A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

In the afternoon of June 3d we reached Muang Haut, which lies 82 miles from Zimmé, and is the village where I exchanged elephants for boats on my journey to Zimmé. On the way between Zimmé and Muang Haut, I passed and took the names of fifty-nine villages. Twenty-five of these lie between Zimmé and the mouth of the Meh Hkuang, the villages bordering that part of the river being nearly conterminous; other villages were hidden from view by the long, low-lying, orchard-clad islands, which are numerous for some miles below the city.

We passed Muang Haut, and halted for the night at Ban Nyang, a Karen village situated on the west bank, 84½ miles from Zimmé. For 24 miles below Ban Nyang the river continues very tortuous in its course—cliffs of sand and rounded gravel, remains of the old lake-bottom, occasionally skirting the river on either hand. Leaving early the next morning, we continued down the river, which is beautifully wooded on either bank with great clumps of plumed bamboos, which seem to grow to perfection in the neighbourhood, owing perhaps to the heavy mists which rise from the river, and passing Nong Poom, a suburb of Ban Nang En, we stopped for breakfast at the main village.

Ban Nang En, the village where the body of the levanting princess was washed ashore after her bold leap with her lover from the cliff at Pa-kin-soo, with its suburbs contained seventy-four houses. In wandering through the village, noticing the beautifully embroidered skirts worn by the women, I told my steersman to call the women together and let them know that I wished to purchase some of their handiwork. Soon the shore was thronged by people, some with new garments, and others carrying one just stripped from their person and replaced by one of a plainer nature. The designs would have done credit to the best of our art schools at home, and the colours were blended and chosen with exquisite taste. On showing specimens of the skirts to Mr Helm of Manchester, he was much struck with their beauty, and after looking at the texture of the skirts, which were made in three pieces, through a magnifying-glass, said that the top piece was of English manufacture and the two lower portions by native looms. The prices asked were so low, and the embroidery so extensive and so carefully done, that the women could have earned barely a shilling for a fortnight’s work. I therefore presume that the embroidery is carried on in spare moments as a labour of love, like the fancy-work that employs the fingers of our young ladies at home, and is not expected in any other way to repay the labour expended upon it. Some were worked with silk, some with cotton, some with wools, and others with gold and silver threads, the latter being naturally the most expensive.

MAUNG HAUT TO RAHENG.

After passing four more villages, two of which were suburbs of Ban Nang En, we came to Ban Ta Doo-er, a village on the east bank, 100 miles from Zimmé, where the road from Muang Li crosses the river at a ford. Here two streams, the Meh Tan and the Meh Yee-ep, enter the river from the east, near a great cliff of sand and sandstone which skirts the river on the same bank for about a mile down-stream. After passing three more villages, a great tree-clad spur from the Bau plateau, called Loi Kern, was seen extending close to the west bank near Ban Chang, a village built on both sides of the river, where we camped for the night.

Whilst sitting in my arm-chair enjoying a smoke after my bath, and waiting for dinner to be served, the young women of the village came trooping down to the river to fetch water for household purposes; and afterwards returned chattering and laughing, and, to my consternation, in a twinkling disrobed themselves within a few yards of my chair, and skurried into the water like so many young ducks. I thus gained absolute proof that some at least of the Zimmé Shans wear clothing solely for the sake of warmth, and are as devoid of shame as Adam and Eve were in Paradise.

Beyond the village the Meh Hat enters from the east, and 2½ miles below the village the Meh Lai joins the river from the west. The latter stream has its source close to that of the Meh Teun, and drains the great bay of country lying between Loi Kern and Loi Hin Poon, the latter hill forming part of the great broken limestone plateau through which the river passes, tumbling down numerous rapids in a deep cliff-bound gorge to the great plain of Siam.

Ban Meut Kha, the frontier village of Zimmé on the west bank of the river, which lies immediately to the south of the Meh Lai and 109 miles from Zimmé, contained fifty houses. Whilst I was at this village sketching the north entrance of the gorge, and waiting for the pilots who were to steer our boats through the gorge, and to fix great bamboo fenders on either side of the boats, in order to increase their buoyancy and save them from injury during the passage, my steersman, thinking I might require some more embroideries, and perhaps with the hope of taking toll from the women, wandered through the village advising the people to hurry to me with any garments that they had for sale. In a few minutes my boat was stormed by the female population, and even when starting, fresh relays were so anxious to secure a purchaser that my men had actually to hustle them out of the boat. I, however, partly compensated those who were disappointed by distributing the remainder of my beads and bead necklaces amongst them. It was as good as a play to see the scramble as I threw them on the bank.

A mile down-stream on the east bank of the river is the village of New Htow, below which the Huay Kay-Yow enters from the east, after draining the north-eastern portion of the great plateau through which we were about to thread our way. As we proceeded, spurs from the hills on either side began to approach, occasionally ending with bluffs at the edge of the stream, the rock exposed in some of their faces appearing more like trap than limestone, the strata being much contorted and veined with quartz.