A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

CHAPTER IV.

MAING LOONGYEE TRAVERSED BY WAR-PATHS—DR RICHARDSON’S VISIT—PRICE OF SLAVES—DR CUSHING’S VISIT—RAIDED BY KARENNIS—THE CITY AND SUBURBS—VISIT THE GOVERNOR—THE SHAN STATES—GOVERNMENT—SUCCESSION TO THE THRONE—TITLES—MODES OF EXECUTION—ZIMMÉ FORMERLY EXTENDED FROM THE SALWEEN TO THE MEH KONG—THE GOVERNOR AND HIS BROTHER—THE BAZAAR—DISTRIBUTING SEEDS—INFORMATION FROM FORESTERS—COLLECTING VOCABULARIES—MOUNG LOOGALAY—PORTOW—A MAGICIAN—DR CUSHING AT WORK AND EXASPERATED—VISIT TO ANCIENT CITY AND TO THE EARTH-HILLS—CROSSING THE RIVER—A DANGEROUS WALK—PINE-TREES—NUMBER OF LAWA, KAREN, AND SHAN VILLAGES—POPULATION—A KAREN DANCE—ENTICING A LAWA—DESCRIPTION—SIMILARITY BETWEEN KAMOOK AND LAWA LANGUAGES—VISIT TO THE GOVERNOR—EFFECT OF A TELEGRAM—ELEPHANTS HIRED FOR FOREST WORK FROM KARENS—MODE OF ATTACK OF MALE AND FEMALE ELEPHANTS.

The muang, or principality, called Maing Loongyee by the Burmese, and Muang Nium by the Shans, is traversed by war-paths leading from Burmah to Zimmé and Siam, along which great armies of invaders have passed; it was, moreover, subject to frequent inroads of man-stealers from Karenni, an independent State, which borders the muang on the north-west.

Dr Richardson, who visited Maing Loongyee in 1829, three years after we had annexed Maulmain, found it nearly deserted, containing, besides the hill denizens, only 200 houses, distributed among eight villages: the one occupying the site of the city had only ten or twelve dwellings in it.

The teak-forests were then unworked, and its principal export was black cattle—from 2000 to 8000 of these being yearly taken to Karenni and exchanged for slaves, ponies, tin, and stick-lac. Seven bullocks were bartered for a young man, and from eight to ten for a young woman; the very best bullock being valued at five shillings.

When Dr Cushing passed through the muang in 1870, the Burmese Shans, now British Shans, and Karennis had recommenced their raids into the country; and the Siamese Shans and our foresters had been shut up in the city for six months, not daring to venture into the district except in large bodies capable of defending themselves. These hostilities, lasting nine or ten years, had ceased four years previous to my visit, and the muang was recovering from their effects.

The city, which is built in the form of a parallelogram placed nearly true to the cardinal points, and stockaded on all four sides, measures 1740 feet from north to south, and 1050 feet from east to west. It lies 96 miles by road from Hlineboay, and is situated on a knoll, rising 15 feet above the plain and 635 feet above sea-level, in the northern angle formed by the junction of the Meh Sa Lin with the Meh Nium. It is occupied chiefly by Zimmé Shans, and contains 66 houses and two monasteries.

Like all Zimmé Shan towns, it has a peculiar air of regularity and neatness; the ends of the Shan houses invariably facing north and south, and the edges of the roofs, when of leaf or thatch, being accurately trimmed. The roads are well laid-out, ditched on either side, and attended to. A strict system of conservancy is in force, and no refuse is allowed to be heaped outside the houses and palisaded gardens. Aqueducts convey water from the upper course of the Meh Sa Lin, and distribute it through the town. The greater part of the cultivation in the Shan States is carried on by means of such irrigating channels, and in this way two crops of rice are raised in the vicinity of the town.

The suburbs, which are built at the north and west of the city, and outside the stockade, include 104 houses, mostly well built and of teak, chiefly occupied by our foresters and British Shan traders. Three monasteries in the Burmese style, and a pagoda, have been built by the Burmese thitgoungs, or head foresters, in the northern suburb, and another monastery was in course of erection. The people of Maing Loongyee are said to feed on teak, the teak timber trade forming their chief means of support.

Having dismissed the elephants, we went into the city to call on the Siamese official, who was acting as deputy-governor during the absence of the chief at Bangkok. Chow Rat Sampan, the chief, a first cousin of the late Queen of Zimmé, is looked upon as the ablest man in the kingdom. Backed by the influence of the queen, he had gone to Bangkok to get himself appointed second King of Zimmé by the Siamese monarch.

The Shan States are small kingdoms, each containing a number of principalities or muangs. Each State is ruled in a patriarchal fashion by a court, comprising the first and second kings and three other princes of the blood-royal.

The succession to the throne primarily depends upon the person chosen by the court and people being of princely descent—all such are called chow or prince; secondly, upon his influence and wealth, the number of his serfs and slaves, business capacity, integrity, and his popularity with the serfs; lastly, and now chiefly, upon his interest at the Siamese court.

The first and second king usually select the other three chiefs, but their choice has to be confirmed by the King of Siam. The governors of Muang Nium, Muang Pai, Kiang Hai, and other principalities, are appointed by the King of Zimmé, who, like the King of Nan, has been granted the title of Chow Che Wit, or lord of life, by the King of Siam. The chiefs of Lakon, Lapoon, Peh, Tern, and Luang Prabang have only the title of Chow Hluang (Chow Luong or great prince). The title of Chow Che Wit was only allowed to the King of Zimmé in 1883. A Chow Che Wit can order a criminal to be decapitated. Chow Hluangs can only order execution by piercing the heart with a spear.

The Siamese Shan State of Zimmé at the beginning of the eighteenth century extended from the Salween to the Meh Kong. It had jurisdiction over the whole of the States lying in the basins of the upper portions of the Meh Nam, the Meh Ping, and the Meh Wung, comprising Zimmé, Nan, Peh, Lapoon, Lakon, and Tern; their governors being appointed by the King of Zimmé. The disruption of the kingdom resulted from the anarchy reigning in the middle of the eighteenth century, when Zimmé, then tributary to the Burmese, threw off its allegiance and became feudatory to Siam. Zimmé has now hardly a nominal supremacy over Lapoon, Lakon, and Tern, although the rulers are appointed from the same family; and Nan and Peh are perfectly independent of it, owing allegiance only to Siam.

An execution.

We found the Siamese potentate squatting cross-legged, like a great apathetic indolent toad, upon a raised section of his covered verandah, in company with his brother, the head-man of the Siamese frontier post at Daguinseik. Daguinseik is the ford where the main track from Pahpoon to Zimmé crosses the Salween. No greeting was accorded us, no approach to the semblance of courtesy was shown us by these two unmannerly boors, who, like all low-minded Jacks-in-office, considered arrogance and incivility necessary in up-holding their dignity.

Dr Cushing, who accompanied me as interpreter on the expedition, was naturally annoyed at the rudeness and grumpiness of our reception, and was intentionally brusque in expressing our requirements. These comprised six fresh elephants to carry us to Muang Haut, or, if possible, to Zimmé. The governor, who had been up night after night at the poay, or play, which was being given in honour of a youth who was about to join the priesthood, merely yawned in our faces, and left the answering to his brother.

We were assured that there would be great difficulty in getting our elephants, as Mr Bryce’s party required ten, and would have to be served first as they had arrived the day before us; that the elephants were a long distance off working in the forests, and could not arrive for three days at the earliest. I replied that every day was of importance to us, that there were many elephants dawdling about the place, and that I saw no necessity for us to be kept waiting. He said that the elephants I had noticed belonged to the foresters, not to the Karens, and could not be hired to us. We then departed without either of the human toads rising from his haunches.

Meanwhile the boys had been rambling about the town making their purchases and bargaining from stall to stall; everything was double, or more than double, the Maulmain price, and hardly anything in the shape of edibles was to be got. Pork had been sold off in the early morning; no cattle had been killed, therefore beef was not to be had; fowls and ducks were not sold at the stalls, but hawked round to the different houses by the Karens who brought them in. Onions, beans, mustard-leaves, and pumpkins were all the vegetables they could procure: these, with eggs, dried fish, and wafer-bread, they had brought back with them. It would have been only tinned meat again for dinner had not Moung Kin come to the rescue and presented us with some fowls. At the same time, he told us that he would have a cow milked, and we should have fresh milk with our tea next day.

Disappointment came with the morning. The cow kicked the milk-pail over, so we got no milk. Seeing how scarce vegetables were in the bazaar, and considering it likely that we should be kept for several days waiting for the elephants, I sowed a crop of mustard and cress, which we reaped and enjoyed before we left. The curator of the Rangoon Public Gardens had kindly given me a large parcel of English vegetable seeds, and another of Liberian coffee, which I distributed at the various places we stopped at, on the promise that the villagers would plant and attend to them; and I trust that future travellers through the country will find cause to thank me. During our stay at Maing Loongyee, which lasted from the 5th to the 13th of February, I gathered information from the foresters about the country; collected vocabularies of the Kamook, Lawa, and other languages; and made a few short excursions. Loogalay thoroughly enjoyed himself, starring about amongst the Burmese in his best plumage, boasting of the great position he held in the expedition, and joining in the festivities that were going on day and night during our stay. Portow was in his element. He set up as an oracle, and was accordingly consulted. He knew, or thought he knew, what I was about, and the why and the wherefore of everything I was doing. I have no doubt that he led the people to look upon me as a powerful magician.

Dr Cushing, who is the greatest living Shan scholar, was accompanying me as interpreter in order to study the different Shan dialects, and was hard at work, when not at meals or out for a stroll, from morning to night.

Although the delay was rasping to me, as I was eager to be off, and Dr Cushing was exasperated at Mr Bryce’s party getting elephants two days before us, we all enjoyed our stay at Maing Loongyee.

One day we visited the remains of the two ancient cities of Yain Sa Lin, situated about a mile to the south-east of the town, and surrounded and divided from each other by moats and ditches. Their area, which is now overgrown by a forest of great trees, is much larger than that of Maing Loongyee, but contains no visible ruins of ancient date. The small pagodas and ruined temples are modern, having been built in recent times by villagers occupying and cultivating part of the enclosure. The cities were situated on a knoll, and the western ramparts have been swept away by the encroachments of the river. The old city, together with 400 Talaings, or Peguans, according to the ‘Lapoon Chronicle,’ were handed over to the Shan chief of Lapoon as a dowry when he married the daughter of Thoo-tha Thoma, the King of Pegu, in A.D. 1289.

Another day we crossed the river, which lies to the west of the town, to visit the earth-hills and take photographs of the country from the platform of a pagoda, which stands out well against the sky. The water was about three feet deep, and the bottom covered with large pebbles, giving a rather insecure foothold. I was carried across perched on the shoulders of two men. Dr Cushing waded the stream, and resumed his nether garments on the other bank. I could not help glancing slily at him as he tottered along, his predicament being so ridiculous for such a grave and learned man, and his action so like that of the pilgrim who had not boiled his peas.

The path over the hills was covered with small rounded gravel washed out of the earth, which rendered it very slippery for shod feet. The hills were crested with large pine-trees, the first we had seen, and their sides were crumbling away in great landslips caused by the small streams, which carried off the rainfall, undermining the friable earth. Some of the spurs we passed along were barely two feet wide at the top, with slopes often nearly sheer descents. Walking along these, and peering at times into the abysses, I suddenly became dizzy, and had to take a man’s hand to help me along until I reached a broader track. On and on we went, trying to reach the pagoda. The hills proved to be maze-like in character; so at last we gave up the attempt, and I took the photographs from another position. I was not sorry when we got back to the house without a mishap.

From the foresters, purposely summoned by Moung Kin to give me the information, I procured the names of thirty-three Lawa villages, forty-six fixed Karen villages, and eleven Shan villages, including the city, in the basin of the Meh Nium, and its branches. The Lawa villages contained on an average forty-two houses; the Karen, twenty houses; and the Shan, thirty-six houses. None of these foresters were working in the valley of the Meh Ngor, so its fixed villages are omitted.

The villages which are occupied by the Karen Yain—the wild or timid Karens—were said to contain as many people as the rest of the villages put together; but as these villages are temporary erections, only occupied for a year or two at a time, no accurate account could be given of them.

I was assured that the average number of people living in a house was seven; but even allowing only five, there would be upwards of 13,000 people in the fixed villages on my list, and as many more among the wild Karens. Taking into account the fixed villages not on my list, the gross population in the basin of the Meh Nium cannot fall far short of 30,000 souls.

The Siamese deputy, on being questioned on the subject, said that he had no list of the villages or census of the people; but there must be at least 3000 Zimmé Shans, 4000 Lawas, and 5000 fixed Karens, chiefly of the Sgau and Pwo and Sho tribes, in the muang. He could make no guess at the number of the Karen Yain; but they were very numerous. His estimate of the Shans and fixed Karens tallied well with the account given by the foresters; but the Lawas are twice as numerous as he thought they were.

The villages of the Sgau and Sho tribes of Karens are found scattered through the hills far down into the Malay Peninsula. One of their dances resembles the sword-dance of the Highlanders of Scotland, and is thus described by a gentleman who was present at it in a Karen village in the hills behind Petchaburee: Two smooth straight bamboo poles were placed parallel to each other on the ground, about eight feet apart. Across these, and at right angles to them, smaller bamboo sticks are laid—two in a place—so as to form spaces about ten inches wide between each pair of sticks. The musicians take their seats on the ground, by the sides of the parallel poles, and each takes an end of the short cross-sticks in each of his hands. These sticks he first taps together, then shifts them right and left so as to strike those of his neighbours on each side, to make a tapping musical noise, all keeping perfect time together.

The dancers, who are dressed in their most fantastic style, with painted faces, feathers in their turbans, &c., then take their places, and one after another dance into these spaces and along between the parallel poles. As they leap up, the sticks pass under their feet, and they must use their feet so dexterously as not to touch the cross-sticks which are constantly passing to and fro under them. As many as four or five dancers would be leaping up and down, across from end to end, at once, and all keeping perfectly together.

Day after day we tried to inveigle a Lawa into the house, but in vain. At length Moung Kin succeeded in enticing one there who had come with some friends on business to the city. We were elated; we had at last got a real live Lawa—one of the aborigines of the country: what should we get out of him?

He proved to be a tall, good-looking, well-built stripling, aged eighteen, with hair cut in the Siamese fashion and thrown back from his square perpendicular forehead, and eyes with no Mongolian incline about them, but slightly more opened at the inner corners than those of Europeans. He looked painfully shy, and very much ill at ease when he saw the trap he had got into.

I offered him a cigar, which he accepted and nervously twiddled about in his fingers, looking every now and then over his shoulder to see whether any of his companions had followed him, or to calculate the chance for escape. After striking a light for him, I said we were very interested in his people, and wished to learn what we could about their manners and customs, and a few words of their language; and that, if he gave me the information, I would pay him for his trouble, and give him some beads to take to his people.

He grew gradually more composed, but still appeared very uneasy. He said their customs were precisely similar to those of the Shans. Like them, they were now Buddhists, and had monasteries in the larger villages. They called themselves L’wa; water they called ra-own; fire, ngau; man, pree-ra-mee; woman, pa-ra-peum; day, meu-sun-nyit; and night, thom.

He then implored me to let him go, as his friends were waiting for him; and he promised to come again in the evening with a friend, and give us further information. A bird in the hand, particularly such a shy bird as this Lawa, is worth two in the bush; but as he was growing more restless and uneasy every moment, I gave him a rupee and a couple of bead necklaces, and promised him more if he kept his appointment. We then said good-bye, and he hurried off with his presents to join his companions. True to his word, he brought a comrade in the evening, and, being quite at his ease, gave us all the information we required. All our questions were answered in a frank, intelligent manner.

There was nothing very peculiar about their aspect. With complexions slightly darker than the natives of Burmah, their front faces were rather square, remarkable for their high and broad cheek-bones; their side faces seemed flat, owing to the prominence of their perpendicular foreheads; their noses were longer than those of the Burmese; and a line drawn from the top of their foreheads would leave the tips of nose, lips, and chin outside. The under jaws, far from being heavy, were slightly more angular than those of the neighbouring races. The bottom of the ear was about level with that of the nose; and the noses of the race vary greatly from well-formed straight ones, with the nostrils slightly expanding, to perpendicular for half the length, then ordinary pug for the remainder. I was altogether pleasantly disappointed with the race, having from previous accounts expected to see an ill-favoured, ill-shapen, cumbersome-looking people. The Lawa villages are permanent residences, having been occupied by them as far as tradition reaches. Their language has a strong affinity to that of the Kamook, many of the words, such as fish, foot, dog, cry, hand, mother, rice, pony, deer, river, names for other races, &c., being identical. They are, however, in appearance distinct races, and it is not unlikely that the Kamook acquired their present language from the Bau Lawa when the latter were the ruling race in Central and Southern Indo-China, and before the majority of the Lawas lost their own language and acquired that of the Shans.

The day Mr Bryce’s party left we went to the Governor’s house to have it out with him. He being absent, we went up-stairs and sat in the verandah awaiting his return, nursing our wrath to keep it warm. Presently his brother of Daguinseik came in without a jacket, wearing the dirtiest dishclout of a petticoat I have ever seen. His body was otherwise bare, and he looked a slovenly, unkempt savage.

He said they had been doing their utmost to procure elephants for us, but without success. This I knew to be false, as Mr Bryce had told me that their attention had been solely applied to the festivities that were going on, and that for three days after his arrival they had merely yawned over his requirements, and made no ghost of an attempt to aid him in procuring the animals.

Just as we were in the middle of our expostulations, a police constable arrived with letters and a telegram for me, forwarded in all haste by the Deputy-Commissioner at Pahpoon. I may here state that during the journeys letters were frequently sent after and from me by relays of special messengers, and in no case was a letter lost. The arrival of the constable worked like a charm, and had an immediate effect upon the manners of the Siamese official. Asking to be excused for a few minutes, he hurried away, and soon returned with his now not yawning brother, who came along buttoning up his blue-cloth police jacket, which he had not deigned to wear before, seemingly wide awake and anxious to help us.

He said that he had been doing his best, and hoped to get the elephants for us by the following day, or by the next morning at the latest; and when we talked of leaving our things to follow us and proceeding at once to Muang Haut on foot, begged us to wait till the next day, when he would let us know the upshot of his endeavours.

As soon as we had returned home, a messenger came to Moung Kin, asking him to proceed at once to the Governor’s house. On his return, he informed me that an arrangement had been made whereby the Governor would hire to us three elephants, at thirty rupees each, to take us to Muang Haut, and he, Moung Kin, would let us have three more for forty rupees each. These would be ready at dawn the day after to-morrow. Thirty rupees is the usual hire for the journey; we were therefore fleeced out of thirty rupees in this little bargain, but as time was precious, I grinned and bore it.

Most of the elephants working in the teak-forests are owned by Karens, who hire them out to the foresters at from fifty to seventy rupees a month. The price includes the driver, but not the attendant, or any expenses incurred for the elephant.

In talking of the wages given in the forest, Moung Kin told me that larger wages had to be given to the drivers and attendants of vicious female elephants than even to those of rogue male elephants. It appears that male elephants close their eyes when they charge, and, lowering their heads in order to use their tusks, afford an opportunity for the driver to scramble up to his seat on the neck, and thus regain his mastery of the beast. Not so with the females. They approach open-eyed, use their trunks as weapons, and lash about with them—or with a sudden grip seize a man, crunch him à la boa-constrictor, and throw him lifeless, or nearly so, on the ground, to be trampled on.