Part 2

Unlike other languages of Burma, the construction of a Burmese sentence is the reverse of the English order. Many sentences may be translated backward, word for word, certain connective particles becoming relative pronouns, with a perfect idiomatic English sentence as the result. The eye can soon be trained to take in a printed sentence as a whole, and grasp its meaning, without stopping to render it into English in the reversed order. But to keep this order in mind, in conversation, with the word expressing action left for the last, like the snapper to a whip, is not so easy. In acquiring the language by ear a difficulty arises from the universal habit of _kun_-chewing. Never careful about enunciating his words, a wad of _kun_ in a Burman's cheek adds to the confusion of sounds. With mouth half full of saliva, chin protruding to keep it from slopping over,--a mumbled jargon is what the ear must be trained to interpret as human speech.

By this time the newcomer has seen enough of the climate, and of the side of society in which he will move, to convince him that his Prince Albert coat, in which he has been accustomed to array himself "every day in the week, and twice on Sunday" must be folded away in his trunk until such a time as he takes a furlough in the home-land. A fellow-missionary consoles him with the remark that he once wore back to America the same coat that he wore to Burma eight years before. Missionaries usually arrive in November, the beginning of the "cold season." After that comes the "hot season,"--but it is difficult to tell just where the one leaves off and the other begins.

In any event, the newcomer soon "warms to his work." First the waistcoat is discarded, then the long thick coat gives place to a short thin one. For underwear, gauze flannel and singlets are in demand. Starched shirts and linen collars are reserved for special occasions. High-top shoes are relegated to the corner-closet. Even his watch hangs as an uncomfortable weight in his light clothing. In the old life he hardly perspired once in the year. Now there is hardly once in the year when he is not perspiring. The drinking-water is so warm that it seems to have lost much of its wetness. What would he not give to feel cool again. But he has not long to wait for his wish to be more than realized. Some night, after fanning himself into a restless sleep, he will wake up in a chill, to find himself in the throes of the Burma fever, to which he was "not subject." Then he will recall the lightly-regarded advice, repeatedly violated in every particular, and now---- As this is the first attack he will get his wife to treat him the first day with the homeopathic remedies in his morocco medicine case,--his last misguided purchase before sailing.

There is nothing better to perpetuate a fever. On the second day, having recalled some more advice, his head will be buzzing with quinine, the only thing that will really help him,--as every man in the tropics knows.

II

LIVING LIKE THE NATIVES

Much has been said and written about "living like the natives."

Many have maintained that the missionaries should abandon their former mode of living, and adopt the customs and costume of the people among whom they labour. It is said that old maids know the most about the proper way to bring up children. It is interesting to note that advocates of this theory of missionary methods are men who never have been out of their native land, and have spent but little of their time in informing themselves as to the habits of uncivilized peoples. Prospective missionaries will do well to provide themselves with the customary outfit,--to meet their needs while finding an answer to the many-sided question,--how _do_ the natives live?

For the present we will confine our investigations to Burma. Let us visit one of the native houses, and see for ourselves. Running the gauntlet of several snarling pariah dogs, we pass through the muddy door-yard, littered with banana leaves, munched sugar-cane, and waste from various sources. The house is set up on posts, several feet from the ground, affording a shady place below, to be shared by the family and the domestic animals. The floor overhead is of split bamboo or thin boards, with wide cracks through which all sweepings fall, and _kun_-chewers lazily spit without troubling themselves to get up. At the back part of the house a corner is partitioned off for the cook-room, the stove being a very shallow box filled with earth. The cooking is done in earthen chatties over the smoky open fires. Near the cook-room is an open space where household utensils are washed and the babies bathed, the water falling through the open floor to the ground below. Month after month and year after year this filthy habit goes on, forming a cesspool from which a foul stench arises, offensive to nostrils and dangerous to health. This foul pool is a paradise for their ducks, its slime being tracked all over the place. The house is small, its thatched roof coming down so low as hardly to leave room for a full-sized door. Many of these homes have no out-buildings whatever, trusting to the pariah dogs and the crows,--the village scavengers,--to keep the premises in a sanitary condition. Some of the well-to-do Burmans live in larger better houses; showing that not only is it impracticable for Europeans to live like the natives, but that natives when able, find it wise to live like Europeans. This is a tropical climate, with the temperature at 112° in the shade on the day these words were written. It would be almost suicidal for Europeans to attempt to live in such houses, even under the best sanitary conditions possible. Missionaries have lived for a time in such houses, from force of circumstances, but always to the detriment of health, sometimes with very serious consequences. To a stranger, European "bungalows" in the tropics seem needlessly large. "Globe-trotters" in general, and sometimes representatives of missionary societies, it is to be feared, visiting the tropics in the coolest season,--carry away this impression with them. In New England there is a saying "You must summer him and winter him" to find out the real worth of a man or beast. Could all who visit the tropics, or presume to write of conditions in the tropics,--spend a whole year in such a climate critics would be few, and funds for seemingly expensive, though necessary buildings less grudgingly given.

They who urge that Europeans should _clothe_ like the natives would surely allow exceptions to the rule, on closer study of native habits.

Among some of the tribes of Burma the question of wardrobe and latest style would be easily solved. Clothing like such natives would greatly reduce the expense for "outfit." Two strips of cotton cloth, one for the head, the other for the loins, would meet all requirements even on state occasions. But apart from all questions of common decency, it is to be seriously doubted whether the European would enjoy "sailing under bare poles" in a tropical sun.

The railway trains are provided with first, second, and third-class compartments. Officials and wealthy business men travel first-class. Less fortunate Europeans, and people of mixed race but with European habits travel second-class. Natives, as a rule, go third-class,--but the rule has many exceptions. Not to speak of well-to-do Burmans and Chinese, who, though unobjectionable in dress,--are inveterate smokers, the "chetties," or money-lenders invariably travel second-class. They are the wealthiest men in the county, but with the exception of coolies,--they wear the least clothing and are the most offensive in their habits. The missionaries, whether on private or mission business, being unable to bear the expense of the higher class, and striving to save for the society which they represent, travel second-class. Now that many very objectionable natives have taken to riding second-class, it is no longer respectable for Europeans, except on rare occasions when the train is not crowded. For my own part, I seriously doubt whether this habit, on the part of American missionaries, of taking an inferior place among so-called "Europeans," is a wise policy.

But whether wise or otherwise, lack of funds has made it necessary.

Far from adopting the impossible costume of Chins, Kachins, Salongs and other benighted races, the missionaries are earnestly striving to develop in the natives sufficient moral sense that they may come to regard the matter of being clothed at all, as something more than a minor consideration. It is true that Burmans, Shans, and Christian Karens dress more respectably. In fact, their costume, at its best, seems to be very well adapted to the climate and their manner of life. But even this somewhat generous concession must be modified.

The customary skirt for Burmese women in Upper Burma, and more or less throughout the country, is a piece of coloured cloth about a yard square, fastened around the waist to open in front. This style of skirt is said to have been adopted by a decree of the Burman King. Multitudes of Burmese women seem to have no disposition to abandon it for something more modest, even after eighteen years of British rule. Elderly women, as well as men of all ages, wear nothing above the waist while about their work, even passing through the streets in that condition with no self-consciousness. The Burmese skirt made after the most approved pattern is only one thickness of cloth, tightly fitting the body, not such a dress as European ladies would care to wear. Mrs. Judson, ministering to her imprisoned husband, felt compelled to adopt the native costume, to make her position more secure. But supposing the missionaries adopt the costume of the corresponding class,--the priests and nuns,--they must go with bare feet and shaven heads; all very well for the natives, but nothing short of ridiculous, as well as extremely dangerous under a tropical sun, if practiced by white people. In the interior of China the costume of the people has been found very suitable for the missionaries, and a help to winning their way. But wherever the people have become familiar with European customs, respect is forfeited, rather than gained by exchanging European customs for those of the natives.

A missionary and his wife recently returned from Africa were invited to speak in a certain church dressed in the native costume. They appeared, but in their usual attire. In the course of his remarks the missionary referred to the request that they appear in native costume, and drawing a piece of cotton cloth from his pocket remarked "_That_ is the costume,--you will excuse us?"

Eating like the natives,--here comes the tug-of-war. The "backward tribes,"--Chins, Kachins, Salongs, many tribes of Karens, and others, eat everything,--from the white ant to the white-eyed monkey. Worms, beetles, maggots, lizards, snakes, and many other such delicious morsels would form a part of one's daily diet,--a necessary part, unless the missionary 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.

One of the causes leading to the last Burmese-English war, was the famous "Shoe question." According to the Burmese custom, sandals must be removed outside the entrance, whether of private residence or royal palace. When a subject of however exalted rank was admitted to the presence of the king, he must come in his bare feet, and approach in a crouching position so that his skirt would prevent his feet being seen by the fastidious eyes of the king. Heads have been lost for violation of less important rules of etiquette. Representatives of the British Government were compelled to follow this humiliating custom,--though they were graciously allowed to keep their stockings on,--and to sit on the floor at a respectful distance from His Majesty, Lord of the White Elephant, etc., etc. The Briton thought this inconsistent with proper respect for the government he represented, to say nothing of his own personal feelings. Diplomatic negotiations were delayed, for the haughty king would allow no deviation from this humiliating custom. Although the war was not declared on this issue, English officials who had been required to remove their shoes, found great satisfaction in requiring the king to remove his crown. The custom of taking off one's sandals when entering any house still prevails. Entering with sandals on could only be interpreted as a deliberate insult. When a European enters a monastery he is expected to take off his shoes, though the priest does not insist upon it--when informed that it is not European custom.

If twenty men come to see the missionary, the last man must step over nineteen pairs of sandals at the foot of the stairs. But when it comes to head-gear, the custom is reversed. While Europeans would take off their hats, the Burmans do not remove their _gaung-baungs_, or turbans. The _gaung-baung_ is usually of gaudy silk, and worn at all times, even at worship, by both Buddhist and Christian.

When Saul had been informally proclaimed King of Israel, the people "despised him, and brought him no present." This would not have happened in Burma, as the attitude of men from whom presents would naturally be expected,--unless perchance they had ceased to value that portion of their bodies above the shoulders. Whether king, subordinate official, or private citizen, a present suited to the weight of the matter in hand was an essential preliminary to a hearing. Under British rule, Burman officials do not openly perpetuate this custom. They now content themselves with bribes quietly presented, usually through a third party, in place of the present once openly offered. But in social life the custom of making presents is a recognized matter of etiquette, even when visiting non-official superiors. It commonly takes the form of a tray of the choicest fruit procurable. But in the majority of instances it finally appears that some favour or other is being sought.

Poor people sometimes come with a bunch of plantains or a few oranges which they beg us graciously to accept as a token of their great esteem, and then hang around the place waiting for a return present of ten times the value of their own. The European soon becomes suspicious of presents as likely to prove more expensive than the regular Bazar rate.

A missionary to the Indians in British Columbia relates a story which, so far as motive is concerned, might have been matched in Burma. One day an Indian gave them two fat ducks. "What shall I pay for them?" "Oh, nothing, they are a present for the missionary." The Indian hung around, remained to dinner, ate one of the ducks, remained through the afternoon, ate the equivalent of the other duck, remained until bedtime, when the missionary hinted that perhaps he had better go home to see if his wigwam was where he left it. "I'm only waiting." "Waiting for what?" "Waiting for the present you are to give me for the present I gave you."