The city of Muang Ngai is surrounded, like Kiang Dow, with a strong stockade, and contains 100 houses. It is situated a mile to the west of the Meh Ping, near where the river alters its direction from south-east to due south. The view up the valley of the river is shut in by a low plateau covered with high-tree forest on the right; in front, as far as the eye can reach, three sharp peaks are seen on the horizon, in the direction of the source of the river, which is said to lie nearly due north-west, about 50 miles distant in an air-line; to the left, the country appeared a jumble of hills, all dwarfed by Loi Nan, which stood up thousands of feet above the plain, with its bold precipitous head facing the city at a distance of about six miles.
After sketching the hills, I visited the remains of the ancient city of Kiang Ngai, which lies three-quarters of a mile to the north-west, and is said to have been built by the Lawas, under a chief named A-Koop-Norp, who is still worshipped as the guardian spirit of the district, and has pigs sacrificed to him. On returning to Muang Ngai we had dinner, and were invited by a Shan gentleman to a play that he was giving that evening in the open air.
The play turned out to be far inferior to any that I had seen in Burmah. The only performers were three young men, dressed in their ordinary costume, who were squatted on a mat waving lighted tapers, whilst they chanted some legend or romance. The actors were accompanied by musicians playing on the Laos organ or pipes. When tired of the dreary performance, we accepted the invitation of one of the head-men, an old acquaintance of Dr M‘Gilvary’s, to visit his house, which overlooked the play, where we soon had a larger audience than was present at the performance, and were served with rice wafers and molasses cakes, handed to us on red lacquered wooden salvers.
View up the valley of the Meh Ping from Muang Ngai.
A great stack of pillows, mats, water-bottles, betel-boxes, fans, and other articles, lay in the corner of the verandah ready to be offered at the monastery the next day. Before we left, the son of the governor came to tell us that his father would be pleased if we paid him a visit that evening, as he had heard we were leaving early the next day.
We accompanied the young man, and were courteously received by the governor, Chow Phya Pet (Pet is Shan for a diamond), a fine-looking old gentleman, seventy-eight years of age, who said he had resided in the city ever since he was twenty-five years old, when there were only two houses in it. The city had been burnt by the Ngios (Burmese Shans) fifteen years before, in 1869. The Ngios were under the leadership of Roy Sam, the governor of Muang Hăng, the State in the upper valley of the Meh Teng. Muang Hăng was subsequently deserted, but had lately been resettled by A-Chai, a brother of Roy Sam, and now had twenty houses in it. Another play was being acted at the governor’s, and we recognised one of our mahouts amongst the performers.
The governor told us that his Muang contained 2000 inhabitants, chiefly witches who had been turned out of Zimmé; other people were therefore reluctant to settle there, being afraid that the witches might work them harm. Amongst his people were 200 fighting (or full-grown free) men. Some of the teak-forests belonged to the Chow Che Wit, and one to Chow Ootarakan of Zimmé. The forests are worked by our Burmese subjects.
Leaving Muang Ngai the next day, we turned east, and crossed a low table-topped hill formed of soft sandstone, until we reached the Meh Ping. When crossing the river (which was 100 feet broad and 10 feet deep, with 1¾ foot depth of water, and a sandstone bed), I was amused by seeing the leading man on foot pull his foot quickly up as he stepped in a hot spring, but not saying a word for fear the others should miss doing likewise. The crossing lay 43½ miles from Zimmé, and 1444 feet above the sea. Small canoes can reach this place, but cannot proceed farther up the river.
From the river we crossed a low spur, and ascended through a teak-forest along the south bank of a stream called the Meh Na Oi, until we reached the crest of the plateau, and passed through a gap in Loi Pa-Yat Pa-Yai,—the limestone cliffs that fringe the edge of the plateau, which lies 300 feet above the bank of the Meh Ping. Pa means rocks; and Yat and Yai, in a straight line. The line of cliffs is precipitous on both sides, and lies nearly due north and south. Pine-trees were occasionally seen in the forest.