Among the Burmans: A Record of Fifteen Years of Work and its Fruitage. Henry Park Cochrane
has supplied himself with tinned provisions—in which case he would not be living like the natives. But we will suppose that the missionary's lot has "fallen in pleasant places"—among the more civilized Burmans of the plains. Rice will be the centre and substance of the two daily meals. Rice, well-cooked—the natives can do that to perfection—is an excellent food, and finds a conspicuous place on the bill of fare at every European table. But rice is made palatable by the savoury "curry" served with it. In jungle-villages, and among poor people in the town this curry will be made of vegetables (not such vegetables as we have known in the home-land), and tender sprouts and leaves, seasoned with chillies. Devout Buddhists will not take animal life, hence meat-curries, if far from the market, may not be thought of.
If the missionary has undertaken to live among the natives and like the natives, he must learn to do without meat. They will not kill a fowl for him. If he kills one for himself, he has broken his contract. But, perchance, an animal may die of itself, then its carcass will be parcelled out to all the villagers, and the missionary will have his share. In the town he may fare better, without breaking his rule. Meat slaughtered by non-Buddhists is on sale in the Bazar every day.
Buddhists as well as others may buy and eat, for the sin is only in the killing, in which they had no part. It is nothing to them that the demand occasions the supply. So what time the missionary spends in town he may have his meat.
In spite of the commandment, "thou shalt not take the life of any living thing," undoubtedly the most important Thou shalt not—in the Buddhist creed, with the penalty of the lowest hell for its violation—there is no lack of fishermen. Theoretically, they are the lowest of the low. But if all fishermen were to die to-day—their places would be filled to-morrow, and the market still be supplied. The natives want fish seven days in the week, if they can get it. But not even a fresh-meat or fresh fish-curry is satisfactory to the native palate until flavoured with dried fish, or with "nga-pee." In the Bazar may be found smoked and dried fish in great variety, very tempting to the native, but betraying the fact that too many hours under a tropical sun were allowed before curing. This fish is often eaten raw, in blissful ignorance of the microbe theory—indifference would be the better word, for their "microbes" frequently are visible to the naked eye. If these organisms have not actually eaten part of the fish, they are considered so much clear gain to the consumer. Such food is largely responsible for the great demand for a strong vermifuge in the treatment of sickness.
Now we come to "nga-pee" proper, regarded by the Burmans and several other races, as essential to a well-flavoured meal.
"The smell of nga-pee is certainly not charming to an uneducated nose,"—said a writer on Burmese customs—a statement that has passed unchallenged. There are many varieties of nga-pee, but to all the remark quoted may be applied. The most common is called fish-paste or "Burmese butter," made from the smaller fish which are caught in large quantities, as smelts are in the home-land. The fish are spread on mats under a tropical sun, just as they come from the water, and left there until in a condition which an "uneducated nose" would not care to investigate.
They are then mashed to a paste—a very easy matter—salt is worked into the mass, and then it is packed away to drain. The oily juice is carefully saved in earthern jars, a highly prized liquid flavouring. When well drained the nga-pee is taken to market in sacks or in bulk, the indescribable odour always going a mile in advance, when the wind is right. Passengers by river-steamers sometimes find themselves sandwiched in between two cargo-boats loaded with nga-pee, fairly sizzling under a broiling sun. Passenger trains halting at stations sometimes stand over against a few carloads of nga-pee on the side-track, filling the passenger-compartments with an odour rank and unbearable. And yet this vile stuff is eagerly devoured by all races, and must be allowed a place in the missionary's meal, if he is to "live like the natives." Nga-pee furnishes only one, though a very self-assertive one of the many offensive smells of an Oriental Bazar. Many fastidious people never go to the Bazar, for fear of contracting some kind of disease. There is much in the condition of these places to furnish ground for such fears. And yet I never have heard of disease being so taken. It would seem that one odour counteracts another, completely foiling all evil intentions of the spirit of sickness.
III
CUSTOMS OF THE BURMESE
The Burman is the proudest mortal on earth. Indeed, he is not of earth, according to his own belief, but has descended from fallen angels. Many ages ago certain Brahmas came down from the celestial regions to dwell on the earth. By adapting themselves to the habits of ordinary human beings, they themselves gradually became human. From these Brahmas or fallen angels, the whole Burman nation descended.
The Burman recognizes no superior. The superior advantages of a training in the Western world counts for nothing, because the Burman cannot appreciate such advantages. At one time when in conversation with a Burman official recognized as one of the ablest Burmans in the country, I dilated upon the extent, power, wealth, and resources of the United States, in answer to his many questions about my country.
Wishing to impress him, I made the figures as large as conscience would allow. At last he summed it all up in the self-satisfied expression—"About as big as Burma, isn't it?" A difference of about 70,000,000 in population was not comprehended. He could conceive of nothing bigger or more important than Burma. The Burman kings posed as the Head of Religion. The king was more than human. His subjects were his slaves, with no legal right to anything which he might crave for himself. He could compel them to perform any labour he saw fit to impose. His titles indicate his high estimate of himself: "His glorious and excellent Majesty, Lord of Elephants, Lord of gold, silver, rubies, amber, and the noble serpentine, Sovereign of the Empires of Thunapurtanta and Jambudipa, and other great Empires and countries, and of all the Umbrella-bearing chiefs, The supporter of Religion, Descendant of the Sun, Arbiter of Life, King of Righteousness, King of Kings, and Possessor of boundless dominion and supreme wisdom." That is all. It was well to be somewhat modest, as an example to the people.
The king was "Lord of the White Elephant," for short. That in itself ought to have satisfied a man of ordinary ambition, inasmuch as the white elephant was a sacred animal, and had the "power of making its possessor invincible." "The white umbrella was the emblem of sovereignty in Burma, and its use was limited to the king and the images of Gautama." The Buddhist priest must be content with a more modest title than "Pongyi," the name by which they are now known—for pongyi means "Great Glory," and could be applied only to the king. But when the king fell into the hands of the English the title "Great Glory" went broadcast—to minister to the vanity of the thousands of priests and to be retained by them as a monopoly. Burman officials to this day are equally proud of their titles, from the highest in the land down to the Ywa-Thugyi, the village headman. To address any official by name instead of his title, would be a gross breach of etiquette. In the king's time official etiquette was scrupulously observed, even towards prisoners of the official class. Royal blood must never be shed, even in executions. A blow from a bludgeon on the back of the neck of the stooping victim—or in the case of females, a blow on the front of the neck settled the account. Nor might royal victims be buried. The body, enshrouded in a red velvet sack, was taken in a boat to the middle of the river, and thrown in. It is said that this was sometimes done without the formality of an execution, a few stones in the sack answering the same purpose. Crucifixion was also common. It is claimed that in many instances the victim was first put to death and then the mutilated body bound to the bamboo cross and exhibited as a fearful warning to evil-doers. Dread of being crucified led thousands to migrate to British territory after the annexation of Pegu. The ugly terms "imprisonment," and "execution" were never used at the court of the king. There was a "keeping by" and a "clearing away," to suit the caprice of the king, scores and hundreds being massacred at once, on the merest suspicion of conspiracy. "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," was true of Burman kings, and they had a way of making all others of royal blood equally uneasy.
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