +a great untended garden, full of weeds, full of flowers too, each plant +striving after its own way, gradually evolving into higher forms. Now +sometimes it seems to me to be like an old Dutch garden, with the paths +very straight, very clean swept, with the trees clipped into curious +shapes of bird and beast, tortured out of all knowledge, and many of the +flowers mown down. The Burmese government left its people alone; that +was one great virtue. And, again, any government, however good, however +bad, is but a small factor in the life of a people; it comes far below +many other things in importance. A short rainfall for a year is more +disastrous than a mad king; a plague is worse than fifty grasping +governors; social rottenness is incomparably more dangerous than the +rottenest government. + +And in Burma it was only the supreme government, the high officials, +that were very bad. It was only the management of state affairs that was +feeble and corrupt; all the rest was very good. The land laws, the +self-government, the social condition of the people, were admirable. It +was so good that the rotten central government made but little +difference to the people, and it would probably have lasted for a long +while if not attacked from outside. A greater power came and upset the +government of the king, and established itself in his place; and I may +here say that the idea that the feebleness or wrong-doing of the Burmese +government was the cause of the downfall is a mistake. If the Burmese +government had been the best that ever existed, the annexation would +have happened just the same. It was a political necessity for us. + +The central government of a country is, as I have said, not a matter of +much importance. It has very little influence in the evolution of the +soul of a people. It is always a great deal worse than the people +themselves--a hundred years behind them in civilization, a thousand +years behind them in morality. Men will do in the name of government +acts which, if performed in a private capacity, would cover them with +shame before men, and would land them in a gaol or worse. The name of +government is a cloak for the worst passions of manhood. It is not an +interesting study, the government of mankind. + +A government is no part of the soul of the people, but is a mere +excrescence; and so I have but little to say about this of Burma, beyond +this curious fact--that religion had no part in it. Surely this is a +very remarkable thing, that a religion having the hold upon its +followers that Buddhism has upon the Burmese has never attempted to +grasp the supreme authority and use it to its ends. + +It is not quite an explanation to say that Buddhism is not concerned +with such things; that its very spirit is against the assumption of any +worldly power and authority; that it is a negation of the value of these +things. Something of this sort might be said of other religions, and yet +they have all striven to use the temporal power. + +I do not know what the explanation is, unless it be that the Burmese +believe their religion and other people do not. However that may be, +there is no doubt of the fact. Religion had nothing whatever--absolutely +nothing in any way at all--to do with government. There are no +exceptions. What has led people to think sometimes that there were +exceptions is the fact that the king confirmed the Thathanabaing--the +head of the community of monks--after he had been elected by his +fellow-monks. The reason of this was as follows: All ecclesiastical +matters--I use the word 'ecclesiastical' because I can find no +other--were outside the jurisdiction of civil limits. By +'ecclesiastical' I mean such matters as referred to the ownership and +habitation of monasteries, the building of pagodas and places of prayer, +the discipline of the monkhood. Such questions were decided by +ecclesiastical courts under the Thathanabaing. + +Now, it was necessary sometimes, as may be understood, to enforce these +decrees, and for that reason to apply to civil power. Therefore there +must be a head of the monks acknowledged by the civil power as head, to +make such applications as might be necessary in this, and perhaps some +other such circumstances. + +It became, therefore, the custom for the king to acknowledge by order +the elect of the monks as Thathanabaing for all such purposes. That was +all. The king did not appoint him at all. + +Any such idea as a monk interfering in the affairs of state, or +expressing an opinion on war or law or finance, would appear to the +Burmese a negation of their faith. They were never led away by the idea +that good might come of such interference. This terrible snare has never +caught their feet. They hold that a man's first duty is to his own soul. +Never think that you can do good to others at the same time as you +injure yourself, and the greatest good for your own heart is to learn +that beyond all this turmoil and fret there is the Great Peace--so great +that we can hardly understand it, and to reach it you must fit yourself +for it. The monk is he who is attempting to reach it, and he knows that +he cannot do that by attempting to rule his fellow-man; that is probably +the very worst thing he could do. And therefore the monkhood, powerful +as they were, left all politics alone. I have never been able to hear of +a single instance in which they even expressed an opinion either as a +body or as individuals on any state matter. + +It is true that, if a governor oppressed his people, the monks would +remonstrate with him, or even, in the last extremity, with the king; +they would plead with the king for clemency to conquered peoples, to +rebels, to criminals; their voice was always on the side of mercy. As +far as urging the greatest of all virtues upon governors and rulers +alike, they may be said to have interfered with politics; but this is +not what is usually understood by religion interfering in things of +state. It seems to me we usually mean the reverse of this, for we are of +late beginning to regard it with horror. The Burmese have always done +so. They would think it a denial of all religion. + +And so the only things worth noting about the government of the Burmese +were its exceeding badness, and its disconnection with religion. That it +would have been a much stronger government had it been able to enlist on +its side all the power of the monkhood, none can doubt. It might even +have been a better government; of that I am not sure. But that such a +union would have meant the utter destruction of the religion, the +debasing of the very soul of the people, no one who has tried to +understand that soul can doubt. And a soul is worth very many +governments. + +But when you left the central government, and came down to the +management of local affairs, there was a great change. You came straight +down from the king and governor to the village and its headman. There +were no lords, no squires, nor ecclesiastical power wielding authority +over the people. + +Each village was to a very great extent a self-governing community +composed of men free in every way. The whole country was divided into +villages, sometimes containing one or two hamlets at a little distance +from each other--offshoots from the parent stem. The towns, too, were +divided into quarters, and each quarter had its headman. These men held +their appointment-orders from the king as a matter of form, but they +were chosen by their fellow-villagers as a matter of fact. Partly this +headship was hereditary, not from father to son, but it might be from +brother to brother, and so on. It was not usually a very coveted +appointment, for the responsibility and trouble were considerable, and +the pay small. It was 10 per cent. on the tax collections. And with this +official as their head, the villagers managed nearly all their affairs. +Their taxes, for instance, they assessed and collected themselves. The +governor merely informed the headman that he was to produce ten rupees +per house from his village. The villagers then appointed assessors from +among themselves, and decided how much each household should pay. Thus a +coolie might pay but four rupees, and a rice-merchant as much as fifty +or sixty. The assessment was levied according to the means of the +villagers. So well was this done, that complaints against the decisions +of the assessors were almost unknown--I might, I think, safely say were +absolutely unknown. The assessment was made publicly, and each man was +heard in his own defence before being assessed. Then the money was +collected. If by any chance, such as death, any family could not pay, +the deficiency was made good by the other villagers in proportion. When +the money was got in it was paid to the governor. + +Crime such as gang-robbery, murder, and so on, had to be reported to the +governor, and he arrested the criminals if he felt inclined, and knew +who they were, and was able to do it. Generally something was in the +way, and it could not be done. All lesser crime was dealt with in the +village itself, not only dealt with when it occurred, but to a great +extent prevented from occurring. You see, in a village anyone knows +everyone, and detection is usually easy. If a man became a nuisance to a +village, he was expelled. I have often heard old Burmans talking about +this, and comparing these times with those. In those times all big +crimes were unpunished, and there was but little petty crime. Now all +big criminals are relentlessly hunted down by the police; and the +inevitable weakening of the village system has led to a large increase +of petty crime, and certain breaches of morality and good conduct. I +remember talking to a man not long ago--a man who had been a headman in +the king's time, but was not so now. We were chatting of various +subjects, and he told me he had no children; they were dead. + +'When were you married?' I asked, just for something to say, and he +said when he was thirty-two. + +'Isn't that rather old to be just married?' I asked. 'I thought you +Burmans often married at eighteen and twenty. What made you wait so +long?' + +And he told me that in his village men were not allowed to marry till +they were about thirty. 'Great harm comes,' he said, 'of allowing boys +and girls to make foolish marriages when they are too young. It was +never allowed in my village.' + +'And if a young man fell in love with a girl?' I asked. + +'He was told to leave her alone.' + +'And if he didn't?' + +'If he didn't, he was put in the stocks for one day or two days, and if +that was no good, he was banished from the village.' + +A monk complained to me of the bad habits of the young men in villages. +'Could government do nothing?' he asked. They used shameful words, and +they would shout as they passed his monastery, and disturb the lads at +their lessons and the girls at the well. They were not well-behaved. In +the Burmese time they would have been punished for all this--made to +draw so many buckets of water for the school-gardens, or do some +road-making, or even be put in the stocks. Now the headman was afraid to +do anything, for fear of the great government. It was very bad for the +young men, he said. + +All villages were not alike, of course, in their enforcement of good +manners and good morals, but, still, in every village they were enforced +more or less. The opinion of the people was very decided, and made +itself felt, and the influence of the monastery without the gate was +strong upon the people. + +Yet the monks never interfered with village affairs. As they abstained +from state government, so they did from local government. You never +could imagine a Buddhist monk being a magistrate for his village, taking +any part at all in municipal affairs. The same reasons that held them +from affairs of the state held them from affairs of the commune. I need +not repeat them. The monastery was outside the village, and the monk +outside the community. I do not think he was ever consulted about any +village matters. I know that, though I have many and many a time asked +monks for their opinion to aid me in deciding little village disputes, I +have never got an answer out of them. 'These are not our affairs,' they +will answer always. 'Go to the people; they will tell you what you +want.' Their influence is by example and precept, by teaching the laws +of the great teacher, by living a life blameless before men, by +preparing their souls for rest. It is a general influence, never a +particular one. If anyone came to the monk for counsel, the monk would +only repeat to him the sacred teaching, and leave him to apply it. + +So each village managed its own affairs, untroubled by squire or priest, +very little troubled by the state. That within their little means they +did it well, no one can doubt. They taxed themselves without friction, +they built their own monastery schools by voluntary effort, they +maintained a very high, a very simple, code of morals, entirely of their +own initiative. + +All this has passed, or is passing away. The king has gone to a +banishment far across the sea, the ministers are either banished or +powerless for good or evil. It will never rise again, this government of +the king, which was so bad in all it did, and only good in what it left +alone. It will never rise again. The people are now part of the British +Empire, subjects of the Queen. What may be in store for them in the far +future no one can tell, only we may be sure that the past can return no +more. And the local government is passing away, too. It cannot exist +with a strong government such as ours. For good or for evil, in a few +years it, too, will be gone. + +But, after all, these are but forms; the soul is far within. In the soul +there will be no change. No one can imagine even in the far future any +monk of the Buddha desiring temporal power or interfering in any way +with the government of the people. That is why I have written this +chapter, to show how Buddhism holds itself towards the government. With +us, we are accustomed to ecclesiastics trying to manage affairs of +state, or attempting to grasp the secular power. It is in accordance +with our ideals that they should do so. Our religious phraseology is +full of such terms as lord and king and ruler and servant. Buddhism +knows nothing of any of them. In our religion we are subject to the +authority of deacons and priests and bishops and archbishops, and so on +up to the Almighty Himself. But in Buddhism every man is free--free, +subject to the inevitable laws of righteousness. There is no hierarchy +in Buddhism: it is a religion of absolute freedom. No one can damn you +except yourself; no one can save you except yourself. Governments cannot +do it, and therefore it would be useless to try and capture the reins of +government, even if you did not destroy your own soul in so doing. +Buddhism does not believe that you can save a man by force. + +As Buddhism was, so it is, so it will remain. By its very nature it +abhors all semblance of authority. It has proved that, under temptation +such as no other religion has felt, and resisted; it is a religion of +each man's own soul, not of governments and powers. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +CRIME AND PUNISHMENT + + 'Overcome anger by kindness, evil by good.' + _Dammapada._ + + +Not very many years ago an officer in Rangoon lost some currency notes. +He had placed them upon his table overnight, and in the morning they +were gone. The amount was not large. It was, if I remember rightly, +thirty rupees; but the loss annoyed him, and as all search and inquiry +proved futile, he put the matter in the hands of the police. + +Before long--the very next day--the possession of the notes was traced +to the officer's Burman servant, who looked after his clothes and +attended on him at table. The boy was caught in the act of trying to +change one of the notes. He was arrested, and he confessed. He was very +hard up, he said, and his sister had written asking him to help her. He +could not do so, and he was troubling himself about the matter early +that morning while tidying the room, and he saw the notes on the table, +and so he took them. It was a sudden temptation, and he fell. When the +officer learnt all this, he would, I think, have withdrawn from the +prosecution and forgiven the boy; but it was too late. In our English +law theft is not compoundable. A complaint of theft once made must be +proved or disproved; the accused must be tried before a magistrate. +There is no alternative. So the lad--he was only a lad--was sent up +before the magistrate, and he again pleaded guilty, and his master asked +that the punishment might be light. The boy, he said, was an honest boy, +and had yielded to a sudden temptation. He, the master, had no desire to +press the charge, but the reverse. He would never have come to court at +all if he could have withdrawn from the charge. Therefore he asked that +the magistrate would consider all this, and be lenient. + +But the magistrate did not see matters in the same light at all. He +would consider his judgment, and deliver it later on. + +When he came into court again and read the judgment he had prepared, he +said that he was unable to treat the case leniently. There were many +such cases, he said. It was becoming quite common for servants to steal +their employers' things, and they generally escaped. It was a serious +matter, and he felt himself obliged to make an example of such as were +convicted, to be a warning to others. So the boy was sentenced to six +months' rigorous imprisonment; and his master went home, and before +long had forgotten all about it. + +But one day, as he was sitting in his veranda reading before breakfast, +a lad came quickly up the stairs and into the veranda, and knelt down +before him. It was the servant. As soon as he was released from gaol, he +went straight to his old master, straight to the veranda where he was +sure he would be sitting at that hour, and begged to be taken back again +into his service. He was quite pleased, and sure that his master would +be equally pleased, at seeing him again, and he took it almost as a +matter of course that he would be reinstated. + +But the master doubted. + +'How can I take you back again?' he said. 'You have been in gaol.' + +'But,' said the boy, 'I did very well in gaol. I became a warder with a +cap white on one side and yellow on the other. Let the thakin ask.' + +Still the officer doubted. + +'I cannot take you back,' he repeated. 'You stole my money, and you have +been in prison. I could not have you as a servant again.' + +'Yes,' admitted the boy, 'I stole the thakin's money, but I have been in +prison for it a long time--six months. Surely that is all forgotten now. +I stole; I have been in gaol--that is the end of it.' + +'No,' answered the master, 'unfortunately, your having been in gaol +only makes matters much worse. I could forgive the theft, but the being +in gaol--how can I forgive that?' + +And the boy could not understand. + +'If I have stolen, I have been in gaol for it. That is wiped out now,' +he said again and again, till at last he went away in sore trouble of +mind, for he could not understand his master, nor could his master +understand him. + +You see, each had his own idea of what was law, and what was justice, +and what was punishment. To the Burman all these words had one set of +meanings; to the Englishman they had another, a very different one. And +each of them took his ideas from his religion. To all men the law here +on earth is but a reflection of the heavenly law; the judge is the +representative of his god. The justice of the court should be as the +justice of heaven. Many nations have imagined their law to be +heaven-given, to be inspired with the very breath of the Creator of the +world. Other nations have derived their laws elsewhere. But this is of +little account, for to the one, as to the other, the laws are a +reflection of the religion. + +And therefore on a man's religion depends all his views of law and +justice, his understanding of the word 'punishment,' his idea of how sin +should be treated. And it was because of their different religions, +because their religions differed so greatly on these points as to be +almost opposed, that the English officer and his Burman servant failed +to understand each other. + +For to the Englishman punishment was a degradation. It seemed to him far +more disgraceful that his servant should have been in gaol than that he +should have committed theft. The theft he was ready to forgive, the +punishment he could not. Punishment to him meant revenge. It is the +revenge of an outraged and injured morality. The sinner had insulted the +law, and therefore the law was to make him suffer. He was to be +frightened into not doing it again. That is the idea. He was to be +afraid of receiving punishment. And again his punishment was to be +useful as a warning to others. Indeed, the magistrate had especially +increased it with that object in view. He was to suffer that others +might be saved. The idea of punishment being an atonement hardly enters +into our minds at all. To us it is practically a revenge. We do not +expect people to be the better for it. We are sure they are the worse. +It is a deterrent for others, not a healing process for the man himself. +We punish A. that B. may be afraid, and not do likewise. Our thoughts +are bent on B., not really on A. at all. As far as he is concerned, the +process is very similar to pouring boiling lead into a wound. We do not +wish or intend to improve him, but simply and purely to make him suffer. +After we have dealt with him, he is never fit again for human society. +That was in the officer's thought when he refused to take back his +Burmese servant. + +Now see the boy's idea. + +Punishment is an atonement, a purifying of the soul from the stain of +sin. That is the only justification for, and meaning of, suffering. If a +man breaks the everlasting laws of righteousness and stains his soul +with the stain of sin, he must be purified, and the only method of +purification is by suffering. Each sin is followed by suffering, lasting +just so long as to cleanse the soul--not a moment less, or the soul +would not be white; not a moment more, or it would be useless and cruel. +That is the law of righteousness, the eternal inevitable sequence that +leads us in the end to wisdom and peace. And as it is with the greater +laws, so it should, the Buddhist thinks, be with the lesser laws. + +If a man steals, he should have such punishment and for such a time as +will wean his soul from theft, as will atone for his sin. Just so much. +You see, to him mercy is a falling short of what is necessary, a leaving +of work half done, as if you were to leave a garment half washed. Excess +of punishment is mere useless brutality. He recognizes no vicarious +punishment. He cannot understand that A. should be damned in order to +save B. This does not agree with his scheme of righteousness at all. It +seems as futile to him as the action of washing one garment twice that +another might be clean. Each man should atone for his own sin, _must_ +atone for his own sin, in order to be freed from it. No one can help +him, or suffer for him. If I have a sore throat, it would be useless to +blister you for it: that is his idea. + +Consider this Burman. He had committed theft. That he admitted. He was +prepared to atone for it. The magistrate was not content with that, but +made him also atone for other men's sins. He was twice punished, because +other men who escaped did ill. That was the first thing he could not +understand. And then, when he had atoned both for his own sin and for +that of others, when he came out of prison, he was looked upon as in a +worse state than if he had never atoned at all. If he had never been in +prison, his master would have forgiven his theft and taken him back, but +now he would not. The boy was proud of having atoned in full, very full, +measure for his sin; the master looked upon the punishment as +inconceivably worse than the crime. + +So the officer went about and told the story of his boy coming back, and +expecting to be taken on again, as a curious instance of the mysterious +working of the Oriental mind, as another example of the extraordinary +way Easterns argue. 'Just to think,' said the officer, 'he was not +ashamed of having been in prison!' And the boy? Well, he probably said +nothing, but went away and did not understand, and kept the matter to +himself, for they are very dumb, these people, very long-suffering, +very charitable. You may be sure that he never railed at the law, or +condemned his old master for harshness. + +He would wonder why he was punished because other people had sinned and +escaped. He could not understand that. It would not occur to him that +sending him to herd with other criminals, that cutting him off from all +the gentle influences of life, from the green trees and the winds of +heaven, from the society of women, from the example of noble men, from +the teachings of religion, was a curious way to render him a better man. +He would suppose it was intended to make him better, that he should +leave gaol a better man than when he entered, and he would take the +intention for the deed. Under his own king things were not much better. +It is true that very few men were imprisoned, fine being the usual +punishment, but still, imprisonment there was, and so that would not +seem to him strange; and as to the conduct of his master, he would be +content to leave that unexplained. The Buddhist is content to leave many +things unexplained until he can see the meaning. He is not fond of +theories. If he does not know, he says so. 'It is beyond me,' he will +say; 'I do not understand.' He has no theory of an occidental mind to +explain acts of ours of which he cannot grasp the meaning; he would only +not understand. + +But the pity of it--think of the pity of it all! Surely there is +nothing more pathetic than this: that a sinner should not understand the +wherefore of his sentence, that the justice administered to him should +be such as he cannot see the meaning of. + + +Certain forms of crime are very rife in Burma. The villages are so +scattered, the roads so lonely, the amount of money habitually carried +about so large, the people so habitually careless, the difficulty of +detection so great, that robbery and kindred crimes are very common; and +it is more common in the districts of the delta, long under our rule, +than in the newly-annexed province in the north. Under like conditions +the Burman is probably no more criminal and no less criminal than other +people in the same state of civilization. Crime is a condition caused by +opportunity, not by an inherent state of mind, except with the very, +very few, the exceptional individuals; and in Upper Burma there is, now +that the turmoil of the annexation is past, very little crime +comparatively. There is less money there, and the village system--the +control of the community over the individual--the restraining influence +of public opinion is greater. But even during the years of trouble, the +years from 1885 till 1890, when, in the words of the Burmese proverb, +'the forest was on fire and the wild-cat slapped his arm,' there were +certain peculiarities about the criminals that differentiated them from +those of Europe. You would hear of a terrible crime, a village attacked +at night by brigands, a large robbery of property, one or two villagers +killed, and an old woman tortured for her treasure, and you would +picture the perpetrators as hardened, brutal criminals, lost to all +sense of humanity, tigers in human shape; and when you came to arrest +them--if by good luck you did so--you would find yourself quite +mistaken. One, perhaps, or two of the ringleaders might be such as I +have described, but the others would be far different. They would be +boys or young men led away by the idea of a frolic, allured by the +romance of being a free-lance for a night, very sorry now, and ready to +confess and do all in their power to atone for their misdeeds. + +Nothing, I think, was more striking than the universal confession of +criminals on their arrest. Even now, despite the spread of lawyers and +notions of law, in country districts accused men always confess, +sometimes even they surrender themselves. I have known many such cases. +Here is one that happened to myself only the other day. + +A man was arrested in another jurisdiction for cattle theft; he was +tried there and sentenced to two years' rigorous imprisonment. Shortly +afterwards it was discovered that he was suspected of being concerned in +a robbery in my jurisdiction, committed before his arrest. He was +therefore transferred to the gaol near my court, and I inquired into the +case, and committed him and four others for trial before the sessions +judge for the robbery, which he admitted. + +Now, it so happened that immediately after I had passed orders in the +case I went out into camp, leaving the necessary warrants to be signed +in my absence by my junior magistrate, and a mistake occurred by which +the committal-warrant was only made out for the four. The other man +being already under sentence for two years, it was not considered +necessary to make out a remand-warrant for him. But, as it happened, he +had appealed from his former sentence and he was acquitted, so a warrant +of release arrived at the gaol, and, in absence of any other warrant, he +was at once released. + +Of course, on the mistake being discovered a fresh warrant was issued, +and mounted police were sent over the country in search of him, without +avail; he could not be found. But some four days afterwards, in the late +afternoon, as I was sitting in my house, just returned from court, my +servant told me a man wanted to see me. He was shown up into the +veranda, and, lo! it was the very man I wanted. He had heard, he +explained, that I wanted him, and had come to see me. I reminded him he +was committed to stand his trial for dacoity, that was why I wanted him. +He said that he thought all that was over, as he was released; but I +explained to him that the release only applied to the theft case. And +then we walked over half a mile to court, I in front and he behind, +across the wide plain, and he surrendered to the guard. He was tried +and acquitted on this charge also. Not, as the sessions judge said +later, that he had any doubt that my friend and the others were the +right men, but because he considered some of the evidence +unsatisfactory, and because the original confession was withdrawn. So he +was released again, and went hence a free man. + +But think of him surrendering himself! He knew he had committed the +dacoity with which he was charged: he himself had admitted it to begin +with, and again admitted it freely when he knew he was safe from further +trial. He knew he was liable to very heavy punishment, and yet he +surrendered because he understood that I wanted him. I confess that I do +not understand it at all, for this is no solitary instance. The +circumstances, truly, were curious, but the spirit in which the man +acted was usual enough. I have had dacoit leaders with prices on their +heads walk into my camp. It was a common experience with many officers. + +The Burmans often act as children do. Their crimes are the violent, +thoughtless crimes of children; they are as little depraved by crime as +children are. Who are more criminal than English boys? and yet they grow +up decent, law-abiding men. Almost the only confirmed criminals have +been made so by punishment, by that punishment which some consider is +intended to uplift them, but which never does aught but degrade them. +Instead of cleansing the garment, it tears it, and renders it useless +for this life. + +It is a very difficult question, this of crime and punishment. I have +not written all this because I have any suggestion to make to improve +it. I have not written it because I think that the laws of Manu, which +obtained under the Burmese kings, and their methods of punishment, were +any improvement on ours. On the contrary, I think they were much worse. +Their laws and their methods of enforcing the law were those of a very +young people. But, notwithstanding this, there was a spirit in their +laws different from and superior to ours. + +I have been trying to see into the soul of this people whom I love so +well, and nothing has struck me more than the way they regard crime and +punishment; nothing has seemed to me more worthy of note than their +ideas of the meaning and end of punishment, of its scope and its limits. +It is so very different from ours. As in our religion, so in our laws: +we believe in mercy at one time and in vengeance at another. We believe +in vicarious punishment and vicarious salvation; they believe in +absolute justice--always the same, eternal and unchangeable as the laws +of the stars. We purposely make punishment degrading; they think it +should be elevating, that in its purifying power lies its sole use and +justification. We believe in tearing a soiled garment; they think it +ought to be washed. + +Surely these are great differences, surely thoughts like these, +engraven in the hearts of a young people, will lead, in the great and +glorious future that lies before them, to a conception of justice, to a +method of dealing with crime, very different from what we know +ourselves. They are now very much as we were sixteen centuries ago, when +the Romans ruled us. Now we are a greater people, our justice is better, +our prisons are better, our morality is inconceivably better than +Imperial Rome ever dreamt of. And so with these people, when their time +shall come, when they shall have grown out of childhood into manhood, +when they shall have the wisdom and strength and experience to put in +force the convictions that are in their hearts, it seems to me that they +will bring out of these convictions something more wonderful than we +to-day have dreamt of. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +HAPPINESS + + 'The thoughts of his heart, these are the wealth of a man.' + _Burmese saying._ + + +As I have said, there was this very remarkable fact in Burma--that when +you left the king, you dropped at once to the villager. There were no +intermediate classes. There were no nobles, hereditary officers, great +landowners, wealthy bankers or merchants. + +Then there is no caste; there are no guilds of trade, or art, or +science. If a man discovered a method of working silver, say, he never +hid it, but made it common property. It is very curious how absolutely +devoid Burma is of the exclusiveness of caste so universal in India, and +which survives to a great extent in Europe. The Burman is so absolutely +enamoured of freedom, that he cannot abide the bonds which caste +demands. He will not bind himself with other men for a slight temporal +advantage; he does not consider it worth the trouble. He prefers +remaining free and poor to being bound and rich. Nothing is further +from him than the feeling of exclusiveness. He abominates secrecy, +mystery. His religion, his women, himself, are free; there are no dark +places in his life where the light cannot come. He is ready that +everything should be known, that all men should be his brothers. + +And so all the people are on the same level. Richer and poorer there +are, of course, but there are no very rich; there is none so poor that +he cannot get plenty to eat and drink. All eat much the same food, all +dress much alike. The amusements of all are the same, for entertainments +are nearly always free. So the Burman does not care to be rich. It is +not in his nature to desire wealth, it is not in his nature to care to +keep it when it comes to him. Beyond a sufficiency for his daily needs +money has not much value. He does not care to add field to field or coin +to coin; the mere fact that he has money causes him no pleasure. Money +is worth to him what it will buy. With us, when we have made a little +money we keep it to be a nest-egg to make more from. Not so a Burman: he +will spend it. And after his own little wants are satisfied, after he +has bought himself a new silk, after he has given his wife a gold +bangle, after he has called all his village together and entertained +them with a dramatic entertainment--sometimes even before all this--he +will spend the rest on charity. + +He will build a pagoda to the honour of the great teacher, where men +may go to meditate on the great laws of existence. He will build a +monastery school where the village lads are taught, and where each +villager retires some time in his life to learn the great wisdom. He +will dig a well or build a bridge, or make a rest-house. And if the sum +be very small indeed, then he will build, perhaps, a little house--a +tiny little house--to hold two or three jars of water for travellers to +drink. And he will keep the jars full of water, and put a little +cocoanut-shell to act as cup. + +The amount spent thus every year in charity is enormous. The country is +full of pagodas; you see them on every peak, on every ridge along the +river. They stand there as do the castles of the robber barons on the +Rhine, only with what another meaning! Near villages and towns there are +clusters of them, great and small. The great pagoda in Rangoon is as +tall as St. Paul's; I have seen many a one not three feet high--the +offering of some poor old man to the Great Name, and everywhere there +are monasteries. Every village has one, at least; most have two or +three. A large village will have many. More would be built if there was +anyone to live in them, so anxious is each man to do something for the +monks. As it is, more are built than there is actual need for. + +And there are rest-houses everywhere. Far away in the dense forests by +the mountain-side you will find them, built in some little hollow by +the roadside by someone who remembered his fellow-traveller. You cannot +go five miles along any road without finding them. In villages they can +be counted by tens, in towns by fifties. There are far more than are +required. + +In Burmese times such roads and bridges as were made were made in the +same way by private charity. Nowadays, the British Government takes that +in hand, and consequently there is probably more money for rest-house +building than is needed. As time goes on, the charity will flow into +other lines, no doubt, in addition. They will build and endow hospitals, +they will devote money to higher education, they will spend money in +many ways, not in what we usually call charity, for that they already +do, nor in missions, as whatever missions they may send out will cost +nothing. Holy men are those vowed to extreme poverty. But as their +civilization (_their_ civilization, not any imposed from outside) +progresses, they will find out new wants for the rich to supply, and +they will supply them. That is a mere question of material progress. + +The inclination to charity is very strong. The Burmans give in charity +far more in proportion to their wealth than any other people. It is +extraordinary how much they give, and you must remember that all of this +is quite voluntary. With, I think, two or three exceptions, such as +gilding the Shwe Dagon pagoda, collections are never made for any +purpose. There is no committee of appeal, no organized collection. It is +all given straight from the giver's heart. It is a very marvellous +thing. + +I remember long ago, shortly after I had come to Burma, I was staying +with a friend in Toungoo, and I went with him to the house of a Burman +contractor. We had been out riding, and as we returned my friend said he +wished to see the contractor about some business, and so we rode to his +house. He came out and asked us in, and we dismounted and went up the +stairs into the veranda, and sat down. It was a little house built of +wood, with three rooms. Behind was a little kitchen and a stable. The +whole may have cost a thousand rupees. As my friend and the Burman +talked of their business I observed the furniture. There was very +little; three or four chairs, two tables and a big box were all I could +see. Inside, no doubt, were a few beds and more chairs. While we sat, +the wife and daughter came out and gave us cheroots, and I talked to +them in my very limited Burmese till my friend was ready. Then we went +away. + +That contractor, so my friend told me as we went home, made probably a +profit of six or seven thousand rupees a year. He spent on himself about +a thousand of this; the rest went in charity. The great new monastery +school, with the marvellous carved facade, just to the south of the +town, was his, the new rest-house on the mountain road far up in the +hills was his. He supported many monks, he gave largely to the gilding +of the pagoda. If a theatrical company came that way, he subscribed +freely. Soon he thought he would retire from contracting altogether, for +he had enough to live on quietly for the rest of his life. + +His action is no exception, but the rule. You will find that every +well-to-do man has built his pagoda or his monastery, and is called +'school-builder' or 'pagoda-builder.' These are the only titles the +Burman knows, and they always are given most scrupulously. The builder +of a bridge, a well, or a rest-house may also receive the title of +'well-builder,' and so on, but such titles are rarely used in common +speech. Even the builder of a long shed for water-jars may call himself +after it if he likes, but it is only big builders who receive any title +from their fellows. But the satisfaction to the man himself, the +knowledge that he has done a good deed, is much the same, I think. + +A Burman's wants are very few, such wants as money can supply--a little +house, a sufficiency of plain food, a cotton dress for weekdays and a +silk one for holidays, and that is nearly all. + +They are still a very young people. Many wants will come, perhaps, later +on, but just now their desires are easily satisfied. + +The Burman does not care for a big house, for there are always the great +trees and the open spaces by the village. It is far pleasanter to sit +out of doors than indoors. He does not care for books. He has what is +better than many books--the life of his people all about him, and he has +the eyes to see it and the heart to understand it. He cares not to see +with other men's eyes, but with his own; he cares not to read other +men's thoughts, but to think his own, for a love of books only comes to +him who is shut always from the world by ill-health, by poverty, by +circumstance. When we are poor and miserable, we like to read of those +who are happier. When we are shut in towns, we love to read of the +beauties of the hills. When we have no love in our hearts, we like to +read of those who have. Few men who think their own thoughts care much +to read the thoughts of others, for a man's own thoughts are worth more +to him than all the thoughts of all the world besides. That a man should +think, that is a great thing. Very, very few great readers are great +thinkers. And he who can live his life, what cares he for reading of the +lives of other people? To have loved once is more than to have read all +the poets that ever sang. So a Burman thinks. To see the moon rise on +the river as you float along, while the boat rocks to and fro and +someone talks to you--is not that better than any tale? + +So a Burman lives his life, and he asks a great deal from it. He wants +fresh air and sunshine, and the great thoughts that come to you in the +forest. He wants love and companionship, the voice of friends, the low +laugh of women, the delight of children. He wants his life to be a full +one, and he wants leisure to teach his heart to enjoy all these things; +for he knows that you must learn to enjoy yourself, that it does not +always come naturally, that to be happy and good-natured and +open-hearted requires an education. To learn to sympathize with your +neighbours, to laugh with them and cry with them, you must not shut +yourself away and work. His religion tells him that the first of all +gifts is sympathy; it is the first step towards wisdom, and he holds it +true. After that, all shall be added to you. He believes that happiness +is the best of all things. + +We think differently. We are content with cheerless days, with an +absence of love, of beauty, of all that is valuable to the heart, if we +can but put away a little money, if we can enlarge our business, if we +can make a bigger figure in the world. Nay, we go beyond this: we +believe that work, that drudgery, is a beautiful thing in itself, that +perpetual toil and effort is admirable. + +This we do because we do not know what to do with our leisure, because +we do not know for what to seek, because we cannot enjoy. And so we go +back to work, to feverish effort, because we cannot think, and see, and +understand. 'Work is a means to leisure,' Aristotle told us long ago, +and leisure, adds the Burman, is needed that you may compose your own +soul. Work, no doubt, is a necessity, too, but not excess of it. + +The necessary thing to a man is not gold, nor position, nor power, but +simply his own soul. Nothing is worth anything to him compared with +that, for while a man lives, what is the good of all these things if he +have no leisure to enjoy them? And when he dies, shall they go down into +the void with him? No; but a man's own soul shall go with and be with +him for ever. + +A Burman's ideas of this world are dominated by his religion. His +religion says to him, 'Consider your own soul, that is the main thing.' +His religion says to him, 'The aim of every man should be happiness.' +These are the fundamental parts of his belief; these he learns from his +childhood: they are born in him. He looks at all the world by their +light. Later on, when he grows older, his religion says to him, 'And +happiness is only to be found by renouncing the whole world.' This is a +hard teaching. This comes to him slowly, or all Buddhists would be +monks; but, meanwhile, if he does but remember the first two precepts, +he is on the right path. + +He does do this. Happiness is the aim he seeks. Work and power and money +are but the means by which he will arrive at the leisure to teach his +own soul. First the body, then the spirit; but with us it is surely +first the body, and then the body again. + +He often watches us with surprise. He sees us work and work and work; +he sees us grow old quickly, and our minds get weary; he sees our +sympathies grow very narrow, our ideas bent into one groove, our whole +souls destroyed for a little money, a little fame, a little promotion, +till we go home, and do not know what to do with ourselves, because we +have no work and no sympathy with anything; and at last we die, and take +down with us our souls--souls fit for nothing but to be driven for ever +with a goad behind and a golden fruit in front. + +But do not suppose that the Burmese are idle. Such a nation of workers +was never known. Every man works, every woman works, every child works. +Life is not an easy thing, but a hard, and there is a great deal of work +to be done. There is not an idle man or woman in all Burma. The class of +those who live on other men's labour is unknown. I do not think the +Burman would care for such a life, for a certain amount of work is good, +he knows. A little work he likes; a good deal of work he does, because +he is obliged often to do so to earn even the little he requires. And +that is the end. He is a free man, never a slave to other men, nor to +himself. + +Therefore I do not think his will ever make what we call a great nation. +He will never try to be a conqueror of other peoples, either with the +sword, with trade, or with religion. He will never care to have a great +voice in the management of the world. He does not care to interfere with +other people: he never believes interference can do other than harm to +both sides. + +He will never be very rich, very powerful, very advanced in science, +perhaps not even in art, though I am not sure about that. It may be he +will be very great in literature and art. But, however that may be, in +his own idea his will be always the greatest nation in the world, +because it is the happiest. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE MONKHOOD--I + + 'Let his life be kindness, his conduct righteousness; then in the + fulness of gladness he will make an end of grief.'--_Dammapada._ + + +During his lifetime, that long lifetime that remained to him after he +had found the light, Gaudama the Buddha gathered round him many +disciples. They came to learn from his lips of that truth which he had +found, and they remained near him to practise that life which alone can +lead unto the Great Peace. + +From time to time, as occasion arose, the teacher laid down precepts and +rules to assist those who desired to live as he did--precepts and rules +designed to help his disciples in the right way. Thus there arose about +him a brotherhood of those who were striving to purify their souls, and +lead the higher life, and that brotherhood has lasted ever since, till +you see in it the monkhood of to-day, for that is all that the monks +are--a brotherhood of men who are trying to live as their great master +lived, to purify their souls from the lust of life, to travel the road +that reaches unto deliverance. Only that, nothing more. + +There is no idea of priesthood about it at all, for by a priest we +understand one who has received from above some power, who is, as it +were, a representative on earth of God. Priests, to our thinking, are +those who have delegated to them some of that authority of which God is +the fountainhead. They can absolve from sin, we think; they can accept +into the faith; they can eject from it; they can exhort with authority; +they can administer the sacraments of religion; they can speed the +parting soul to God; they can damn the parting soul to hell. A priest is +one who is clothed with much authority and holiness. + +But in Buddhism there is not, there cannot be, anything of all this. The +God who lies far beyond our ken has delegated His authority to no one. +He works through everlasting laws. His will is manifested by +unchangeable sequences. There is nothing hidden about His laws that +requires exposition by His agents, nor any ceremonies necessary for +acceptance into the faith. Buddhism is a free religion. No one holds the +keys of a man's salvation but himself. Buddhism never dreams that anyone +can save or damn you but yourself, and so a Buddhist monk is as far away +from our ideas of a priest as can be. Nothing could be more abhorrent to +Buddhism than any claim of authority, of power, from above, of holiness +acquired except by the earnest effort of a man's own soul. + +These monks, who are so common all through Burma, whose monasteries are +outside every village, who can be seen in every street in the early +morning begging their bread, who educate the whole youth of the country, +are simply men who are striving after good. + +This is a difficult thing for us to understand, for our minds are bent +in another direction. A religion without a priesthood seems to us an +impossibility, and yet here it is so. The whole idea and thing of a +priesthood would be repugnant to Buddhism. + +It is a wonderful thing to contemplate how this brotherhood has existed +all these many centuries, how it has always gained the respect and +admiration of the people, how it has always held in its hands the +education of the children, and yet has never aspired to sacerdotalism. +Think of the temptation resisted here. The temptation to interfere in +government was great, the temptation to arrogate to themselves priestly +powers is far, far greater. Yet it has been always resisted. This +brotherhood of monks is to-day as it was twenty-three centuries ago--a +community of men seeking for the truth. + +Therefore, in considering these monks, we must dismiss from our minds +any idea of priesthood, any idea of extra human sanctity, of extra human +authority. We must never liken them in any way to our priests, or even +to our friars. I use the word monk, because it is the nearest of any +English word I can find, but even that is not quite correct. I have +often found this difficulty. I do not like to use the Burmese terms if I +can help it, for this reason, that strange terms and names confuse us. +They seem to lift us into another world--a world of people differing +from us, not in habits alone, but in mind and soul. It is a dividing +partition. It is very difficult to read a book speaking of people under +strange terms, and feel that they are flesh and blood with us, and +therefore I have, if possible, always used an English word where I can +come anywhere near the meaning, and in this case I think monk comes +closest to what I mean. Hermits they are not, for they live always in +communities by villages, and they do not seclude themselves from human +intercourse. Priests they are not, ministers they are not, clergymen +they are not; mendicants only half describe them, so I use the word monk +as coming nearest to what I wish to say. + +The monks, then, are those who are trying to follow the teaching of +Gaudama the Buddha, to wean themselves from the world, 'who have turned +their eyes towards heaven, where is the lake in which all passions shall +be washed away.' They are members of a great community, who are governed +by stringent regulations--the regulations laid down in the Wini for +observance by all monks. When a man enters the monkhood, he makes four +vows--that he will be pure from lust, from desire of property, from the +taking of any life, from the assumption of any supernatural powers. +Consider this last, how it disposes once and for all of any desire a +monk may have toward mysticism, for this is what he is taught: + +'No member of our community may ever arrogate to himself extraordinary +gifts or supernatural perfection, or through vainglory give himself out +to be a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary +places on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the Ariahs, and afterwards +to presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. +Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green +again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy +station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an +excess.' + +Is not this teaching the very reverse of that of all other peoples and +religions? Can you imagine the religious teachers of any other religion +being warned to keep themselves free from visions? Are not visions and +trances, dreams and imaginations, the very proof of holiness? But here +it is not so. These are vain things, foolish imaginations, and he who +would lead the pure life must put behind him all such things as mere +dram-drinking of the soul. + +This is a most wonderful thing, a religion that condemns all +mysticisms. It stands alone here amongst all religions, pure from the +tinsel of miracle, either past, or present, or to come. And yet this +people is, like all young nations, given to superstition: its young men +dream dreams, its girls see visions. There are interpreters of dreams, +many of them, soothsayers of all kinds, people who will give you charms, +and foretell events for you. Just as it was with us not long ago, the +mystery, _what is_ beyond the world, exercises a curious fascination +over them. Everywhere you will meet with traces of it, and I have in +another chapter told some of the principal phases of these. But the +religion has kept itself pure. No hysteric visions, no madman's dreams, +no clever conjurer's tricks, have ever shed a tawdry glory on the +monkhood of the Buddha. Amid all the superstition round about them they +have remained pure, as they have from passion and desire. Here in the +far East, the very home, we think, of the unnatural and superhuman, the +very cradle of the mysterious and the wonderful, is a religion which +condemns it all, and a monkhood who follow their religion. Does not this +out-miracle any miracle? + +With other faiths it is different: they hold out to those who follow +their tenets and accept their ministry that in exchange for the worldly +things which their followers renounce they shall receive other gifts, +heavenly ones; they will be endued with power from above; they will have +authority from on high; they will become the chosen messengers of God; +they may even in their trances enter into His heaven, and see Him face +to face. + +Buddhism has nothing of all this to offer. A man must surrender all the +world, with no immediate gain. There is only this: that if he struggle +along in the path of righteousness, he will at length attain unto the +Great Peace. + +A monk who dreamed dreams, who said that the Buddha had appeared to him +in a vision, who announced that he was able to prophesy, would be not +exalted, but expelled. He would be deemed silly or mad; think of +that--mad--for seeing visions, not holy at all! The boys would jeer at +him; he would be turned out of his monastery. + +A monk is he who observes purity and sanity of life. Hysteric dreams, +the childishness of the mysterious, the insanity of the miraculous, are +no part of that. + +And so a monk has to put behind him everything that is called good in +this life, and govern his body and his soul in strict temperance. + +He must wear but yellow garments, ample and decent, but not beautiful; +he must shave his head; he must have none but the most distant +intercourse with women; he must beg his food daily in the streets; he +must eat but twice, and then but a certain amount, and never after noon; +he must take no interest in worldly affairs; he must own no property, +must attend no plays or performances; 'he must eat, not to satisfy his +appetite, but to keep his body alive; he must wear clothes, not from +vanity, but from decency; he must live under a roof, not because of +vainglory, but because the weather renders it necessary.' All his life +is bounded by the very strictest poverty and purity. + +There is no austerity. A monk may not over-eat, but he must eat enough; +he must not wear fine clothes, but he must be decent and comfortable; he +must not have proud dwellings, but he should be sheltered from the +weather. + +There is no self-punishment in Buddhism. Did not the Buddha prove the +futility of this long ago? The body must be kept in health, that the +soul may not be hampered. And so the monks live a very healthy, very +temperate life, eating and drinking just enough to keep the body in good +health; that is the first thing, that is the very beginning of the pure +life. + +And as he trains his body by careful treatment, so does he his soul. He +must read the sacred books, he must meditate on the teachings of the +great teacher, he must try by every means in his power to bring these +truths home to himself, not as empty sayings, but as beliefs that are to +be to him the very essence of all truth. He is not cut off from society. +There are other monks, and there are visitors, men and women. He may +talk to them--he is no recluse; but he must not talk too much about +worldly matters. He must be careful of his thoughts, that they do not +lead him into wrong paths. His life is a life of self-culture. + +Being no priest, he has few duties to others to perform; he is not +called upon to interfere in the business of others. He does not visit +the sick; he has no concern with births and marriages and deaths. On +Sunday, and on certain other occasions, he may read the laws to the +people, that is all. Of this I will speak in another chapter. It does +not amount to a great demand upon his time. He is also the schoolmaster +of the village, but this is aside entirely from his sacred profession. +Certain duties he has, however. Every morning as the earliest sunlight +comes upon the monastery spires, when the birds are still calling to the +day, and the cool freshness of the morning still lies along the +highways, you will see from every monastery the little procession come +forth. First, perhaps, there will be two schoolboys with a gong slung on +a bamboo between them, which they strike now and then. And behind them, +in their yellow robes, their faces cast upon the ground, and the +begging-bowls in their hands, follow the monks. Very slowly they pass +along the streets, amid the girls hurrying to their stalls in the bazaar +with baskets of fruit upon their heads, the housewives out to buy their +day's requirements, the workman going to his work, the children running +and laughing and falling in the dust. Everyone makes room for them as +they go in slow and solemn procession, and from this house and that +come forth women and children with a little rice that they have risen +before daylight to cook, a little curry, a little fruit, to put into the +bowls. Never is there any money given: a monk may not touch money, and +his wants are very few. Presents of books, and so on, are made at other +times; but in the morning only food is given. + +The gifts are never acknowledged. The cover of the bowl is removed, and +when the offering has been put in, it is replaced, and the monk moves +on. And when they have made their accustomed round, they return, as they +went, slowly to the monastery, their bowls full of food. I do not know +that this food is always eaten by the monks. Frequently in large towns +they are fed by rich men, who send daily a hot, fresh, well-cooked meal +for each monk, and the collected alms are given to the poor, or to +schoolboys, or to animals. But the begging round is never neglected, nor +is it a form. It is a very real thing, as anyone who has seen them go +knows. They must beg their food, and they do; it is part of the +self-discipline that the law says is necessary to help the soul to +humility. And the people give because it is a good thing to give alms. +Even if they know the monks are fed besides, they will fill the bowls as +the monks pass along. If the monks do not want it, there are the poor, +there are the schoolboys, sons of the poorest of the people, who may +often be in need of a meal; and if a little be left, then there are the +birds and the beasts. It is a good thing to give alms--good for +yourself, I mean. So that this daily procession does good in two ways: +it is good for the monk because he learns humility; it is good for the +people because they have thereby offered them a chance of giving a +little alms. Even the poorest may be able to give his spoonful of rice. +All is accepted. Think not a great gift is more acceptable than a little +one. You must judge by the giver's heart. + +At every feast, every rejoicing, the central feature is presents to the +monks. If a man put his son into a monastery, if he make merry at a +stroke of good fortune, if he wish to celebrate a mark of favour from +government, the principal ceremony of the feast will be presents to +monks. They must be presents such as the monks can accept; that is +understood. + +Therefore, a man enters a monastery simply for this: to keep his body in +health by perfect moderation and careful conduct, and to prepare his +soul for heaven by meditation. That is the meaning of it all. + +If you see a grove of trees before you on your ride, mangoes and +tamarinds in clusters, with palms nodding overhead, and great +broad-leaved plantains and flowering shrubs below, you may be sure that +there is a monastery, for it is one of the commands to the monks of the +Buddha to live under the shade of lofty trees, and this command they +always keep. They are most beautiful, many of these monasteries--great +buildings of dark-brown teak, weather-stained, with two or three roofs +one above the other, and at one end a spire tapering up until it ends in +a gilded 'tee.' Many of the monasteries are covered with carving along +the facades and up the spires, scroll upon scroll of daintiest design, +quaint groups of figures here and there, and on the gateways moulded +dragons. All the carvings tell a story taken from the treasure-house of +the nation's infancy, quaint tales of genii and fairy and wonderful +adventure. Never, I think, do the carvings tell anything of the sacred +life or teaching. The Burmese are not fond, as we are, of carving and +painting scenes from sacred books. Perhaps they think the subject too +holy for the hand of the craftsman, and so, with, as far as I know, but +one exception in all Burma--a pagoda built by Indian architects long +ago--you will look in vain for any sacred teaching in the carvings. But +they are very beautiful, and their colour is so good, the deep rich +brown of teak against the light green of the tamarinds, and the great +leaves of the plantains all about. Within the monastery it will be all +bare. However beautiful the building is without, no relaxation of his +rules is allowed to the monk within. All is bare: only a few mats, +perhaps, here and there on the plank floor, a hard wooden bed, a box or +two of books. + +At one end there will be sure to be the image of the teacher, wrought +in alabaster. These are always one of three stereotyped designs; they +are not works of art at all. The wealth of imagination and desire of +beauty that finds its expression in the carved stories in the facades +has no place here at all. It would be thought a sacrilege to attempt in +any way to alter the time-honoured figures that have come down to us +from long ago. + +Over the head of the image there will be a white or golden umbrella, +whence we have derived our haloes, and perhaps a lotus-blossom in an +earthen pot in front. That will be all. There is this very remarkable +fact: of all the great names associated with the life of the Buddha, you +never see any presentment at all. + +The Buddha stands alone. Of Maya his mother, of Yathodaya his wife, of +Rahoula his son, of his great disciple Thariputra, of his dearest +disciple and brother Ananda, you see nothing. There are no saints in +Buddhism at all, only the great teacher, he who saw the light. Surely +this is a curious thing, that from the time of the prince to now, two +thousand four hundred years, no one has arisen to be worthy of mention +of record beside him. There is only one man holy to Buddhism--Gaudama +the Buddha. + +On one side of the monasteries there will be many pagodas, tombs of the +Buddha. They are usually solid cones, topped with a gilded 'tee,' and +there are many of them. Each man will build one in his lifetime if he +can. They are always white or gold. + +So there is much colour about a monastery--the brown of the wood and the +white of the pagoda, and tender green of the trees. The ground is always +kept clean-swept and beaten and neat. And there is plenty of sound, +too--the fairy music of little bells upon the pagoda-tops when the +breeze moves, the cooing of the pigeons in the eaves, the voices of the +schoolboys. Monastery land is sacred. No life may be taken there, no +loud sounds, no noisy merriment, no abuse is permitted anywhere within +the fence. Monasteries are places of meditation and peace. + +Of course, all monasteries are not great and beautiful buildings; many +are but huts of bamboo and straw, but little better than the villager's +hut. Some villages are so poor that they can afford but little for their +holy men. But always there will be trees, always the ground will be +swept, always the place will be respected just the same. And as soon as +a good crop gives the village a little money, it will build a teak +monastery, be sure of that. + +Monasteries are free to all. Any stranger may walk into a monastery and +receive shelter. The monks are always hospitable. I have myself lived, +perhaps, a quarter of my life in Burma in monasteries, or in the +rest-houses attached to them. We break all their laws: we ride and wear +boots within the sacred enclosure; our servants kill fowls for our +dinners there, where all life is protected; we treat these monks, these +who are the honoured of the nation, much in the offhand, unceremonious +way that we treat all Orientals; we often openly laugh at their +religion. And yet they always receive us; they are often even glad to +see us and talk to us. Very, very seldom do you meet with any return in +kind for your contempt of their faith and habits. I have heard it said +sometimes that some monks stand aloof, that they like to keep to +themselves. If they should do so, can you wonder? Would any people, not +firmly bound by their religion, put up with it all for a moment? If you +went into a Mahommedan mosque in Delhi with your boots on, you would +probably be killed. Yet we clump round the Shwe Dagon pagoda at our +ease, and no one interferes. Do not suppose that it is because the +Burman believes less than the Hindu or Mahommedan. It is because he +believes more, because he is taught that submission and patience are +strong Buddhist virtues, and that a man's conduct is an affair of his +own soul. He is willing to believe that the Englishman's breaches of +decorum are due to foreign manners, to the necessities of our life, to +ignorance. But even if he supposed that we did these things out of sheer +wantonness it would make no difference. If the foreigner is dead to +every feeling of respect, of courtesy, of sympathy, that is an affair of +the foreigner's own heart. It is not for the monk to enforce upon +strangers the respect and reverence due to purity, to courage, to the +better things. Each man is responsible for himself, the foreigner no +less than the Burman. If a foreigner have no respect for what is good, +that is his own business. It can hurt no one but himself if he is +blatant, ignorant, contemptuous. No one is insulted by it, or requires +revenge for it. You might as well try and insult gravity by jeering at +Newton and his pupils, as injure the laws of righteousness by jeering at +the Buddha or his monks. And so you will see foreigners take all sorts +of liberties in monasteries and pagodas, break every rule wantonly, and +disregard everything the Buddhist holds holy, and yet very little notice +will be taken openly. Burmans will have their own opinion of you, do +have their own opinion of you, without a doubt; but because you are lost +to all sense of decency, that is no reason why the Buddhist monk or +layman should also lower himself by getting angry and resent it; and so +you may walk into any monastery or rest-house and act as you think fit, +and no one will interfere with you. Nay, if you even show a little +courtesy to the monks, your hosts, they will be glad to talk to you and +tell you of their lives and their desires. It is very seldom that a +pleasant word or a jest will not bring the monks into forgetting all +your offences, and talking to you freely and openly. I have had, I have +still, many friends among the monkhood; I have been beholden to them +for many kindnesses; I have found them always, peasants as they are, +courteous and well-mannered. Nay, there are greater things than these. + +When my dear friend was murdered at the outbreak of the war, wantonly +murdered by the soldiers of a brutal official, and his body drifted down +the river, everyone afraid to bury it, for fear of the wrath of +government, was it not at last tenderly and lovingly buried by the monks +near whose monastery it floated ashore? Would all people have done this? +Remember, he was one of those whose army was engaged in subduing the +kingdom; whose army imprisoned the king, and had killed, and were +killing, many, many hundreds of Burmans. 'We do not remember such +things. All men are brothers to the dead.' They are brothers to the +living, too. Is there not a monastery near Kindat, built by an +Englishman as a memorial to the monk who saved his life at peril of his +own at that same time, who preserved him till help came? + +Can anyone ever tell when the influence of a monk has been other than +for pity or mercy? Surely they believe their religion? I did not know +how people could believe till I saw them. + +Martyrdom--what is martyrdom, what is death, for your religion, compared +to living within its commands? Death is easy; life it is that is +difficult. Men have died for many things: love and hate, and religion +and science, for patriotism and avarice, for self-conceit and sheer +vanity, for all sorts of things, of value and of no value. Death proves +nothing. Even a coward can die well. But a pure life is the outcome only +of the purest religion, of the greatest belief, of the most magnificent +courage. Those who can live like this can die, too, if need be--have +done so often and often; that is but a little matter indeed. No Buddhist +would consider that as a very great thing beside a holy life. + +There is another difference between us. We think a good death hallows an +evil life; no Buddhist would hear of this for a moment. + +The reverence in which a monk--ay, even the monk to-day who was but an +ordinary man yesterday--is held by the people is very great. All those +who address him do so kneeling. Even the king himself was lower than a +monk, took a lower seat than a monk in the palace. He is addressed as +'Lord,' and those who address him are his disciples. Poor as he is, +living on daily charity, without any power or authority of any kind, the +greatest in the land would dismount and yield the road that he should +pass. Such is the people's reverence for a holy life. Never was such +voluntary homage yielded to any as to these monks. There is a special +language for them, the ordinary language of life being too common to be +applied to their actions. They do not sleep or eat or walk as do other +men. + +It seems strange to us, coming from our land where poverty is an +offence, where the receipt of alms is a degradation, where the ideal is +power, to see here all this reversed. The monks are the poorest of the +poor, they are dependent on the people for their daily bread; for +although lands may be given to a monastery as a matter of fact, very few +have any at all, and those only a few palm-trees. They have no power at +all, either temporal or eternal; they are not very learned, and yet they +are the most honoured of all people. Without any of the attributes which +in our experience gather the love and honour of mankind, they are +honoured above all men. + +The Burman demands from the monk no assistance in heavenly affairs, no +interference in worldly, only this, that he should live as becomes a +follower of the great teacher. And because he does so live the Burman +reverences him beyond all others. The king is feared, the wise man +admired, perhaps envied, the rich man is respected, but the monk is +honoured and loved. There is no one beside him in the heart of the +people. If you would know what a Burman would be, see what a monk is: +that is his ideal. But it is a very difficult ideal. The Burman is very +fond of life, very full of life, delighting in the joy of existence, +brimming over with vitality, with humour, with merriment. They are a +young people, in the full flush of early nationhood. To them of all +people the restraints of a monk's life must be terrible and hard to +maintain. And because it is so, because they all know how hard it is to +do right, and because the monks do right, they honour them, and they +know they deserve honour. Remember that all these people have been monks +themselves at one time or other; they know how hard the rules are, they +know how well they are observed. They are reverencing what they +thoroughly understand; they have seen their monkhood from the inside; +their reverence is the outcome of a very real knowledge. + +Of the internal management of the monkhood I have but little to say. +There is the Thathanabaing, who is the head of the community; there are +under him Gaing-oks, who each have charge of a district; each Gaing-ok +has an assistant, 'a prop,' called Gaing-dauk; and there are the heads +of monasteries. The Thathanabaing is chosen by the heads of the +monasteries, and appoints his Gaing-oks and Gaing-dauks. There is no +complication about it. Usually any serious dispute is decided by a court +of three or four heads of monasteries, presided over by the Gaing-ok. +But note this: no monk can be tried by any ecclesiastical court without +his consent. Each monastery is self-governing; no monk can be called to +account by any Gaing-ok or Gaing-dauk unless he consents. The discipline +is voluntary entirely. There are no punishments by law for disobedience +of an ecclesiastical court. A monk cannot be unfrocked by his fellows. + +Therefore, it would seem that there would be no check over abuses, that +monks could do as they liked, that irregularities could creep in, and +that, in fact, there is nothing to prevent a monastery becoming a +disgrace. This would be a great mistake. It must never be forgotten that +monks are dependent on their village for everything--food and clothes, +and even the monastery itself. Do not imagine that the villagers would +allow their monks, their 'great glories,' to become a scandal to them. +The supervision exercised by the people over their monks is most +stringent. As long as the monks act as monks should, they are held in +great honour, they are addressed by titles of great respect, they are +supplied with all they want within the rules of the Wini, they are the +glory of the village. But do you think a Burman would render this homage +to a monk whom he could not respect, who did actions he should not? A +monk is one who acts as a monk. Directly he breaks his laws, his +holiness is gone. The villagers will have none such as he. They will +hunt him out of the village, they will refuse him food, they will make +him a byword, a scorn. I have known this to happen. If a monk's holiness +be suspected, he must clear himself before a court, or leave that place +quickly, lest worse befall him. It is impossible to conceive any +supervision more close than this of the people over their monks, and so +the breaches of any law by the monks are very rare--very rare indeed. +You see, for one thing, that a monk never takes the vows for life. He +takes them for six months, a year, two years, very often for five +years; then, if he finds the life suit him, he continues. If he finds +that he cannot live up to the standard required, he is free to go. There +is no compulsion to stay, no stigma on going. As a matter of fact, very +few monks there are but have left the monastery at one time or another. +It is impossible to over-estimate the value of this safety-valve. What +with the certainty of detection and punishment from his people, and the +knowledge that he can leave the monastery if he will at the end of his +time without any reproach, a monk is almost always able to keep within +his rules. + +I have had for ten years a considerable experience of criminal law. I +have tried hundreds of men for all sorts of offences; I have known of +many hundreds more being tried, and the only cases where a monk was +concerned that I can remember are these: three times a monk has been +connected in a rebellion, once in a divorce case, once in another +offence. This last case happened just as we annexed the country, and +when our courts were not established. He was detected by the villagers, +stripped of his robes, beaten, and hunted out of the place with every +ignominy possible. There is only one opinion amongst all those who have +tried to study the Buddhist monkhood--that their conduct is admirable. +Do you suppose the people would reverence it as they do if it were +corrupt? They know: they have seen it from the inside. It is not +outside knowledge they have. And when it is understood that anyone can +enter a monastery--thieves and robbers, murderers and sinners of every +description, can enter, are even urged to enter monasteries, and try to +live the holy life; and many of them do, either as a refuge against +pursuit, or because they really repent--it will be conceded that the +discipline of the monks, if obtained in a different way to elsewhere, is +very effective. + +The more you study the monkhood, the more you see that this community is +the outcome of the very heart of the people. It is a part of the people, +not cut off from them, but of them; it is recruited in great numbers +from all sorts and conditions of men. In every village and town--nearly +every man has been a monk at one time or another--it is honoured alike +by all; it is kept in the straight way, not only from the inherent +righteousness of its teaching, but from the determination of the people +to allow no stain to rest upon what they consider as their 'great +glory.' This whole monkhood is founded on freedom. It is held together +not by a strong organization, but by general consent. There is no +mystery about it, there are no dark places here where the sunlight of +inquiry may not come. The whole business is so simple that the very +children can and do understand it. I shall have expressed myself very +badly if I have not made it understood how absolutely voluntary this +monkhood is, held together by no everlasting vows, restrained by no +rigid discipline. It is simply the free outcome of the free beliefs of +the people, as much a part of them as the fruit is of the tree. You +could no more imagine grapes without a vine than a Buddhist monkhood +that did not spring directly from, and depend entirely on, the people. +It is the higher expression of their life. + + +In writing this account of the Burmese and their religion, I have tried +always to see with my own eyes, to write my own thoughts without any +reference to what anyone else may have thought or written. I have +believed that whatever value may attach to any man's opinions consists +in the fact that they are his opinions, and not a _rechauffe_ of the +thoughts of others, and therefore I have not even referred to, or quoted +from, any other writer, preferring to write only what I have myself seen +and thought. But I cannot end this chapter on the monks of the Buddha +without a reference to what Bishop Bigandet has said on the same +subject, for he is no observer prejudiced in favour of Buddhism, but the +reverse. He was a bishop of the Church of Rome, believing always that +his faith contained all truth, and that the Buddha was but a 'pretended +saviour,' his teachings based on 'capital and revolting errors,' and +marked with an 'inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity.' Bishop +Bigandet was in no sympathy with Buddhism, but its avowed foe, desirous +of undermining and destroying its influence over the hearts of men, and +yet this is the way he ends his chapter: + +'There is in that religious body--the monks--a latent principle of +vitality that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength +and energy that has hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, +revolutionary and political, convulsions of all descriptions. Whether +supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and +unchanged. It is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a +phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such +extraordinary vitality, a cause independent of ordinary occurrences of +time and circumstances, a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the +populations that exhibit before the observer this great and striking +religious feature. + +'That cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm +faith, that pervades the mass of Buddhists. The laity admire and +venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to +their maintenance and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is +constantly recruited. There is hardly a man that has not been a member +of the fraternity for a certain period of time. + +'Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long unless +it were maintained by a powerful religious connection. + +'The members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of +their profession. The rules and regulations are tolerably well +observed; the grades of hierarchy are maintained with scrupulous +exactitude. The life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual +control. He is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could +such a system of self-denial ever be maintained, were it not for the +belief which the Rahans have in the merits that they amass by following +a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to Nature? It cannot be +denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the +religious, but, divested of faith and the sentiments supplied by even a +false belief, their action could not produce in a lasting and +persevering manner the extraordinary and striking fact that we witness +in Buddhist countries.' + +This monkhood is the proof of how the people believe. Has any religion +ever had for twenty-four centuries such a proof as this? + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE MONKHOOD--II + + 'The restrained in hand, restrained in foot, restrained in speech, + of the greatest self-control. He whose delight is inward, who is + tranquil and happy when alone--him they call + "mendicant."'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +Besides being the ideal of the Buddhists, the monk is more: he is the +schoolmaster of all the boys. It must be remembered that this is a thing +aside from his monkhood. A monk need not necessarily teach; the aim and +object of the monkhood is, as I have written in the last chapter, purity +and abstraction from the world. If the monk acts as schoolmaster, that +is a thing apart. And yet all monasteries are schools. The word in +Burmese is the same; they are identified in popular speech and in +popular opinion. All the monasteries are full of scholars, all the monks +teach. I suppose much the same reasons have had influence here as in +other nations; the desire of the parents that their children should +learn religion in their childhood, the fact that the wisest and most +honoured men entered the monkhood, the leisure of the monks giving them +opportunity for such occupation. + +Every man all through Burma has gone to a monastery school as a lad, has +lived there with the monks, has learnt from them the elements of +education and a knowledge of his faith. It is an exception to find a +Burman who cannot read and write. Sometimes from lack of practice the +art is lost in later manhood, but it has always been acquired. The +education is not very deep--reading Burmese and writing; simple, very +simple, arithmetic; a knowledge of the days and months, and a little +geography, perhaps, and history--that is all that is secular. But of +their religion they learn a great deal. They have to get by heart great +portions of the sacred books, stories and teachings, and they have to +learn many precepts. They have to recite them, too, as those who have +lived much near monasteries know. Several times a day, at about nine +o'clock at night, and again before dawn, you will hear the lads intoning +clearly and loudly some of the sacred teachings. I have been awakened +many a time in the early morning, before the dawn, before even the +promise of the dawn in the eastern sky, by the children's voices +intoning. And I have put aside my curtain and looked out from my +rest-house and seen them in the dim starlight kneeling before the +pagoda, the tomb of the great teacher, saying his laws. The light comes +rapidly in this country: the sky reddens, the stars die quickly +overhead, the first long beams of sunrise are trembling on the dewy +bamboo feathers ere they have finished. It is one of the most beautiful +sights imaginable to see monks and children kneeling on the bare ground, +singing while the dawn comes. + +The education in their religion is very good, very thorough, not only in +precept, but in practice; for in the monastery you must live a holy +life, as the monks live, even if you are but a schoolboy. + +But the secular education is limited. It is up to the standard of +education amongst the people at large, but that is saying little. Beyond +reading and writing and arithmetic it generally does not go. I have seen +the little boys do arithmetic. They were adding sums, and they began, +not as we would, on the right, but on the left. They added, say, the +hundreds first; then they wrote on the slate the number of hundreds, and +added up the tens. If it happened that the tens mounted up so as to add +one or more to the hundreds, a grimy little finger would wipe out the +hundreds already written and write in the correct numbers. It follows +that if the units on being added up came to over ten, the tens must be +corrected with the grimy little finger, first put in the mouth. Perhaps +both tens and hundreds had to be written again. It will be seen that +when you come to thousands and tens of thousands, a good deal of wiping +out and re-writing may be required. A Burman is very bad at arithmetic; +a villager will often write 133 as 100,303; he would almost as soon +write 43 as 34; both figures are in each number, you see. + +I never met a Burman who had any idea of cubic measurement, though land +measurement they pick up very quickly. + +I have said that the education in the monasteries is up to the average +education of the people. That is so. Whether when civilization +progresses and more education is required the monasteries will be able +to provide it is another thing. + +The education given now is mostly a means to an end: to learning the +precepts of religion. Whether the monks will provide an education beyond +such a want, I doubt. A monk is by his vows, by the whole tenour of his +life, apart from the world; too keen a search after knowledge, any kind +of secular knowledge, would be a return to the things of this life, +would, perhaps, re-kindle in him the desires that the whole meaning of +his life is to annihilate. 'And after thou hast run over all things, +what will it profit thee if thou hast neglected thyself?' + +Besides, no knowledge, except mere theoretical knowledge, can be +acquired without going about in the world. You cannot cut yourself off +from the world and get knowledge of it. Yet the monk is apart from the +world. It is true that Buddhism has no antagonism to science--nay, has +every sympathy with, every attraction to, science. Buddhism will never +try and block the progress of the truth, of light, secular or +religious; but whether the monks will find it within their vows to +provide that science, only time can prove. However it may be, it will +not make any difference to the estimation in which the monks are held. +They are not honoured for their wisdom--they often have but little; nor +for their learning--they often have none at all; nor for their +industry--they are never industrious; but because they are men trying to +live--nay, succeeding in living--a life void of sin. Up till now the +education given by the monks has met the wants of the people; in future +it will do so less and less. But a community that has lived through +twenty-four centuries of change, and is now of the strength and vitality +that the Buddhist monkhood is, can have nothing to fear from any such +change. Schoolmasters, except religious and elementary, they may cease +to be, perhaps; the pattern and ensample of purity and righteousness +they will always remain. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +PRAYER + + 'What is there that can justify tears and lamentations?' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +Down below my house, in a grove of palms near the river, was a little +rest-house. It was but a roof and a floor of teak boarding without any +walls, and it was plainly built. It might have held, perhaps, twenty +people; and here, as I strolled past in the evening when the sun was +setting, I would see two or three old men sitting with beads in their +hands. They were making their devotions, saying to themselves that the +world was all trouble, all weariness, and that there was no rest +anywhere except in observing the laws of righteousness. It was very +pathetic, I thought, to see them there, saying this over and over again, +as they told their beads through their withered fingers, for surely +there was no necessity for them to learn it. Has not everyone learnt it, +this, the first truth of Buddhism, long before his hair is gray, before +his hands are shaking, before his teeth are gone? But there they would +sit, evening after evening, thinking of the change about to come upon +them soon, realizing the emptiness of life, wishing for the Great Peace. + +On Sundays the rest-house, like many others round the village, was +crowded. Old men there would be, and one or two young men, a few +children, and many women. Early in the morning they would come, and a +monk would come down from the monastery near by, and each one would vow, +with the monk as witness, that he or she would spend the day in +meditation and in holy thought, would banish all thought of evil, and be +for the day at least holy. And then, the vow made, the devotee would go +and sit in the rest-house and meditate. The village is not very near; +the sounds come very softly through the trees, not enough to disturb the +mind; only there is the sigh of the wind wandering amid the leaves, and +the occasional cry of birds. Once before noon a meal will be eaten, +either food brought with them cold, or a simple pot of rice boiled +beside the rest-house, and there they will stay till the sun sets and +darkness is gathering about the foot of the trees. There is no service +at all. The monk may come and read part of the sacred books--some of the +Abidama, or a sermon from the Thoots--and perhaps sometimes he may +expound a little; that is all. There is nothing akin to our ideas of +worship. For consider what our service consists of: there is +thanksgiving and praise, there is prayer, there is reading of the Bible, +there is a sermon. Our thanksgiving and praise is rendered to God for +things He has done, the pleasure that He has allowed us to enjoy, the +punishment that He might have inflicted upon us and has not. Our prayer +is to Him to preserve us in future, to assist us in our troubles, to +give us our daily food, not to be too severe upon us, not to punish us +as we deserve, but to be merciful and kind. We ask Him to protect us +from our enemies, not to allow them to triumph over us, but to give us +triumph over them. + +But the Buddhist has far other thoughts than these. He believes that the +world is ruled by everlasting, unchangeable laws of righteousness. The +great God lives far behind His laws, and they are for ever and ever. You +cannot change the laws of righteousness by praising them, or by crying +against them, any more than you can change the revolution of the earth. +Sin begets sorrow, sorrow is the only purifier from sin; these are +eternal sequences; they cannot be altered; it would not be good that +they should be altered. The Buddhist believes that the sequences are +founded on righteousness, are the path to righteousness, and he does not +believe he could alter them for the better, even if he had the power by +prayer to do so. He believes in the everlasting _righteousness_, that +all things work for _good_ in the end; he has no need for prayer or +praise; he thinks that the world is governed with far greater wisdom +than any of his--perfect wisdom, that is too great, too wonderful, for +his petty praise. + +God lives far behind His laws; think not He has made them so badly as +to require continual rectification at the prayer of man. Think not that +God is not bound by His own laws. The Buddhist will never believe that +God can break His own laws; that He is like an earthly king who imagines +one code of morality for his subjects and another for himself. Not so; +the great laws are founded in righteousness, so the Buddhist believes, +in everlasting righteousness; they are perfect, far beyond our +comprehension; they are the eternal, unchangeable, marvellous will of +God, and it is our duty not to be for ever fretfully trying to change +them, but to be trying to understand them. That is the Buddhist belief +in the meaning of religion, and in the laws of righteousness; that is, +he believes the duty of him who would follow religion to try to +understand these laws, to bring them home to the heart, so to order life +as to bring it into harmony with righteousness. + +Now see the difference. We believe that the world is governed not by +eternal laws, but by a changeable and continually changing God, and that +it is our duty to try and persuade Him to make it better. + +We believe, really, that we know a great deal better than God what is +good, not only for us, but for others; we do not believe His will is +always righteous--not at all: God has wrath to be deprecated; He has +mercy to be aroused; He has partiality to be turned towards us, and +hence our prayers. + +But to the Buddhist the whole world is ruled by righteousness, the same +for all, the same for ever, and the only sin is ignorance of these laws. + +The Buddha is he who has found for us the light to see these laws, and +to order our life in accordance with them. + +Now it will be understood, I think, why there is no prayer, no gathering +together for any ceremonial, in Buddhism; why there is no praise, no +thanksgiving of any kind; why it is so very different in this way from +our faith. Buddhism is a wisdom, a seeking of the light, a following of +the light, each man as best he can, and it has very little to correspond +with our prayer, our services of praise, our meetings together in the +name of Christ. + +Therefore, when you see a man kneeling before a pagoda, moving silent +lips of prayer, when you see the people sitting quietly in the +rest-houses on a Sunday, when you see the old men telling their beads to +themselves slowly and sadly, when you hear the resonant chant of monks +and children, lending a soul to the silence of the gloaming, you will +know what they are doing. They are trying to understand and bring home +to themselves the eternal laws of righteousness; they are honouring +their great teacher. + +This is all that there is; this is the meaning of all that you see and +hear. The Buddhist praises and honours the Buddha, the Indian prince +who so long ago went out into the wilderness to search for truth, and +after many years found it in his own heart; he reverences the Buddha for +seeing the light; he thanks the Buddha for his toil and exertion in +making this light known to all men. It can do the Buddha no good, all +this praise, for he has come to his eternal peace; but it can arouse the +enthusiasm of the follower, can bring into his heart love for the memory +of the great teacher, and a firm resolve to follow his teaching. + +The service of his religion is to try and follow these laws, to take +them home into the heart, that the follower, too, may come soon into the +Great Peace. + +This has been called pessimism. Surely it is the greatest optimism the +world has known--this certainty that the world is ruled by +righteousness, that the world has been, that the world will always be, +ruled by perfect righteousness. + +To the Buddhist this is a certainty. The laws are laws of righteousness, +if man would but see, would but understand. Do not complain and cry and +pray, but open your eyes and see. The light is all about you, if you +would only cast the bandage from your eyes and look. It is so wonderful, +so beautiful, far beyond what any man has dreamt of, has prayed for, and +it is for ever and for ever. + +This is the attitude of Buddhism towards prayer, towards thanksgiving. +It considers them an impertinence and a foolishness, born of ignorance, +akin to the action of him who would daily desire Atlas not to allow the +heavens to drop upon the earth. + +And yet, and yet. + +I remember standing once on the platform of a famous pagoda, the golden +spire rising before us, and carved shrines around us, and seeing a woman +lying there, her face to the pagoda. She was praying fervently, so +fervently that her words could be heard, for she had no care for anyone +about, in such trouble was she; and what she was asking was this, that +her child, her baby, might not die. She held the little thing in her +arms, and as she looked upon it her eyes were full of tears. For it was +very sick; its little limbs were but thin bones, with big knees and +elbows, and its face was very wan. It could not even take any interest +in the wonderful sights around, but hardly opened its careworn eyes now +and then to blink upon the world. + +'Let him recover, let him be well once more!' the woman cried, again and +again. + +Whom was she beseeching? I do not know. + +'Thakin, there will be Someone, Someone. A Spirit may hear. Who can +tell? Surely someone will help me? Men would help me if they could, but +they cannot; surely there will be someone?' + +So she did not remember the story of Ma Pa Da. + +Women often pray, I think--they pray that their husbands and those they +love may be well. It is a frequent ending to a girl's letter to her +lover: 'And I pray always that you may be well.' I never heard of their +praying for anything but this: that they may be loved, and those they +love may be well. Nothing else is worth praying for besides this. The +queen would pray at the pagoda in the palace morning and evening. 'What +did she pray for?' 'What should she pray for, thakin? Surely she prayed +that her husband might be true to her, and that her children might live +and be strong. That is what women pray for. Do you think a queen would +pray differently to any other woman?' + +'Women,' say the Buddhist monks, 'never understand. They _will_ not +understand; they cannot learn. And so we say that most women must be +born again, as men, before they can see the light and understand the +laws of righteousness.' + +What do women care for laws of righteousness? What do they care for +justice? What for the everlasting sequences that govern the world? Would +not they involve all other men, all earth and heaven, in bottomless +chaos, to save one heart they loved? That is woman's religion. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +FESTIVALS + + 'The law is sweet, filling the soul with joy.' + _Saying of the Buddha._ + + +The three months of the rains, from the full moon of July to the full +moon of October, is the Buddhist Lent. It was during these months that +the Buddha would retire to some monastery and cease from travelling and +teaching for a time. The custom was far older even than that--so old +that we do not know how it arose. Its origin is lost in the mists of +far-away time. But whatever the beginning may have been, it fits in very +well with the habits of the people; for in the rains travelling is not +easy. The roads are very bad, covered even with water, often deep in +mud; and the rest-houses, with open sides, are not very comfortable with +the rain drifting in. Even if there were no custom of Lent, there would +be but little travelling then. People would stay at home, both because +of the discomfort of moving, and because there is much work then at the +village. For this is the time to plough, this is the time to sow; on +the villagers' exertions in these months depends all their maintenance +for the rest of the year. Every man, every woman, every child, has hard +work of some kind or another. + +What with the difficulties of travelling, what with the work there is to +do, and what with the custom of Lent, everyone stays at home. It is the +time for prayer, for fasting, for improving the soul. Many men during +these months will live even as the monks live, will eat but before +mid-day, will abstain from tobacco. There are no plays during Lent, and +there are no marriages. It is the time for preparing the land for the +crop; it is the time for preparing the soul for eternity. The +congregations on the Sundays will be far greater at this time than at +any other; there will be more thought of the serious things of life. + +It is a very long Lent--three months; but with the full moon of October +comes the end. The rains then are over; the great black bank of clouds +that walled up all the south so long is gone. The south wind has died +away, and the light, fresh north wind is coming down the river. The +roads are drying up, the work in the fields is over for a time, awaiting +the ripening of the grain. The damp has gone out of the air, and it is +very clear. You can see once more the purple mountains that you have +missed so long; there is a new feeling in the wind, a laughter in the +sunshine, a flush of blossom along the fields like the awakening of a +new joy. The rains are gone and the cool weather is coming; Lent is +over and gladness is returned; the crop has been sown, and soon will +come the reaping. And so at this full moon of October is the great feast +of the year. There are other festivals: of the New Year, in March, with +its water-throwing; of each great pagoda at its appointed time; but of +all, the festival at the end of Lent is the greatest. + +Wherever there are great pagodas the people will come in from far and +near for the feast. There are many great pagodas in Burma; there is the +Arakan pagoda in Mandalay, and there was the Incomparable pagoda, which +has been burnt; there are great pagodas at Pegu, at Prome, at many other +places; but perhaps the greatest of all is the Shwe Dagon at Rangoon. + +You see it from far away as you come up the river, steaming in from the +open sea, a great tongue of flame before you. It stands on a small +conical hill just behind the city of Rangoon, about two miles away from +the wharves and shipping in the busy river. The hill has been levelled +on the top and paved into a wide platform, to which you ascend by a +flight of many steps from the gate below, where stand the dragons. This +entrance-way is all roofed over, and the pillars and the ceiling are red +and painted. Here it was that much fighting took place in the early +wars, in 1852 especially, and many men, English and Burmese, were killed +in storming and defending this strong place. For it had been made a +very strong place, this holy place of him who taught that peace was the +only good, and the defences round about it are standing still. Upon the +top of this hill, the flat paved top, stands the pagoda, a great solid +tapering cone over three hundred feet high, ending in an iron fretwork +spire that glitters with gold and jewels; and the whole pagoda is +covered with gold--pure leaf-gold. Down below it is being always renewed +by the pious offerings of those who come to pray and spread a little +gold-leaf on it; but every now and then it is all regilt, from the top, +far away above you, to the golden lions that guard its base. It is a +most wonderful sight, this great golden cone, in that marvellous +sunlight that bathes its sides like a golden sea. It seems to shake and +tremble in the light like a fire. And all about the platform, edging it +ere it falls away below, are little shrines, marvels of carven woodwork +and red lacquer. They have tapering roofs, one above another, till they, +too, end in a golden spire full of little bells with tongues. As the +wind blows the tongues move to and fro, and the air is full of music, so +faint, so clear, like 'silver stir of strings in hollow shells.' + +In most of these shrines there are statues of the great teacher, cut in +white alabaster, glimmering whitely in the lustrous shadows there +within; and in one shrine is the great bell. Long ago we tried to take +this great bell; we tried to send it home as a war trophy, this bell +stolen from their sacred place, but we failed. As it was being put on +board a ship, it slipped and fell into the river into the mud, where the +fierce tides are ever coming and going. And when all the efforts of our +engineers to raise it had failed, the Burmese asked: 'The bell, our +bell, is there in the water. You cannot get it up. You have tried and +you have failed. If we can get it up, may we have it back to hang in our +pagoda as our own again?' And they were told, with a laugh, perhaps, +that they might; and so they raised it up again, the river giving back +to them what it had refused to us, and they took and hung it where it +used to be. There it is now, and you may hear it when you go, giving out +a long, deep note, the beat of the pagoda's heart. + +There are many trees, too, about the pagoda platform--so many, that seen +far off you can only see the trees and the pagoda towering above them. +Have not trees been always sacred things? Have not all religions been +glad to give their fanes the glory and majesty of great trees? + +You may look from the pagoda platform over the whole country, over the +city and the river and the straight streets; and on the other side you +may see the long white lakes and little hills covered with trees. It is +a very beautiful place, this pagoda, and it is steeped in an odour of +holiness, the perfume of the thousand thousand prayers that have been +prayed there, of the thousand thousand holy thoughts that have been +thought there. + +The pagoda platform is always full of people kneeling, saying over and +over the great precepts of their faith, trying to bring into their +hearts the meaning of the teaching of him of whom this wonderful pagoda +represents the tomb. There are always monks there passing to and fro, or +standing leaning on the pillars of the shrines; there are always a crowd +of people climbing up and down the long steps that lead from the road +below. It is a place I always go to when I am in Rangoon; for, besides +its beauty, there are the people; and if you go and stand near where the +stairway reaches the platform you will see the people come up. They come +up singly, in twos, in groups. First a nun, perhaps, walking very +softly, clad in her white dress with her beads about her neck, and there +in a corner by a little shrine she will spread a cloth upon the hard +stones and kneel and bow her face to the great pagoda. Then she will +repeat, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble,' over and over again, running her +beads through her fingers, repeating the words in the hope that in the +end she may understand whither they should lead her. 'Sorrow, misery, +trouble'--ah! surely she must know what they mean, or she would not be a +nun. And then comes a young man, and after a reverence to the pagoda he +goes wandering round, looking for someone, maybe; and then comes an old +man with his son. They stop at the little stalls on the stairs, and they +have bought there each a candle. The old man has a plain taper, but the +little lad must have one with his emblem on it. Each day has its own +sign, a tiger for Monday, and so on, and the lad buys a candle like a +little rat, for his birthday is Friday, and the father and son go on to +the platform. There they kneel down side by side, the old man and the +little chubby lad, and they, too, say that all is misery and delusion. +Presently they rise and advance to the pagoda's golden base, and put +their candles thereon and light them. This side of the pagoda is in +shadow now, and so you can see the lights of the candles as little +stars. + +And then come three girls, sisters, perhaps, all so prettily dressed, +with meek eyes, and they, too, buy candles; they, too, kneel and make +their devotions, for long, so long, that you wonder if anything has +happened, if there has been any trouble that has brought them thus in +the sunset to the remembrance of religion. But at last they rise, and +they light their little candles near by where the old man and the boy +have lit theirs, and then they go away. They are so sad, they keep their +faces so turned upon the ground, that you fear there has been something, +some trouble come upon them. You feel so sorry for them, you would like +to ask them what it all is; you would like to help them if you could. +But you can do nothing. They go away down the steps, and you hear the +nun repeating always, 'Sorrow, misery, trouble.' + +So they come and go. + +But on the festival days at the end of Lent it is far more wonderful. +Then for units there are tens, for tens there are hundreds--all come to +do reverence to the great teacher at this his great holy place. There is +no especial ceremony, no great service, such as we are accustomed to on +our festivals. Only there will be many offerings; there will be a +procession, maybe, with offerings to the pagoda, with offerings to the +monks; there will be much gold-leaf spread upon the pagoda sides; there +will be many people kneeling there--that is all. For, you see, Buddhism +is not an affair of a community, but of each man's own heart. + +To see the great pagoda on the festival days is one of the sights of the +world. There are a great crowd of people coming and going, climbing up +the steps. There are all sorts of people, rich and poor, old and young. +Old men there are, climbing wearily up these steps that are so steep, +steps that lead towards the Great Peace; and there are old women, +too--many of them. + +Young men will be there, walking briskly up, laughing and talking to +each other, very happy, very merry, glad to see each other, to see so +many people, calling pleasant greetings to their friends as they pass. +They are all so gaily dressed, with beautiful silks and white jackets +and gay satin head-cloths, tied with a little end sticking up as a +plume. + +And the girls, how shall I describe them, so sweet they are, so pretty +in their fresh dresses, with downcast eyes of modesty, tempered with +little side-glances. They laugh, too, as they go, and they talk, never +forgetting the sacredness of the place, never forgetting the reverences +due, kneeling always first as they come up to the great pagoda, but +being of good courage, happy and contented. There are children, too, +numbers and numbers of them, walking along, with their little hands +clasping so tightly some bigger ones, very fearful lest they should be +lost. They are as gay as butterflies in their dress, but their looks are +very solemn. There is no solemnity like that of a little child; it takes +all the world so very, very seriously, walking along with great eyes of +wonder at all it sees about it. + +They are all well dressed who come here; on a festival day even the poor +can be dressed well. Pinks and reds are the prevailing colours, in +checks, in stripes, mixed usually with white. These colours go best with +their brown skins, and they are fondest of them. But there are other +colours, too: there is silver and green embroidery, and there are +shot-silks in purple and orange, and there is dark blue. All the +jackets, or nearly all the jackets, are white with wide sleeves, showing +the arm nearly up to the elbow. Each man has his turban very gay, while +each girl has a bright handkerchief which she drapes as she likes upon +her arm, or carries in her hand. Such a blaze of colour would not look +well with us. Under our dull skies and with our sober lights it would be +too bright; but here it is not so. Everything is tempered by the sun; +it is so brilliant, this sunlight, such a golden flood pouring down and +bathing the whole world, that these colours are only in keeping. Before +them is the gold pagoda, and about them the red lacquer and dark-brown +carving of the shrines. + +You hear voices like the murmur of a summer sea, rising and falling, +full of laughter low and sweet, and above is the music of the fairy +bells. + +Everything is in keeping--the shining pagoda and the gaily-dressed +people, their voices and the bells, even the great bell far beyond, and +all are so happy. + +The feast lasts for seven days; but of these there are three that are +greater, and of these, one, the day of the full moon, is the greatest of +all. On that day the offerings will be most numerous, the crowd densest. +Down below the pagoda are many temporary stalls built, where you can buy +all sorts of fairings, from a baby's jointed doll to a new silk dress; +and there are restaurants where you may obtain refreshments; for the +pagoda is some way from the streets of the city, and on festival days +refreshments are much wanted. + +These stalls are always crowded with people buying and selling, or +looking anxiously at the many pretty wares, unable, perhaps, to buy. The +refreshments are usually very simple--rice and curry for supper, and for +little refreshments between whiles there are sugar-cakes and vermicelli, +and other little cates. + +The crowd going up and down the steps is like a gorgeous-coloured +flood, crested with white foam, flowing between the dragons of the gate; +and on the platform the crowd is thicker than ever. All day the festival +goes on--the praying, the offering of gifts, the burning of little +candles before the shrines--until the sun sets across the open country +far beyond in gold and crimson glory. But even then there is no pause, +no darkness, for hardly has the sun's last bright shaft faded from the +pagoda spire far above, while his streamers are still bright across the +west, than there comes in the east a new radiance, so soft, so +wonderful, it seems more beautiful than the dying day. Across the misty +fields the moon is rising; first a crimson globe hung low among the +trees, but rising fast, and as it rises growing whiter. Its light comes +flooding down upon the earth, pure silver with very black shadows. Then +the night breeze begins to blow, very softly, very gently, and the trees +give out their odour to the night, which woos them so much more sweetly +than the day, till the air is heavy with incense. + +Behold, the pagoda has started into a new glory, for it is all hung +about with little lamps, myriads of tiny cressets, and the facades of +the shrines are lit up, too. The lamps are put in long rows or in +circles, to fit the places they adorn. They are little earthenware jars +full of cocoanut-oil, with a lip where is the wick. They burn very +redly, and throw a red light about the platform, breaking the shadows +that the moonlight throws and staining its whiteness. + +In the streets, too, there are lamps--the houses are lined with +them--and there are little pagodas and ships curiously designed in +flame. + +All the people come out to see the illuminations, just as they do with +us at Christmas to see the shop-windows, and the streets are crowded +with people going to and fro, laughing and talking. And there are +dramatic entertainments going on, dances and marionette shows, all in +the open air. The people are all so happy, they take their pleasure so +pleasantly, that it is a delight to see them. You cannot help but be +happy, too. The men joke and laugh, and you laugh, too; the children +smile at you as they pass, and you must smile, too; can you help it? And +to see the girls makes the heart glad within you. There is an infection +from the good temper and the gaiety about you that is irresistible, even +if you should want to resist it. + +The festival goes on till very late. The moon is so bright that you +forget how late it is, and only remember how beautiful it is all around. +You are very loath to leave it, and so it is not till the moon itself is +falling low down in the same path whither the sun went before her, it is +not till the lamps are dying one by one and the children are yawning +very sleepily, that the crowd disperses and the pagoda is at rest. + +Such is a great feast at a great pagoda. + +But whenever I think of a great feast, whenever the growing autumn moon +tells me that the end of Lent is drawing nigh, it is not the great feast +of the Shwe Dagon, nor of any other famous pagoda that comes into my +mind, but something far different. + +It was on a frontier long ago that there was the festival that I +remember so well. The country there was very far away from all the big +towns; the people were not civilized as those of Mandalay or of Rangoon; +the pagoda was a very small one. There was no gilding upon it at all, +and no shrines were about it; it stood alone, just a little white +plastered pagoda, with a few trees near it, on a bare rice-field. There +were a few villages about, dotted here and there in the swamp, and the +people of these were all that came to our festival. + +For long before the villages were preparing for it, saving a little +money here, doing a little extra work there, so that they might be able +to have presents ready for the monks, so that they might be able to +subscribe to the lights, so that they would have a good dress in which +they might appear. + +The men did a little more work at the fields, bamboo-cutting in the +forest, making baskets in the evening, and the women wove. All had to +work very hard to have even a little margin; for there, although +food--plain rice--was very cheap, all other things were very expensive. +It was so far to bring them, and the roads were so bad. I remember that +the only European things to be bought there then were matches and +tinned milk, and copper money was not known. You paid a rupee, and took +the change in rice or other commodities. + +The excitement of the great day of the full moon began in the morning, +about ten o'clock, with the offerings to the monks. Outside the village +gate there was a piece of straight road, dry and open, and on each side +of this, in rows, were the people with their gifts; mostly they were +eatables. You see that it is very difficult to find any variety of +things to give a monk; he is very strictly limited in the things he is +allowed to receive. Garments, yellow garments, curtains to partition off +corners of the monasteries and keep away the draughts, sacred books and +eatables--that is nearly all. But eatables allow a very wide range. A +monk may accept and eat any food--not drink, of course--provided he eat +but the one big meal a day before noon; and so most of the offerings +were eatables. Each donor knelt there upon the road with his or her +offerings in a tray in front. There was rice cooked in all sorts of +shapes, ordinary rice for eating with curry, and the sweet purple rice, +cooked in bamboos and coming out in sticks. There were vegetables, too, +of very many kinds, and sugar and cakes and oil and honey, and many +other such things. There were a few, very few, books, for they are very +hard to get, being all in manuscript; and there were one or two tapestry +curtains; but there were heaps of flowers. I remember there was one girl +whose whole offering was a few orchid sprays, and a little, very +little, heap of common rice. She was so poor; her father and mother were +dead, and she was not married. It was all she could give. She sat behind +her little offering, as did all the donors. And my gift? Well, although +an English official, I was not then very much richer than the people +about me, so my gift must be small, too--a tin of biscuits, a tin or two +of jam, a new pair of scissors. I did not sit behind them myself, but +gave them to the headman to put with his offerings; for the monks were +old friends of mine. Did I not live in one of their monasteries for over +two months when we first came and camped there with a cavalry squadron? +And if there is any merit in such little charity, as the Burmese say +there is, why should I not gain it, too? The monks said my present was +best of all, because it was so uncommon; and the biscuits, they said, +though they did not taste of much while you were eating them, had a very +pleasant after-taste that lasted a long time. They were like charity, +maybe: that has a pleasant after-taste, too, they tell me. + +When all the presents, with the donors behind them, dressed all in their +best, were ready, the monks came. There were four monasteries near by, +and the monks, perhaps in all thirty, old and young, monks and novices, +came in one long procession, walking very slowly, with downcast eyes, +between the rows of gifts and givers. They did not look at them at all. +It is not proper for a monk to notice the gifts he receives; but +schoolboys who came along behind attending on them, they saw and made +remarks. Perhaps they saw the chance of some overflow of these good +things coming their way. 'See,' one nudged the other; 'honey--what a +lot! I can smell it, can't you?' And, '_My mother!_ what a lot of sweet +rice. Who gave that? Oh, I see, old U Hman.' 'I wonder what's in that +tin box?' remarked one as he passed my biscuits. 'I hope it's coming to +our monastery, any way.' + +Thus the monks passed, paying no sort of attention, while the people +knelt to them; and when the procession reached the end of the line of +offerings, it went on without stopping, across the fields, the monks of +each monastery going to their own place; and the givers of presents rose +up and followed them, each carrying his or her gifts. And so they went +across the fields till each little procession was lost to sight. + +That was all the ceremony for the day, but at dusk the illuminations +began. The little pagoda in the fields was lighted up nearly to its top +with concentric rings of lamps till it blazed like a pyramid of flame, +seen far across the night. All the people came there, and placed little +offerings of flowers at the foot of the pagoda, or added each his candle +to the big illumination. + +The house of the headman of the village was lit up with a few rows of +lamps, and all the monasteries, too, were lit. There were no +restaurants--everyone was at home, you see--but there were one or two +little stalls, at which you could buy a cheroot, or even perhaps a cup +of vermicelli; and there was a dance. It was only the village girls who +had been taught, partly by their own mothers, partly by an old man, who +knew something of the business. They did not dance very well, perhaps; +they were none of them very beautiful; but what matter? We knew them +all; they were our neighbours, the kinswomen of half the village; +everyone liked to see them dance, to hear them sing; they were all +young, and are not all young girls pretty? And amongst the audience were +there not the girls' relations, their sisters, their lovers? would not +that alone make the girls dance well, make the audience enthusiastic? +And so, what with the illuminations, and the chat and laughter of +friends, and the dance, we kept it up till very late; and we all went to +bed happy and well pleased with each other, well pleased with ourselves. +Can you imagine a more successful end than that? + +To write about these festivals is so pleasant, it brings back so many +delightful memories, that I could go on writing for long and long. But +there is no use in doing so, as they are all very much alike, with +little local differences depending on the enterprise of the inhabitants +and the situation of the place. There might be boat-races, perhaps, on a +festival day, or pony-races, or boxing. I have seen all these, if not +at the festival at the end of Lent, at other festivals. I remember once +I was going up the river on a festival night by the full moon, and we +saw point after point crowned with lights upon the pagodas; and as we +came near the great city we saw a new glory; for there was a boat +anchored in mid-stream, and from this boat there dropped a stream of +fire; myriads of little lamps burned on tiny rafts that drifted down the +river in a golden band. There were every now and then bigger rafts, with +figures made in light--boats and pagodas and monasteries. The lights +heaved with the long swell of the great river, and bent to and fro like +a great snake following the tides, until at length they died far away +into the night. + +I do not know what is the meaning of all these lights; I do not know +that they have any inner meaning, only that the people are very glad, +only that they greatly honour the great teacher who died so long ago, +only that they are very fond of light and colour and laughter and all +beautiful things. + +But although these festivals often become also fairs, although they are +the great centres for amusement, although the people look to them as +their great pleasure of the year, it must not be forgotten that they are +essentially religious feasts, holy days. Though there be no great +ceremony of prayer, or of thanksgiving, no public joining in any +religious ceremony, save, perhaps, the giving of alms to the monks, yet +religion is the heart and soul of them. Their centre is the pagoda, +their meaning is a religious meaning. + +What if the people make merry, too, if they make their holy days into +holidays, is that any harm? For their pleasures are very simple, very +innocent; there is nothing that the moon, even the cold and distant +moon, would blush to look upon. The people make merry because they are +merry, because their religion is to them a very beautiful thing, not to +be shunned or feared, but to be exalted to the eye of day, to be +rejoiced in. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +WOMEN--I + + 'Her cheek is more beautiful than the dawn, her eyes are deeper + than the river pools; when she loosens her hair upon her shoulders, + it is as night coming over the hills.'--_Burmese Love-Song._ + + +If you were to ask a Burman 'What is the position of women in Burma?' he +would reply that he did not know what you meant. Women have no position, +no fixed relation towards men beyond that fixed by the fact that women +are women and men are men. They differ a great deal in many ways, so a +Burman would say; men are better in some things, women are better in +others; if they have a position, their relative superiority in certain +things determines it. How else should it be determined? + +If you say by religion, he laughs, and asks what religion has to do with +such things? Religion is a culture of the soul; it is not concerned with +the relationship of men and women. If you say by law, he says that law +has no more to do with it than religion. In the eye of the law both are +alike. 'You wouldn't have one law for a man and another for a woman?' he +asks. + +In the life of the Buddha nothing is said upon the subject. The great +teacher never committed himself to an opinion as to whether men or women +were the highest. He had men disciples, he had women disciples; he +honoured both. Nowhere in any of his sayings can anything be found to +show that he made any difference between them. That monks should be +careful and avoid intercourse with women is merely the counterpart of +the order that nuns should be careful in their intercourse with men. +That man's greatest attraction is woman does not infer wickedness in +woman; that woman's greatest attraction is man does not show that man is +a devil. Wickedness is a thing of your own heart. If he could be sure +that his desire towards women was dead, a monk might see them as much as +he liked. The desire is the enemy, not the woman; therefore a woman is +not damned because by her man is often tempted to evil; therefore a +woman is not praised because by her a man may be led to better thoughts. +She is but the outer and unconscious influence. + +If, for instance, you cannot see a precipice without wishing to throw +yourself down, you blame not the precipice, but your giddiness; and if +you are wise you avoid precipices in future. You do not rail against +steep places because you have a bad circulation. So it is with women: +you should not contemn women because they rouse a devil in man. + +And it is the same with man. Men and women are alike subject to the +eternal laws. And they are alike subject to the laws of man; in no +material points, hardly even in minor points, does the law discriminate +against women. + +The law as regards marriage and inheritance and divorce will come each +in its own place. It is curiously the same both for the man and the +woman. + +The criminal law was the same for both; I have tried to find any +difference, and this is all I have found: A woman's life was less +valuable than a man's. The price of the body, as it is called, of a +woman was less than that of a man. If a woman were accidentally killed, +less compensation had to be paid than for a man. I asked a Burman about +this once. + +'Why is this difference?' I said. 'Why does the law discriminate?' + +'It isn't the law,' he said, 'it is a fact. A woman is worth less than a +man in that way. A maidservant can be hired for less than a manservant, +a daughter can claim less than a son. They cannot do so much work; they +are not so strong. If they had been worth more, the law would have been +the other way; of course they are worth less.' + +And so this sole discrimination is a fact, not dogma. It is a fact, no +doubt, everywhere. No one would deny it. The pecuniary value of a woman +is less than that of a man. As to the soul's value, that is not a +question of law, which confines itself to material affairs. But I +suppose all laws have been framed out of the necessities of mankind. It +was the incessant fighting during the times when our laws grew slowly +into shape, the necessity of not allowing the possession of land, and +the armed wealth that land gave, to fall into the weaker hands of women, +that led to our laws of inheritance. + +Laws then were governed by the necessity of war, of subjecting +everything else to the ability to fight. Consequently, as women were not +such good fighters as men, they went to the wall. But feudalism never +obtained at all in Burma. What fighting they did was far less severe +than that of our ancestors, was not the dominant factor in the position, +and consequently woman did not suffer. + +She has thus been given the inestimable boon of freedom. Freedom from +sacerdotal dogma, from secular law, she has always had. + +And so, in order to preserve the life of the people, it has never been +necessary to pass laws treating woman unfairly as regards inheritance; +and as religion has left her free to find her own position, so has the +law of the land. + +And yet the Burman man has a confirmed opinion that he is better than a +woman, that men are on the whole superior as a sex to women. 'We may be +inferior in some ways,' he will tell you. 'A woman may steal a march on +us here and there, but in the long-run the man will always win. Women +have no patience.' + +I have heard this said over and over again, even by women, that they +have less patience than a man. We have often supposed differently. Some +Burmans have even supposed that a woman must be reincarnated as a man to +gain a step in holiness. I do not mean that they think men are always +better than women, but that the best men are far better than the best +women, and there are many more of them. However all this may be, it is +only an opinion. Neither in their law, nor in their religion, nor--what +is far more important--in their daily life, do they acknowledge any +inferiority in women beyond those patent weaknesses of body that are, +perhaps, more differences than inferiorities. + +And so she has always had fair-play, from religion, from law, and from +her fellow man and woman. + +She has been bound by no ties, she has had perfect freedom to make for +herself just such a life as she thinks best fitted for her. She has had +no frozen ideals of a long dead past held up to her as eternal copies. +She has been allowed to change as her world changed, and she has lived +in a very real world--a world of stern facts, not fancies. You see, she +has had to fight her own way; for the same laws that made woman lower +than man in Europe compensated her to a certain extent by protection +and guidance. In Burma she has been neither confined nor guided. In +Europe and India for very long the idea was to make woman a hot-house +plant, to see that no rough winds struck her, that no injuries overtook +her. In Burma she has had to look out for herself: she has had freedom +to come to grief as well as to come to strength. You see, all such laws +cut both ways. Freedom to do ill must accompany freedom to do well. You +cannot have one without the other. The Burmese woman has had both. +Ideals act for good as well as for evil; if they cramp all progress, +they nevertheless tend to the sustentation of a certain level of +thought. She has had none. Whatever she is, she has made herself, +finding under the varying circumstances of life what is the best for +her; and as her surroundings change, so will she. What she was a +thousand years ago I do not care, what she may be a thousand years hence +I do not know; it is of what she is to-day that I have tried to know and +write. + +Children in Burma have, I think, a very good time when they are young. +Parentage in Burma has never degenerated into a sort of slavery. It has +never been supposed that gaiety and goodness are opposed. And so they +grow up little merry naked things, sprawling in the dust of the gardens, +sleeping in the sun with their arms round the village dogs, very sedate, +very humorous, very rarely crying. Boys and girls when they are babies +grow up together, but with the schooldays comes a division. All the +boys go to school at the monastery without the walls, and there learn in +noisy fashion their arithmetic, letters, and other useful knowledge. But +little girls have nowhere to go. They cannot go to the monasteries, +these are for boys alone, and the nunneries are very scarce. For twenty +monasteries there is not one nunnery. Women do not seem to care to learn +to become nuns as men do to become monks. Why this is so I cannot tell, +but there is no doubt of the fact. And so there are no schools for girls +as there are for boys, and consequently the girls are not well educated +as a rule. In great towns there are, of course, regular schools for +girls, generally for girls and boys together; but in the villages these +very seldom exist. The girls may learn from their mothers how to read +and write, but most of them cannot do so. It is an exception in country +places to find a girl who can read, as it is to find a boy who cannot. +If there were more nunneries, there would be more education among the +women; here is cause and effect. But there are not, so the little girls +work instead. While their brothers are in the monasteries, the girls are +learning to weave and herd cattle, drawing water, and collecting +firewood. They begin very young at this work, but it is very light; they +are never overworked, and so it does them no harm usually, but good. + +The daughters of better-class people, such as merchants, and clerks, and +advocates, do not, of course, work at field labour. They usually learn +to read and write at home, and they weave, and many will draw water. For +to draw water is to go to the well, and the well is the great +meeting-place of the village. As they fill their jars they lean over the +curb and talk, and it is here that is told the latest news, the latest +flirtation, the little scandal of the place. Very few men or boys come +for water; carrying is not their duty, and there is a proper place for +flirtation. So the girls have the well almost to themselves. + +Almost every girl can weave. In many houses there are looms where the +girls weave their dresses and those of their parents; and many girls +have stalls in the bazaar. Of this I will speak later. Other duties are +the husking of rice and the making of cheroots. Of course, in richer +households there will be servants to do all this; but even in them the +daughter will frequently weave either for herself or her parents. Almost +every girl will do something, if only to pass the time. + +You see, they have no accomplishments. They do not sing, nor play, nor +paint. It must never be forgotten that their civilization is relatively +a thousand years behind ours. Accomplishments are part of the polish +that a civilization gives, and this they have not yet reached. +Accomplishments are also the means to fill up time otherwise unoccupied; +but very few Burmese girls have any time on their hands. There is no +leisured class, and there are very few girls who have not to help, in +one way or another, at the upkeep of the household. + +Mr. Rudyard Kipling tells of an astonishing young lady who played the +banjo. He has been more fortunate than myself, for I have never had such +good luck. They have no accomplishments at all. Housekeeping they have +not very much of. You see, houses are small, and households also are +small; there is very little furniture; and as the cooking is all the +same, there is not much to learn in that way. I fear, too, that their +houses could not compete as models of neatness with any other nation. +Tidiness is one of the last gifts of civilization. We now pride +ourselves on our order; we forget how very recent an accomplishment it +is. To them it will come with the other gifts of age, for it must never +be forgotten that they are a very young people--only children, big +children--learning very slowly the lessons of experience and knowledge. + +When they are between eight and fourteen years of age the boys become +monks for a time, as every boy must, and they have a great festival at +their entrance into the monastery. Girls do not enter nunneries, but +they, too, have a great feast in their honour. They have their ears +bored. It is a festival for a girl of great importance, this ear-boring, +and, according to the wealth of the parents, it is accompanied by pwes +and other rejoicings. + +A little girl, the daughter of a shopkeeper here in this town, had her +ears bored the other day, and there were great rejoicings. There was a +pwe open to all for three nights, and there were great quantities of +food, and sweets, and many presents given away, and on the last night +the river was illuminated. There was a boat anchored in mid-stream, and +from this were launched myriads of tiny rafts, each with a little lamp +on board. The lamps gleamed bright with golden light as they drifted on +the bosom of the great water, a moving line of living fire. There were +little boats, too, with the outlines marked with lamps, and there were +pagodas and miniature houses all floating, floating down the river, +till, in far distance by the promontory, the lamps flickered out one by +one, and the river fell asleep again. + +'There is only one great festival in a girl's life,' a woman told me. +'We try to make it as good as we can. Boys have many festivals, girls +have but one. It is only just that it should be good.' + +And so they grow up very quiet, very sedate, looking on the world about +them with very clear eyes. It is strange, talking to Burmese girls, to +see how much they know and understand of the world about them. It is to +them no great mystery, full of unimaginable good and evil, but a world +that they are learning to understand, and where good and evil are never +unmixed. Men are to them neither angels nor devils, but just men, and so +the world does not hold for them the disappointments, the +disillusionings, that await those who do not know. They have their +dreams--who shall doubt it?--dreams of him who shall love them, whom +they shall love, who shall make life one great glory to them; but their +dreams are dreams that can come true. They do not frame to themselves +ideals out of their own ignorance and imagine these to be good, but they +keep their eyes wide open to the far more beautiful realities that are +around them every day. They know that a living lover is greater, and +truer, and better than any ideal of a girl's dream. They live in a real +world, and they know that it is good. + +In time the lover comes. There is a delightful custom all through Burma, +an institution, in fact, called 'courting-time.' It is from nine till +ten o'clock, more especially on moonlight nights, those wonderful tropic +nights, when the whole world lies in a silver dream, when the little +wandering airs that touch your cheek like a caress are heavy with the +scent of flowers, and your heart comes into your throat for the very +beauty of life. + +There is in front of every house a veranda, raised perhaps three feet +from the ground, and there the girl will sit in the shadow of the eaves, +sometimes with a friend, but usually alone; and her suitors will come +and stand by the veranda, and talk softly in little broken sentences, as +lovers do. There maybe be many young men come, one by one, if they mean +business, with a friend if it be merely a visit of courtesy. And the +girl will receive them all, and will talk to them all; will laugh with a +little humorous knowledge of each man's peculiarities; and she may give +them cheroots, of her own making; and, for one perhaps, for one, she +will light the cheroot herself first, and thus kiss him by proxy. + +And is the girl alone? Well, yes. To all intents and purposes she is +alone; but there is always someone near, someone within call, for the +veranda is free to all. She cannot tell who may come, and some men, as +we know, are but wolves in sheep's clothing. Usually marriages are +arranged by the parents. Girls are not very different here to elsewhere; +they are very biddable, and ready to do what their mothers tell them, +ready to believe that it is the best. And so if a lad comes wooing, and +can gain the mother's ear, he can usually win the girl's affection, too; +but I think there are more exceptions here than elsewhere. Girls are +freer; they fall in love of their own accord oftener than elsewhere; +they are very impulsive, full of passion. Love is a very serious matter, +and they are not trained in self-restraint. + +There are very many romances played out every day in the dusk beside the +well, in the deep shadows of the palm-groves, in the luminous nights by +the river shore--romances that end sometimes well, sometimes in terrible +tragedies. For they are a very passionate people; the language is full +of little love-songs, songs of a man to a girl, of a girl to a man. 'No +girl,' a woman once told me, 'no good, quiet girl would tell a man she +loved him first.' It may be so; if this be true, I fear there are many +girls here who are not good and quiet. How many romances have I not seen +in which the wooing began with the girl, with a little note perhaps, +with a flower, with a message sent by someone whom she could trust! Of +course many of these turned out well. Parents are good to their +children, and if they can, they will give their daughter the husband of +her choice. They remember what youth is--nay, they themselves never grow +old, I think; they never forget what once was to them now is to their +children. So if it be possible all may yet go well. Social differences +are not so great as with us, and the barrier is easily overcome. I have +often known servants in a house marry the daughters, and be taken into +the family; but, of course, sometimes things do not go so smoothly. And +then? Well, then there is usually an elopement, and a ten days' scandal; +and sometimes, too, there is an elopement for no reason at all save that +hot youth cannot abide the necessary delay. + +For life is short, and though to-day be to us, who can tell for the +morrow? During the full moon there is no night, only a change to silver +light from golden; and the forest is full of delight. There are +wood-cutters' huts in the ravines where the water falls, soft beds of +torn bracken and fragrant grasses where great trees make a shelter from +the heat; and for food, that is easily arranged. A basket of rice with +a little salt-fish and spices is easily hidden in a favourable place. +You only want a jar to cook it, and there is enough for two for a week; +or it is brought day by day by some trusted friend to a place previously +agreed upon. + +All up and down the forest there are flowers for her hair, scarlet dak +blossoms and orchid sprays and jasmine stars; and for occupation through +the hours each has a new world to explore full of wonderful undreamt-of +discoveries, lit with new light and mysterious with roseate shadows, a +world of 'beautiful things made new' for those forest children. So that +when the confidante, an aunt maybe or a sister, meets them by the sacred +fig-tree on the hill, and tells them that all difficulties are removed, +and their friends called together for the marriage, can you wonder that +it is not without regret that they fare forth from that enchanted land +to ordinary life again? + +It is, as I have said, not always the man who is the proposer of the +flight. Nay, I think indeed that it is usually the girl. 'Men have more +patience.' + +I had a Burmese servant, a boy, who may have been twenty, and he had +been with me a year, and was beginning to be really useful. He had at +last grasped the idea that electro-plate should not be cleaned with +monkey-brand soap, and he could be trusted not to put up rifle +cartridges for use with a double-barrelled gun; and he chose this time +to fall in love with the daughter of the headman of a certain village +where I was in camp. + +He had good excuse, for she was a delicious little maiden with great +coils of hair, and the voice of a wood-pigeon cooing in the forest, and +she was very fond of him, without a doubt. + +So one evening he came to me and said that he must leave me--that he +wanted to get married, and could not possibly delay. Then I spoke to him +with all that depth of wisdom we are so ready to display for the benefit +of others. I pointed out to him that he was much too young, that she was +much too young also--she was not eighteen--and that there was absolutely +nothing for them to marry on. I further pointed out how ungrateful it +would be of him to leave me; that he had been paid regularly for a year, +and that it was not right that now, when he was at last able to do +something besides destroy my property, he should go away. + +The boy listened to all I had to say, and agreed with it all, and made +the most fervent and sincere promise to be wise; and he went away after +dinner to see the girl and tell her, and when I awoke in the morning my +other servants told me the boy had not returned. + +Shortly afterwards the headman came to say that his daughter had also +disappeared. They had fled, those two, into the forest, and for a week +we heard nothing. At last one evening, as I sat under the great fig-tree +by my tent, there came to me the mother of the girl, and she sat down +before me, and said she had something of great importance to impart: and +this was that all had been arranged between the families, who had found +work for the boy whereby he might maintain himself and his wife, and the +marriage was arranged. But the boy would not return as long as I was in +camp there, for he was bitterly ashamed of his broken vows and afraid to +meet my anger. And so the mother begged me to go away as soon as I +could, that the young couple might return. I explained that I was not +angry at all, that the boy could return without any fear; on the +contrary, that I should be pleased to see him and his wife. And, at the +old lady's request, I wrote a Burmese letter to that effect, and she +went away delighted. + +They must have been in hiding close by, for it was early next morning +that the boy came into my tent alone and very much abashed, and it was +some little time before he could recover himself and talk freely as he +would before, for he was greatly ashamed of himself. + +But, after all, could he help it? + +If you can imagine the tropic night, and the boy, full of high resolve, +passing up the village street, now half asleep, and the girl, with +shining eyes, coming to him out of the hibiscus shadows, and whispering +in his ear words--words that I need not say--if you imagine all that, +you will understand how it was that I lost my servant. + +They both came to see me later on in the day after the marriage, and +there was no bashfulness about either of them then. They came +hand-in-hand, with the girl's father and mother and some friends, and +she told me it was all her fault: she could not wait. + +'Perhaps,' she said, with a little laugh and a side-glance at her +husband--'perhaps, if he had gone with the thakin to Rangoon, he might +have fallen in love with someone there and forgotten me; for I know they +are very pretty, those Rangoon ladies, and of better manners than I, who +am but a jungle girl.' + +And when I asked her what it was like in the forest, she said it was the +most beautiful place in all the world. + +Things do not always go so well. Parents may be obdurate, and flight be +impossible; or even her love may not be returned, and then terrible +things happen. I have held, not once nor twice alone, inquests over the +bodies, the fair, innocent bodies, of quite young girls who died for +love. Only that, because their love was unreturned; and so the sore +little heart turned in her trouble to the great river, and gave herself +and her hot despair to the cold forgetfulness of its waters. + +They love so greatly that they cannot face a world where love is not. +All the country is full of the romance of love--of love passionate and +great as woman has ever felt. It seems to me here that woman has +something of the passions of man, not only the enduring affection of a +woman, but the hot love and daring of a man. It is part of their +heritage, perhaps, as a people in their youth. One sees so much of it, +hears so much of it, here. I have seen a girl in man's attire killed in +a surprise attack upon an insurgent camp. She had followed her outlawed +lover there, and in the melee she caught up sword and gun to fight by +his side, and was cut down through neck and shoulder; for no one could +tell in the early dawn that it was a girl. + +She died about an hour afterwards, and though I have seen many sorrowful +things in many lands, in war and out of it, the memory of that dying +girl, held up by one of the mounted police, sobbing out her life beneath +the wild forest shadow, with no one of her sex, no one of her kin to +help her, comes back to me as one of the saddest and strangest. + +Her lover was killed in action some time later fighting against us, and +he died as a brave man should, his face to his enemy. He played his +game, he lost, and paid; but the girl? + +I have seen and heard so much of this love of women and of its +tragedies. Perhaps it is that to us it is usually the tragedies that are +best remembered. Happiness is void of interest. And this love may be, +after all, a good thing. But I do not know. Sometimes I think they would +be happier if they could love less, if they could take love more +quietly, more as a matter of course, as something that has to be gone +through, as part of a life's training; not as a thing that swallows up +all life and death and eternity in one passion. + +In Burmese the love-songs are in a short, sweet rhythm, full of quaint +conceits and word-music. I cannot put them into English verse, or give +the flow of the originals in a translation. It always seems to me that +Don Quixote was right when he said that a translation was like the wrong +side of an embroidered cloth, giving the design without the beauty. But +even in the plain, rough outline of a translation there is beauty here, +I think: + + + _From a Man to a Girl._ + +The moon wooed the lotus in the night, the lotus was wooed by the moon, +and my sweetheart is their child. The blossom opened in the night, and +she came forth; the petals moved, and she was born. + +She is more beautiful than any blossom; her face is as delicate as the +dusk; her hair is as night falling over the hills; her skin is as bright +as the diamond. She is very full of health, no sickness can come near +her. + +When the wind blows I am afraid, when the breezes move I fear. I fear +lest the south wind take her, I tremble lest the breath of evening woo +her from me--so light is she, so graceful. + +Her dress is of gold, even of silk and gold, and her bracelets are of +fine gold. She hath precious stones in her ears, but her eyes, what +jewels can compare unto them? + +She is proud, my mistress; she is very proud, and all men are afraid of +her. She is so beautiful and so proud that all men fear her. + +In the whole world there is none anywhere that can compare unto her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +WOMEN--II + + 'The husband is lord of the wife.' + _Laws of Manu._ + + +Marriage is not a religious ceremony among the Burmese. Religion has no +part in it at all; as religion has refrained from interfering with +Government, so does it in the relations of man and wife. Marriage is +purely a worldly business, like entering into partnership; and religion, +the Buddhist religion, has nothing to do with such things. Those who +accept the teachings of the great teacher in all their fulness do not +marry. + +Indeed, marriage is not a ceremony at all. It is strange to find that +the Burmese have actually no necessary ceremonial. The Laws of Manu, +which are the laws governing all such matters, make no mention of any +marriage ceremony; it is, in fact, a status. Just as two men may go into +partnership in business without executing any deed, so a man and a woman +may enter into the marriage state without undergoing any form. Amongst +the richer Burmese there is, however, sometimes a ceremony. + +Friends are called to the wedding, and a ribbon is stretched round the +couple, and then their hands are clasped; they also eat out of the same +dish. All this is very pretty, but not at all necessary. + +It is, indeed, not a settled point in law what constitutes a marriage, +but there are certain things that will render it void. For instance, no +marriage can be a marriage without the consent of the girl's parents if +she be under age, and there are certain other conditions which must be +fulfilled. + +But although there be this doubt about the actual ceremony of marriage, +there is none at all about the status. There is no confusion between a +woman who is married and a woman who is not. The condition of marriage +is well known, and it brings the parties under the laws that pertain to +husband and wife. A woman not married does not, of course, obtain these +privileges; there is a very strict line between the two. + +Amongst the poorer people a marriage is frequently kept secret for +several days. The great pomp and ceremony which with us, and +occasionally with a few rich Burmese, consecrate a man and a woman to +each other for life, are absent at the greater number of Burmese +marriages; and the reason they tell me is that the girl is shy. She does +not like to be stared at, and wondered at, as a maiden about to be a +wife; it troubles her that the affairs of her heart, her love, her +marriage, should be so public. The young men come at night and throw +stones upon the house roof, and demand presents from the bridegroom. He +does not mind giving the presents; but he, too, does not like the +publicity. And so marriage, which is with most people a ceremony +performed in full daylight with all accessories of display, is with the +Burmese generally a secret. Two or three friends, perhaps, will be +called quietly to the house, and the man and woman will eat together, +and thus become husband and wife. Then they will separate again, and not +for several days, or even weeks perhaps, will it be known that they are +married; for it is seldom that they can set up house for themselves just +at once. Often they will marry and live apart for a time with their +parents. Sometimes they will go and live together with the man's +parents, but more usually with the girl's mother. Then after a time, +when they have by their exertions made a little money, they build a +house and go to live there; but sometimes they will live on with the +girl's parents for years. + +A girl does not change her name when she marries, nor does she wear any +sign of marriage, such as a ring. Her name is always the same, and there +is nothing to a stranger to denote whether she be married or not, or +whose wife she is; and she keeps her property as her own. Marriage does +not confer upon the husband any power over his wife's property, either +what she brings with her, what she earns, or what she inherits +subsequently; it all remains her own, as does his remain his own. But +usually property acquired after marriage is held jointly. You will +inquire, for instance, who is the owner of this garden, and be told +Maung Han, Ma Shwe, the former being the husband's name and the latter +the wife's. Both names are used very frequently in business and in legal +proceedings, and indeed it is usual for both husband and wife to sign +all deeds they may have occasion to execute. Nothing more free than a +woman's position in the marriage state can be imagined. By law she is +absolutely the mistress of her own property and her own self; and if it +usually happens that the husband is the head of the house, that is +because his nature gives him that position, not any law. + +With us marriage means to a girl an utter breaking of her old ties, the +beginning of a new life, of new duties, of new responsibilities. She +goes out into a new and unknown world, full of strange facts, leaving +one dependence for another, the shelter of a father for the shelter of a +husband. She has even lost her own name, and becomes known but as the +mistress of her husband; her soul is merged in his. But in Burma it is +not so at all. She is still herself, still mistress of herself, an equal +partner for life. + +I have said that the Burmese have no ideals, and this is true; but in +the Laws of Manu there are laid down some of the requisite qualities for +a perfect wife. There are seven kinds of wife, say the Laws of Manu: a +wife like a thief, like an enemy, like a master, like a friend, like a +sister, like a mother, like a slave. The last four of these are good, +but the last is the best, and these are some of her qualities: + +'She should fan and soothe her master to sleep, and sit by him near the +bed on which he lies. She will fear and watch lest anything should +disturb him. Every noise will be a terror to her; the hum of a mosquito +as the blast of a trumpet; the fall of a leaf without will sound as loud +as thunder. Even she will guard her breath as it passes her lips to and +fro, lest she awaken him whom she fears. + +'And she will remember that when he awakens he will have certain wants. +She will be anxious that the bath be to his custom, that his clothes are +as he wishes, that his food is tasteful to him. Always she will have +before her the fear of his anger.' + +It must be remembered that the Laws of Manu are of Indian origin, and +are not totally accepted by the Burmese. I fear a Burmese girl would +laugh at this ideal of a wife. She would say that if a wife were always +afraid of her husband's wrath, she and he, too, must be poor things. A +household is ruled by love and reverence, not by fear. A girl has no +idea when she marries that she is going to be her husband's slave, but a +free woman, yielding to him in those things in which he has most +strength, and taking her own way in those things that pertain to a +woman. She has a very keen idea of what things she can do best, and what +things she should leave to her husband. Long experience has taught her +that there are many things she should not interfere with; and she knows +it is experience that has proved it, and not any command. She knows that +the reason women are not supposed to interfere in public affairs is +because their minds and bodies are not fitted for them. Therefore she +accepts this, in the same way as she accepts physical inferiority, as a +fact against which it is useless and silly to declaim, knowing that it +is not men who keep her out, but her own unfitness. Moreover, she knows +that it is made good to her in other ways, and thus the balance is +redressed. You see, she knows her own strength and her own weakness. Can +there be a more valuable knowledge for anyone than this? + +In many ways she will act for her husband with vigour and address, and +she is not afraid of appearing in his name or her own in law courts, for +instance, or in transacting certain kinds of business. She knows that +she can do certain business as well as or better than her husband, and +she does it. There is nothing more remarkable than the way in which she +makes a division of these matters in which she can act for herself, and +those in which, if she act at all, it is for her husband. + +Thus, as I have said, she will, as regards her own property or her own +business, act freely in her own name, and will also frequently act for +her husband too. They will both sign deeds, borrow money on joint +security, lend money repayable to them jointly. But in public affairs +she will never allow her name to appear at all. Not that she does not +take a keen interest in such things. She lives in no world apart; all +that affects her husband interests her as keenly as it does him. She +lives in a world of men and women, and her knowledge of public affairs, +and her desire and powers of influencing them, is great. But she learnt +long ago that her best way is to act through and by her husband, and +that his strength and his name are her bucklers in the fight. Thus women +are never openly concerned in any political matters. How strong their +feeling is can better be illustrated by a story than in any other way. + +In 1889 I was stationed far away on the north-west frontier of Burma, in +charge of some four thousand square miles of territory which had been +newly incorporated. I went up there with the first column that ever +penetrated that country, and I remained there when, after the partial +pacification of the district, the main body of the troops were +withdrawn. It was a fairly exciting place to live in. To say nothing of +the fever which swept down men in batches, and the trans-frontier people +who were always peeping over to watch a good opportunity for a raid, my +own charge simply swarmed with armed men, who seemed to rise out of the +very ground--so hard was it to follow their movements--attack anywhere +they saw fit, and disappear as suddenly. There was, of course, a +considerable force of troops and police to suppress these insurgents, +but the whole country was so roadless, so unexplored, such a tangled +labyrinth of hill and forest, dotted with sparse villages, that it was +often quite impossible to trace the bands who committed these attacks; +and to the sick and weary pursuers it sometimes seemed as if we should +never restore peace to the country. + +The villages were arranged in groups, and over each group there was a +headman with certain powers and certain duties, the principal of the +latter being to keep his people quiet, and, if possible, protect them +from insurgents. + +Now, it happened that among these headmen was one named Saw Ka, who had +been a free-lance in his day, but whose services were now enlisted on +the side of order--or, at least, we hoped so. He was a fighting-man, and +rather fond of that sort of exercise; so that I was not much surprised +one day when I got a letter from him to say that his villagers had +pursued and arrested, after a fight, a number of armed robbers, who had +tried to lift some of the village cattle. The letter came to me when I +was in my court-house, a tent ten feet by eight, trying a case. So, +saying I would see Saw Ka's people later, and giving orders for the +prisoners to be put in the lock-up, I went on with my work. When my case +was finished, I happened to notice that among those sitting and waiting +without my tent-door was Saw Ka himself, so I sent to call him in, and I +complimented him upon his success. 'It shall be reported,' I said, 'to +the Commissioner, who will, no doubt, reward you for your care and +diligence in the public service.' + +As I talked I noticed that the man seemed rather bewildered, and when I +had finished he said that he really did not understand. He was aware, he +added modestly, that he was a diligent headman, always active in good +deeds, and a terror to dacoits and other evil-doers; but as to these +particular robbers and this fighting he was a little puzzled. + +I was considerably surprised, naturally, and I took from the table the +Burmese letter describing the affair. It began, 'Your honour, I, Maung +Saw Ka, headman,' etc., and was in the usual style. I handed it to Saw +Ka, and told him to read it. As he read, his wicked black eyes twinkled, +and when he had finished he said he had not been home for a week. + +'I came in from a visit to the river,' he said, 'where I have gathered +for your honour some private information. I had not been here five +minutes before I was called in. All this the letter speaks of is news to +me, and must have happened while I was away.' + +'Then, who wrote the letter?' I asked. + +'Ah!' he said, 'I think I know; but I will go and make sure.' + +Then Saw Ka went to find the guard who had come in with the prisoners, +and I dissolved court and went out shooting. After dinner, as we sat +round a great bonfire before the mess, for the nights were cold, Saw Ka +and his brother came to me, and they sat down beside the fire and told +me all about it. + +It appeared that three days after Saw Ka left his village, some robbers +came suddenly one evening to a small hamlet some two miles away and +looted from there all the cattle, thirty or forty head, and went off +with them. The frightened owners came in to tell the headman about it, +and in his absence they told his wife. And she, by virtue of the order +of appointment as headman, which was in her hands, ordered the villagers +to turn out and follow the dacoits. She issued such government arms as +she had in the house, and the villagers went and pursued the dacoits by +the cattle tracks, and next day they overtook them, and there was a +fight. When the villagers returned with the cattle and the thieves, she +had the letter written to me, and the prisoners were sent in, under her +husband's brother, with an escort. Everything was done as well, as +successfully, as if Saw Ka himself had been present. But if it had not +been for the accident of Saw Ka's sudden appearance, I should probably +never have known that this exploit was due to his wife; for she was +acting for her husband, and she would not have been pleased that her +name should appear. + +'A good wife,' I said to Saw Ka. + +'Like many,' he answered. + +But in her own line she has no objection to publicity. I have said that +nearly all women work, and that is so. Married or unmarried, from the +age of sixteen or seventeen, almost every woman has some occupation +besides her own duties. In the higher classes she will have property of +her own to manage; in the lower classes she will have some trade. I +cannot find that in Burma there have ever been certain occupations told +off for women in which they may work, and others tabooed to them. As +there is no caste for the men, so there is none for the women. They have +been free to try their hands at anything they thought they could excel +in, without any fear of public opinion. But nevertheless, as is +inevitable, it has been found that there are certain trades in which +women can compete successfully with men, and certain others in which +they cannot. And these are not quite the same as in the West. We usually +consider sewing to be a feminine occupation. In Burma, there being no +elaborately cut and trimmed garments, the amount of sewing done is +small, but that is usually done by men. Women often own and use small +hand-machines, but the treadles are always used by men only. As I am +writing, my Burmese orderly is sitting in the garden sewing his jacket. +He is usually sewing when not sent on messages. He seems to sew very +well. + +Weaving is usually done by women. Under nearly every house there will be +a loom, where the wife or daughter weaves for herself or for sale. But +many men weave also, and the finest silks are all woven by men. I once +asked a woman why they did not weave the best silks, instead of leaving +them all to the men. + +'Men do them better,' she said, with a laugh. 'I tried once, but I +cannot manage that embroidery.' + +They also work in the fields--light work, such as weeding and planting. +The heavy work, such as ploughing, is done by men. They also work on the +roads carrying things, as all Oriental women do. It is curious that +women carry always on their heads, men always on their shoulders. I do +not know why. + +But the great occupation of women is petty trading. I have already said +that there are few large merchants among the Burmese. Nearly all the +retail trade is small, most of it is very small indeed, and practically +the whole of it is in the hands of the women. + +Women do not often succeed in any wholesale trade. They have not, I +think, a wide enough grasp of affairs for that. Their views are always +somewhat limited; they are too pennywise and pound-foolish for big +businesses. The small retail trade, gaining a penny here and a penny +there, just suits them, and they have almost made it a close profession. + +This trade is almost exclusively done in bazaars. In every town there is +a bazaar, from six till ten each morning. When there is no town near, +the bazaar will be held on one day at one village and on another at a +neighbouring one. It depends on the density of population, the means of +communication, and other matters. But a bazaar within reach there must +always be, for it is only there that most articles can be bought. The +bazaar is usually held in a public building erected for the purpose, and +this may vary from a great market built of brick and iron to a small +thatched shed. Sometimes, indeed, there is no building at all, merely a +space of beaten ground. + +The great bazaar in Mandalay is one of the sights of the city. The +building in which it is held is the property of the municipality, but is +leased out. It is a series of enormous sheds, with iron roofs and beaten +earth floor. Each trade has a shed or sheds to itself. There is a place +for rice-sellers, for butchers, for vegetable-sellers, for the vendors +of silks, of cottons, of sugars and spices, of firewood, of jars, of +fish. The butchers are all natives of India. I have explained elsewhere +why this should be. The firewood-sellers will mostly be men, as will +also the large rice-merchants, but nearly all the rest are women. + +You will find the sellers of spices, fruit, vegetables, and other such +matters seated in long rows, on mats placed upon the ground. Each will +have a square of space allotted, perhaps six feet square, and there she +will sit with her merchandise in a basket or baskets before her. For +each square they will pay the lessee a halfpenny for the day, which is +only three hours or so. The time to go is in the morning from six till +eight, for that is the busy time. Later on all the stalls will be +closed, but in the early morning the market is thronged. Every +householder is then buying his or her provisions for the day, and the +people crowd in thousands round the sellers. Everyone is bargaining and +chaffing and laughing, both buyers and sellers; but both are very keen, +too, on business. + +The cloth and silk sellers, the large rice-merchants, and a few other +traders, cannot carry on business sitting on a mat, nor can they carry +their wares to and fro every day in a basket. For such there are +separate buildings or separate aisles, with wooden stalls, on either +side of a gangway. The wooden floor of the stalls is raised two to three +feet, so that the buyer, standing on the ground, is about on a level +with the seller sitting in the stall. The stall will be about eight feet +by ten, and each has at the back a strong lock-up cupboard or wardrobe, +where the wares are shut at night; but in the day they will be taken out +and arranged daintily about the girl-seller. Home-made silks are the +staple--silks in checks of pink and white, of yellow and orange, of +indigo and dark red. Some are embroidered in silk, in silver, or in +gold; some are plain. All are thick and rich, none are glazed, and none +are gaudy. There will also be silks from Bangkok, which are of two +colours--purple shot with red, and orange shot with red, both very +beautiful. All the silks are woven the size of the dress: for men, about +twenty-eight feet long and twenty inches broad; and for women, about +five feet long and much broader. Thus, there is no cutting off the +piece. The _anas_, too, which are the bottom pieces for a woman's dress, +are woven the proper size. There will probably, too, be piles of showy +cambric jackets and gauzy silk handkerchiefs; but often these are sold +at separate stalls. + +But prettier than the silks are the sellers, for these are nearly all +girls and women, sweet and fresh in their white jackets, with flowers in +their hair. And they are all delighted to talk to you and show you their +goods, even if you do not buy; and they will take a compliment sedately, +as a girl should, and they will probably charge you an extra rupee for +it when you come to pay for your purchases. So it is never wise for a +man, unless he have a heart of stone, to go marketing for silks. He +should always ask a lady friend to go with him and do the bargaining, +and he will lose no courtesy thereby, for these women know how to be +courteous to fellow-women as well as to fellow-men. + +In the provincial bazaars it is much the same. There may be a few +travelling merchants from Rangoon or Mandalay, most of whom are men; but +nearly all the retailers are women. Indeed, speaking broadly, it may be +said that the retail trade of the country is in the hands of the women, +and they nearly all trade on their own account. Just as the men farm +their own land, the women own their businesses. They are not saleswomen +for others, but traders on their own account; and with the exception of +the silk and cloth branches of the trade, it does not interfere with +home-life. The bazaar lasts but three hours, and a woman has ample time +for her home duties when her daily visit to the bazaar is over; she is +never kept away all day in shops and factories. + +Her home-life is always the centre of her life; she could not neglect it +for any other: it would seem to her a losing of the greater in the less. +But the effect of this custom of nearly every woman having a little +business of her own has a great influence on her life. It broadens her +views; it teaches her things she could not learn in the narrow circle of +home duties; it gives her that tolerance and understanding which so +forcibly strikes everyone who knows her. It teaches her to know her own +strength and weakness, and how to make the best of each. Above all, by +showing her the real life about her, and how much beauty there is +everywhere, to those whose eyes are not shut by conventions, it saves +her from that dreary, weary pessimism that seeks its relief in fancied +idealism, in a smattering of art, of literature, or of religion, and +which is the curse of so many of her sisters in other lands. + +And yet, with all their freedom, Burmese women are very particular in +their conduct. Do not imagine that young girls are allowed, or allow +themselves, to go about alone except on very frequented roads. I suppose +there are certain limits in all countries to the freedom a woman allows +herself, that is to say, if she is wise. For she knows that she cannot +always trust herself; she knows that she is weak sometimes, and she +protects herself accordingly. She is timid, with a delightful timidity +that fears, because it half understands; she is brave, with the bravery +of a girl who knows that as long as she keeps within certain limits she +is safe. Do not suppose that they ever do, or ever can, allow themselves +that freedom of action that men have; it is an impossibility. Girls are +very carefully looked after by their mothers, and wives by their +husbands; and they delight in observing the limits which experience has +indicated to them. There is a funny story which will illustrate what I +mean. A great friend of mine, an officer in Government service, went +home not very long ago and married, and came out again to Burma with his +wife. They settled down in a little up-country station. His duties were +such as obliged him to go very frequently on tour far away from his +home, and he would be absent ten days at a time or more. So when it came +for the first time that he was obliged to go out and leave his wife +behind him alone in the house, he gave his head-servant very careful +directions. This servant was a Burman who had been with him for many +years, who knew all his ways, and who was a very good servant. He did +not speak English; and my friend gave him strict orders. + +'The mistress,' he said, 'has only just come here to Burma, and she +does not know the ways of the country, nor what to do. So you must see +that no harm comes to her in any way while I am in the jungle.' + +Then he gave directions as to what was to be done in any eventuality, +and he went out. + +He was away for about a fortnight, and when he returned he found all +well. The house had not caught fire, nor had thieves stolen anything, +nor had there been any difficulty at all. The servant had looked after +the other servants well, and my friend was well pleased. But his wife +complained. + +'It has been very dull,' she said, 'while you were away. No one came to +see me; of all the officers here, not one ever called. I saw only two or +three ladies, but not a man at all.' + +And my friend, surprised, asked his servant how it was. + +'Didn't anyone come to call?' he asked. + +'Oh yes,' the servant answered; 'many gentlemen came to call--the +officers of the regiment and others. But I told them the thakin was out, +and that the thakinma could not see anyone. I sent them all away.' + +At the club that evening my friend was questioned as to why in his +absence no one was allowed to see his wife. The whole station laughed at +him, but I think he and his wife laughed most of all at the careful +observances of Burmese etiquette by the servant; for it is the Burmese +custom for a wife not to receive in her husband's absence. Anyone who +wants to see her must stay outside or in the veranda, and she will come +out and speak to him. It would be a grave breach of decorum to receive +visitors while her husband is out. + +So even a Burmese woman is not free from restrictions--restrictions +which are merely rules founded upon experience. No woman, no man, can +ever free herself or himself from the bonds that even a young +civilization demands. A freedom from all restraint would be a return, +not only to savagery, but to the condition of animals--nay, even animals +are bound by certain conventions. + +The higher a civilization, the more conventions are required; and +freedom does not mean an absence of all rules, but that all rules should +be founded on experience and common-sense. + +There are certain restrictions on a woman's actions which must be +observed as long as men are men and women women. That the Burmese woman +never recognises them unless they are necessary, and then accepts the +necessity as a necessity, is the fact wherein her freedom lies. If at +any time she should recognise that a restriction was unnecessary, she +would reject it. If experience told her further restrictions were +required, she would accept them without a doubt. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +WOMEN--III + + 'For women are very tender-hearted.' + _Wethandaya._ + + +'You know, thakin,' said a man to me, 'that we say sometimes that women +cannot attain unto the great deliverance, that only men will come there. +We think that a woman must be born again as a man before she can enter +upon the way that leads to heaven.' + +'Why should that be so?' I asked. 'I have looked at the life of the +Buddha, I have read the sacred books, and I can find nothing about it. +What makes you think that?' + +He explained it in this way: 'Before a soul can attain deliverance it +must renounce the world, it must have purified itself by wisdom and +meditation from all the lust of the flesh. Only those who have done this +can enter into the Great Peace. Many men do this. The country is full of +monks, men who have left the world, and are trying to follow in the path +of the great teacher. Not all these will immediately attain to heaven, +for purification is a very long process; but they have entered into the +path, they have seen the light, if it be even a long way off yet. They +know whither they would go. But women, see how few become nuns! Only +those who have suffered such shipwreck in life that this world holds +nothing more for them worth having become nuns. And they are very few. +For a hundred monks there is not one nun. Women are too attached to +their home, to their fathers, their husbands, their children, to enter +into the holy life; and, therefore, how shall they come to heaven except +they return as men? Our teacher says nothing about it, but we have eyes, +and we can see.' + +All this is true. Women have no desire for the holy life. They cannot +tear themselves away from their home-life. If their passions are less +than those of men, they have even less command over them than men have. +Only the profoundest despair will drive a woman to a renunciation of the +world. If on an average their lives are purer than those of men, they +cannot rise to the heights to which men can. How many monks there +are--how few nuns! Not one to a hundred. + +Yet in some ways women are far more religious than men. If you go to the +golden pagoda on the hilltop and count the people kneeling there doing +honour to the teacher, you will find they are nearly all women. If you +go to the rest-houses by the monastery, where the monks recite the law +on Sundays, you will find that the congregations are nearly all women. +If you visit the monastery without the gate, you will see many visitors +bringing little presents, and they will be women. + +'Thakin, many men do not care for religion at all, but when a man does +do so, he takes it very seriously. He follows it out to the end. He +becomes a monk, and surrenders the whole world. But with women it is +different. Many women, nearly all women, will like religion, and none +will take it seriously. We mix it up with our home-life, and our +affections, and our worldly doings; for we like a little of everything.' +So said a woman to me. + +Is this always true? I do not know, but it is very true in Burma. Nearly +all the women are religious, they like to go to the monastery and hear +the law, they like to give presents to the monks, they like to visit the +pagoda and adore Gaudama the Buddha. I am sure that if it were not for +their influence the laws against taking life and against intoxicants +would not be observed as stringently as they are. So far they will go. +As far as they can use the precepts of religion and retain their +home-life they will do so; as it was with Yathodaya so long ago, so it +is now. But when religion calls them and says, 'Come away from the +world, leave all that you love, all that your heart holds good, for it +is naught; see the light, and prepare your soul for peace,' they hold +back. This they cannot do; it is far beyond them. 'Thakin, we _cannot do +so_. It would seem to us terrible,' that is what they say. + +A man who renounces the world is called 'the great glory,' but not so a +woman. + +I have said that the Buddhist religion holds men and women as equal. If +women can observe its laws as men do, it is surely their own fault if +they be held the less worthy. + +Women themselves admit this. They honour a man greatly who becomes a +monk, not so a nun. Nuns have but little consideration. And why? Because +what is good for a man is not good for a woman; and if, indeed, +renunciation of the world be the only path to the Great Peace, then +surely it must be true that women must be born again. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +DIVORCE + + 'They are to each other as a burning poison falling into a man's + eye.'--_Burmese saying._ + + +I remember a night not so long ago; it was in the hot weather, and I was +out in camp with my friend the police-officer. It was past sunset, and +the air beneath the trees was full of luminous gloom, though overhead a +flush still lingered on the cheek of the night. We were sitting in the +veranda of a Government rest-house, enjoying the first coolness of the +coming night, and talking in disjointed sentences of many things; and +there came up the steps of the house into the veranda a woman. She came +forward slowly, and then sat down on the floor beside my friend, and +began to speak. There was a lamp burning in an inner room, and a long +bar of light came through the door and lit her face. I could see she was +not good-looking, but that her eyes were full of tears, and her face +drawn with trouble. I recognised who she was, the wife of the +head-constable in charge of the guard near by, a woman I had noticed +once or twice in the guard. + +She spoke so fast, so fast; the words fell over each other as they came +from her lips, for her heart was very full. + +I sat quite still and said nothing; I think she hardly noticed I was +there. It was all about her husband. Everything was wrong; all had gone +crooked in their lives, and she did not know what she could do. At first +she could hardly tell what it was all about, but at last she explained. +For some years, three or four years, matters had not been very smooth +between them. They had quarrelled often, she said, about this thing and +the other, little things mostly; and gradually the rift had widened till +it became very broad indeed. + +'Perhaps,' she said, 'if I had been able to have a child it would have +been different.' But fate was unkind and no baby came, and her husband +became more and more angry with her. 'And yet I did all for the best, +thakin; I always tried to act for the best. My husband has sisters at +Henzada, and they write to him now and then, and say, "Send ten rupees," +or "Send five rupees," or even twenty rupees. And I always say, "Send, +send." Other wives would say, "No, we cannot afford it;" but I said +always, "Send, send." I have always done for the best, always for the +best.' + +It was very pitiable to hear her opening her whole heart, such a sore +troubled heart, like this. Her words were full of pathos; her uncomely +face was not beautified by the sorrow in it. And at last her husband +took a second wife. + +'She is a girl from a village near; the thakin knows, Taungywa. He did +not tell me, but I soon heard of it; and although I thought my heart +would break, I did not say anything. I told my husband, "Bring her here, +let us live all together; it will be best so." I always did for the +best, thakin. So he brought her, and she came to live with us a week +ago. Ah, thakin, I did not know! She tramples on me. My head is under +her feet. My husband does not care for me, only for her. And to-day, +this evening, they went out together for a walk, and my husband took +with him the concertina. As they went I could hear him play upon it, and +they walked down through the trees, he playing and she leaning upon him. +I heard the music.' + +Then she began to cry bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. The +sunset died out of the sky, and the shadows took all the world and made +it gray and dark. No one said anything, only the woman cried. + +'Thakin,' she said at last, 'what am I to do? Tell me.' + +Then my friend spoke. + +'You can divorce him,' he said; 'you can go to the elders and get a +divorce. Won't that be best?' + +'But, thakin, you do not know. We are both Christians; we are married +for ever. We were both at the mission-school in Rangoon, and we were +married there, "for ever and for ever," so the padre said. We are not +married according to Burmese customs, but according to your religion; we +are husband and wife for ever.' + +My friend said nothing. It seemed to him useless to speak to her of the +High Court, five hundred miles away, and a decree nisi; it would have +been a mockery of her trouble. + +'Your husband had no right to take a second wife, if you are Christians +and married,' he said. + +'Ah,' she answered, 'we are Burmans; it is allowed by Burmese law. Other +officials do it. What does my husband care that we were married by your +law? Here we are alone with no other Christians near. But I would not +mind so much,' she went on, 'only she treads me under her feet. And he +takes her out and not me, who am the elder wife, and he plays music to +her; and I did all for the best. This trouble has come upon me, though +all my life I have acted for the best.' + +There came another footstep up the stair, and a man entered. It was her +husband. On his return he had missed his wife, and guessed whither she +had gone, and had followed her. He came alone. + +Then there was a sad scene, only restrained by respect for my friend. I +need not tell it. There was a man's side to the question, a strong one. +The wife had a terrible temper, a peevish, nagging, maddening fashion +of talking. She was a woman very hard for a man to live with. + +Does it matter much which was right or wrong, now that the mischief was +done? They went away at last, not reconciled. Could they be reconciled? +I cannot tell. I left there next day, and have never returned. + +There they had lived for many years among their own people, far away +from the influence that had come upon their childhood, and led them into +strange ways. And now all that was left of that influence was the chain +that bound them together. Had it not been for that they would have been +divorced long ago; for they had never agreed very well, and both sides +had bitter grounds for complaint. They would have been divorced, and +both could have gone their own way. But now, what was to be done? + +That is one of my memories: this is another. + +There was a girl I knew, the daughter of a man who had made some money +by trading, and when the father died the property was divided according +to law between the girl and her brother. She was a little heiress in her +way, owning a garden, where grew many fruit-trees, and a piece of rice +land. She had also a share in a little shop which she managed, and she +had many gold bracelets and fine diamond earrings. She was much wooed by +the young men about there, and at last she married. He was a young man, +good-looking, a sergeant of police, and for a time they were very +happy. And then trouble came. The husband took to bad ways. The +knowledge that he could get money for nothing was too much for him. He +drank and he wasted her money, and he neglected his work, and at last he +was dismissed from Government employ. And his wife got angry with him, +and complained of him to the neighbours; and made him worse, though she +was at heart a good girl. Quickly he went from bad to worse, until in a +very short time, six months, I think, he had spent half her little +fortune. Then she began to limit supplies--the husband did no work at +all--and in consequence he began to neglect her; they had many quarrels, +and her tongue was sharp, and matters got worse and worse until they +were the talk of the village. All attempts of the headman and elders to +restrain him were useless. He became quarrelsome, and went on from one +thing to another, until at last he was suspected of being concerned in a +crime. So then when all means had failed to restore her husband to her, +when they had drifted far apart and there was nothing before them but +trouble, she went to the elders of the village and demanded a divorce. +And the elders granted it to her. Her husband objected; he did not want +to be divorced. He claimed this, and he claimed that, but it was all of +no use. So the tie that had united them was dissolved, as the love had +been dissolved long before, and they parted. The man went away to Lower +Burma. They tell me he has become a cultivator and has reformed, and is +doing well; and the girl is ready to marry again. Half her property is +gone, but half remains, and she has still her little business. I think +they will both do well. But if they had been chained together, what +then? + +In Burma divorce is free. Anyone can obtain it by appearing before the +elders of the village and demanding it. A writing of divorcement is made +out, and the parties are free. Each retains his or her own property, and +that earned during marriage is divided; only that the party claiming the +divorce has to leave the house to the other--that is the only penalty, +and it is not always enforced, unless the house be joint property. + +As religion has nothing to do with marriage, neither has it with +divorce. Marriage is a status, a partnership, nothing more. But it is +all that. Divorce is a dissolution of that partnership. A Burman would +not ask, 'Were they married?' but, 'Are they man and wife?' And so with +divorce, it is a cessation of the state of marriage. + +Elders tell me that women ask for divorce far more than men do. 'Men +have patience, and women have not,' that is what they say. For every +little quarrel a woman will want a divorce. 'Thakin, if we were to grant +divorces every time a woman came and demanded it, we should be doing +nothing else all day long. If a husband comes home to find dinner not +cooked, and speaks angrily, his wife will rush to us in tears for a +divorce. If he speaks to another woman and smiles, if he does not give +his wife a new dress, if he be fond of going out in the evenings, all +these are reasons for a breathless demand for a divorce. The wives get +cross and run to us and cry, "My husband has been angry with me. Never +will I live with him again. Give me a divorce." Or, "See my clothes, how +old they are. I cannot buy any new dress. I will have a divorce." And we +say, "Yes, yes; it is very sad. Of course, you must have a divorce; but +we cannot give you one to-night. Go away, and come again in three days +or in four days, when we have more time." They go away, thakin, and they +do not return. Next day it is all forgotten. You see, they don't know +what they want; they turn with the wind--they have no patience.' + +Yet sometimes they repent too late. Here is another of my memories about +divorce: + +There was a man and his wife, cultivators, living in a small village. +The land that he cultivated belonged to his wife, for she had inherited +it from her father, together with a house and a little money. The man +had nothing when he married her, but he was hardworking and honest and +good-tempered, and they kept themselves going comfortably enough. But he +had one fault: every now and then he would drink too much. This was in +Lower Burma, where liquor shops are free to Burmans. In Upper Burma no +liquor can be sold to them. He did not drink often. He was a teetotaler +generally; but once a month, or once in two months, he would meet some +friends, and they would drink in good fellowship, and he would return +home drunk. His wife felt this very bitterly, and when he would come +into the house, his eyes red and his face swollen, she would attack him +with bitter words, as women do. She would upbraid him for his conduct, +she would point at him the finger of scorn, she would tell him in biting +words that he was drinking the produce of her fields, of her +inheritance; she would even impute to him, in her passion, worse things +than these, things that were not true. And the husband was usually +good-natured, and admitted his wrong, and put up with all her abuse, and +they lived more or less happily till the next time. + +And after this had been going on for a few years, instead of getting +accustomed to her husband, instead of seeing that if he had this fault +he had many virtues, and that he was just as good a husband as she was a +wife, or perhaps better, her anger against him increased every time, +till now she would declare that she would abide it no longer, that he +was past endurance, and she would have a divorce; and several times she +even ran to the elders to demand it. But the elders would put it by. +'Let it wait,' they said, 'for a few days, and then we will see;' and by +that time all was soothed down again. But at last the end came. One +night she passed all bounds in her anger, using words that could never +be forgiven; and when she declared as usual that she must have a +divorce, her husband said: 'Yes, we will divorce. Let there be an end of +it.' And so next day they went to the elders both of them, and as both +demanded the divorce, the elders could not delay very long. A few days' +delay they made, but the man was firm, and at last it was done. They +were divorced. I think the woman would have drawn back at the last +moment, but she could not, for very shame, and the man never wavered. He +was offended past forgiveness. + +So the divorce was given, and the man left the house and went to live +elsewhere. + +In a few days--a very few days--the wife sent for him again. 'Would he +return?' And he refused. Then she went to the headman and asked him to +make it up, and the headman sent for the husband, who came. + +The woman asked her husband to return. + +'Come back,' she said, 'come back. I have been wrong. Let us forgive. It +shall never happen again.' + +But the man shook his head. + +'No,' he said; 'a divorce is a divorce. I do not care to marry and +divorce once a week. You were always saying "I will divorce you, I will +divorce you." Now it is done. Let it remain.' + +The woman was struck with grief. + +'But I did not know,' she said; 'I was hot-tempered. I was foolish. But +now I know. Ah! the house is so lonely! I have but two ears, I have but +two eyes, and the house is so large.' + +But the husband refused again. + +'What is done, is done. Marriage is not to be taken off and put on like +a jacket. I have made up my mind.' + +Then he went away, and after a little the woman went away too. She went +straight to the big, lonely house, and there she hanged herself. + +You see, she loved him all the time, but did not know till too late. + +Men do not often apply for divorce except for very good cause, and with +their minds fully made up to obtain it. They do obtain it, of course. + +With this facility for divorce, it is remarkable how uncommon it is. In +the villages and amongst respectable Burmans in all classes of life it +is a great exception to divorce or to be divorced. The only class +amongst whom it is at all common is the class of hangers-on to our +Administration, the clerks and policemen, and so on. I fear there is +little that is good to be said of many of them. It is terrible to see +how demoralizing our contact is to all sorts and conditions of men. To +be attached to our Administration is almost a stigma of +disreputableness. I remember remarking once to a headman that a certain +official seemed to be quite regardless of public opinion in his life, +and asked him if the villagers did not condemn him. And the headman +answered with surprise: 'But he is an official;' as if officials were +quite _super grammaticam_ of morals. + +And yet this is the class from whom we most of us obtain our knowledge +of Burmese life, whom we see most of, whose opinions we accept as +reflecting the truth of Burmese thought. No wonder we are so often +astray. + +Amongst these, the taking of second, and even third, wives is not at all +uncommon, and naturally divorce often follows. Among the great mass of +the people it is very uncommon. I cannot give any figures. There are no +records kept of marriage or of divorce. What the proportion is it is +impossible to even guess. I have heard all sorts of estimates, none +founded on more than imagination. I have even tried to find out in small +villages what the number of divorces were in a year, and tried to +estimate from this the percentage. I made it from 2 to 5 per cent. of +the marriages. But I cannot offer these figures as correct for any large +area. Probably they vary from place to place and from year to year. In +the old time the queen was very strict upon the point. As she would +allow no other wife to her king, so she would allow no taking of other +wives, no abuse of divorce among her subjects. Whatever her influence +may have been in other ways, here it was all for good. But the queen has +gone, and there is no one left at all. No one but the hangers-on of whom +I have spoken, examples not to be followed, but to be shunned. + +But of this there is no manner of doubt, that this freedom of marriage +and divorce leads to no license. There is no confusion between marriage +or non-marriage, and even yet public opinion is a very great check upon +divorce. It is considered not right to divorce your husband or your wife +without good--very good and sufficient cause. And what is good and +sufficient cause is very well understood. That a woman should have a +nagging tongue, that a man should be a drunkard, what could be better +cause than this? The gravity of the offence lies in whether it makes +life unbearable together, not in the name you may give it. + +The facility for divorce has other effects too. It makes a man and a +woman very careful in their behaviour to each other. The chain that +binds them is a chain of mutual forbearance, of mutual endurance, of +mutual love; and if these be broken, then is the bond gone. Marriage is +no fetter about a man or woman, binding both to that which they may get +to hate. + +In the first Burmese war in 1825 there was a man, an Englishman, taken +prisoner in Ava and put in prison, and there he found certain Europeans +and Americans. After a time, for fear of attempts at escape, these +prisoners were chained together two and two. He tells you, this +Englishman, how terrible this was, and of the hate and repulsion that +arose in your heart to your co-bondsman. Before they were chained +together they lived in close neighbourhood, in peace and amity; but +when the chains came it was far otherwise, though they were no nearer +than before. They got to hate each other. + +And this is the Burmese idea of marriage, that it is a partnership of +love and affection, and that when these die, all should be over. An +unbreakable marriage appears to them as a fetter, a bond, something +hateful and hate inspiring. They are a people who love to be free: they +hate bonds and dogmas of every description. It is always religion that +has made a bond of marriage, and here religion has not interfered. +Theirs is a religion of free men and free women. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +DRINK + + 'The ignorant commit sins in consequence of drunkenness, and also + make others drunk.'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +The Buddhist religion forbids the use of all stimulants, including opium +and other drugs; and in the times of the Burmese rule this law was +stringently kept. No one was allowed to make, to sell, or to consume, +liquors of any description. That this law was kept as firmly as it was +was due, not to the vigilance of the officials, but to the general +feeling of the people. It was a law springing from within, and therefore +effectual; not imposed from without, and useless. That there were +breaches and evasions of the law is only natural. The craving for some +stimulant amongst all people is very great--so great as to have forced +itself to be acknowledged and regulated by most states, and made a great +source of revenue. Amongst the Burmans the craving is, I should say, as +strong as amongst other people; and no mere legal prohibition would have +had much effect in a country like this, full of jungle, where palms grow +in profusion, and where little stills might be set up anywhere to +distil their juice. But the feelings of the respectable people and the +influence of the monks is very great, very strong; and the Burmans were, +and in Upper Burma, where the old laws remain in force, are still, an +absolutely teetotal people. No one who was in Upper Burma before and +just after the war but knows how strictly the prohibition against liquor +was enforced. The principal offenders against the law were the high +officials, because they were above popular reach. No bribe was so +gratefully accepted as some whisky. It was a sure step to safety in +trouble. + +A gentleman--not an Englishman--in the employ of a company who traded in +Upper Burma in the king's time told me lately a story about this. + +He lived in a town on the Irrawaddy, where was a local governor, and +this governor had a head clerk. This head clerk had a wife, and she was, +I am told, very beautiful. I cannot write scandal, and so will not +repeat here what I have heard about this lady and the merchant; but one +day his Burman servant rushed into his presence and told him +breathlessly that the bailiff of the governor's court was just entering +the garden with a warrant for his arrest, for, let us say, undue +flirtation. The merchant, horrified at the prospect of being lodged in +gaol and put in stocks, fled precipitately out of the back-gate and +gained the governor's court. The governor was in session, seated on a +little dais, and the merchant ran in and knelt down, as is the custom, +in front of the dais. He began to hurriedly address the governor: + +'My lord, my lord, an unjust complaint has been made against me. Someone +has abused your justice and caused a warrant to be taken out against me. +I have just escaped the bailiff, and came to your honour for protection. +It is all a mistake. I will explain. I----' + +But here the governor interposed. He bent forward till his head was +close to the merchant's head, and whispered: + +'Friend, have you any whisky?' + +The merchant gave a sigh of relief. + +'A case newly arrived is at your honour's disposal,' he answered +quickly. 'I will give orders for it to be sent over at once. No, two +cases--I have two. And this charge is all a mistake.' + +The governor waved his hand as if all explanation were superfluous. Then +he drew himself up, and, addressing the officials and crowd before him, +said: + +'This is my good friend. Let no one touch him.' And in an undertone to +the merchant: 'Send it soon.' + +So the merchant went home rejoicing, and sent the whisky. And the lady? +Well, my story ends there with the governor and the whisky. No doubt it +was all a mistake about the lady, as the merchant said. All officials +were not so bad as this, and many officials were as strongly against +the use of liquor, as urgent in the maintenance of the rules of the +religion, as the lowest peasant. + +It was the same with opium: its use was absolutely prohibited. Of +course, Chinese merchants managed to smuggle enough in for their own +use, but they had to bribe heavily to be able to do so, and the people +remained uncontaminated. 'Opium-eater,' 'gambler,' are the two great +terms of reproach and contempt. + +It used to be a custom in the war-time--it has died out now, I +think--for officers of all kinds to offer to Burmans who came to see +them--officials, I mean--a drink of whisky or beer on parting, just as +you would to an Englishman. It was often accepted. Burmans are, as I +have said, very fond of liquor, and an opportunity like this to indulge +in a little forbidden drink, under the encouragement of the great +English soldier or official, was too much for them. Besides, it would +have been a discourtesy to refuse. And so it was generally accepted. I +do not think it did much harm to anyone, or to anything, except, +perhaps, to our reputation. + +I remember in 1887 that I went up into a semi-independent state to see +the prince. I travelled up with two of his officials, men whom I had +seen a good deal of for some months before, as his messengers and +spokesmen, about affairs on the border. We travelled for three days, and +came at last to where he had pitched his camp in the forest. He had +built me a house, too, next to his camp, where I put up. I had a long +interview with him about official matters--I need not tell of that +here--and after our business was over we talked of many things, and at +last I got up to take my leave. I had seen towards the end that the +prince had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but was +afraid, or too shy, to mention; and when I got up, instead of moving +away, I laughed and said: + +'Well, what is it? I think there is something the prince wants to say +before I go.' + +And the prince smiled back awkwardly, still desirous to have his say, +still clearly afraid to do so, and at last it was his wife who spoke. + +'It is about the whisky,' she said. 'We know that you drink it. That is +your own business. We hear, too, that it is the custom in the part of +the country you have taken for English officers to give whisky and beer +to officials who come to see you--to _our_ officials,' and she looked at +the men who had come up with me, and they blushed. 'The prince wishes to +ask you not to do it here. Of course, in your own country you do what +you like, but in the prince's country no one is allowed to drink or to +smoke opium. It is against our faith. That is what the prince wanted to +say. The thakin will not be offended if he is asked that here in our +country he will not tempt any of us to break our religion.' + +I almost wished I had not encouraged the prince to speak. I am afraid +that the embarrassment passed over to my side. What could I say but that +I would remember, that I was not offended, but would be careful? I had +been lecturing the prince about his shortcomings; I had been warning him +of trouble to come, unless he mended his ways; I had been telling him +wonderful things of Europe and our power. I thought that I had produced +an impression of superiority--I was young then--but when I left I had my +doubts who it was that scored most in that interview. However, I have +remembered ever since. I was not a frequent offender before--I have +never offered a Burman liquor since. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +MANNERS + + 'Not where others fail, or do, or leave undone--the wise should + notice what himself has done, or left undone.'--_Dammapada._ + + +A remarkable trait of the Burmese character is their unwillingness to +interfere in other people's affairs. Whether it arises from their +religion of self-culture or no, I cannot say, but it is in full keeping +with it. Every man's acts and thoughts are his own affair, think the +Burmans; each man is free to go his own way, to think his own thoughts, +to act his own acts, as long as he does not too much annoy his +neighbours. Each man is responsible for himself and for himself alone, +and there is no need for him to try and be guardian also to his fellows. +And so the Burman likes to go his own way, to be a free man within +certain limits; and the freedom that he demands for himself, he will +extend also to his neighbours. He has a very great and wide tolerance +towards all his neighbours, not thinking it necessary to disapprove of +his neighbours' acts because they may not be the same as his own, never +thinking it necessary to interfere with his neighbours as long as the +laws are not broken. Our ideas that what habits are different to our +habits must be wrong, and being wrong, require correction at our hands, +is very far from his thoughts. He never desires to interfere with +anyone. Certain as he is that his own ideas are best, he is contented +with that knowledge, and is not ceaselessly desirous of proving it upon +other people. And so a foreigner may go and live in a Burman village, +may settle down there and live his own life and follow his own customs +in perfect freedom, may dress and eat and drink and pray and die as he +likes. No one will interfere. No one will try and correct him; no one +will be for ever insisting to him that he is an outcast, either from +civilization or from religion. The people will accept him for what he +is, and leave the matter there. If he likes to change his ways and +conform to Burmese habits and Buddhist forms, so much the better; but if +not, never mind. + +It is, I think, a great deal owing to this habit of mind that the +manners of the Burmese are usually so good, children in civilization as +they are. There is amongst them no rude inquisitiveness and no desire to +in any way circumscribe your freedom, by either remark or act. Surely of +all things that cause trouble, nothing is so common amongst us as the +interference with each other's ways, as the needless giving of advice. +It seems to each of us that we are responsible, not only for ourselves, +but also for everyone else near us; and so if we disapprove of any act, +we are always in a hurry to express our disapproval and to try and +persuade the actor to our way of thinking. We are for ever thinking of +others and trying to improve them; as a nation we try to coerce weaker +nations and to convert stronger ones, and as individuals we do the same. +We are sure that other people cannot but be better and happier for being +brought into our ways of thinking, by force even, if necessary. We call +it philanthropy. + +But the Buddhist does not believe this at all. Each man, each nation, +has, he thinks, enough to do managing his or its own affairs. +Interference, any sort of interference, he is sure can do nothing but +harm. _You_ cannot save a man. He can save himself; you can do nothing +for him. You may force or persuade him into an outer agreement with you, +but what is the value of that? All dispositions that are good, that are +of any value at all, must come spontaneously from the heart of man. +First, he must desire them, and then struggle to obtain them; by this +means alone can any virtue be reached. This, which is the key of his +religion, is the key also of his private life. Each man is a free man to +do what he likes, in a way that we have never understood. + +Even under the rule of the Burmese kings there was the very widest +tolerance. You never heard of a foreigner being molested in any way, +being forbidden to live as he liked, being forbidden to erect his own +places of worship. He had the widest freedom, as long as he infringed no +law. The Burmese rule may not have been a good one in many ways, but it +was never guilty of persecution, of any attempt at forcible conversion, +of any desire to make such an attempt. + +This tolerance, this inclination to let each man go his own way, is +conspicuous even down to the little events of life. It is very marked, +even in conversation, how little criticism is indulged in towards each +other, how there is an absolute absence of desire to proselytize each +other in any way. 'It is his way,' they will say, with a laugh, of any +peculiar act of any person; 'it is his way. What does it matter to us?' +Of all the lovable qualities of the Burmese, and they are many, there +are none greater than these--their light-heartedness and their +tolerance. + +A Burman will always assume that you know your own business, and will +leave you alone to do it. How great a boon this is I think we hardly can +understand, for we have none of it. And he carries it to an extent that +sometimes surprises us. + +Suppose you are walking along a road and there is a broken bridge on the +way, a bridge that you might fall through. No one will try and prevent +you going. Any Burman who saw you go will, if he think at all about it, +give you the credit for knowing what you are about. It will not enter +into his head to go out of his way to give you advice about that +bridge. If you ask him he will help you all he can, but he will not +volunteer; and so if you depend on volunteered advice, you may fall +through the bridge and break your neck, perhaps. + +At first this sort of thing seems to us to spring from laziness or from +discourtesy. It is just the reverse of this latter; it is excess of +courtesy that assumes you to be aware of what you are about, and capable +of judging properly. + +You may get yourself into all sorts of trouble, and unless you call out +no one will assist you. They will suppose that if you require help you +will soon ask for it. You could drift all the way from Bhamo to Rangoon +on a log, and I am sure no one would try to pick you up unless you +shouted for help. Let anyone try to drift down from Oxford to Richmond, +and he will be forcibly saved every mile of his journey, I am sure. The +Burman boatmen you passed would only laugh and ask how you were getting +on. The English boatman would have you out of that in a jiffy, saving +you despite yourself. You might commit suicide in Burma, and no one +would stop you. 'It is your own look-out,' they would say; 'if you want +to die why should we prevent you? What business is it of ours?' + +Never believe for a moment that this is cold-heartedness. Nowhere is +there any man so kind-hearted as a Burman, so ready to help you, so +hospitable, so charitable both in act and thought. + +It is only that he has another way of seeing these things to what we +have. He would resent as the worst discourtesy that which we call having +a friendly interest in each other's doings. Volunteered advice comes, so +he thinks, from pure self-conceit, and is intolerable; help that he has +not asked for conveys the assumption that he is a fool, and the helper +ever so much wiser than he. It is in his eyes simply a form of +self-assertion, an attempt at governing other people, an infringement of +good manners not to be borne. + +Each man is responsible for himself, each man is the maker of himself. +Only he can do himself good by good thought, by good acts; only he can +hurt himself by evil intentions and deeds. Therefore in your intercourse +with others remember always yourself, remember that no one can injure +you but yourself; be careful, therefore, of your acts for your own sake. +For if you lose your temper, who is the sufferer? Yourself; no one but +yourself. If you are guilty of disgraceful acts, of discourteous words, +who suffers? Yourself. Remember that; remember that courtesy and good +temper are due from you to everyone. What does it matter who the other +person be? you should be courteous to him, not because he deserves it, +but because you deserve it. Courtesy is measured by the giver, not by +the receiver. We are apt sometimes to think that this continual care of +self is selfishness; it is the very reverse. Self-reverence is the +antipode of self-conceit, of selfishness. If you honour yourself, you +will be careful that nothing dishonourable shall come from you. +'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control;' we, too, have had a poet +who taught this. + +And so dignity of manner is very marked amongst this people. It is +cultivated as a gift, as the outward sign of a good heart. + +'A rough diamond;' no Burman would understand this saying. The value of +a diamond is that it can be polished. As long as it remains in the +rough, it has no more beauty than a lump of mud. If your heart be good, +so, too, will be your manners. A good tree will bring forth good fruit. +If the fruit be rotten, can the tree be good? Not so. If your manners +are bad, so, too, is your heart. To be courteous, even tempered, to be +tolerant and full of sympathy, these are the proofs of an inward +goodness. You cannot have one without the other. Outward appearances are +not deceptive, but are true. + +Therefore they strive after even temper. Hot-tempered as they are, +easily aroused to wrath, easily awakened to pleasure, men with the +passions of a child, they have very great command over themselves. They +are ashamed of losing their temper; they look upon it as a disgrace. We +are often proud of it; we think sometimes we do well to be angry. + +So they are very patient, very long-suffering, accepting with +resignation the troubles of this world, the kicks and spurns of +fortune, secure in this, that each man's self is in his own keeping. If +there be trouble for to-day, what can it matter if you do but command +yourself? If others be discourteous to you, that cannot hurt you, if you +do not allow yourself to be discourteous in return. Take care of your +own soul, sure that in the end you will win, either in this life or in +some other, that which you deserve. What you have made your soul fit +for, that you will obtain, sooner or later, whether it be evil or +whether it be good. The law of righteousness is for ever this, that what +a man deserves that he will obtain. And in the end, if you cultivate +your soul with unwearying patience, striving always after what is good, +purifying yourself from the lust of life, you will come unto that lake +where all desire shall be washed away. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +'NOBLESSE OBLIGE' + + 'Sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than + may he who kills any living being be admitted into our + society.'--_Acceptance into the Monkhood._ + + +It is very noticeable throughout the bazaars of Burma that all the beef +butchers are natives of India. No Burman will kill a cow or a bullock, +and no Burman will sell its meat. It is otherwise with pork and fowls. +Burmans may sometimes be found selling these; and fish are almost +invariably sold by the wives of the fishermen. During the king's time, +any man who was even found in possession of beef was liable to very +severe punishment. The only exception, as I have explained elsewhere, +was in the case of the queen when expecting an addition to her family, +and it was necessary that she should be strengthened in all ways. None, +not even foreigners, were allowed to kill beef, and this law was very +stringently observed. Other flesh and fish might, as far as the law of +the country went, be sold with impunity. You could not be fined for +killing and eating goats, or fowls, or pigs, and these were sold +occasionally. It is now ten years since King Thibaw was overthrown, and +there is now no law against the sale of beef. And yet, as I have said, +no respectable Burman will even now kill or sell beef. The law was +founded on the beliefs of the people, and though the law is dead, the +beliefs remain. + +It is true that the taking of life is against Buddhist commands. No life +at all may be taken by him who adheres to Buddhistic teaching. Neither +for sport, nor for revenge, nor for food, may any animal be deprived of +the breath that is in it. And this is a command wonderfully well kept. +There are a few exceptions, but they are known and accepted as breaches +of the law, for the law itself knows no exceptions. Fish, as I have +said, can be obtained almost everywhere. They are caught in great +quantities in the river, and are sold in most bazaars, either fresh or +salted. It is one of the staple foods of the Burmese. But although they +will eat fish, they despise the fisherman. Not so much, perhaps, as if +he killed other living things, but still, the fisherman is an outcast +from decent society. He will have to suffer great and terrible +punishment before he can be cleansed from the sins that he daily +commits. Notwithstanding this, there are many fishermen in Burma. + +A fish is a very cold-blooded beast. One must be very hard up for +something to love to have any affection to spare upon fishes. They +cannot be, or at all events they never are, domesticated, and most of +them are not beautiful. I am not aware that they have ever been known to +display any attachment to anyone, which accounts, perhaps, for the +comparatively lenient eye with which their destruction is contemplated. + +For with warm-blooded animals it is very different. Cattle, as I have +said, can never be killed nor their meat sold by a Burman, and with +other animals the difficulty is not much less. + +I was in Upper Burma for some months before the war, and many a time I +could get no meat at all. Living in a large town among prosperous +people, I could get no flesh at all, only fish and rice and vegetables. +When, after much trouble, my Indian cook would get me a few fowls, he +would often be waylaid and forced to release them. An old woman, say, +anxious to do some deed of merit, would come to him as he returned +triumphantly home with his fowls and tender him money, and beg him to +release the fowls. She would give the full price or double the price of +the fowls; she had no desire to gain merit at another person's expense, +and the unwilling cook would be obliged to give up the fowls. Public +opinion was so strong he dare not refuse. The money was paid, the fowls +set free, and I dined on tinned beef. + +And yet the villages are full of fowls. Why they are kept I do not know. +Certainly not for food. I do not mean to say that an accidental meeting +between a rock and a fowl may not occasionally furnish forth a dinner, +but this is not the object with which they are kept--of this I am sure. + +You would not suppose that fowls were capable of exciting much +affection, yet I suppose they are. Certainly in one case ducks were. +There is a Burman lady I know who is married to an Englishman. He kept +ducks. He bought a number of ducklings, and had them fed up so that they +might be fat and succulent when the time came for them to be served at +table. They became very fine ducks, and my friend had promised me one. I +took an interest in them, and always noticed their increasing fatness +when I rode that way. Imagine, then, my disappointment when one day I +saw that all the ducks had disappeared. + +I stopped to inquire. Yes, truly they were all gone, my friend told me. +In his absence his wife had gone up the river to visit some friends, and +had taken the ducks with her. She could not bear, she said, that they +should be killed, so she took them away and distributed them among her +friends, one here and one there, where she was sure they would be well +treated and not killed. When she returned she was quite pleased at her +success, and laughed at her husband and me. + +This same lady was always terribly distressed when she had to order a +fowl to be killed for her husband's breakfast, even if she had never +seen it before. I have seen her, after telling the cook to kill a fowl +for breakfast, run away and sit down in the veranda with her hands over +her ears, and her face the very picture of misery, fearing lest she +should hear its shrieks. I think that this was the one great trouble to +her in her marriage, that her husband would insist on eating fowls and +ducks, and that she had to order them to be killed. + +As she is, so are most Burmans. If there is all this trouble about +fowls, it can be imagined how the trouble increases when it comes to +goats or any larger beasts. In the jungle villages meat of any kind at +all is never seen: no animals of any kind are allowed to be killed. An +officer travelling in the district would be reduced to what he could +carry with him, if it were not for an Act of Government obliging +villages to furnish--on payment, of course--supplies for officers and +troops passing through. The mere fact of such a law being necessary is +sufficient proof of the strength of the feeling against taking life. + +Of course, all shooting, either for sport or for food, is looked upon as +disgraceful. In many jungle villages where deer abound there are one or +two hunters who make a living by hunting. But they are disgraced men. +They are worse than fishermen, and they will have a terrible penalty to +pay for it all. It will take much suffering to wash from their souls the +cruelty, the blood-thirstiness, the carelessness to suffering, the +absence of compassion, that hunting must produce. 'Is there no food in +the bazaar, that you must go and take the lives of animals?' has been +said to me many a time. And when my house-roof was infested by sparrows, +who dropped grass and eggs all over my rooms, so that I was obliged to +shoot them with a little rifle, this was no excuse. 'You should have +built a sparrow-cote,' they told me. 'If you had built a sparrow-cote, +they would have gone away and left you in peace. They only wanted to +make nests and lay eggs and have little ones, and you went and shot +them.' There are many sparrow-cotes to be seen in the villages. + +I might give example after example of this sort, for they happen every +day. We who are meat-eaters, who delight in shooting, who have a horror +of insects and reptiles, are continually coming into collision with the +principles of our neighbours; for even harmful reptiles they do not care +to kill. Truly I believe it is a myth, the story of the Burmese mother +courteously escorting out of the house the scorpion which had just +bitten her baby. A Burmese mother worships her baby as much as the woman +of any other nation does, and I believe there is no crime she would not +commit in its behalf. But if she saw a scorpion walking about in the +fields, she would not kill it as we should. She would step aside and +pass on. 'Poor beast!' she would say, 'why should I hurt it? It never +hurt me.' + +The Burman never kills insects out of sheer brutality. If a beetle drone +annoyingly, he will catch it in a handkerchief and put it outside, and +so with a bee. It is a great trouble often to get your Burmese servants +to keep your house free of ants and other annoying creatures. If you +tell them to kill the insects they will, for in that case the sin falls +on you. Without special orders they would rather leave the ants alone. + +In the district in which I am now living snakes are very plentiful. +There are cobras and keraits, but the most dreaded is the Russell's +viper. He is a snake that averages from three to four feet long, and is +very thick, with a big head and a stumpy tail. His body is marked very +prettily with spots and blurs of light on a dark, grayish green, and he +is so like the shadows of the grass and weeds in a dusty road, that you +can walk on him quite unsuspectingly. Then he will bite you, and you +die. He comes out usually in the evening before dark, and lies about on +footpaths to catch the home-coming ploughman or reaper, and, contrary to +the custom of other snakes, he will not flee on hearing a footstep. When +anyone approaches he lies more still than ever, not even a movement of +his head betraying him. He is so like the colour of the ground, he hopes +he will be passed unseen; and he is slow and lethargic in his movements, +and so is easy to kill when once detected. As a Burman said, 'If he sees +you first, he kills you; if you see him first, you kill him.' + +In this district no Burman hesitates a moment in killing a viper when +he has the chance. Usually he has to do it in self-defence. This viper +is terribly feared, as over a hundred persons a year die here by his +bite. He is so hated and feared that he has become an outcast from the +law that protects all life. + +But with other snakes it is not so. There is the hamadryad, for +instance. He is a great snake about ten to fourteen feet long, and he is +the only snake that will attack you first. He is said always to do so, +certainly he often does. One attacked me once when out quail-shooting. +He put up his great neck and head suddenly at a distance of only five or +six feet, and was just preparing to strike, when I literally blew his +head off with two charges of shot. + +You would suppose he was vicious enough to be included with the +Russell's viper in the category of the exceptions, but no. Perhaps he is +too rare to excite such fierce and deadly hate as makes the Burman +forget his law and kill the viper. However it may be, the Burman is not +ready to kill the hamadryad. A few weeks ago a friend of mine and myself +came across two little Burman boys carrying a jar with a piece of broken +tile over it. The lads kept lifting up the tile and peeping in, and then +putting the tile on again in a great hurry, and their actions excited +our curiosity. So we called them to come to us, and we looked into the +jar. It was full of baby hamadryads. The lads had found a nest of them +in the absence of the mother, who would have killed them if she had +been there, and had secured all the little snakes. There were seven of +them. + +We asked the boys what they intended to do with the snakes, and they +answered that they would show them to their friends in the village. 'And +then?' we asked. And then they would let them go in the water. My friend +killed all the hamadryads on the spot, and gave the boys some coppers, +and we went on. Can you imagine this happening anywhere else? Can you +think of any other schoolboys sparing any animal they caught, much less +poisonous snakes? The extraordinary hold that this tenet of their +religion has upon the Burmese must be seen to be understood. What I +write will sound like some fairy story, I fear, to my people at home. It +is far beneath the truth. The belief that it is wrong to take life is a +belief with them as strong as any belief could be. I do not know +anywhere any command, earthly or heavenly, that is acted up to with such +earnestness as this command is amongst the Burmese. It is an abiding +principle of their daily life. + +Where the command came from I do not know. I cannot find any allusion to +it in the life of the great teacher. We know that he ate meat. It seems +to me that it is older even than he. It has been derived both by the +Burmese Buddhists and the Hindus from a faith whose origin is hidden in +the mists of long ago. It is part of that far older faith on which +Buddhism was built, as was Christianity on Judaism. + +But if not part of his teaching--and though it is included in the sacred +books, we do not know how much of them are derived from the Buddha +himself--it is in strict accordance with all his teaching. That is one +of the most wonderful points of Buddhism, it is all in accordance; there +are no exceptions. + +I have heard amongst Europeans a very curious explanation of this +refusal of Buddhists to take life. 'Buddhists,' they say, 'believe in +the transmigration of souls. They believe that when a man dies his soul +may go into a beast. You could not expect him to kill a bull, when +perchance his grandfather's soul might inhabit there.' This is their +explanation, this is the way they put two and two together to make five. +They know that Buddhists believe in transmigration, they know that +Buddhists do not like to take life, and therefore one is the cause of +the other. + +I have mentioned this explanation to Burmans while talking of the +subject, and they have always laughed at it. They had never heard of it +before. It is true that it is part of their great theory of life that +the souls of men have risen from being souls of beasts, and that we may +so relapse if we are not careful. Many stories are told of cases that +have occurred where a man has been reincarnated as an animal, and where +what is now the soul of a man used to live in a beast. But that makes no +difference. Whatever a man may have been, or may be, he is a man now; +whatever a beast may have been, he is a beast now. Never suppose that a +Burman has any other idea than this. To him men are men, and animals are +animals, and men are far the higher. But he does not deduce from this +that man's superiority gives him permission to illtreat or to kill +animals. It is just the reverse. It is because man is so much higher +than the animal that he can and must observe towards animals the very +greatest care, feel for them the very greatest compassion, be good to +them in every way he can. The Burman's motto should be _Noblesse +oblige_; he knows the meaning, if he knows not the words. + +For the Burman's compassion towards animals goes very much farther than +a mere reluctance to kill them. Although he has no command on the +subject, it seems to him quite as important to treat animals well during +their lives as to refrain from taking those lives. His refusal to take +life he shares with the Hindu; his perpetual care and tenderness to all +living creatures is all his own. And here I may mention a very curious +contrast, that whereas in India the Hindu will not take life and the +Mussulman will, yet the Mussulman is by reputation far kinder to his +beasts than the Hindu. Here the Burman combines both qualities. He has +all the kindness to animals that the Mahommedan has, and more, and he +has the same horror of taking life that the Hindu has. + +Coming from half-starved, over-driven India, it is a revelation to see +the animals in Burma. The village ponies and cattle and dogs in India +are enough to make the heart bleed for their sordid misery, but in Burma +they are a delight to the eye. They are all fat, every one of them--fat +and comfortable and impertinent; even the ownerless dogs are well fed. I +suppose the indifference of the ordinary native of India to animal +suffering comes from the evil of his own lot. He is so very poor, he has +such hard work to find enough for himself and his children, that his +sympathy is all used up. He has none to spare. He is driven into a dumb +heartlessness, for I do not think he is actually cruel. + +The Burman is full of the greatest sympathy towards animals of all +kinds, of the greatest understanding of their ways, of the most +humorously good-natured attitude towards them. Looking at them from his +manhood, he has no contempt for them; but the gentle toleration of a +father to very little children who are stupid and troublesome often, but +are very lovable. He feels himself so far above them that he can +condescend towards them, and forbear with them. + +His ponies are pictures of fatness and impertinence and go. They never +have any vice because the Burman is never cruel to them; they are never +well trained, partly because he does not know how to train them, partly +because they are so near the aboriginal wild pony as to be incapable of +very much training. But they are willing; they will go for ever, and +are very strong, and they have admirable constitutions and tempers. You +could not make a Burman ill-use his pony if you tried, and I fancy that +to break these little half-wild ponies to go in cabs in crowded streets +requires severe treatment. At least, I never knew but one +hackney-carriage driver either in Rangoon or Mandalay who was a Burman, +and he very soon gave it up. He said that the work was too heavy either +for a pony or a man. I think, perhaps, it was for the safety of the +public that he resigned, for his ponies were the very reverse of +meek--which a native of India says a hackney-carriage pony should +be--and he drove entirely by the light of Nature. + +So all the drivers of gharries, as we call them, are natives of India or +half-breeds, and it is amongst them that the work of the Society for the +Prevention of Cruelty to Animals principally lies. While I was in +Rangoon I tried a number of cases of over-driving, of using ponies with +sore withers and the like. I never tried a Burman. Even in Rangoon, +which has become almost Indianized, his natural humanity never left the +Burman. As far as Burmans are concerned, the Society for the Prevention +of Cruelty to Animals need not exist. They are kinder to their animals +than even the members of the Society could be. Instances occur every +day; here is one of the most striking that I remember. + +There is a town in Burma where there are some troops stationed, and +which is the headquarters of the civil administration of the district. +It is, or was then, some distance from a railway-station, and it was +necessary to make some arrangement for the carriage of the mails to and +from the town and station. The Post-Office called for tenders, and at +length it was arranged through the civil authorities that a coach should +run once a day each way to carry the mails and passengers. A native of +India agreed to take the contract--for Burmans seldom or never care to +take them--and he was to comply with certain conditions and receive a +certain subsidy. + +There was a great deal of traffic between the town and station, and it +was supposed that the passenger traffic would pay the contractor well, +apart from his mail subsidy. For Burmans are always free with their +money, and the road was long and hot and dusty. I often passed that +coach as I rode. I noticed that the ponies were poor, very poor, and +were driven a little hard, but I saw no reason for interference. It did +not seem to me that any cruelty was committed, nor that the ponies were +actually unfit to be driven. I noticed that the driver used his whip a +good deal, but then some ponies require the whip. I never thought much +about it, as I always rode my own ponies, and they always shied at the +coach, but I should have noticed if there had been anything remarkable. +Towards the end of the year it became necessary to renew the contract, +and the contractor was approached on the subject. He said he was +willing to continue the contract for another year if the mail subsidy +was largely increased. He said he had lost money on that year's working. +When asked how he could possibly have lost considering the large number +of people who were always passing up and down, he said that they did not +ride in his coach. Only the European soldiers and a few natives of India +came with him. Officers had their own ponies and rode, and the Burmans +either hired a bullock-cart or walked. They hardly ever came in his +coach, but he could not say what the reason might be. + +So an inquiry was made, and the Burmese were asked why they did not ride +on the coach. Were the fares too high?--was it uncomfortable? But no, it +was for neither of these reasons that they left the coach to the +soldiers and natives of India. It was because of the ponies. No Burman +would care to ride behind ponies who were treated as these ponies +were--half fed, overdriven, whipped. It was a misery to see them; it was +twice a misery to drive behind them. 'Poor beasts!' they said; 'you can +see their ribs, and when they come to the end of a stage they are fit to +fall down and die. They should be turned out to graze.' + +The opinion was universal. The Burmans preferred to spend twice or +thrice the money and hire a bullock-cart and go slowly, while the coach +flashed past them in a whirl of dust, or they preferred to walk. Many +and many times have I seen the roadside rest-houses full of travellers +halting for a few minutes' rest. They walked while the coach came by +empty; and nearly all of them could have afforded the fare. It was a +very striking instance of what pure kind-heartedness will do, for there +would have been no religious command broken by going in the coach. It +was the pure influence of compassion towards the beasts and refusal to +be a party to such hard-heartedness. And yet, as I have said, I do not +think the law could have interfered with success. Surely a people who +could act like this have the very soul of religion in their hearts, +although the act was not done in the name of religion. + +All the animals--the cattle, the ponies, and the buffaloes--are so tame +that it is almost an unknown thing for anyone to get hurt. + +The cattle are sometimes afraid of the white face and strange attire of +a European, but you can walk through the herds as they come home in the +evening with perfect confidence that they will not hurt you. Even a cow +with a young calf will only eye you suspiciously; and with the Burmans +even the huge water buffaloes are absolutely tame. You can see a herd of +these great beasts, with horns six feet across, come along under the +command of a very small boy or girl perched on one of their broad backs. +He flourishes a little stick, and issues his commands like a general. It +is one of the quaintest imaginable sights to see this little fellow get +off his steed, run after a straggler, and beat him with his stick. The +buffalo eyes his master, whom he could abolish with one shake of his +head, submissively, and takes the beating, which he probably feels about +as much as if a straw fell on him, good-humouredly. The children never +seem to come to grief. Buffaloes occasionally charge Europeans, but the +only place where I have known of Burmans being killed by buffaloes is in +the Kale Valley. There the buffaloes are turned out into the jungle for +eight months in the year, and are only caught for ploughing and carting. +Naturally they are quite wild; in fact, many of them are the offspring +of wild bulls. + +The Burmans, too, are very fond of dogs. Their villages are full of +dogs; but, as far as I know, they never use them for anything, and they +are never trained to do anything. They are supposed to be useful as +watch-dogs, but I do not think they are very good even at that. I have +surrounded a village before dawn, and never a dog barked, and I have +heard them bark all night at nothing. + +But when a Burman sees a fox-terrier or any English dog his delight is +unfeigned. When we first took Upper Burma, and such sights were rare, +half a village would turn out to see the little 'tail-less' dog trotting +along after its master. And if the terrier would 'beg,' then he would +win all hearts. I am not only referring to children, but to grown men +and women; and then there is always something peculiarly childlike and +frank in these children of the great river. + +Only to-day, as I was walking up the bank of the river in the early +dawn, I heard some Burman boatmen discussing my fox-terrier. They were +about fifteen yards from the shore, poling their boat up against the +current, which is arduous work; and as I passed them my little dog ran +down the bank and looked at them across the water, and they saw her. + +'See now,' said one man to another, pausing for a moment with his pole +in his hand--'see the little white dog with the brown face, how wise she +looks!' + +'And how pretty!' said a man steering in the stern. 'Come!' he cried, +holding out his hand to it. + +But the dog only made a splash in the water with her paws, and then +turned and ran after me. The boatmen laughed and resumed their poling, +and I passed on. In the still morning across the still water I could +hear every word, but I hardly took any note; I have heard it so often. +Only now when I come to write on this subject do I remember. + +It has been inculcated in us from childhood that it is a manly thing to +be indifferent to pain--not to our own pain only, but to that of all +others. To be sorry for a hunted hare, to compassionate the wounded +deer, to shrink from torturing the brute creation, has been accounted by +us as namby-pamby sentimentalism, not fit for man, fit only for a +squeamish woman. To the Burman it is one of the highest of all virtues. +He believes that all that is beautiful in life is founded on compassion +and kindness and sympathy--that nothing of great value can exist without +them. Do you think that a Burmese boy would be allowed to birds'-nest, +or worry rats with a terrier, or go ferreting? Not so. These would be +crimes. + +That this kindness and compassion for animals has very far-reaching +results no one can doubt. If you are kind to animals, you will be kind, +too, to your fellow-man. It is really the same thing, the same feeling +in both cases. If to be superior in position to an animal justifies you +in torturing it, so it would do with men. If you are in a better +position than another man, richer, stronger, higher in rank, that +would--that does often in our minds--justify ill-treatment and contempt. +Our innate feeling towards all that we consider inferior to ourselves is +scorn; the Burman's is compassion. You can see this spirit coming out in +every action of their daily life, in their dealings with each other, in +their thoughts, in their speech. 'You are so strong, have you no +compassion for him who is weak, who is tempted, who has fallen?' How +often have I heard this from a Burman's lips! How often have I seen him +act up to it! It seems to them the necessary corollary of strength that +the strong man should be sympathetic and kind. It seems to them an +unconscious confession of weakness to be scornful, revengeful, +inconsiderate. Courtesy, they say, is the mark of a great man, +discourtesy of a little one. No one who feels his position secure will +lose his temper, will persecute, will be disdainful. Their word for a +fool and for a hasty-tempered man is the same. To them it is the same +thing, one infers the other. And so their attitude towards animals is +but an example of their attitude to each other. That an animal or a man +should be lower and weaker than you is the strongest claim he can have +on your humanity, and your courtesy and consideration for him is the +clearest proof of your own superiority. And so in his dealings with +animals the Buddhist considers himself, consults his own dignity, his +own strength, and is kind and compassionate to them out of the greatness +of his own heart. Nothing is more beautiful than the Burman in his ways +with his children, and his beasts, with all who are lesser than himself. + +Even to us, who think so very differently from him on many points, there +is a great and abiding charm in all this, to which we can find only one +exception; for to our ideas there is one exception, and it is this: No +Burman will take any life if he can help it, and therefore, if any +animal injure itself, he will not kill it--not even to put it out of its +pain, as we say. I have seen bullocks split on slippery roads, I have +seen ponies with broken legs, I have seen goats with terrible wounds +caused by accidental falls, and no one would kill them. If, when you are +out shooting, your beaters pick up a wounded hare or partridge, do not +suppose that they wring its neck; you must yourself do that, or it will +linger on till you get home. Under no circumstances will they take the +life even of a wounded beast. And if you ask them, they will say: 'If a +man be sick, do you shoot him? If he injure his spine so that he will be +a cripple for life, do you put him out of his pain?' + +If you reply that men and beasts are different, they will answer that in +this point they do not recognise the difference. 'Poor beast! let him +live out his little life.' And they will give him grass and water till +he dies. + +This is the exception that I meant, but now, after I have written it, I +am not so sure. Is it an exception? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ALL LIFE IS ONE + + 'I heard a voice that cried, + "Balder the Beautiful + Is dead, is dead," + And through the misty air + Passed like the mournful cry + Of sunward-sailing cranes.' + TEGNER'S _Drapa_. + + +All romance has died out of our woods and hills in England, all our +fairies are dead long ago. Knowledge so far has brought us only death. +Later on it will bring us a new life. It is even now showing us how this +may be, and is bringing us face to face again with Nature, and teaching +us to know and understand the life that there is about us. Science is +telling us again what we knew long ago and forgot, that our life is not +apart from the life about us, but of it. Everything is akin to us, and +when we are more accustomed to this knowledge, when we have ceased to +regard it as a new, strange teaching, and know that we are but seeing +again with clearer eyes what a half-knowledge blinded us to, then the +world will be bright and beautiful to us as it was long ago. + +But now all is dark. There are no dryads in our trees, nor nymphs among +the reeds that fringe the river; even our peaks hold for us no guardian +spirit, that may take the reckless trespasser and bind him in a rock for +ever. And because we have lost our belief in fairies, because we do not +now think that there are goblins in our caves, because there is no +spirit in the winds nor voice in the thunder, we have come to think that +the trees and the rocks, the flowers and the storm, are all dead things. +They are made up, we say, of materials that we know, they are governed +by laws that we have discovered, and there is no life anywhere in +Nature. + +And yet this cannot be true. Far truer is it to believe in fairies and +in spirits than in nothing at all; for surely there is life all about +us. Who that has lived out alone in the forest, that has lain upon the +hillside and seen the mountains clothe themselves in lustrous shadows +shot with crimson when the day dies, who that has heard the sigh come up +out of the ravines where the little breezes move, that has watched the +trees sway their leaves to and fro, beckoning to each other with wayward +amorous gestures, but has known that these are not dead things? + +Watch the stream coming down the hill with a flash and a laugh in the +sunlight, look into the dark brown pools in the deep shadows beneath +the rocks, or voyage a whole night upon the breast of the great river, +drifting past ghostly monasteries and silent villages, and then say if +there be no life in the waters, if they, too, are dead things. There is +no consolation like the consolation of Nature, no sympathy like the +sympathy of the hills and streams; and sympathy comes from life. There +is no sympathy with the dead. + +When you are alone in the forest all this life will come and talk to +you, if you are quiet and understand. There is love deep down in the +passionate heart of the flower, as there is in the little quivering +honeysucker flitting after his mate, as there was in Romeo long ago. +There is majesty in the huge brown precipice greater than ever looked +from the face of a king. All life is one. The soul that moves within you +when you hear the deer call to each other far above in the misty meadows +of the night is the same soul that moves in everything about you. No +people who have lived much with Nature have failed to descry this. They +have recognised the life, they have felt the sympathy of the world about +them, and to this life they have given names and forms as they would to +friends whom they loved. Fairies and goblins, fauns and spirits, these +are but names and personifications of a real life. But to him who has +never felt this life, who has never been wooed by the trees and hills, +these things are but foolishness, of course. + +To the Burman, not less than to the Greek of long ago, all nature is +alive. The forest and the river and the mountains are full of spirits, +whom the Burmans call Nats. There are all kinds of Nats, good and bad, +great and little, male and female, now living round about us. Some of +them live in the trees, especially in the huge fir-tree that shades half +an acre without the village; or among the fernlike fronds of the +tamarind; and you will often see beneath such a tree, raised upon poles +or nestled in the branches, a little house built of bamboo and thatch, +perhaps two feet square. You will be told when you ask that this is the +house of the Tree-Nat. Flowers will be offered sometimes, and a little +water or rice maybe, to the Nat, never supposing that he is in need of +such things, but as a courteous and graceful thing to do; for it is not +safe to offend these Nats, and many of them are very powerful. There is +a Nat of whom I know, whose home is in a great tree at the crossing of +two roads, and he has a house there built for him, and he is much +feared. He is such a great Nat that it is necessary when you pass his +house to dismount from your pony and walk to a respectful distance. If +you haughtily ride past, trouble will befall you. A friend of mine +riding there one day rejected all the advice of his Burmese companions +and did not dismount, and a few days later he was taken deadly sick of +fever. He very nearly died, and had to go away to the Straits for a +sea-trip to take the fever out of his veins. It was a very near thing +for him. That was in the Burmese times, of course. After that he always +dismounted. But all Nats are not so proud nor so much to be feared as +this one, and it is usually safe to ride past. + +Even as I write I am under the shadow of a tree where a Nat used to +live, and the headman of the village has been telling me all about it. +This is a Government rest-house on a main road between two stations, and +is built for Government officials travelling on duty about their +districts. To the west of it is a grand fig-tree of the kind called +Nyaungbin by the Burmese. It is a very beautiful tree, though now a +little bare, for it is just before the rains; but it is a great tree +even now, and two months hence it will be glorious. It was never +planted, the headman tells me, but came up of itself very many years +ago, and when it was grown to full size a Nat came to live in it. The +Nat lived in the tree for many years, and took great care of it. No one +might injure it or any living creature near it, so jealous was the Nat +of his abode. And the villagers built a little Nat-house, such as I have +described, under the branches, and offered flowers and water, and all +things went well with those who did well. But if anyone did ill the Nat +punished him. If he cut the roots of the tree, the Nat hurt his feet; +and if he injured the branches, the Nat injured his arms; and if he cut +the trunk, the Nat came down out of the tree, and killed the +sacrilegious man right off. There was no running away, because, as you +know, the headman said, Nats can go a great deal faster than any man. +Many men, careless strangers, who camped under the tree and then abused +the hospitality of the Nat by hunting near his home, came to severe +grief. + +But the Nat has gone now, alas! The tree is still there, but the Nat has +fled away these many years. + +'I suppose he didn't care to stay,' said the headman. 'You see that the +English Government officials came and camped here, and didn't fear the +Nats. They had fowls killed here for their dinner, and they sang and +shouted; and they shot the green pigeons who ate his figs, and the +little doves that nested in his branches.' + +All these things were an abomination to the Nat, who hated loud, rough +talk and abuse, and to whom all life was sacred. + +So the Nat went away. The headman did not know where he was gone, but +there are plenty of trees. + +'He has gone somewhere to get peace,' the headman said. 'Somewhere in +the jungle, where no one ever comes save the herd-boy and the deer, he +will be living in a tree, though I do not think he will easily find a +tree so beautiful as this.' + +The headman seemed very sorry about it, and so did several villagers who +were with him; and I suggested that if the Nat-houses were rebuilt, and +flowers and water offered, the Nat might know and return. I even offered +to contribute myself, that it might be taken as an _amende honorable_ on +behalf of the English Government. But they did not think this would be +any use. No Nat would come where there was so much going and coming, so +little care for life, such a disregard for pity and for peace. If we +were to take away our rest-house, well then, perhaps, after a time, +something could be done, but not under present circumstances. + +And so, besides dethroning the Burmese king, and occupying his golden +palace, we are ousting from their pleasant homes the guardian spirits of +the trees. They flee before the cold materialism of our belief, before +the brutality of our manners. The headman did not say this; he did not +mean to say this, for he is a very courteous man and a great friend of +all of us; but that is what it came to, I think. + +The trunk of this tree is more than ten feet through--not a round bole, +but like the pillar in a Gothic cathedral, as of many smaller boles +growing together; and the roots spread out into a pedestal before +entering the ground. The trunk does not go up very far. At perhaps +twenty-five feet above the ground it divides into a myriad of smaller +trunks, not branches, till it looks more like a forest than a single +tree; it is full of life still. Though the pigeons and the doves come +here no longer, there are a thousand other birds flitting to and fro in +their aerial city and chirping to each other. Two tiny squirrels have +just run along a branch nearly over my head, in a desperate hurry +apparently, their tails cocked over their backs, and a sky blue +chameleon is standing on the trunk near where it parts. There is always +a breeze in this great tree; the leaves are always moving, and there is +a continuous rustle and murmur up there. A mango-tree and tamarind near +by are quite still. Not a breath shakes their leaves; they are as still +as stone, but the shadow of the fig-tree is chequered with ever-changing +lights. Is the Nat really gone? Perhaps not; perhaps he is still there, +still caring for his tree, only shy now and distrustful, and therefore +no more seen. + +Whole woods are enchanted sometimes, and no one dare enter them. Such a +wood I know, far away north, near the hills, which is full of Nats. +There was a great deal of game in it, for animals sought shelter there, +and no one dared to disturb them; not the villagers to cut firewood, nor +the girls seeking orchids, nor the hunter after his prey, dared to +trespass upon that enchanted ground. + +'What would happen,' I asked once, 'if anyone went into that wood? Would +he be killed, or what?' + +And I was told that no one could tell what would happen, only that he +would never be seen again alive. 'The Nats would confiscate him,' they +said, 'for intruding on their privacy.' But what they would do to him +after the confiscation no one seemed to be quite sure. I asked the +official who was with me, a fine handsome Burman who had been with us in +many fights, whether he would go into the wood with me, but he declined +at once. Enemies are one thing, Nats are quite another, and a very much +more dreadful thing. You can escape from enemies, as witness my +companion, who had been shot at times without number and had only once +been hit, in the leg, but you cannot escape Nats. Once, he told me, +there were two very sacrilegious men, hunters by profession, only more +abandoned than even the majority of hunters, and they went into this +wood to hunt 'They didn't care for Nats,' they said. They didn't care +for anything at all apparently. 'They were absolutely without reverence, +worse than any beast,' said my companion. + +So they went into the wood to shoot, and they never came out again. A +few days later their bare bones were found, flung out upon the road near +the enchanted wood. The Nats did not care to have even the bones of such +scoundrels in their wood, and so thrust them out. That was what happened +to them, and that was what might happen to us if we went in there. We +did not go. + +Though the Nats of the forest will not allow even one of their beasts to +be slain, the Nats of the rivers are not so exclusive. I do not think +fish are ever regarded in quite the same light as animals. It is true +that a fervent Buddhist will not kill even a fish, but a fisherman is +not quite such a reprobate as a hunter in popular estimation. And the +Nats think so too, for the Nat of a pool will not forbid all fishing. +You must give him his share; you must be respectful to him, and not +offend him; and then he will fill your nets with gleaming fish, and all +will go well with you. If not, of course, you will come to grief; your +nets will be torn, and your boat upset; and finally, if obstinate, you +will be drowned. A great arm will seize you, and you will be pulled +under and disappear for ever. + +A Nat is much like a human being; if you treat him well he will treat +you well, and conversely. Courtesy is never wasted on men or Nats, at +least, so a Burman tells me. + +The highest Nats live in the mountains. The higher the Nat the higher +the mountain; and when you get to a very high peak indeed, like +Mainthong Peak in Wuntho, you encounter very powerful Nats. + +They tell a story of Mainthong Peak and the Nats there, how all of a +sudden, one day in 1885, strange noises came from the hill. High up on +his mighty side was heard the sound of great guns firing slowly and +continuously; there was the thunder of falling rocks, cries as of +someone bewailing a terrible calamity, and voices calling from the +precipices. The people living in their little hamlets about his feet +were terrified. Something they knew had happened of most dire import to +them, some catastrophe which they were powerless to prevent, which they +could not even guess. But when a few weeks later there came even into +those remote villages the news of the fall of Mandalay, of the surrender +of the king, of the 'great treachery,' they knew that this was what the +Nats had been sorrowing over. All the Nats everywhere seem to have been +distressed at our arrival, to hate our presence, and to earnestly desire +our absence. They are the spirits of the country and of the people, and +they cannot abide a foreign domination. + +But the greatest place for Nats is the Popa Mountain, which is an +extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and +the Shan Mountains. It is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it +to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals, +it is very well known in history and legend. It is covered with dense +forest, and the villages close about are few. At the top there is a +crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break +down the mountain. Probably it was the denseness of its forests, the +abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian +Nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the +half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. But the +Nats of Popa Mountains are very famous. + +When any foreigner was taken into the service of the King of Burma he +had to swear an oath of fidelity. He swore upon many things, and among +them were included 'all the Nats in Popa.' No Burman would have dared to +break an oath sworn in such a serious way as this, and they did not +imagine that anyone else would. It was and is a very dangerous thing to +offend the Popa Nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and +everyone who goes there must do them reverence. + +A friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch +the last of the robber chiefs who hid near Popa, told me that when he +went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. Some way +up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream +flows slowly along it. It is an enchanted valley, and if you look +closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it +flows uphill. It comes rushing into the valley with a great display of +foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks, +and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley +itself it lies under a spell. It is slow and dark, and has a surface +like a mirror, and it flows uphill. There is no doubt about it; anyone +can see it. When they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt, +and the Burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. He did not want +to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but +for the Nats. All his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats, +and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a +tree. Then the hunters called upon the Nats to come and take anything +they desired, while my friend wondered what he should do if the Nats +took all his food and left him with nothing. But no Nats came, although +the Burmans called again and again. So they packed up the food, saying +that now the Nats would be pleased at the courtesy shown to them, and +that my friend would have good sport. Presently they went on, leaving, +however, an egg or two and a little salt, in case the Nats might be +hungry later, and true enough it was that they did have good luck. At +other times, my friend says, when he did not observe this ceremony, he +saw nothing to shoot at all, but on this day he did well. + +The former history of all Nats is not known. Whether they have had a +previous existence in another form, and if so, what, is a secret that +they usually keep carefully to themselves, but the history of the Popa +Nats is well known. Everyone who lives near the great hill can tell you +that, for it all happened not so long ago. How long exactly no one can +say, but not so long that the details of the story have become at all +clouded by the mists of time. + +They were brother and sister, these Popa Nats, and they had lived away +up North. The brother was a blacksmith, and he was a very strong man. He +was the strongest man in all the country; the blow of his hammer on the +anvil made the earth tremble, and his forge was as the mouth of hell. No +one was so much feared and so much sought after as he. And as he was +strong, so his sister was beautiful beyond all the maidens of the time. +Their father and mother were dead, and there was no one but those two, +the brother and sister, so they loved each other dearly, and thought of +no one else. The brother brought home no wife to his house by the forge. +He wanted no one while he had his sister there, and when lovers came +wooing to her, singing amorous songs in the amber dusk, she would have +nothing to do with them. So they lived there together, he growing +stronger and she more beautiful every day, till at last a change came. + +The old king died, and a new king came to the throne, and orders were +sent about to all the governors of provinces and other officials that +the most beautiful maidens were to be sent down to the Golden City to be +wives to the great king. So the governor of that country sent for the +blacksmith and his sister to his palace, and told them there what orders +he had received, and asked the blacksmith to give his sister that she +might be sent as queen to the king. We are not told what arguments the +governor used to gain his point, but only this, that when he failed, he +sent the girl in unto his wife, and there she was persuaded to go. There +must have been something very tempting, to one who was but a village +girl, in the prospect of being even one of the lesser queens, of living +in the palace, the centre of the world. So she consented at last, and +her brother consented, and the girl was sent down under fitting escort +to find favour in the eyes of her king. But the blacksmith refused to +go. It was no good the governor saying such a great man as he must come +to high honour in the Golden City, it was useless for the girl to beg +and pray him to come with her--he always refused. So she sailed away +down the great river, and the blacksmith returned to his forge. + +As the governor had said, the girl was acceptable in the king's sight, +and she was made at last one of the principal queens, and of all she had +most power over the king. They say she was most beautiful, that her +presence was as soothing as shade after heat, that her form was as +graceful as a young tree, and the palms of her hands were like lotus +blossoms. She had enemies, of course. Most of the other queens were her +enemies, and tried to do her harm. But it was useless telling tales of +her to the king, for the king never believed; and she walked so wisely +and so well, that she never fell into any snare. But still the plots +never ceased. + +There was one day when she was sitting alone in the garden pavilion, +with the trees making moving shadows all about her, that the king came +to her. They talked for a time, and the king began to speak to her of +her life before she came to the palace, a thing he had never done +before. But he seemed to know all about it, nevertheless, and he spoke +to her of her brother, and said that he, the king, had heard how no man +was so strong as this blacksmith, the brother of the queen. The queen +said it was true, and she talked on and on and praised her brother, and +babbled of the days of her childhood, when he carried her on his great +shoulder, and threw her into the air, catching her again. She was +delighted to talk of all these things, and in her pleasure she forgot +her discretion, and said that her brother was wise as well as strong, +and that all the people loved him. Never was there such a man as he. The +king did not seem very pleased with it all, but he said only that the +blacksmith was a great man, and that the queen must write to him to come +down to the city, that the king might see him of whom there was such +great report. + +Then the king got up and went away, and the queen began to doubt; and +the more she thought the more she feared she had not been acting wisely +in talking as she did, for it is not wise to praise anyone to a king. +She went away to her own room to consider, and to try if she could hear +of any reason why the king should act as he had done, and desire her +brother to come to him to the city; and she found out that it was all a +plot of her enemies. Herself they had failed to injure, so they were now +plotting against her through her brother. They had gone to the king, and +filled his ear with slanderous reports. They had said that the queen's +brother was the strongest man in all the kingdom. 'He was cunning, too,' +they said, 'and very popular among all the people; and he was so puffed +up with pride, now that his sister was a queen, that there was nothing +he did not think he could do.' They represented to the king how +dangerous such a man was in a kingdom, that it would be quite easy for +him to raise such rebellion as the king could hardly put down, and that +he was just the man to do such a thing. Nay, it was indeed proved that +he must be disloyally plotting something, or he would have come down +with his sister to the city when she came. But now many months had +passed, and he never came. Clearly he was not to be trusted. Any other +man whose sister was a queen would have come and lived in the palace, +and served the king and become a minister, instead of staying up there +and pretending to be a blacksmith. + +The king's mind had been much disturbed by this, for it seemed to him +that it must be in part true; and he went to the queen, as I have said, +and his suspicions had not been lulled by what she told him, so he had +ordered her to write to her brother to come down to the palace. + +The queen was terrified when she saw what a mistake she had made, and +how she had fallen into the trap of her enemies; but she hoped that the +king would forget, and she determined that she would send no order to +her brother to come. But the next day the king came back to the subject, +and asked her if she had yet sent the letter, and she said 'No!' The +king was very angry at this disobedience to his orders, and he asked her +how it came that she had not done as he had commanded, and sent a +letter to her brother to call him to the palace. + +Then the queen fell at the king's feet and told him all her fears that +her brother was sent for only to be imprisoned or executed, and she +begged and prayed the king to leave him in peace up there in his +village. She assured the king that he was loyal and good, and would do +no evil. + +The king was rather abashed that his design had been discovered, but he +was firm in his purpose. He assured the queen that the blacksmith should +come to no harm, but rather good; and he ordered the queen to obey him, +threatening her that if she refused he would be sure that she was +disloyal also, and there would be no alternative but to send and arrest +the blacksmith by force, and punish her, the queen, too. Then the queen +said that if the king swore to her that her brother should come to no +harm, she would write as ordered. _And the king swore._ + +So the queen wrote to her brother, and adjured him by his love to her to +come down to the Golden City. She said she had dire need of him, and she +told him that the king had sworn that no harm should come to him. + +The letter was sent off by a king's messenger. In due time the +blacksmith arrived, and he was immediately seized and thrown into prison +to await his trial. + +When the queen saw that she had been deceived, she was in despair. She +tried by every way, by tears and entreaties and caresses, to move the +king, but all without avail. Then she tried by plotting and bribery to +gain her brother's release, but it was all in vain. The day for trial +came quickly, and the blacksmith was tried, and he was condemned and +sentenced to be burnt alive by the river on the following day. + +On the evening of the day of trial the queen sent a message to the king +to come to her; and when the king came reluctantly, fearing a renewal of +entreaties, expecting a woman made of tears and sobs, full of grief, he +found instead that the queen had dried her eyes and dressed herself +still more beautifully than ever, till she seemed to the king the very +pearl among women. And she told the king that he was right, and she was +wrong. She said, putting her arms about him and caressing him, that she +had discovered that it was true that her brother had been plotting +against the king, and therefore his death was necessary. It was +terrible, she said, to find that her brother, whom she had always held +as a pattern, was no better than a traitor; but it was even so, and her +king was the wisest of all kings to find it out. + +The king was delighted to find his queen in this mood, and he soothed +her and talked to her kindly and sweetly, for he really loved her, +though he had given in to bad advice about the brother. And when the +king's suspicions were lulled, the queen said to him that she had now +but one request to make, and that was that she might have permission to +go down with her maids to the river-shore in the early morning, and see +herself the execution of her traitor brother. The king, who would now +have granted her anything--anything she asked, except just that one +thing, the life of her brother--gave permission; and then the queen said +that she was tired and wished to rest after all the trouble of the last +few days, and would the king leave her. So the king left her to herself, +and went away to his own chambers. + +Very early in the morning, ere the crimson flush upon the mountains had +faded in the light of day, a vast crowd was gathered below the city, by +the shore of the great river. Very many thousands were there, of many +countries and peoples, crowding down to see a man die, to see a traitor +burnt to death for his sins, for there is nothing men like so much as to +see another man die. + +Upon a little headland jutting out into the river the pyre was raised, +with brushwood and straw, to burn quickly, and an iron post in the +middle to which the man was to be chained. At one side was a place +reserved, and presently down from the palace in a long procession came +the queen and her train of ladies to the place kept for her. Guards were +put all about to prevent the people crowding; and then came the +soldiers, and in the midst of them the blacksmith; and amid many cries +of 'Traitor, traitor!' and shouts of derision, he was bound to the iron +post within the wood and the straw, and the guards fell back. + +The queen sat and watched it all, and said never a word. Fire was put to +the pyre, and it crept rapidly up in long red tongues with coils of +black smoke. It went very quickly, for the wood was very dry, and a +light breeze came laughing up the river and helped it. The flames played +about the man chained there in the midst, and he made never a sign; only +he looked steadily across at the purple mountain where his home lay, and +it was clear that in a few more moments he would be dead. There was a +deep silence everywhere. + +Then of a sudden, before anyone knew, before a hand could be held out to +hinder her, the queen rose from her seat and ran to the pyre. In a +moment she was there and had thrown herself into the flames, and with +her arms about her brother's neck she turned and faced the myriad eyes +that glared upon them--the queen, in all the glory of her beauty, +glittering with gems, and the man with great shackled bare limbs, +dressed in a few rags, his muscles already twisted with the agony of the +fire. A great cry of horror came from the people, and there was the +movement of guards and officers rushing to stop the fire; but it was all +of no use. A flash of red flames came out of the logs, folding these +twain like an imperial cloak, a whirl of sparks towered into the air, +and when one could see again the woman and her brother were no longer +there. They were dead and burnt, and the bodies mingled with the ashes +of the fire. She had cost her brother his life, and she went with him +into death. + + +Some days after this a strange report was brought to the palace. By the +landing-place near the spot where the fire had been was a great +fig-tree. It was so near to the landing-place, and was such a +magnificent tree, that travellers coming from the boats, or waiting for +a boat to arrive, would rest in numbers under its shade. But the report +said that something had happened there. To travellers sleeping beneath +the tree at night it was stated that two Nats had appeared, very large +and very beautiful, a man Nat and a woman Nat, and had frightened them +very much indeed. Noises were heard in the tree, voices and cries, and a +strange terror came upon those who approached it. Nay, it was even said +that men had been struck by unseen hands and severely hurt, and others, +it was said, had disappeared. Children who went to play under the tree +were never seen again: the Nats took them, and their parents sought for +them in vain. So the landing-place was deserted, and a petition was +brought to the king, and the king gave orders that the tree should be +hewn down. So the tree was cut down, and its trunk was thrown into the +river; it floated away out of sight, and nothing happened to the men +who cut the tree, though they were deadly afraid. + +The tree floated down for days, until at last it stranded near a +landing-place that led to a large town, where the governor of these +parts lived; and at this landing-place the portents that had frightened +the people at the great city reappeared and terrified the travellers +here too, and they petitioned the governor. + +The governor sought out a great monk, a very holy man learned in these +matters, and sent him to inquire, and the monk came down to the tree and +spoke. He said that if any Nats lived in the tree, they should speak to +him and tell him what they wanted. 'It is not fit,' he said, 'for great +Nats to terrify the poor villagers at the landing-place. Let the Nats +speak and say what they require. All that they want shall be given.' And +the Nats spake and said that they wanted a place to live in where they +could be at peace, and the monk answered for the governor that all his +land was at their disposal. 'Let the Nats choose,' he said; 'all the +country is before them.' So the Nats chose, and said that they would +have Popa Mountain, and the monk agreed. + +The Nats then left the tree and went away, far away inland, to the great +Popa Mountain, and took up their abode there, and all the people there +feared and reverenced them, and even made to their honour two statues +with golden heads and set them up on the mountain. + +This is the story of the Popa Nats, the greatest Nats of all the +country of Burma, the guardian spirits of the mysterious mountain. The +golden heads of the statues are now in one of our treasuries, put there +for safe custody during the troubles, though it is doubtful if even then +anyone would have dared to steal them, so greatly are the Nats feared. +And the hunters and the travellers there must offer to the Nats little +offerings, if they would be safe in these forests, and even the young +man must obtain permission from the Nats before he marry. + +I think these stories that I have told, stories selected from very many +that I have heard, will show what sort of spirits these are that the +Burmese have peopled their trees and rivers with; will show what sort of +religion it is that underlies, without influencing, the creed of the +Buddha that they follow. It is of the very poetry of superstition, free +from brutality, from baseness, from anything repulsive, springing, as I +have said, from their innate sympathy with Nature and recognition of the +life that works in all things. It always seems to me that beliefs such +as these are a great key to the nature of a people, are, apart from all +interest in their beauty, and in their akinness to other beliefs, of +great value in trying to understand the character of a nation. + +For to beings such as Nats and fairies the people who believe in them +will attribute such qualities as are predominant in themselves, as they +consider admirable; and, indeed, all supernatural beings are but the +magnified shadows of man cast by the light of his imagination upon the +mists of his ignorance. + +Therefore, when you find that a people make their spirits beautiful and +fair, calm and even tempered, loving peace and the beauty of the trees +and rivers, shrinkingly averse from loud words, from noises, and from +the taking of life, it is because the people themselves think that these +are great qualities. If no stress be laid upon their courage, their +activity, their performance of great deeds, it is because the people who +imagine them care not for such things. There is no truer guide, I am +sure, to the heart of a young people than their superstitions; these +they make entirely for themselves, apart from their religion, which is, +to a certain extent, made for them. That is why I have written this +chapter on Nats: not because I think it affects Buddhism very much one +way or another, but because it seems to me to reveal the people +themselves, because it helps us to understand them better, to see more +with their eyes, to be in unison with their ideas--because it is a great +key to the soul of the people. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DEATH, THE DELIVERER + + 'The end of my life is near at hand; seven days hence, like a man + who rids himself of a heavy load, I shall be free from the burden + of my body.'--_Death of the Buddha._ + + +There is a song well known to all the Burmese, the words of which are +taken from the sacred writings. It is called the story of Ma Pa Da, and +it was first told to me by a Burmese monk, long ago, when I was away on +the frontier. + +It runs like this: + +In the time of the Buddha, in the city of Thawatti, there was a certain +rich man, a merchant, who had many slaves. Slaves in those days, and, +indeed, generally throughout the East, were held very differently to +slaves in Europe. They were part of the family, and were not saleable +without good reason, and there was a law applicable to them. They were +not _hors de la loi_, like the slaves of which we have conception. There +are many cases quoted of sisters being slaves to sisters, and of +brothers to brothers, quoted not for the purpose of saying that this +was an uncommon occurrence, but merely of showing points of law in such +cases. + +One day in the market the merchant bought another slave, a young man, +handsome and well mannered, and took him to his house, and kept him +there with his family and the other slaves. The young man was earnest +and careful in his work, and the merchant approved of him, and his +fellow-slaves liked him. But Ma Pa Da, the merchant's daughter, fell in +love with him. The slave was much troubled at this, and he did his best +to avoid her; but he was a slave and under orders, and what could he do? +When she would come to him secretly and make love to him, and say, 'Let +us flee together, for we love each other,' he would refuse, saying that +he was a slave, and the merchant would be very angry. He said he could +not do such a thing. And yet when the girl said, 'Let us flee, for we +love each other,' he knew that it was true, and that he loved her as she +loved him; and it was only his honour to his master that held him from +doing as she asked. + +But because his heart was not of iron, and there are few men that can +resist when a woman comes and woos them, he at last gave way; and they +fled away one night, the girl and the slave, taking with them her jewels +and some money. They travelled rapidly and in great fear, and did not +rest till they came to a city far away where the merchant would never, +they thought, think of searching for them. + +Here, in this city where no one knew of their history, they lived in +great happiness, husband and wife, trading with the money they had with +them. + +And in time a little child was born to them. + +About two or three years after this it became necessary for the husband +to take a journey, and he started forth with his wife and child. The +journey was a very long one, and they were unduly delayed; and so it +happened that while still in the forest the wife fell ill, and could not +go on any further. So the husband built a hut of branches and leaves, +and there, in the solitude of the forest, was born to them another +little son. + +The mother recovered rapidly, and in a little time she was well enough +to go on. They were to start next morning on their way again; and in the +evening the husband went out, as was his custom, to cut firewood, for +the nights were cold and damp. + +Ma Pa Da waited and waited for him, but he never came back. + +The sun set and the dark rose out of the ground, and the forest became +full of whispers, but he never came. All night she watched and waited, +caring for her little ones, fearful to leave them alone, till at last +the gray light came down, down from the sky to the branches, and from +the branches to the ground, and she could see her way. Then, with her +new-born babe in her arms and the elder little fellow trotting by her +side, she went out to search for her husband. Soon enough she found him, +not far off, stiff and cold beside his half-cut bundle of firewood. A +snake had bitten him on the ankle, and he was dead. + +So Ma Pa Da was alone in the great forest, but a girl still, with two +little children to care for. + +But she was brave, despite her trouble, and she determined to go on and +gain some village. She took her baby in her arms and the little one by +the hand, and started on her journey. + +And for a time all went well, till at last she came to a stream. It was +not very deep, but it was too deep for the little boy to wade, for it +came up to his neck, and his mother was not strong enough to carry both +at once. So, after considering for a time, she told the elder boy to +wait. She would cross and put the baby on the far side, and return for +him. + +'Be good,' she said; 'be good, and stay here quietly till I come back;' +and the boy promised. + +The stream was deeper and swifter than she thought; but she went with +great care and gained the far side, and put the baby under a tree a +little distance from the bank, to lie there while she went for the other +boy. Then, after a few minutes' rest, she went back. + +She had got to the centre of the stream, and her little boy had come +down to the margin to be ready for her, when she heard a rush and a cry +from the side she had just left; and, looking round, she saw with terror +a great eagle sweep down upon the baby, and carry it off in its claws. +She turned round and waved her arms and cried out to the eagle, 'He! +he!' hoping it would be frightened and drop the baby. But it cared +nothing for her cries or threats, and swept on with long curves over the +forest trees, away out of sight. + +Then the mother turned to gain the bank once more, and suddenly she +missed her son who had been waiting for her. He had seen his mother wave +her arms; he had heard her shout, and he thought she was calling him to +come to her. So the brave little man walked down into the water, and the +black current carried him off his feet at once. He was gone, drowned in +the deep water below the ford, tossing on the waves towards the sea. + +No one can write of the despair of the girl when she threw herself under +a tree in the forest. The song says it was very terrible. + +At last she said to herself, 'I will get up now and return to my father +in Thawatti; he is all I have left. Though I have forsaken him all these +years, yet now that my husband and his children are dead, my father will +take me back again. Surely he will have pity on me, for I am much to be +pitied.' + +So she went on, and at length, after many days, she came to the gates of +the great city where her father lived. + +At the entering of the gates she met a large company of people, +mourners, returning from a funeral, and she spoke to them and asked +them: + +'Who is it that you have been burying to-day so grandly with so many +mourners?' + +And the people answered her, and told her who it was. And when she +heard, she fell down upon the road as one dead: for it was her father +and mother who had died yesterday, and it was their funeral train that +she saw. They were all dead now, husband and sons and father and mother; +in all the world she was quite alone. + +So she went mad, for her trouble was more than she could bear. She threw +off all her clothes, and let down her long hair and wrapped it about her +naked body, and walked about raving. + +At last she came to where the Buddha was teaching, seated under a +fig-tree. She came up to the Buddha, and told him of her losses, and how +she had no one left; and she demanded of the Buddha that he should +restore to her those that she had lost. And the Buddha had great +compassion upon her, and tried to console her. + +'All die,' he said; 'it comes to everyone, king and peasant, animal and +man. Only through many deaths can we obtain the Great Peace. All this +sorrow,' he said, 'is of the earth. All this is passion which we must +get rid of, and forget before we reach heaven. Be comforted, my +daughter, and turn to the holy life. All suffer as you do. It is part of +our very existence here, sorrow and trouble without any end.' + +But she would not be comforted, but demanded her dead of the Buddha. +Then, because he saw it was no use talking to her, that her ears were +deaf with grief, and her eyes blinded with tears, he said to her that he +would restore to her those who were dead. + +'You must go,' he said, 'my daughter, and get some mustard-seed, a pinch +of mustard-seed, and I can bring back their lives. Only you must get +this seed from the garden of him near whom death has never come. Get +this, and all will be well.' + +So the woman went forth with a light heart. It was so simple, only a +pinch of mustard-seed, and mustard grew in every garden. She would get +the seed and be back very quickly, and then the Lord Buddha would give +her back those she loved who had died. She clothed herself again and +tied up her hair, and went cheerfully and asked at the first house, +'Give me a pinch of mustard-seed,' and it was given readily. So with her +treasure in her hand she was going forth back to the Buddha full of +delight, when she remembered. + +'Has ever anyone died in your household?' she asked, looking round +wistfully. + +The man answered 'Yes,' that death had been with them but recently. Who +could this woman be, he thought, to ask such a question? And the woman +went forth, the seed dropping from her careless fingers, for it was of +no value. So she would try again and again, but it was always the same. +Death had taken his tribute from all. Father or mother, son or brother, +daughter or wife, there was always a gap somewhere, a vacant place +beside the meal. From house to house throughout the city she went, till +at last the new hope faded away, and she learned from the world, what +she had not believed from the Buddha, that death and life are one. + +So she returned, and she became a nun, poor soul! taking on her the two +hundred and twenty-seven vows, which are so hard to keep that nowadays +nuns keep but five of them.[1] + + +This is the teaching of the Buddha, that death is inevitable; this is +the consolation he offers, that all men must know death; no one can +escape death; no one can escape the sorrow of the death of those whom he +loves. Death, he says, and life are one; not antagonistic, but the same; +and the only way to escape from one is to escape from the other too. +Only in the Great Peace, when we have found refuge from the passion and +tumult of life, shall we find the place where death cannot come. Life +and death are one. + +This is the teaching of the Buddha, repeated over and over again to his +disciples when they sorrowed for the death of Thariputra, when they +were in despair at the swift-approaching end of the great teacher +himself. Hear what he says to Ananda, the beloved disciple, who is +mourning over Thariputra. + +'Ananda,' he said, 'often and often have I sought to bring shelter to +your soul from the misery caused by such grief as this. There are two +things alone that can separate us from father and mother, from brother +and sister, from all those who are most cherished by us, and those two +things are distance and death. Think not that I, though the Buddha, have +not felt all this even as any other of you; was I not alone when I was +seeking for wisdom in the wilderness? + +'And yet what would I have gained by wailing and lamenting either for +myself or for others? Would it have brought to me any solace from my +loneliness? Would it have been any help to those whom I had left? There +is nothing that can happen to us, however terrible, however miserable, +that can justify tears and lamentations and make them aught but a +weakness.' + +And so, we are told, in this way the Buddha soothed the affliction of +Ananda, and filled his soul with consolation--the consolation of +resignation. + +For there is no other consolation possible but this, resignation to the +inevitable, the conviction of the uselessness of sorrow, the vanity and +selfishness of grief. + +There is no meeting again with the dead. Nowhere in the recurring +centuries shall we meet again those whom we have loved, whom we love, +who seem to us to be parts of our very soul. That which survives of us, +the part which is incarnated again and again, until it be fit for +heaven, has nothing to do with love and hate. + +Even if in the whirlpool of life our paths should cross again the paths +of those whom we have loved, we are never told that we shall know them +again and love them. + +A friend of mine has just lost his mother, and he is very much +distressed. He must have been very fond of her, for although he has a +wife and children, and is happy in his family, he is in great sorrow. He +proposes even to build a pagoda over her remains, a testimony of respect +which in strict Buddhism is reserved to saints. He has been telling me +about this, and how he is trying to get a sacred relic to put in the +pagoda, and I asked him if he never hoped again to meet the soul of his +mother on earth or in heaven, and he answered: + +'No. It is very hard, but so are many things, and they have to be borne. +Far better it is to face the truth than to escape by a pleasant +falsehood. There is a Burmese proverb that tells us that all the world +is one vast burial-ground; there are dead men everywhere.' + +'One of our great men has said the same,' I answered. + +He was not surprised. + +'As it is true,' he said, 'I suppose all great men would see it.' + +Thus there is no escape, no loophole for a delusive hope, only the +cultivation of the courage of sorrow. + +There are never any exceptions to the laws of the Buddha. If a law is a +law, that is the end of it. Just as we know of no exceptions to the law +of gravitation, so there are no exceptions to the law of death. + +But although this may seem to be a religion of despair, it is not really +so. This sorrow to which there is no relief is the selfishness of +sorrow, the grief for our own loneliness; for of sorrow, of fear, of +pity for the dead, there is no need. We know that in time all will be +well with them. We know that, though there may be before them vast +periods of suffering, yet that they will all at last be in Nebhan with +us. And if we shall not know them there, still we shall know that they +are there, all of them--not one will be wanting. Purified from the lust +of life, white souls steeped in the Great Peace, all living things will +attain rest at last. + + +There is this remarkable fact in Buddhism, that nowhere is any fear +expressed of death itself, nowhere any apprehension of what may happen +to the dead. It is the sorrow of separation, the terror of death to the +survivors, that is always dwelt upon with compassion, and the agony of +which it is sought to soothe. + +That the dying man himself should require strengthening to face the King +of Terrors is hardly ever mentioned. It seems to be taken for granted +that men should have courage in themselves to take leave of life +becomingly, without undue fears. Buddhism is the way to show us the +escape from the miseries of life, not to give us hope in the hour of +death. + +It is true that to all Orientals death is a less fearful thing than it +is to us. I do not know what may be the cause of this, courage certainly +has little to do with it; but it is certain that the purely physical +fear of death, that horror and utter revulsion that seizes the majority +of us at the idea of death, is absent from most Orientals. And yet this +cannot explain it all. For fear of death, though less, is still there, +is still a strong influence upon their lives, and it would seem that no +religion which ignored this great fact could become a great living +religion. + +Religion is made for man, to fit his necessities, not man for religion, +and yet the faith of Buddhism is not concerned with death. + +Consider our faith, how much of its teaching consists of how to avoid +the fear of death, how much of its consolation is for the death-bed. How +we are taught all our lives that we should live so as not to fear death; +how we have priests and sacraments to soothe the dying man, and give +him hope and courage, and how the crown and summit of our creed is that +we should die easily. And consider that in Buddhism all this is +absolutely wanting. Buddhism is a creed of life, of conduct; death is +the end of that life, that is all. + +We have all seen death. We have all of us watched those who, near and +dear to us, go away out of our ken. There is no need for me to recall +the last hours of those of our faith, to bring up again the fading eye +and waning breath, the messages of hope we search for in our Scriptures +to give hope to him who is going, the assurances of religion, the cross +held before the dying eyes. + +Many men, we are told, turn to religion at the last after a life of +wickedness, and a man may do so even at the eleventh hour and be saved. + +That is part of our belief; that is the strongest part of our belief; +and that is the hope that all fervent Christians have, that those they +love may be saved even at the end. + +I think it may truly be said that our Western creeds are all directed at +the hour of death, as the great and final test of that creed. + +And now think of Buddhism; it is a creed of life. In life you must win +your way to salvation by urgent effort, by suffering, by endurance. On +your death-bed you can do nothing. If you have done well, then it is +well; if ill, then you must in future life try again and again till you +succeed. A life is not washed, a soul is not made fit for the dwelling +of eternity, in a moment. + +Repentance to a Buddhist is but the opening of the eyes to see the path +to righteousness; it has no virtue in itself. To have seen that we are +sinners is but the first step to cleansing our sin; in itself it cannot +purify. + +As well ask a robber of the poor to repent, and suppose thereby that +those who have suffered from his guilt are compensated for the evil done +to them by his repentance, as to ask a Buddhist to believe that a sinner +can at the last moment make good to his own soul all the injuries caused +to that soul by the wickedness of his life. + +Or suppose a man who has destroyed his constitution by excess to be by +the very fact of acknowledging that excess restored to health. + +The Buddhist will not have that at all. A man is what he makes himself; +and that making is a matter of terrible effort, of unceasing endeavour +towards the right, of constant suppression of sin, till sin be at last +dead within him. If a man has lived a wicked life, he dies a wicked man, +and no wicked man can obtain the perfect rest of the sinless dead. +Heaven is shut to him. But if heaven is shut it is not shut for ever; if +hell may perhaps open to him it is only for a time, only till he is +purified and washed from the stain of his sins; and then he can begin +again, and have another chance to win heaven. If there is no immediate +heaven there is no eternal hell, and in due time all will reach heaven; +all will have learnt, through suffering, the wisdom the Buddha has shown +to us, that only by a just life can men reach the Great Peace even as he +did. + +So that if Buddhism has none of the consolation for the dying man that +Christianity holds out, in the hope of heaven, so it has none of the +threats and terrors of our faith. There is no fear of an angry Judge--of +a Judge who is angry. + +And yet when I came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that +surely there must be something to calm him in the face of death. If +Buddhism does not furnish this consolation, he must go elsewhere for it. +And I was not satisfied, because I could find nothing in the sacred +books about a man's death, that therefore the creed of the people had +ignored it. A living creed must, I was sure, provide for this somehow. + +So I went to a friend of mine, a Burman magistrate, and I asked him: + +'When a man is dying, what does he try to think of? What do you say to +comfort him that his last moments may be peace? The monks do not come, I +know.' + +'The monks!' he said, shaking his head; 'what could they do?' + +I did not know. + +'Can you do anything,' I asked, 'to cheer him? Do you speak to him of +what may happen after death, of hopes of another life?' + +'No one can tell,' said my friend, 'what will happen after death. It +depends on a man's life, if he has done good or evil, what his next +existence will be, whether he will go a step nearer to the Peace. When +the man is dying no monks will come, truly; but an old man, an old +friend, father, perhaps, or an elder of the village, and he will talk to +the dying man. He will say, "Think of your good deeds; think of all that +you have done well in this life. Think of your good deeds."' + +'What is the use of that?' I asked. 'Suppose you think of your good +deeds, what then? Will that bring peace?' + +The Burman seemed to think that it would. + +'Nothing,' he said, 'was so calming to a man's soul as to think of even +one deed he had done well in his life.' + +Think of the man dying. The little house built of bamboo and thatch, +with an outer veranda, where the friends are sitting, and the inner +room, behind a wall of bamboo matting, where the man is lying. A pot of +flowers is standing on a shelf on one side, and a few cloths are hung +here and there beneath the brown rafters. The sun comes in through +little chinks in roof and wall, making curious lights in the +semi-darkness of the room, and it is very hot. + +From outside come the noises of the village, cries of children playing, +grunts of cattle, voices of men and women clearly heard through the +still clear air of the afternoon. There is a woman pounding rice near +by with a steady thud, thud of the lever, and there is a clink of a loom +where a girl is weaving ceaselessly. All these sounds come into the +house as if there were no walls at all, but they are unheeded from long +custom. + +The man lies on a low bed with a fine mat spread under him for bedding. +His wife, his grown-up children, his sister, his brother are about him, +for the time is short, and death comes very quickly in the East. They +talk to him kindly and lovingly, but they read to him no sacred books; +they give him no messages from the world to which he is bound; they +whisper to him no hopes of heaven. He is tortured with no fears of +everlasting hell. Yet life is sweet and death is bitter, and it is hard +to go; and as he tosses to and fro in his fever there comes in to him an +old friend, the headman of the village perhaps, with a white muslin +fillet bound about his kind old head, and he sits beside the dying man +and speaks to him. + +'Remember,' he says slowly and clearly, 'all those things that you have +done well. Think of your good deeds.' + +And as the sick man turns wearily, trying to move his thoughts as he is +bidden, trying to direct the wheels of memory, the old man helps him to +remember. + +'Think,' he says, 'of your good deeds, of how you have given charity to +the monks, of how you have fed the poor. Remember how you worked and +saved to build the little rest-house in the forest where the traveller +stays and finds water for his thirst. All these are pleasant things, and +men will always be grateful to you. Remember your brother, how you +helped him in his need, how you fed him and went security for him till +he was able again to secure his own living. You did well to him, surely +that is a pleasant thing.' + +I do not think it difficult to see how the sick man's face will lighten, +how his eyes will brighten at the thoughts that come to him at the old +man's words. And he goes on: + +'Remember when the squall came up the river and the boat upset when you +were crossing here; how it seemed as if no man could live alone in such +waves, and yet how you clung to and saved the boy who was with you, +swimming through the water that splashed over your head and very nearly +drowned you. The boy's father and mother have never forgotten that, and +they are even now mourning without in the veranda. It is all due to you +that their lives have not been full of misery and despair. Remember +their faces when you brought their little son to them saved from death +in the great river. Surely that is a pleasant thing. Remember your wife +who is now with you; how you have loved her and cherished her, and kept +faithful to her before all the world. You have been a good husband to +her, and you have honoured her. She loves you, and you have loved her +all your long life together. Surely that is a pleasant thing.' + +Yes, surely these are pleasant things to have with one at the last. +Surely a man will die easier with such memories as these before his +eyes, with love in those about him, and the calm of good deeds in his +dying heart. If it be a different way of soothing a man's end from those +which other nations use, is it the worse for that? + +Think of your good deeds. It seems a new idea to me that in doing well +in our life we are making for ourselves a pleasant death, because of the +memory of those things. And if we have none? or if evil so outnumbered +the good deeds as to hide and overwhelm them, what then? A man's death +will be terrible indeed if he cannot in all his days remember one good +deed that he has done. + +'All a man's life comes before him at the hour of death,' said my +informant; 'all, from the earliest memory to the latest breath. Like a +whole landscape called by a flash of lightning out of the dark night. It +is all there, every bit of it, good and evil, pleasure and pain, sin and +righteousness.' + +A man cannot escape from his life even in death. In our acts of to-day +we are determining what our death will be; if we have lived well, we +shall die well; and if not, then not. As a man lives so shall he die, is +the teaching of Buddhism as of other creeds. + +So what Buddhism has to offer to the dying believer is this, that if he +live according to its tenets he will die happily, and that in the life +that he will next enter upon he will be less and less troubled by sin, +less and less wedded to the lust of life, until sometime, far away, he +shall gain the great Deliverance. He shall have perfect Peace, perfect +rest, perfect happiness, he and his, in that heaven where his teacher +went before him long ago. + +And if we should say that this Deliverance from life, this Great Peace, +is Death, what matter, if it be indeed Peace? + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] These five vows are: + + 1. Not to take life. + 2. To be honest. + 3. To tell the truth. + 4. To abstain from intoxicants. + 5. Chastity. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE POTTER'S WHEEL + + 'Life is like a great whirlpool wherein we are dashed to and fro by + our passions.'--_Saying of the Buddha._ + + +It is a hard teaching, this of the Buddha about death. It is a teaching +that may appeal to the reason, but not to the soul, that when life goes +out, this thing which we call 'I' goes out with it, and that love and +remembrance are dead for ever. + +It is so hard a teaching that in its purity the people cannot believe +it. They accept it, but they have added on to it a belief which changes +the whole form of it, a belief that is the outcome of that weakness of +humanity which insists that death is not and cannot be all. + +Though to the strict Buddhist death is the end of all worldly passion, +to the Burmese villager that is not so. He cannot grasp, he cannot +endure that it should be so, and he has made for himself out of Buddhism +a belief that is opposed to all Buddhism in this matter. + +He believes in the transmigration of souls, in the survival of the 'I.' +The teaching that what survives is not the 'I,' but only the result of +its action, is too deep for him to hold. True, if a flame dies the +effects that it has caused remain, and the flame is dead for ever. A new +flame is a new flame. But the 'I' of man cannot die, he thinks; it lives +and loves for all time. + +He has made out of the teaching a new teaching that is very far from +that of the Buddha, and the teaching is this: When a man dies his soul +remains, his 'I' has only changed its habitation. Still it lives and +breathes on earth, not the effect, but the soul itself. It is reborn +among us, and it may even be recognised very often in its new abode. + +And that we should never forget this, that we should never doubt that +this is true, it has been so ordered that many can remember something of +these former lives of theirs. This belief is not to a Burman a mere +theory, but is as true as anything he can see. For does he not daily see +people who know of their former lives? Nay, does he not himself, often +vaguely, have glimpses of that former life of his? No man seems to be +quite without it, but of course it is clearer to some than others. Just +as we tell stories in the dusk of ghosts and second sight, so do they, +when the day's work is over, gossip of stories of second birth; only +that they believe in them far more than we do in ghosts. + +A friend of mine put up for the night once at a monastery far away in +the forest near a small village. He was travelling with an escort of +mounted police, and there was no place else to sleep but in the +monastery. The monk was, as usual, hospitable, and put what he had, bare +house-room, at the officer's disposal, and he and his men settled down +for the night. + +After dinner a fire was built on the ground, and the officer went and +sat by it and talked to the headman of the village and the monk. First +they talked of the dacoits and of crops, unfailing subjects of interest, +and gradually they drifted from one subject to another till the +Englishman remarked about the monastery, that it was a very large and +fine one for such a small secluded village to have built. The monastery +was of the best and straightest teak, and must, he thought, have taken a +very long time and a great deal of labour to build, for the teak must +have been brought from very far away; and in explanation he was told a +curious story. + +It appeared that in the old days there used to be only a bamboo and +grass monastery there, such a monastery as most jungle villages have; +and the then monk was distressed at the smallness of his abode and the +little accommodation there was for his school--a monastery is always a +school. So one rainy season he planted with great care a number of teak +seedlings round about, and he watered them and cared for them. 'When +they are grown up,' he would say, 'these teak-trees shall provide +timber for a new and proper building; and I will myself return in +another life, and with those trees will I build a monastery more worthy +than this.' Teak-trees take a hundred years to reach a mature size, and +while the trees were still but saplings the monk died, and another monk +taught in his stead. And so it went on, and the years went by, and from +time to time new monasteries of bamboo were built and rebuilt, and the +teak-trees grew bigger and bigger. But the village grew smaller, for the +times were troubled, and the village was far away in the forest. So it +happened that at last the village found itself without a monk at all: +the last monk was dead, and no one came to take his place. + +It is a serious thing for a village to have no monk. To begin with, +there is no one to teach the lads to read and write and do arithmetic; +and there is no one to whom you can give offerings and thereby get +merit, and there is no one to preach to you and tell you of the sacred +teaching. So the village was in a bad way. + +Then at last one evening, when the girls were all out at the well +drawing water, they were surprised by the arrival of a monk walking in +from the forest, weary with a long journey, footsore and hungry. The +villagers received him with enthusiasm, fearing, however, that he was +but passing through, and they furbished up the old monastery in a hurry +for him to sleep in. But the curious thing was that the monk seemed to +know it all. He knew the monastery and the path to it, and the ways +about the village, and the names of the hills and the streams. It +seemed, indeed, as if he must once have lived there in the village, and +yet no one knew him or recognised his face, though he was but a young +man still, and there were villagers who had lived there for seventy +years. Next morning, instead of going on his way, the monk came into the +village with his begging-bowl, as monks do, and went round and collected +his food for the day; and in the evening, when the villagers went to see +him at the monastery, he told them he was going to stay. He recalled to +them the monk who had planted the teak-trees, and how he had said that +when the trees were grown he would return. 'I,' said the young monk, 'am +he that planted these trees. Lo, they are grown up, and I am returned, +and now we will build a monastery as I said.' + +When the villagers, doubting, questioned him, and old men came and +talked to him of traditions of long-past days, he answered as one who +knew all. He told them he had been born and educated far away in the +South, and had grown up not knowing who he had been; and that he had +entered a monastery, and in time became a Pongyi. The remembrance came +to him, he went on, in a dream of how he had planted the trees and had +promised to return to that village far away in the forest. + +The very next day he had started, and travelled day after day and week +upon week, till at length he had arrived, as they saw. So the villagers +were convinced, and they set to work and cut down the great boles, and +built the monastery such as my friend saw. And the monk lived there all +his life, and taught the children, and preached the marvellous teaching +of the great Buddha, till at length his time came again and he returned; +for of monks it is not said that they die, but that they return. + +This is the common belief of the people. Into this has the mystery of +Dharma turned, in the thoughts of the Burmese Buddhists, for no one can +believe the incomprehensible. A man has a soul, and it passes from life +to life, as a traveller from inn to inn, till at length it is ended in +heaven. But not till he has attained heaven in his heart will he attain +heaven in reality. + +Many children, the Burmese will tell you, remember their former lives. +As they grow older the memories die away and they forget, but to the +young children they are very clear. I have seen many such. + +About fifty years ago in a village named Okshitgon were born two +children, a boy and a girl. They were born on the same day in +neighbouring houses, and they grew up together, and played together, and +loved each other. And in due course they married and started a family, +and maintained themselves by cultivating their dry, barren fields about +the village. They were always known as devoted to each other, and they +died as they had lived--together. The same death took them on the same +day; so they were buried without the village and were forgotten; for the +times were serious. + +It was the year after the English army had taken Mandalay, and all Burma +was in a fury of insurrection. The country was full of armed men, the +roads were unsafe, and the nights were lighted with the flames of +burning villages. It was a bad time for peace-loving men, and many such, +fleeing from their villages, took refuge in larger places nearer the +centres of administration. + +Okshitgon was in the midst of one of the worst of all the distressed +districts, and many of its people fled, and one of them, a man named +Maung Kan, with his young wife went to the village of Kabyu and lived +there. + +Now, Maung Kan's wife had born to him twin sons. They were born at +Okshitgon shortly before their parents had to run away, and they were +named, the eldest Maung Gyi, which is Brother Big-fellow, and the +younger Maung Nge, which means Brother Little-fellow. These lads grew up +at Kabyu, and soon learned to talk; and as they grew up their parents +were surprised to hear them calling to each other at play, and calling +each other, not Maung Gyi and Maung Nge, but Maung San Nyein and Ma +Gywin. The latter is a woman's name, and the parents remembered that +these were the names of the man and wife who had died in Okshitgon about +the time the children were born. + +So the parents thought that the souls of the man and wife had entered +into the children, and they took them to Okshitgon to try them. The +children knew everything in Okshitgon; they knew the roads and the +houses and the people, and they recognised the clothes they used to wear +in a former life; there was no doubt about it. One of them, the younger, +remembered, too, how she had borrowed two rupees once of a woman, Ma +Thet, unknown to her husband, and left the debt unpaid. Ma Thet was +still living, and so they asked her, and she recollected that it was +true she had lent the money long ago. + +Shortly afterwards I saw these two children. They are now just over six +years old. The elder, into whom the soul of the man entered, is a fat, +chubby little fellow, but the younger twin is smaller, and has a curious +dreamy look in his face, more like a girl than a boy. They told me much +about their former lives. After they died they said they lived for some +time without a body at all, wandering in the air and hiding in the +trees. This was for their sins. Then, after some months, they were born +again as twin boys. 'It used,' said the elder boy, 'to be so clear, I +could remember everything; but it is getting duller and duller, and I +cannot now remember as I used to do.' + +Of children such as this you may find any number. Only you have to look +for them, as they are not brought forward spontaneously. The Burmese, +like other people, hate to have their beliefs and ideas ridiculed, and +from experience they have learned that the object of a foreigner in +inquiring into their ways is usually to be able to show by his contempt +how very much cleverer a man he is than they are. Therefore they are +very shy. But once they understand that you only desire to learn and to +see, and that you will always treat them with courtesy and +consideration, they will tell you all that they think. + +A fellow officer of mine has a Burmese police orderly, a young man about +twenty, who has been with him since he came to the district two years +ago. Yet my friend only discovered accidentally the other day that his +orderly remembers his former life. He is very unwilling to talk about +it. He was a woman apparently in that former life, and lived about +twenty miles away. He must have lived a good life, for it is a step of +promotion to be a man in this life; but he will not talk of it. He +forgets most of it, he says, though he remembered it when he was a +child. + +Sometimes this belief leads to lawsuits of a peculiarly difficult +nature. In 1883, two years before the annexation of Upper Burma, there +was a case that came into the local Court of the oil district, which +depended upon this theory of transmigration. + +Opposite Yenangyaung there are many large islands in the river. These +islands during the low water months are joined to the mainland, and are +covered with a dense high grass in which many deer live. + +When the river rises, it rises rapidly, communication with the mainland +is cut off, and the islands are for a time, in the higher rises, +entirely submerged. During the progress of the first rise some hunters +went to one of these islands where many deer were to be found and set +fire to the grass to drive them out of cover, shooting them as they came +out. Some deer, fleeing before the fire, swam across and escaped, others +fell victims, but one fawn, barely half grown, ran right down the +island, and in its blind terror it leaped into a boat at anchor there. +This boat was that of a fisherman who was plying his trade at some +distance, and the only occupant of the boat was his wife. Now this woman +had a year or so before lost her son, very much loved by her, but who +was not quite of the best character, and when she saw the deer leaping +into the boat, she at once fancied that she saw the soul of her erring +son looking at her out of its great terrified eyes. So she got up and +took the poor panting beast in her arms and soothed it, and when the +hunters came running to her to claim it she refused. 'He is my son,' she +said, 'he is mine. Shall I give him up to death?' The hunters clamoured +and threatened to take the deer by force, but the woman was quite firm. +She would never give him up except with her life. 'You can see,' she +said, 'that it is true that he is my son. He came running straight to +me, as he always did in his trouble when he was a boy, and he is now +quite quiet and contented, instead of being afraid of me as an ordinary +deer would be.' And it was quite true that the deer took to her at once, +and remained with her willingly. So the hunters went off to the court of +the governor and filed a suit for the deer. + +The case was tried in open court, and the deer was produced with a +ribbon round its neck. Evidence there was naturally but little. The +hunters claimed the deer because they had driven it out of the island by +their fire. The woman resisted the claim on the ground that it was her +son. + +The decision of the court was this: + +'The hunters are not entitled to the deer because they cannot prove that +the woman's son's soul is not in the animal. The woman is not entitled +to the deer because she cannot prove that it is. The deer will therefore +remain with the court until some properly authenticated claim is put +in.' + +So the two parties were turned out, the woman in bitter tears, and the +hunters angry and vexed, and the deer remained the property of the +judge. + +But this decision was against all Burmese ideas of justice. He should +have given the deer to the woman. 'He wanted it for himself,' said a +Burman, speaking to me of the affair. 'He probably killed it and ate it. +Surely it is true that officials are of all the five evils the +greatest.' Then my friend remembered that I was myself an official, and +he looked foolish, and began to make complimentary remarks about English +officials, that they would never give such an iniquitous decision. I +turned it off by saying that no doubt the judge was now suffering in +some other life for the evil wrought in the last, and the Burman said +that probably he was now inhabiting a tiger. + +It is very easy to laugh at such beliefs; nothing is, indeed, easier +than to be witty at the expense of any belief. It is also very easy to +say that it is all self-deception, that the children merely imagine that +they remember their former lives, or are citing conversation of their +elders. + +How this may be I do not know. What is the explanation of this, perhaps +the only belief of which we have any knowledge which is at once a living +belief to-day and was so as far back as we can get, I do not pretend to +say. For transmigration is no theory of Buddhism at all, but was a +leading tenet in the far older faith of Brahmanism, of which Buddhism +was but an offshoot, as was Christianity of Judaism. + +I have not, indeed, always attempted to reach the explanation of things +I have seen. When I have satisfied myself that a belief is really held +by the people, that I am not the subject of conscious deception, either +by myself or others, I have conceived that my work was ended. + +There are those who, in investigating any foreign customs and strange +beliefs, can put their finger here and say, 'This is where they are +right'; and there and say, 'This belief is foolishly wrong and idiotic.' +I am not, unfortunately, one of these writers. I have no such confident +belief in my own infallibility of judgment as to be able to sit on high +and say, 'Here is truth, and here is error.' + +I will leave my readers to make their own judgment, if they desire to do +so; only asking them (as they would not like their own beliefs to be +scoffed and sneered at) that they will treat with respect the sincere +beliefs of others, even if they cannot accept them. It is only in this +way that we can come to understand a people and to sympathize with them. + +It is hardly necessary to emphasize the enormous effect that a belief in +transmigration such as this has upon the life and intercourse of the +people. Of their kindness to animals I have spoken elsewhere, and it is +possible this belief in transmigration has something to do with it, but +not, I think, much. For if you wished to illtreat an animal, it would be +quite easy, even more easy, to suppose that an enemy or a murderer +inhabited the body of the animal, and that you were but carrying out the +decrees of fate by ill-using it. But when you love an animal, it may +increase that love and make it reasonable, and not a thing to be ashamed +of; and it brings the animal world nearer to you in general, it bridges +over the enormous void between man and beast that other religions have +made. Nothing humanizes a man more than love of animals. + +I do not know if this be a paradox, I know that it is a truth. + +There was one point that puzzled me for a time in some of these stories +of transmigration, such as the one I told about the man and wife being +reborn twins. It was this: A man dies and leaves behind children, let us +say, to whom he is devoutly attached. He is reborn in another family in +the same village, maybe. It would be natural to suppose that he would +love his former family as much as, or even more than, his new one. +Complications might arise in this way which it is easy to conceive would +cause great and frequent difficulties. + +I explained this to a Burman one day, and asked him what happened, and +this is what he said: 'The affection of mother to son, of husband to +wife, of brother to sister, belongs entirely to the body in which you +may happen to be living. When it dies, so do these affections. New +affections arise from the new body. The flesh of the son, being of one +with his father, of course loves him; but as his present flesh has no +sort of connection with his former one, he does not love those to whom +he was related in his other lives. These affections are as much a part +of the body as the hand or the eyesight; with one you put off the +other.' + +Thus all love, to the learned, even the purest affection of daughter to +mother, of man to his friend, is in theory a function of the body--with +the one we put off the other; and this may explain, perhaps, something +of what my previous chapter did not make quite clear, that in the +hereafter[2] of Buddhism there is no affection. + +When we have put off all bodies, when we have attained Nirvana, love and +hate, desire and repulsion, will have fallen from us for ever. + +Meanwhile, in each life, we are obliged to endure the affections of the +body into which we may be born. It is the first duty of a monk, of him +who is trying to lead the purer life, to kill all these affections, or +rather to blend them into one great compassion to all the world alike. +'Gayuena,' compassion, that is the only passion that will be left to +us. So say the learned. + +I met a little girl not long ago, a wee little maiden about seven years +old, and she told me all about her former life when she was a man. Her +name was Maung Mon, she said, and she used to work the dolls in a +travelling marionette show. It was through her knowledge and partiality +for marionettes that it was first suspected, her parents told me, whom +she had been in her former life. She could even as a sucking-child +manipulate the strings of a marionette-doll. But the actual discovery +came when she was about four years old, and she recognised a certain +marionette booth and dolls as her own. She knew all about them, knew +the name of each doll, and even some of the words they used to say in +the plays. 'I was married four times,' she told me. 'Two wives died, one +I divorced; one was living when I died, and is living still. I loved her +very much indeed. The one I divorced was a dreadful woman. See,' +pointing to a scar on her shoulder, 'this was given me once in a +quarrel. She took up a chopper and cut me like this. Then I divorced +her. She had a dreadful temper.' + +It was immensely quaint to hear this little thing discoursing like this. +The mark was a birth-mark, and I was assured that it corresponded +exactly with one that had been given to the man by his wife in just such +a quarrel as the one the little girl described. + +The divorced wife and the much-loved wife are still alive and not yet +old. The last wife wanted the little girl to go and live with her. I +asked her why she did not go. + +'You loved her so much,' I said. 'She was such a good wife to you. +Surely you would like to live with her again.' + +'But all that,' she replied, 'was in a former life.' + +Now she loved only her present father and mother. The last life was like +a dream. Broken memories of it still remained, but the loves and hates, +the passions and impulses, were all dead. + +Another little boy told me once that the way remembrance came to him was +by seeing the silk he used to wear made into curtains, which are given +to the monks and used as partitions in their monasteries, and as walls +to temporary erections made at festival times. He was taken when some +three years old to a feast at the making of a lad, the son of a wealthy +merchant, into a monk. There he recognised in the curtain walling in +part of the bamboo building his old dress. He pointed it out at once. + +This same little fellow told me that he passed three months between his +death and his next incarnation without a body. This was because he had +once accidentally killed a fowl. Had he killed it on purpose, he would +have been punished very much more severely. Most of this three months he +spent dwelling in the hollow shell of a palm-fruit. The nuisance was, he +explained, that this shell was close to the cattle-path, and that the +lads as they drove the cattle afield in the early morning would bang +with a stick against the shell. This made things very uncomfortable for +him inside. + +It is not an uncommon thing for a woman when about to be delivered of a +baby to have a dream, and to see in that dream the spirit of someone +asking for permission to enter the unborn child; for, to a certain +extent, it lies within a woman's power to say who is to be the life of +her child. + +There was a woman once who loved a young man, not of her village, very +dearly. And he loved her, too, as dearly as she loved him, and he +demanded her in marriage from her parents; but they refused. Why they +refused I do not know, but probably because they did not consider the +young man a proper person for their daughter to marry. Then he tried to +run away with her, and nearly succeeded, but they were caught before +they got clear of the village. + +The young man had to leave the neighbourhood. The attempted abduction of +a girl is an offence severely punishable by law, so he fled; and in +time, under pressure from her people, the girl married another man; but +she never forgot. She lived with her husband quite happily; he was good +to her, as most Burmese husbands are, and they got along well enough +together. But there were no children. + +After some years, four or five, I believe, the former lover returned to +his village. He thought that after this lapse of time he would be safe +from prosecution, and he was, moreover, very ill. + +He was so ill that very soon he died, without ever seeing again the girl +he was so fond of; and when she heard of his death she was greatly +distressed, so that the desire of life passed away from her. It so +happened that at this very time she found herself enceinte with her +first child, and not long before the due time came for the child to be +born she had a dream. + +She dreamt that her soul left her body, and went out into space and met +there the soul of her lover who had died. She was rejoiced to meet him +again, full of delight, so that the return of her soul to her body, her +awakening to a world in which he was not, filled her with despair. So +she prayed her lover, if it was now time for him again to be incarnated, +that he would come to her--that his soul would enter the body of the +little baby soon about to be born, so that they two might be together in +life once more. + +And in the dream the lover consented. He would come, he said, into the +child of the woman he loved. + +When the woman awoke she remembered it all, and the desire of life +returned to her again, and all the world was changed because of the new +life she felt within her. But she told no one then of the dream or of +what was to happen. + +Only she took the greatest care of herself; she ate well, and went +frequently to the pagoda with flowers, praying that the body in which +her lover was about to dwell might be fair and strong, worthy of him who +took it, worthy of her who gave it. + +In due time the baby was born. But alas and alas for all her hopes! The +baby came but for a moment, to breathe a few short breaths, to cry, and +to die; and a few hours later the woman died also. But before she went +she told someone all about it, all about the dream and the baby, and +that she was glad to go and follow her lover. She said that her baby's +soul was her lover's soul, and that as he could not stay, neither would +she; and with these words on her lips she followed him out into the +void. + +The story was kept a secret until the husband died, not long +afterwards; but when I came to the village all the people knew it. + +I must confess that this story is to me full of the deepest reality, +full of pathos. It seems to me to be the unconscious protestation of +humanity against the dogmas of religion and of the learned. However it +may be stated that love is but one of the bodily passions that dies with +it; however, even in some of the stories themselves, this explanation is +used to clear certain difficulties; however opposed eternal love may be +to one of the central doctrines of Buddhism, it seems to me that the +very essence of this story is the belief that love does not die with the +body, that it lives for ever and ever, through incarnation after +incarnation. Such a story is the very cry of the agony of humanity. + +'Love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love;' ay, and love +is stronger than death. Not any dogmas of any religion, not any +philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent +him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he +loves. + +FOOTNOTE: + +[2] The hereafter = the state to which we attain when we have +done with earthly things. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FOREST OF TIME + + 'The gate of that forest was Death.' + + +There was a great forest. It was full of giant trees that grew so high +and were so thick overhead that the sunshine could not get down below. +And there were huge creepers that ran from tree to tree climbing there, +and throwing down great loops of rope. Under the trees, growing along +the ground, were smaller creepers full of thorns, that tore the wayfarer +and barred his progress. The forest, too, was full of snakes that crept +along the ground, so like in their gray and yellow skins to the earth +they travelled on that the traveller trod upon them unawares and was +bitten; and some so beautiful with coral red and golden bars that men +would pick them up as some dainty jewel till the snake turned upon them. + +Here and there in this forest were little glades wherein there were +flowers. Beautiful flowers they were, with deep white cups and broad +glossy leaves hiding the purple fruit; and some had scarlet blossoms +that nodded to and fro like drowsy men, and there were long festoons of +white stars. The air there was heavy with their scent. But they were all +full of thorns, only you could not see the thorns till after you had +plucked the blossom. + +This wood was pierced by roads. Many were very broad, leading through +the forest in divers ways, some of them stopping now and then in the +glades, others avoiding them more or less, but none of them were +straight. Always, if you followed them, they bent and bent until after +much travelling you were where you began; and the broader the road, the +softer the turf beneath it; the sweeter the glades that lined it, the +quicker did it turn. + +One road there was that went straight, but it was far from the others. +It led among the rocks and cliffs that bounded one side of the valley. +It was very rough, very far from all the glades in the lowlands. No +flowers grew beside it, there was no moss or grass upon it, only hard +sharp rocks. It was very narrow, bordered with precipices. + +There were many lights in this wood, lights that flamed out like sunsets +and died, lights that came like lightning in the night and were gone. +This wood was never quite dark, it was so full of these lights that +flickered aimlessly. + +There were men in this wood who wandered to and fro. The wood was full +of them. + +They did not know whither they went; they did not know whither they +wished to go. Only this they knew, that they could never keep still; +for the keeper of this wood was Time. He was armed with a keen whip, and +kept driving them on and on; there was no rest. + +Many of these when they first came loved the wood. The glades, they +said, were very beautiful, the flowers very sweet. They wandered down +the broad roads into the glades, and tried to lie upon the moss and love +the flowers; but Time would not let them. Just for a few moments they +could have peace, and then they must on and on. But they did not care. +'The forest is full of glades,' they said; 'if we cannot live in one, we +can find another.' And so they went on finding others and others, and +each one pleased them less. + +Some few there were who did not go to the glades at all. 'They are very +beautiful,' they said, 'but these roads that pass through them, whither +do they lead? Round and round and round again. There is no peace there. +Time rules in those glades, Time with his whip and goad, and there is no +peace. What we want is rest. And those lights,' they said, 'they are +wandering lights, like the summer lightning far down in the South, +moving hither and thither. We care not for such lights. Our light is +firm and clear. What we desire is peace; we do not care to wander for +ever round this forest, to see for ever those shifting lights.' + +And so they would not go down the winding roads, but essayed the path +upon the cliffs. 'It is narrow,' they said, 'it has no flowers, it is +full of rocks, but it is straight. It will lead us somewhere, not round +and round and round again--it will take us somewhere. And there is a +light,' they said, 'before us, the light of a star. It is very small +now, but it is always steady; it never flickers or wanes. It is the star +of Truth. Under that star we shall find that which we seek.' + +And so they went upon their road, toiling upon the rocks, falling now +and then, bleeding with wounds from the sharp points, sore-footed, but +strong-hearted. And ever as they went they were farther and farther from +the forest, farther and farther from the glades and the flowers with +deadly scents; they heard less and less the crack of the whip of Time +falling upon the wanderers' shoulders. + +The star grew nearer and nearer, the light grew greater and greater, the +false lights died behind them, until at last they came out of the +forest, and there they found the lake that washes away all desire under +the sun of Truth. + +They had won their way. Time and Life and Fight and Struggle were behind +them, could not follow them, as they came, weary and footsore, into the +Great Peace. + +And of those who were left behind, of those who stayed in the glades to +gather the deadly flowers, to be driven ever forward by the whip of +Time--what of them? Surely they will learn. The kindly whip of Time is +behind: he will never let them rest in such a deadly forest; they must +go ever forward; and as they go they grow more and more weary, the +glades are more and more distasteful, the heavy-scented blossoms more +and more repulsive. They will find out the thorns too. At first they +forgot the thorns in the flowers. 'The blossoms are beautiful,' they +said; 'what care we for the thorns? Nay, the thorns are good. It is a +pleasure to fight with them. What would the forest be without its +thorns? If we could gather the flowers and find no thorns, we should not +care for them. The more the thorns, the more valuable the blossoms.' + +So they said, and they gathered the blossoms, and they faded. But the +thorns did not fade; they were ever there. The more blossoms a man had +gathered, the more thorns he had to wear, and Time was ever behind him. +They wanted to rest in the glades, but Time willed that ever they must +go forward; no going back, no rest, ever and ever on. So they grew very +weary. + +'These flowers,' they said at last, 'are always the same. We are tired +of them; their smell is heavy; they are dead. This forest is full of +thorns only. How shall we escape from it? Ever as we go round and round +we hate the flowers more, we feel the thorns more acutely. We must +escape! We are sick of Time and his whip, our feet are very, very weary, +our eyes are dazzled and dim. We, too, would seek the Peace. We laughed +at those before who went along the rocky path; we did not want peace; +but now it seems to us the most beautiful thing in the world. Will Time +never cease to drive us on and on? Will these lights _never_ cease to +flash to and fro?' + +Each man at last will turn to the straight road. He will find out. Every +man will find out at last that the forest is hateful, that the flowers +are deadly, that the thorns are terrible; every man will learn to fear +Time. + +Then, when the longing for peace has come, he will go to the straight +way and find it; no man will remain in the forest for ever. He will +learn. When he is very, very weary, when his feet are full of thorns, +and his back scarred with the lashes of Time--great, kindly Time, the +schoolmaster of the world--he will learn. + +Not till he has learnt will he desire to enter into the straight road. + +But in the end all men will come. We at the last shall all meet together +where Time and Life shall be no more. + +This is a Burman allegory of Buddhism. It was told me long ago. I trust +I have not spoilt it in the retelling. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +CONCLUSION + + +This is the end of my book. I have tried always as I wrote to remember +the principles that I laid down for myself in the first chapter. Whether +I have always done so I cannot say. It is so difficult, so very +difficult, to understand a people--any people--to separate their beliefs +from their assents, to discover the motives of their deeds, that I fear +I must often have failed. + +My book is short. It would have been easy to make a book out of each +chapter, to write volumes on each great subject that I have touched on; +but I have not done so--I have always been as brief as I could. + +I have tried always to illustrate only the central thought, and not the +innumerable divergencies, because only so can a great or strange thought +be made clear. Later, when the thought is known, then it is easy to +stray into the byways of thought, always remembering that they are +byways, wandering from a great centre. + +For the Burman's life and belief is one great whole. + +I thought before I began to write, and I have become more and more +certain of it as I have taken up subject after subject, that to all the +great differences of thought between them and us there is one key. And +this key is that they believe the world is governed by eternal laws, +that have never changed, that will never change, that are founded on +absolute righteousness; while we believe in a personal God, altering +laws, and changing moralities according to His will. + +If I were to rewrite this book, I should do so from this standpoint of +eternal laws, making the book an illustration of the proposition. + +Perhaps it is better as it is, in that I have discovered the key at the +end of my work instead of at the beginning. I did not write the book to +prove the proposition, but in writing the book this truth has become +apparent to me. + +The more I have written, the clearer has this teaching become to me, +until now I wonder that I did not understand long ago--nay, that it has +not always been apparent to all men. + +Surely it is the beginning of all wisdom. + +Not until we had discarded Atlas and substituted gravity, until we had +forgotten Enceladus and learned the laws of heat, until we had rejected +Thor and his hammer and searched after the laws of electricity, could +science make any strides onward. + +An irresponsible spirit playing with the world as his toy killed all +science. + +But now science has learned a new wisdom, to look only at what it can +see, to leave vain imaginings to children and idealists, certain always +that the truth is inconceivably more beautiful than any dream. + +Science with us has gained her freedom, but the soul is still in bonds. + +Only in Buddhism has this soul-freedom been partly gained. How beautiful +this is, how full of great thoughts, how very different to the barren +materialism it has often been said to be, I have tried to show. + +I believe myself that in this teaching of the laws of righteousness we +have the grandest conception, the greatest wisdom, the world has known. + +I believe that in accepting this conception we are opening to ourselves +a new world of unimaginable progress, in justice, in charity, in +sympathy, and in love. + +I believe that as our minds, when freed from their bonds, have grown +more and more rapidly to heights of thought before undreamed of, to +truths eternal, to beauty inexpressible, so shall our souls, when freed, +as our minds now are, rise to sublimities of which now we have no +conception. + +Let each man but open his eyes and see, and his own soul shall teach him +marvellous things. + + +THE END. + + +BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a People, by H. 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