LEGEND OF THE RAPIDS.
The legend attached to this cliff has given rise to the names of the rapids in the gorges below Muang Haut, and runs as follows: In ancient days a Shan princess of Viang Soo or Kiang Soo, being crossed in love by her parents refusing their consent to her marriage with a nobleman of a hostile State, determined to levant with her lover. Accordingly, one moonlight night she mounted behind him on a pony and went galloping away towards his home. When nearing the river they heard her father with his followers clattering and clammering behind them. Reaching the bank, they found themselves on the crest of the cliff, with the river a sheer drop of 120 feet below. Her father being nearly at their heels, they had no time to dodge to the right hand or to the left; they must take the leap or be caught. The lover, eager for the safety of the princess, hesitated for a moment, when his ladylove, nothing daunted, sprang in front of him, struck the pony and forced it to the leap. From that time they lived only in story, and the places where their bodies, pony, whip, saddle, harness, and other equipment were stranded, were named accordingly.
Proceeding two and a half miles farther, we halted for breakfast near a pagoda and visited the Phra Bat, a footprint of Gaudama, which is situated a quarter of a mile from the west bank of the river. The footprint is 5 feet 4½ inches long, and 2 feet broad, and is impressed on a huge granite boulder, and decorated in the usual manner. Although a place of pilgrimage, no monastery is attached to it, and the temple in which the Phra Bat lies is becoming a ruin. To account for the supernatural size of the footprints, which are found of various dimensions throughout the country, we must remember that virtuous men, the possessors of accumulated merit, have intellectual properties which, besides virtue (dharma), knowledge, calm self-control, include supernatural power (aiswarya), which enables its possessor to make his way into a solid rock, to sail to the sun on a sunbeam, touch the moon with the tip of his finger, expand so as to occupy all space, and swim, dive, or float upon the earth as readily as in water. Through merit, in fact, the intellect (Buddha) attains the “absolute subjugation of Nature,” so that “whatever the will proposes, that it obtains.” But merit, however vast the stock, is consumed like fuel: thus even those in Indra’s heaven who “drink their fill of joys divine,” fall again to earth after their accumulated stock of merit is spent, and have to continue their series of births and deaths until they are purified from desire, when they obtain Neiban, become as the winds are, or as if they had never been born.
Opposite our halting-place we noticed tobacco-gardens belonging to a village invisible amongst the dense foliage. Our morning’s journey had been delightful; the long bends of the river, and the slow movement of the boat as it was poled up-stream, rendered surveying a pastime after the continuous turns and twists, with the accompanying frequent observations, incurred on our land march—the more so after the pitching, rolling, and jolting I had undergone on the elephants.
It was most refreshing, after the leafless forest about Muang Haut, to see the magnificent foliage skirting the river. Large bamboos in bunch-like clumps, not the impenetrable thickets we had previously met; the lights and shades on the golden greens of their delicately coloured plumes; and the deep recesses between the clumps, in whose stately presence the scrub-jungle disappears; the cooing of doves; the gaily decked kingfisher watching for its opportunity to plunge on its prey; the lep-pan (silk-cotton trees) 120 feet high, with pegs driven into the trunks to serve as ladders for the cotton-pickers, their white trunks and bare horizontal branches looking like shipping with yards up as we rounded the bends; the flower of the pouk flaming out at intervals; low islands covered with scrub willows, whose leaves glistened in the sun; the mist driving along the face of the water, ascending in little twirls and vanishing; the bell-music of passing caravans; the plaintive cry of the gibbons; the oo-kee-or calling its own name; and little grey and buff-coloured squirrels springing about the trees,—all added a charm to the scene. Even without an Eve, one felt inclined to express one’s pleasure in Adam’s words:—
“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist’ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers.”
The silk-cotton of the lep-pan tree is too short and brittle to be made into yarn or cloth; the soft downy cotton is therefore solely used for stuffing cushions, pillows, and beds.
Resuming our journey, we passed Ta Nong Hluang—the Ferry of the great Fishery or Lake—where several fishing-stake dams stretched across the river and had to be opened to allow our boats to pass. Some distant hills were now visible to the east, and occasional hillocks were seen in the same direction. A little beyond the 164th mile the Meh Kom, or Golden River, entered. The Meh Kom drains the gully in the hills to the north of Loi Kom. As we proceeded, the banks to the east were occasionally perpendicular bluffs of soil, sand, and gravel, remains of the old lake-bottom not yet washed away by the movements of the river. We halted for the night at Ban Hsope Kyem, a small village at the mouth of the Meh Kyem, which enters from the west after draining the hills in the vicinity of Loi Pah Khow—the Mountain of the White Cloud—so called from its head generally being enshrouded in mist. Our camp for the night was 167 miles from Hlineboay, and was bounded on the west by beautiful and grand hill scenery.
View from near Ban Hsope Kyem
Loi Pah Khow, the great dome-shaped hill which we had seen a little to the east of north soon after leaving Bau Hluang, now lay west-north-west 15 miles distant; and the intervening country to the south-west, to within five miles from the river, had the character of a plateau riven by great chasms or defiles through which the drainage passes. To the north-west the country was more broken up, some of the hills presenting evidence of past subsidence in the precipices which were visible on their slopes and faces. Loi Pah Khow dominates the Zimmé range of hills, and appears to rise to 8000 or perhaps 10,000 feet above sea-level.
The next morning we left at seven. The stream has worn its way not only through the old lake-bottom, but into the sandstone and laterite sub-surface, as these rocks are frequently exposed in the banks. After passing two small villages and through a reach bordered by Loi Kai Khee-a on the west and a sandstone cliff 50 feet high on the east, we halted for breakfast at the village of Ban Peh, where many men were fishing with nets in the river. Our boys purchased an excellent fish, 10 lb. in weight, and several smaller ones, for tenpence, which were a pleasant addition to our meal.
Our boatmen, in deference to us, wore white cotton jackets with short sleeves, and a handkerchief tied round their loins extending only half-way to their knees. Many of the men in boats on the river had not even this pretence at decency, but were as naked as Adam before the Fall. The river being shallow in places, the men were in and out of the water frequently to lug the boats over the shoals; and I presume this partly accounted for their primitive habits.
After breakfast we started again, and passing the Ta Pa, or “rock-ferry,” named from the conglomerate and sandstone formation that outcrop in the banks, we reached Ban Meh Soi, in which was situated the first monastery we had seen since leaving Muang Haut. Over the water was a neat thatched-roofed building 12 feet long and 9 feet broad, with wooden posts, the sides planked for 3 feet in height, and a bamboo floor raised 3 or 4 feet above the top of the bank, with which it was connected by a foot-bridge. This little summer-house had been built for the use of the Phra, or abbot, when repeating at the time of full and new moon the ritual appointed for cleansing himself from his sins.
From the village we saw the high plateau or great table-topped hill from which Loi Hsope Kang springs; the crest, which extended for some miles, was peakless and as flat as a board. Two miles farther we passed two islands situated in a deep reach of the river called Wung Hoo-a Kwai, “the pool of the buffalo’s head.” Thence for five miles to the place where we halted for the night there was not a vestige of a habitation or a garden seen from the river. If there were any in the vicinity, they were effectually screened by the fringes of bamboos which lined the banks.
Leaving early the next morning, we noticed a low range of hills four miles to the south-east, and soon afterwards passed the end of a low, straight, and level spur from this range looking like a great embankment, and known as Loi Ta Khan Lai, “the hill of the passage of the hundred steps.” Two miles farther, we reached Ban Nong Long, “the village of the lake of monk’s coffin.” This village formed the refuge of Phya Cha Ban, the chief of Zimmé, when he fled from the Burmese in 1777.
From Ban Nong Long northwards the country becomes more populous. After passing the mouth of the Meh Kang, where a large caravan of laden Shans was crossing the river, we halted at a suburb of Wung Pan for breakfast. Here we noticed a simple press for extracting sugar from the sugar-cane. It was driven by a buffalo yoked to a long bamboo lever, which worked a central wooden shaft, which had part of its length cogged, and its lower portion smooth but notched with grooves. The cogs worked into two similar cogged shafts. The three shafts fitted into an upright frame, thus completing the press. The syrup is boiled in pans 2 feet 9 inches broad and 6 inches deep, set in holes on inclined ground, fuel being fed under them through short tunnels, and the flues consist of shorter ones with their exit up-hill. The buffalo being scared by the sight of two invaders of his country, had to be replaced by two men, a woman, and a boy whilst I sketched the machine.
Leaving Wung Pan, we proceeded through several straggling villages and reached the southern mouth of the Meh Li, which enters from the east.
The Meh Li flows from the south through a very picturesque and well-wooded country. Near its source, not far from the silver-mines, is a gorge or gap in the hills leading into the valley of the Meh Phit. Through this gorge a branch railway might be constructed to connect Raheng with Lapoon and Zimmé. The branch might be continued from Zimmé past Muang Ken and Kiang Dow viâ the Meh Pam into the valley of the Meh Fang, whence it could be carried across the Meh Khoke through Muang Ngam into the Meh Chun valley, where it would again join the main line in the plain of Kiang Hsen. The best caravan-route between Raheng and Zimmé passes through the gap.
Nearly opposite the mouth of the Meh Li is a fine monastery called Wat Ta Sala, after the sala, “traveller’s rest-house,” that has been erected a little higher up the river, and a little beyond, at the village of Fang Min, we passed three large spider undershot water-wheels.
The axle or boss of each wheel was of hard wood, about 3 feet long and 5 inches in diameter. From this radiated two rows, about 2 feet apart, of spokes from 10 to 12 feet long. The two rows were joined together at the top by paddles made of bamboo matting, 2 feet broad by 1 foot deep. The spokes, each formed of one-third of a split bamboo, were connected together at the periphery of the wheel by a light lattice-work formed of strips of bamboo, on the under side of which were fastened joints of bamboo about 1 foot long to serve as buckets to bring up the water. The lower part of the wheel was immersed for 3 feet in the current, and the water was emptied into a trough near the top, from whence it was conveyed to the gardens and fields. The boss of the wheel worked upon two light trestles made of wood. The wheel was so light that it required little current to set it in motion. I passed 220 of these spider-web wheels between Ta Sala and Zimmé. Similar water-wheels are found in the Chinese provinces of Kweichau and Ssuchuan, as well as in Upper Burmah and the Shan States. They are used for pounding and grinding rice as well as for irrigation, and lifting water for household purposes. It is a singular spectacle to watch several of these wheels, placed within a few feet of each other, in ceaseless motion, their shafts humming loudly, and the water splashing and sparkling all over them.
Just above Fang Min, between it and the monastery of Ban Dong, which lies on the east of the river, favoured by a long stretch of the river which enabled me to see over the tops of the trees lining the banks, I caught sight of the Loi Hoo-a Soo-a, “the mountain of the tiger’s head,” so called from the aspect of a precipice on its western extremity. Beyond it, twenty miles distant to the north-west, lay Loi Pah Kung, an undulating hill or plateau of great height, a monarch among the mountains, forming part of the main range of the Zimmé hills.
After passing three villages and another fine monastery, we reached the northern mouth of the Meh Li and halted for the night. The banks in the neighbourhood are very low, frequently not more than five and a half feet in height, and must at times be subject to inundation.
The early morning is the most enjoyable part of the day in the Shan States, and is delightful during a boat-journey. As the sun pours its rays through the trees, a flood of light is shed upon the thickets on the opposite bank of the river, displaying, amongst glistening dewdrops, a wonderful variety of beautiful hues and colours. The birds are singing their morning orisons; the doves are cooing from the tall cotton trees, which are shedding showers of scarlet lily-shaped blossoms; the jungle-fowl crowing from their bamboo fastnesses; blue jays flop along from tree to tree, croaking as they fly; gaudy woodpeckers tap at the old tree-trunks in search of their morning’s meal; divers, springing from the water, speed for a few yards and dart in again; snipe, plover, and snippets are strutting on the sandbanks, and kingfishers flash in the sunlight like living gems. The whole scene teems with music, life, and light. The breeze rustling in the tree-tops, the deliciously cold morning air bathing one’s face, and the universal enjoyment around us, wafts care away, renews our youth for the time, and we enjoy the pleasures of paradise.
Loi Hoo-a Soo-a with Loi Pah Kung in the background.
Starting soon after six, we passed through Loi Law, a village which nestles in gardens of graceful palms and fruit-trees, and lines both sides of the river. The air was scented with the fragrance of orange and pummelo blossoms; bells tolled by the breeze tinkled from the pagoda, and the sound of children’s voices, joined with the deeper tones of men chanting their morning’s devotions, were wafted to us from the monastery. Girls tripped gaily along the banks with their water-jars balanced on their heads; children who could barely walk dragged great buffaloes along by their nose-rings; pariah dogs barked at us; and the impudent crows scolded us from the banks for breaking into the harmony of the scene.
Ten minutes after leaving the village, I halted to sketch Loi Hoo-a Soo-a and Loi Pah Kung; and a mile farther on ascended Loi Noi, a small granite knoll on the west bank that is crested by a pagoda, in order to settle the position and make a drawing of the hills in the valley of the Meh Li. Between us and Loi Ta Mau and Loi Chang Moo, “the mountain of the crouching elephant,” so called from its appearance, the whole plain for a distance of thirty miles appeared to be one great forest with a few small isolated hills cropping up here and there, the area under cultivation being entirely hidden by dense fringes of trees. The Zimmé plain is at its broadest at Loi Noi, and feathers off thence to both ends. Its total length from the gorge beyond the Meh Teng to Loi Chang Moo is seventy miles.
View from the top of Loi Noi at 8 A.M. 23d February.
Leaving Loi Noi, we passed, on the east bank, the country-house of the Chow Hluang, or chief, of Lapoon, near which a landing-stage of bamboos and a flight of steps had been erected for the use of the chief. Two miles farther we passed Ban Ta Pee, the village to which lepers are banished. The bamboo clumps fringing the river now became more scarce, and were replaced by fruit-trees and tobacco and other gardens.
Hsong Kweh, or Htone Htau, the village where we breakfasted, is on the site of the ancient city of Viang Htau. On visiting the religious buildings, which consisted of a pagoda, two temples, and a monastery, I picked up a fragment of an ancient tile, on which were raised three figures—the first a man clothed in a flowing raiment, then an unclad man with a ring or fetter on each ankle, followed by a naked woman with a bracelet or fetter upon each wrist. The portion of the tile containing the heads of the figures had been broken off and lost. The smaller temple had a handsome staircase, the sides of which were formed of twisted snakes and dragons adorned with scales of gold and green tinsel. The plaster scroll-work which embellished the doorway was admirably designed and of excellent cement. Both Burmese and Shans have developed a great talent for architecture and ornamental tracery.
The old monk and his acolytes were evidently pleased at our visit, and had no objection to being photographed. I therefore took two excellent groups, which unfortunately came to nothing, as the plates were blotched, like all the others I had wasted my time in using. Before reaching the monastery, a party of young men and women forded the river in front of our boat, laughing at each other’s endeavour to join decency with the attempt to keep their garments from the water, which was nearly waist-deep—a nearly impossible feat.