by Di Morrissey
‘Oh, there is so much more to see here than Sagaing! You should see the U Bein Bridge, longest teak bridge in the world. Very good for photographs,’ said the waiter.
‘Everything in Myanmar is good for photos,’ said Natalie. She helped herself to some spicy peanuts and took a sip of her drink. Feeling like a sophisticated world traveller, she swivelled her chair around to see who else was in the lounge. There was a European couple and a man reading an English newspaper.
When the man lowered the paper and Natalie saw he was Burmese. He glanced at her and raised his paper again.
Natalie froze. It seemed that she’d seen him before. Or had she? Did he remind her of someone she’d met? Why was he familiar?
Then it hit her. Suddenly she was sure that it was the same man whom she’d seen in the Strand Hotel, the morning she’d had coffee with Connie. She put her glass back down. Was she imagining things? Surely it was just a coincidence.
More people were coming into the bar, but Natalie quickly finished her drink.
The waiter paused by her chair and asked, ‘Another drink, madam?’
Natalie shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
He picked up her glass and then placed a business card on the table. ‘I can recommend this place in Mandalay. Very good quality.’
Natalie picked up the black and gold card and read ‘The Golden Buddha. Tribal Antiques & Rare Artefacts.’
‘I’m not planning on shopping, but thank you,’ she said to the waiter before slipping the card into her bag and hurrying out. She sensed the waiter turning towards the man with the newspaper but she didn’t look back to find out.
As she crossed the foyer, a smiling girl in a silk longyi asked if she was having dinner in the dining room, but Natalie shook her head and pushed the button for the lift.
In her room she opened her suitcase, which she hadn’t unpacked. Nothing in it had been disturbed. She took out her clothes for the next day and sat on the edge of the bed.
What was going on? She wanted to talk to Mark, but that was pointless as there was nothing he could do and he would only worry. She wished she could contact Mr P, but had no idea how. Then it occurred to her that she could call Connie. She took out her notebook, found Connie’s number and asked the hotel operator to connect her.
Connie sounded pleased to hear from her and asked her all about her trip. Her friendly voice made Natalie feel more relaxed. She told Connie about what she’d seen, and how amazing Bagan had been.
‘So we’re off to Sagaing tomorrow to try and locate Mi Mi’s parents. Then on to Pyin Oo Lwin to visit Aye Aye. And, I have to say, I’ll be relieved when that’s over.’
‘Natalie, is everything all right? You sound a bit odd. You aren’t overdoing it? You don’t have to climb through every temple! You’re fine with Mr P, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. Connie, I’m just a bit unnerved,’ confessed Natalie. ‘A few things have happened. I feel I’m being watched, followed. Mr P says it happens a lot and not to worry, but it’s creepy.’
Connie didn’t answer as quickly as Natalie expected. Then she said slowly, ‘Look, you are perfectly safe, you won’t be harmed or arrested or anything. But perhaps there is interest in the fact you are going to see someone connected with the old royal family.’
‘How would anyone know that?’
‘Conversations are overheard. People talk. A pretty young foreign woman on her own is noticed. It’s probably just curiosity. The other day, someone in the gallery asked Win if you’d seen your friends.’
‘Who was asking that?’ asked Natalie in surprise.
‘Win had no idea. People here love to gossip.’
‘I hate the idea of people knowing my every move. I just think there’s something more to this kammavaca than I know. Ever since I’ve had it, people have wanted to buy it. I know it’s got a remarkable provenance, but maybe there’s more to it, which has made people so interested.’
‘Maybe the old princess will be able to tell you something, if there’s anything to tell.’
‘Perhaps. Anyway, I’ll feel better when I’ve handed it over. It’s stressful holding on to it!’
‘Natalie, as you know, there are people watching everywhere. It’s hard to explain to those from outside Myanmar, but I don’t think you have anything in particular to worry about. Think of how you’ll be able to tell your friends back at home all about your adventures!’
‘I’m going to call Mark in the morning, but I won’t mention this to him.’
‘Of course not!’
‘Thanks, Connie. I feel better being able to talk to you.’
‘I’m glad I could reassure you. And good luck tomorrow. I hope you find your friend’s parents without too much trouble. Take lots of photos. Natalie, you’re gaining much merit here in Burma doing all these good deeds!’
‘I’m not too worried about my next life. This one is wonderful enough, thanks!’
‘That’s another thing this country does for you, puts your priorities into perspective. Take care, Natalie, and call any time you want to.’
Natalie did feel better the next morning after a solid night’s sleep in the anonymity of her hotel room and an English-style breakfast at the busy hotel buffet. She rang Mark, gaining comfort from his voice, and talked briefly to Charlotte, Adam and Andrew. Mark assured her that although everything on the home front was great, they couldn’t wait for her to get back.
‘But you enjoy yourself, Nat.’
After the call, she met Mr P and Soe Soe at the bottom of the hotel steps.
‘It’s a lovely time to visit the palace, too early for many tourists. We’ll just see the highlights, then we can get to Sagaing around lunchtime. I think I’ve located your friend’s parents, or at least the relative they joined in Sagaing,’ announced Mr P.
‘That’s marvellous,’ exclaimed Natalie. ‘Was it difficult?’
‘I would like to say that it was, but it turned out to be very easy. I took the name of their relative, which I learned from my student in Yangon, to the post office and they were able to tell me that he was in Sagaing. If your friend’s parents are still living with him, you will be able to meet them.’
The driver took them to the palace and they walked from the car, crossed the moat and entered the grounds. Mr P explained that King Mindon had been advised by astrologers to move the centre of his kingdom here because it was auspicious. So he dismantled the royal palace at Amarapura and, using elephants, relocated it to the foot of Mandalay Hill. Thirty years later the British moved in to it without a shot being fired.
‘Because the palace was rebuilt in the 1990s it looks pristine,’ said Mr P. ‘It is a very good replica, but it has no character, no heart, because no-one has ever lived here. And they didn’t replace the original buildings with carved teak, but used modern materials, and only a small part of the original palace has been rebuilt.’
Through the eastern gate, Natalie could see three towers. Mr P suggested that they climb the spiral watchtower because it would give them a view across the palace grounds to the city and river.
‘When this was the original palace, it must have been like a city in its own right,’ said Natalie.
‘Indeed it was.’
As they wound up the spiral stairs Mr P said, ‘Apparently the king had this tower built so that the guards could watch from here to see that no-one else visited his concubines!’
Looking down at the neat green squares of lawn between the low red-roofed buildings, Natalie had the sense that the place was incomplete, an unfinished institution. But despite the empty rooms and pavilions, she could imagine the splendour that would have been created by King Mindon’s original palace and how busy it would have been when later King Thibaw, Queen Supayalat and their family and entourage all lived there.
‘This place needs a cast of many to bring it to life – pretty women, hardworking village people, artisans and craftsmen, gardeners. I can imagine the grave-faced old ministers walking barefoot t
o meet with the king over there,’ said Mr P.
‘What is that building with such an elaborate spire?’ asked Natalie. ‘I can count seven tiers.’
‘That is the Hall of Audience, the Centre of the Universe. It contains the Lion Throne, the most important of the king’s eight thrones. It was built like that because the more tiers, the more important the space is beneath.’
Now, save for wax and wood mannequins posing as the king and queen, the pavilions were empty. Natalie walked slowly around the buildings, trying to like the carvings, the mosaic pillars of glass and gilt, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge that it was mostly fake. She thought about the elaborate furniture, the rich carpets, the jewelled spittoons and other accessories that would have graced the original palace: the Queen’s Lily Throne, the Glass Palace and the official buildings like the Treasury and Royal Mint were all set amid splashing fountains in manicured courtyards under canopies of white and gold umbrellas. It must have been a dazzling wonderland of extravagance and folly, duty and religion, myth and worldliness from a time now passed.
They crossed the bridge, leaving the replica walled palace behind them, and joined Soe Soe who headed into the neat grid of streets that crisscrossed the city with mathematical precision.
‘The city is all organised into small business areas, isn’t it,’ said Natalie. ‘Makes it easy for customers to compare things when they shop!’
They passed rows of shops featuring rubies and other gemstones, then came to a street of bronze and stone Buddha statues. Turning into another street they came across a row of antique shops. Suddenly Natalie remembered the card she’d been given in the hotel, took it from her wallet and passed it to Mr P.
‘Do you know this shop?’
Mr P read it aloud and Soe Soe made a comment Natalie couldn’t understand.
‘Where did you get this card?’
‘The waiter in the bar at the hotel handed it to me. But I think it came from a man who was sitting near me. Why, do you know the shop?’
Mr P asked Soe Soe a question and there was a short exchange. Mr P handed her back the card. ‘The driver says it is a well-known shop. But no good to shop there.’
‘Overpriced?’ asked Natalie. ‘No wonder they’re touting for business in a tourist hotel.’
‘The shop has a dubious reputation. They sell replicas to the unwary but they also pass off good pieces as fakes.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘They are stolen artefacts, taken from temples and monasteries, but if they are sold as fakes then they are easy to get out of the country,’ replied Mr P. ‘There are many agents working in Burma to supply western collectors who will pay large sums for them.’
‘That’s a shame. It means that Burma is still losing its heritage. It makes me even gladder about what I’m doing.’
Mr P pointed out the window. ‘Down there is the street of marble carvers. Do you want to have a look?’ he asked.
‘It sounds interesting, but I’m anxious to get to Sagaing now,’ said Natalie.
Soe Soe slowed so that Natalie could take photos from the car of the marble carvers, busy at work outside their shops as they carved, rubbed and polished massive white statues to a gleaming satin finish.
As they turned into another street, they passed a luxurious mansion. Through the tall iron fence Natalie was stunned to see a row of garages, their doors open to reveal a lot of very expensive cars.
‘Wow, who lives there?’
The driver and Mr P exchanged a glance.
‘Very rich man,’ said Soe Soe.
Natalie was a bit surprised to hear Soe Soe speak English, but realised that as he was involved with the tourist trade he would probably need to.
‘I’d say so, looking at those cars. What’s he do?’ she asked.
‘He’s a businessman. It helps to have friends and relatives in high official places. Contracts and deals go through with no problem. This man obviously has the right sort of friends. I don’t think he would have trouble finding money, like ordinary people do, for important ceremonies and making supplications at the pagodas,’ said Mr P.
‘Shinbyu and ear piercing. Very important to do,’ chipped in Soe Soe.
‘What’s that?’ asked Natalie.
‘All Burmese families send their sons to be novice monks before they turn twenty. It is called shinbyu. Families have to save for this important ceremony. Before girls come of age, they have their ears pierced in a very elaborate ritual. Families must save for this, too.’
Natalie sat back in the car as they drove past golden pagodas and simple rural villages, thinking that little had probably changed for a hundred years or more. She dozed off and awoke to find that they were now travelling across a long bridge, high over the Irrawaddy River.
Mr P turned and smiled at her. ‘We are coming into Sagaing. They have a hill, like Mandalay, and another walkway to the top and the Soon U Ponya Shin Pagoda.’
‘It must have a stunning view. How beautiful!’ exclaimed Natalie as she saw that the lush hillside rising above the curving sweep of the river was sprinkled with hundreds of white and shining nunneries, monasteries and golden pagoda spires.
‘This is an important centre of Burmese spiritual life. See, further up the hillside, there are caves where once holy men came to meditate. Some of the caves have the remains of frescoes and images in them,’ said Mr P. ‘As soon as we arrive in Sagaing, we shall go to the marketplace and ask directions to the house of your friend’s relative.’
‘I wonder why they moved here from Yangon,’ said Natalie. ‘Perhaps they are very devout.’
They stopped in the centre of the main street and Soe Soe hurried away to get directions while Mr P bought some fruit and flowers.
‘Perhaps you could take this as a small gift?’
‘How thoughtful, of course, what a good idea.’
Instinctively, Natalie looked around, wondering if they were being watched. But the sleepiness of Sagaing was pervasive and the whole area, perhaps because it was a religious place, seemed to be in a state of repose and reflection. Even the leaves of tamarind trees appeared to droop not from the heat but from piety. From the folds and hollows of the hills drifted voices in prayer and the throb of a monastery bell.
Soe Soe returned, looking pleased, and nodded to indicate that he had been given directions to the home of Mi Mi’s relatives.
The car wound a short way up the hillside, then pulled over as they came upon several simple, raised whitewashed wooden houses with woven bamboo shutters to keep out the heat. Washing fluttered in the yards and dogs sunned themselves. All seemed quiet, almost deserted.
Mr P went ahead, calling out, and disappeared behind the courtyard cooking area of one of the houses. Soon he came back with an elderly man.
‘This man is your friend’s uncle. I have explained to him why we are here and he will go and fetch your friend’s parents so that you can meet them.’
The elderly man hurried away and returned a few minutes later with an old Burmese couple. Mr P explained to them in Burmese who Natalie was and why she wanted to meet them.
Mr P made the introductions. ‘This is Daw Thet Wai and U Tun Oo. They would like you to come inside. It’s more private.’
Natalie took off her shoes and stepped into the humble house. There was very little furniture, but the couple ushered her to join them on cushions in front of a low table that held a bowl containing betel nut and a lacquer box.
Mr P sat beside Natalie to translate. The old couple couldn’t stop smiling and staring at Natalie. Then they thanked her profusely for the fruit and flowers.
Natalie reached into her bag and took out the envelope with the photographs of Mi Mi, Nanda and their two teenagers, which she handed to Mi Mi’s mother. Daw Thet Wai took out the photographs and laid them in a line on the table.
The faces of her beloved daughter, her fine husband and their two happy children laughed up at her. Slowly she began to speak softly, addressing each of
the pictures, tenderly and lightly touching each photograph as if caressing its subject’s skin.
Mr P said quietly to Natalie, ‘She is telling them she loves them and that she is so happy to see them and how beautiful they are, just as she knew they would be. She says that now she has put them in her heart so that she can speak to them each day. They will be with her and know all she is doing and how she feels.’
Tears sprang to Natalie’s eyes.
Neatly and carefully Mi Mi’s mother put the photos in a pile on the table, and smiled contentedly at Natalie.
Now Tun Oo, Mi Mi’s father, straightened up, opened the lacquer box and took out two faded pictures. He slid the pictures across the table to Natalie. She immediately recognised the laughing young girl as Mi Mi. The second photo was of Mi Mi and a young monk, his head shaved, proudly wearing his robes. Natalie guessed that this was Mi Mi’s brother.
‘We are very proud of our daughter,’ Tun Oo told Mr P, who translated his words for Natalie. ‘She studied to be a doctor and helped her brother and the others. We are happy to know that she has a good life in Australia.’
‘Mr P, can you please tell them that Mi Mi wrote to them several times after Cyclone Nargis, and was very concerned when she did not hear back from them. She thought that they had gone into the delta region and she was very worried about their safety.’
‘I see. Letters do not always reach their destination in Myanmar,’ explained Tun Oo through Mr P. ‘We did not go to the delta. I was a schoolteacher, but when I became too old to teach and had to retire, I lost my house because it, like my job, belonged to the government. So we could not afford to live in Yangon any longer. The rents are too high and we had not much in savings. I thought that we could move south to be near our son but because he is a monk, he was not in a position to help us. Luckily for us, my brother Sung Oo wanted to share his house with us. His wife died some years ago and he thought that our company would be good for him and he was pleased to help. So here we are.’
Natalie looked around the simple house, realising just how poor these people were. Even though Tun Oo was an educated man, a teacher, she realised that they were now existing at a subsistence level because there was no state assistance for elderly people and the children were expected to look after their elderly relatives, but Tun Oo and Thet Wai’s children were not in a position to do this. Natalie knew that they had never told Mi Mi about their poverty. They must have known that their daughter had done well in Australia, but were obviously too proud to tell her the truth about their situation.