I remember in my youth placing one of my sister's wax dolls (mine were all wooden, as I was of a destructive nature) to sit before the fire one cold winter's day; I remember dollie was somewhat disfigured ever afterwards.
The remembrance of that doll haunted me during my stay in Rangoon; I felt I could deeply sympathise with, and thoroughly understand her feelings on that occasion; and for the first two or three hours, remembering the effect the heat had upon her appearance, I found myself frequently feeling my features to discover whether they still retained their original form and beauty. But after a few hours I became resigned; all I desired was to melt away quickly and quietly, and have done with it.
At first I looked upon the "Punkah" as a nuisance, its unceasing movement irritated me, it ruffled my hair, and I invariably bumped my head against it on rising. But after enduring one long Punkahless half-hour, I came to look on it as the one thing that made life bearable, and the "Punkah-wallah" as the greatest benefactor of mankind.
In the early mornings and evenings I became, hardly cooler, but what might be described as firmer, and it was at these times that the wonderful sights of Rangoon were displayed to my admiring gaze.
I saw the celebrated "Schwee Dagon Pagoda" with its magnificent towering golden dome, surmounted by the beautiful gold and jewelled "Htee;" the innumerable shrines, images, cupolas, and pagodas at its base, the curious mixture of tawdry decorations and wonderful wood carvings everywhere visible, and the exquisite blending and intermingling of colours in the bright dresses of the natives, who crowd daily to offer their gifts at this most holy shrine. It is quite futile to attempt description of such a place; words cannot depict form and colour satisfactorily, least of all convey to those who have not themselves beheld it, a conception of the imposing beauty of this world famed Pagoda.
The Burmese are a most devout people; the great flight of steps leading to the Pagoda is worn by the tread of many feet, and every day the place is crowded with worshippers.
They begin young. I saw one wee baby, scarcely more than a year old, brought by his father to learn to make his offering at the shrine of Buddha. The father with difficulty balanced the little fellow in a kneeling position before a shrine, with the tiny brown hands raised in a supplicating attitude, and then retired a few steps to watch. Instantly the baby overbalanced and toppled forward on its face. He was picked up and placed in his former position, only to tumble down again when left. This performance was repeated about five times; the father never seemed to notice the humour of the situation—the baby certainly did not.
One of the most interesting sights of Rangoon is that of the elephants. Ostensibly their work is to pile timber ready for embarkation on the river, but evidently they consider that they exist and work in order to be admired by all who pay them a visit.
And well they deserve admiration! They go about their duties in a stately, leisurely manner, lifting the logs with trunk, tusks, and forefeet; piling them up with a push here, a pull there, and then marching to the end of the pile and contemplating the result with their heads on one side, to see if all are straight and firm. And they do all in such a stately, royal manner, that they give an air of dignity to the menial work, and one comes away with the feeling that to pile teak side by side with an elephant would be an honour worth living for.