Part 3

A peculiar custom that always impresses the newcomer, is that of doing obeisance, called "shikkoing." When the devout worshipper counts the beads on his rosary he repeats the formula with each bead "Lord, Law, Priest--the three precious things" or objects of his worship.

As a counterpart of this formula he goes through three prostrations, with palms together, bowing his face to the ground in honour of the three precious things of his creed. These prostrations are also gone through at confessional before the priest,--one of the "precious things" before mentioned. He does not enumerate his sins, but lumps them, declaring that for all the sins he has committed he prostrates himself three times, in honour of the three precious things, and hopes thereby to be freed from all punishments and calamities. In respect to both spirit and method this custom reminds one of a certain man who used to hang his clumsily written prayer to the bedpost, saying as he crawled into bed, "Lord, them's my sentiments." After his lump-sum confession he receives the priest's benediction, which is practically the same as absolution, and goes away, the self-complacent pharisee that he is.

What astonishes and shocks the missionary is to find a heathen Burman at his feet going through this seeming act of worship. He feels as horrified as did Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. But he afterwards learns when he comes to understand the Burman better,--that these prostrations before superiors are not intended as acts of real worship. He is merely showing his humble respect, as a preliminary to some appeal for favour.

English officials require from non-Christian natives the same tokens of respect that were in vogue prior to the annexation. Native Christians are exempt from all customs which savour of Buddhism.

The idol and the priest alike represent Gautama, the only god the Buddhist knows. The attitude of the Burman mind may be illustrated by what a Burman Christian boy told me of his experience when he visited his native village. In response to an invitation he went to see the old priest, who had known him as a child. The priest was held in honour both by virtue of office, and his advanced age. The young Christian went through the customary prostrations respectfully, and then said, "I do not shikko you as God, but because I do not know of any other way to show my respect." The heathen Burman is in the same difficulty when he appears in the presence of a foreigner whom he wishes to honour.

This Oriental mode of showing reverence, not necessarily worship, throws light on the word "worship," so often used by Matthew.

The Burman is a religious animal, both terms emphasized. He has many religious festivals, and every festival is a feast. The casual observer would see but little difference between the street processions of weddings and funerals. There are the same tom-toms, the same grotesque dancing, the same stuffing of insatiable stomachs. Among Chins and Kachins such occasions are scenes of drunkenness and disorder. Not so among the Burmans. Many have contracted the drink habit by contact with Europeans, but the use of intoxicants has not yet become a national vice. The Burman attends all feasts and festivals because it is unchangeable custom to do so; because everybody else will be there, and he enjoys being in a crowd; because it gives him an excuse for abstaining from work, which he does not enjoy; because he can array himself in his best silk skirt and gaung-baung, and will find all the ladies there similarly arrayed; and most of all because whatever the occasion, it will be a feast. During the rainy season, which coincides with "Buddhist Lent" no feasts or festivals are held.

Funerals cannot always be postponed, especially as there is much sickness in the rainy season, but weddings are prohibited. Courting may be indulged in on the sly, to shorten the process when Lent is over.

At the beginning of Lent there is a great festival, entered into with enthusiasm because it will be the last for several months. At the end of Lent there is another great festival, hilariously enjoyed because the dull rainy Lenton period with its round of Duty-days without the craved accompaniments is over at last. Even the priests enjoy it, for presents to the monasteries, which had fallen off during Lent, will now be renewed. The young are again free to pair. The whole town is illuminated. Fire-balloons are sent up, with reckless disregard to safety of their houses. All are bent on having a good time. It is a religious festival, to be sure, each separate observance being in honour of some _nat_ or divinity--but there will be time enough to meditate on all that afterwards. For the present it is a round of picnic enjoyment.

The Burman era began in 639 A. D. The New Year begins in April.

The month is reckoned from midway between two full moons. Any Burman can readily give you the date, according to the Burman system, but very few have mastered the European calendar. The date is given as so many days before or after the full of the moon. The New Year is always celebrated by the "Water-feast." Offerings of pots of water are taken to the monasteries, the images of Gautama given their annual washing down, and then the show begins. Boisterous young men arm themselves with buckets or chatties of water, frolicsome damsels with cups, and the boys with bamboo squirt-guns, each and all bent on douching everybody else. By some means or other everybody gets his share. He would feel slighted if he did not receive a due share of liquid attention. The use of water at the beginning of the year has a religious significance,--but let the priest and the pious attend to that. The young folks are in for a jolly good time, and they get it. At the beginning of November there is another feast in honour of the time when Gautama Buddha made a visit to the celestial regions to preach to his mother. Then on the full moon of November another feast in honour of the time when Gautama became a Buddha under the bawdee-tree. Lesser feasts occur at intervals until Lent begins again. What with all the religious feasts, the weddings, ear-borings, funerals, etc., etc., the Burman suffers no lack of enjoyment. He manages to get some fun out of everything, the funeral being no exception. He will dance and sing on the way to the cemetery, and race bullock-carts on the way home. The funeral of a priest often resolves itself into a tug of war. Two stout ropes are attached to each end of the four-wheeled cart on which the casket has been placed. The crowd divides itself into two parties, the ropes are seized, and the struggle begins. Up the street the cart is dragged with a great hurrah, until reinforcements strengthen the opposing party, then the cart takes a lurch in the other direction, its lofty spire swaying in a threatening manner. Back and forth goes the cart, the exciting contest sometimes lasting for hours. Merit is gained by drawing the pongyis' remains to the funeral pyre. Of course the pyre-ward side must ultimately win, or there would be no cremation.

The rope-pull is sometimes resorted to in much the same manner to break a prolonged drought. Whether successful or not, as rain-makers, they have the sport. Is the Burman lazy? He certainly has that reputation, and I never heard it disputed by employers of Burman labour. His services would be better appreciated were he as punctual at the beginning of the day as he is at its close, and as diligent in the use of his tools as he is in keeping his cheroot lighted. He must have some credit for hard work to leave so many things undone. At "turning off work" he has no superior. He invariably turns off all the work he can,--and does the rest. And yet when one reflects that outside of the delta nearly all of the hard work of cultivation in the plains is done by Burmans one feels compelled to reconsider his verdict as to the Burman's capacity for work. No man can tell by a Burman's clothing whether he is rich or poor. All that a man hath will he give for a silk skirt. In "the good old times" when the king's will was law subordinate officials made demands for money wherever appearances indicated that money existed, to make up the amount of revenue called for. It was then good policy to dress below one's ability rather than above it, or one might find himself in an embarrassing situation. Moreover, certain material, style of cut, etc., was reserved for royal blood. But when the king fell, and the Burman found that the conqueror's method of raising revenue was by equitable taxation, royal customs went to the winds. Young men and maidens, and even the middle-aged blossomed out in gaudy array on festive occasions, though there might not be a pice of loose change to back it. Of all the races of Burma the Burmese are the cleanliest and dressiest. The costume of nearly all races, at its best, is fairly respectable and suited to their manner of life,--if they would only keep it clean and keep it on. When one is about to die the friends say, "Think not of friends or of property,--think only of God." This sounds hopeful, but it is well known that these spiritual advisers have in mind only the brazen image of Gautama, found in every village, the only god they know.

When a death occurs the pongyis are invited to the house, not to console the living, but to perform certain rites on behalf of the dead.

First a priest repeats a formula something like this, "He worships God; he worships the law; he worships the clergy," friends assuming the attitude of worship as substitutes for the deceased. The priest continues--"He kills not, steals not, commits no offense against his neighbour's wife; lies not; drinks not. He has all his life been careful about these things." The formula ended, one of the friends drops water from a gurglet or cocoanut shell into a glass, to accompany another formula by the priest, "May the deceased enjoy the food of the _nats_. May the nat of the earth bear witness." The person who pours out the water drawls in a loud voice, "Ah-mya-myo"--in great abundance and variety, the people responding, "Thah-doo, thah-doo"--it is well, it is well. At the grave, or in a _zayat_ nearly the same ceremonies are repeated. The priests have already been feasted at the house, and now presents are given on behalf of the dead, that he may enjoy the same blessings in the abode of the nats. The priests do not usually accompany the procession, but go in advance to the zayats near the cemetery. At death a small coin is placed in the dead man's mouth to pay his ferry fare across the mystic river of death. Without the coin for the ferry he could not cross, but would have to return to this world to suffer--nobody knows what. The use of the coin is said to be dying out. The coffin is swung endwise over the grave seven times (sometimes docked to three) as a good-bye, and to give the deceased a good start towards the great Myin-Mo Mount, the abode of the nats.

Human nature is much the same the world over. Courtship and marriage are universal customs. Methods differ, but motives are the same.

The majority of marriages are for love, or for something that has been mistaken for that sentiment. When a Burmese young man and maiden fancy each other well enough to indulge in playful flirtations at pagoda feasts and other public occasions it is pretty sure to develop into something more serious. The young lady is not likely to let a good chance slip by. Old-maidhood is dreaded by all, except the comparatively few who become nuns, and many of them are said to have become nuns because disappointed in love. Lover-like attentions may not be given openly. Clandestine meetings would scandalize the whole community.

At about nine o'clock in the evening the young man, accompanied by his friends approaches the house of the maiden whose charms cause his heart to thump against his ribs. He finds her awaiting his coming. But they are not to enjoy a fond tête-à-tête by themselves. Several young lady friends are sitting on the open veranda with her,--and the old lady peeking through a chink in the bamboo wall. It is courtship under difficulties, but it means business just the same. The rules of propriety have been observed, the parents are satisfied. As for the rest, trust the young folks to find ways and means to enjoy themselves as lovers do the world over. Accepting presents of jewelry from a young man is generally recognized as an engagement. Many a maiden has allowed her fondness for jewelry to lead to complications from which she has difficulty in extricating herself. According to old Burmese law the sole right to select or reject suitors was vested in the parents. The daughter, until twenty years of age, was entirely under their control.

The Dhammathat says: "Amongst men there are only three ways of becoming man and wife, which are as follows: First, a man and woman given in marriage by their parents, who live and eat together. Second, a man and wife brought together by the intervention of a go-between, who live and eat together. Third, a man and woman who came together by mutual consent, who live and eat together." In question of property rights the most importance is attached to the first method. A marriage without the consent of the parents, if the girl is under twenty, may be cancelled by the parents, if action is promptly taken. The girl may reject the man to whom she has been betrothed by her parents, but her decision is recognized only after she has run away from him and been forcibly restored three times. In like manner a girl who has been taken in marriage without the consent of her parents must be restored to them three times. If she then returns again to her husband the parents' claim upon her is forfeited, because the "Owner of the daughter could not control her." Widows and divorced women are subject to no control. While all this is Buddhist law, the girl, as a matter of fact, does about as she pleases in the matter of accepting or rejecting, just as they do in other lands, whether she is under twenty or not. Neither Buddhist law nor established custom renders any kind of a marriage ceremony essential, nor is registration of the marriage necessary. "Living and eating together," constitute all desired evidence of marriage.

The first eating together is something done in the presence of witnesses and so becomes in itself a simple wedding ceremony. This happy-go-lucky custom makes it exceedingly difficult to settle any questions in law growing out of such a marriage. A couple may prove that they are, or are not husband and wife, as best suits their ends. In Christian lands the wife is sometimes taken home to live with her mother-in-law.

In Burma the situation is reversed, the young husband going to live with his wife's parents. By a generally accepted division of labour the wife is the burden-bearer, while the husband gets the glory for what is accomplished. Husband and wife are going into town to exchange a basket of rice for a supply of putrid fish and other necessaries of life.

The wife carries the basket, weighing seventy-five or one hundred pounds, on her head, the husband with only his _kun_-bag slung over his shoulder walking ahead at a gait which she finds it difficult to follow.

The load may now and then be rested on a convenient stump, or the considerate husband helps to lower it to the ground and raise it to her head again. So accustomed have they become to this arrangement that it never occurs to either party that the man might carry the load part of the time. Familiar as is this custom, it never fails to stir in my soul an indignant protest. But the "worm may turn," if pressed too hard.

A poor woman was going to the station to take a train. On her head was a heavy load, and on her hip a child. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. The husband, carrying nothing but his umbrella, was persistently tormenting her. At last she deposited load and child on the ground none too gently, and pitched into him with great fury, cuffing, scratching and screaming all at once, until he gave her a wide berth.

It was one of the most refreshing sights ever witnessed, in this land. According to Buddhism the male is far superior to the female. No woman can cherish the slightest hope of attaining to Naik-ban. Her highest hope and prayer is that in the next, or some future existence she may be born as man, and so take a fresh start. But in this life the Burmese woman holds a higher place than is enjoyed by her sisters in any other Oriental land. If divorced from her husband she can take away whatever property she brought when married, together with all she may have gained by her own exertions. She is by no means a silent partner in business affairs. Usually she has greater business acuteness than her husband, and does not hesitate to have a voice in all negotiations. The Bazar is almost wholly run by the women, each having her own stall and keeping her own accounts in her head, for she cannot read nor write. At this point women seem to be inferior, but it is because they were excluded from the monastic school, and never had a chance. Vastly better than her indolent husband or brother she knows how to make money and keep what she makes. While Mohammedan and Hindu women are shut up in harems and zenanas, the Burmese women walk the streets with head erect, puffing their huge cheroots without the slightest thought of being the "weaker vessel." The energy of the Burmese women saves the race from going to the wall.

From courtship and marriage we pass by a natural transition to child-life in Burma. The crop of babies never fails. Parents would as soon think of failure of the rice harvest as of a failure to add annually to the population of the village, and the disappointment would be about the same. If nature did not defeat the barbarous methods of native midwives there would be no child-life to describe. But in spite of methods that would soon depopulate more civilized lands, every town and village is just romping full of children. Boys run naked until six or eight years of age, and girls until one or two. Many a time have I seen parents, wrapped in blankets, huddled around a fire in the cool season while their infants and small children had not the slightest protection. There is no intentional neglect, for the parents love their children, but it is "custom." This custom supplements the ignorance of the midwives, and adds to the number of shallow little graves in the adjacent jungle for the parish dogs to fight over. But baby has its cradle for its frequent naps. This is made of wood or wickerwork, and suspended from a bamboo in the floor or roof above. Sometimes this swinging cradle is a wide strip of cloth tied together at the ends, with the baby deposited in the loop. Baby has not long been in the world before it has a name. The name depends on the day of the week in which it was born. Certain letters of the alphabet are assigned to each day. The baby's name must begin with one of the letters assigned to its birthday. There is no family name, nothing to indicate to what particular family a child belongs. Each day of the week represents some planet, from which it takes its name. The planet assigned to a particular day will influence the life of a person born on that day, and determine his temperament. The naming is done when the baby is one month old. On the previous day invitations are sent around to the elders of the village, who by eating a pinch of pickled tea from a cup sent by the messenger,--accepts the invitation to be present at the ceremony, the parents make ready a supply of food, a feast being an essential part of every ceremony. Invited guests bring presents of money, precious stones, or jewels, which they cast into a large jar of water set there for the purpose. Some of the more valuable presents are merely lent for the occasion, but they help to make a show. When the guests have enjoyed their pickled tea, betel-nut, and cheroot, several of the elders proceed to bathe the baby in the vessel containing the presents. Another repeats a benediction calling for the continuous welfare of the child, but limits it to one hundred and twenty years. From the centre of a circle of coins on a dish of rice a cord of cotton thread is taken and bound around the child's wrist. One of the elders now announces the child's name,--previously decided on by the parents,--as if it were the happy result of his own meditations. This ceremony is to the Burman and Shan what a christening is to many in other lands, in its relation to a child's future. An interesting naming ceremony was held by two couples of native Christians, in my mission. The missionaries and native Christians were invited to a prayer-meeting. After the meeting a number of Old Testament names, written on slips of paper, were put in a hat borrowed from the missionary. The first fond father to put his hand into the hat drew for his offspring the name Daniel,--which he would pronounce Dan-ya-lah. The other father got Moses as a name for his son. Dan-ya-lah and Maw-shay they are to this day.

It is interesting to watch little children at their play. With sun-dried marbles, large seeds, or peculiarly-shaped sticks, plays have been improvised, which, in the course of years, have become national games for the youngsters. Boys and girls enjoy the sport together.

Before the English annexed the country the monasteries were the only schools. This is still the case in the majority of villages. But every Buddhist boy, whether he has the advantage of the English schools or not, must spend a few months in the monastery. Until he enters the monastery as a probationer he is not considered a human being in such a sense that it would count in future transmigrations. He now receives a new name, to be used so long as he remains in the monastery. If he finally becomes a priest he retains the religious name for life.

The novitiate-ceremony usually takes place when the boy is between ten and twelve years of age. If not already familiar with life in the monastery, he is taught how to address the priests, and conduct himself generally. As this is the most important event in a Burman boy's life, the ceremony is made on as grand a scale as the circumstances and credit of the boy's parents and friends will permit. Decked in gayest costume and covered with jewelry he is placed on a pony, or, in the towns, in the best vehicle obtainable, protected from the sun by a long-handled umbrella, and conducted to the homes of his relatives, to bid them farewell. Flashily dressed men and women, boys and girls make up the procession, some of the young men dancing and singing as they go. All this pomp and show, to celebrate renunciation of the world.

The farewells being said, the candidate is reconducted to his own home, where the feast has been prepared, and an elaborate bamboo tabernacle erected, extending from the house to the opposite side of the street. Here, in the presence of the priests, friends, and a host of gaudily-dressed spectators the actual ceremony is performed. The candidate's finery gives way to a strip of white cloth fastened around his loins, forming a very brief skirt. Then the barber is called in to deprive him of his long hair and shave his head. After a bath he dresses and presents himself before the priests, goes through the prescribed prostrations, repeats the memorized formula pledging himself as a novitiate, is duly clothed in the yellow robe of the order, the _thabeit_ or begging-bowl is given him, and then he joins the other novitiates in their return to the monastery in which he is to live. How sad it seems to see a small boy thus shut out from the gay world, at just the time when he is fullest of fun and frolic,--but not half so sad as it seems.