A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

On the west bank of the river is a fine temple and monastery; and a little above Wang Pow a large rest-house stands boldly out from the trees, and is called Nong Doo Sakan by the Zimmé Shans, and Nong Loo Sakan by the Shans in the British Shan States. In the same way Loi, “a mountain,” in British Shan turns to Doi in Zimmé, and in Kampti Shan is Noi. The dialectic differences amongst the various tribes of Shans chiefly lie in a change of the first letter of words and in the occasional dropping of the second letter of a double consonant at the commencement of a word. Ruen, a house, and pla, a fish, in Siamese, become huen and pa in Zimmé and Kampti Shan; ban, a village in Siamese and Zimmé dialects, becomes man in Kampti; chang, an elephant in Siamese and Zimmé, becomes tsang in British Shan and Kampti; and ny changes into y, kl to kr, kh to k, k to ch, and ch into s and ts in various dialects. Most of the Zimmé Shans call Zimmé “Kiang Mai”; the Siamese term it “Chieng Mai.” The Zimmé and British Shans talk of “Kiang Hai”; the Siamese call that place “Chieng Rai.”

Nong Doo Sakan was erected at the expense of the villagers, as a work of merit, for the accommodation of travellers journeying along the main road to Muang Haut. It is built entirely of bamboo and thatched with thek-keh grass. Over a stream on the opposite side of the river was a wooden bridge—the first I had seen since leaving Burmah.

Continuing our journey through the village of Kweh Chow, we reached the southern mouth of the Meh Hkuang, which enters from the east. Between it and the northern mouth lies Pak Bong, a revenue station of the Shan State of Lapoon.

The Meh Hkuang rises in the hills to the north-east of Zimmé, close to the sources of the Meh Low, and by means of canals and irrigating channels irrigates the Zimmé and Lapoon plain nearly to the bank of the Meh Ping. A short distance from its mouth it is joined by the Meh Ta, on which lies the large village of Pa Sang, where Chow Ka Wi La, the successor of Phya Cha Ban, established his court for the fifteen years previous to the reoccupation of Zimmé in 1796. Owing to the rebellion of the Zimmé Shans against the Burmese in 1774, when they threw off the Burman yoke and accepted the protection of Siam, a period of warfare ensued. The Burmese besieged Zimmé in 1775. When relieved by the approach of a Siamese force, the Zimmé Shans scattered to the north and south, and the chief, Phya Cha Ban, removed his court to Ta Wang Pow, and, on the approach of a Burmese force, fled to Raheng. The Burmese entered Siam, but were repulsed after they had taken several Siamese cities. The Zimmé chief then returned with his people to Wang Pow. In 1777, owing to a fresh advance of the Burmese, he removed his court to Nong Long, but the following year, owing to the retirement of the Burmese, fixed it at Lapoon, where he was attacked by the chiefs of Kiang Hai and Kiang Hsen. He then fled southwards and set up his court at Wang Sa Kang. Zimmé was deserted for twenty years, 1776–1796, and Lapoon for forty-one years, 1779–1820.

Two miles beyond Pa Sang we halted for the night at a village on the eastern bank, where ten great spider-web wheels in continuous motion watered the gardens and neighbouring fields. The music made by the axles of these wheels working on the trestles which supported them, resembled the tones of an organ, and at night lulled us to sleep.

Next morning we passed a brick-field where seven small clamps, each ten feet square and five feet high, were being burned. Close by, on the opposite bank, a miniature Shan house, about the size of a large pigeon-house, had been built for the accommodation of a local demon. Many such houses, even in the grounds of temples, were subsequently seen along the route. The boatmen passing us in the various craft were now all clad, as the villages were numerous, and roads skirted the river. Several of them were wearing billycock felt hats, common amongst lower-class Chinamen.

We halted for a few minutes at the village of Nong Sang, or Nong Chang, “the elephant’s lake,” to inspect the tile works. The men were puddling the clay on a buffalo’s hide by pounding it with their feet. The roofing-tiles are a quarter of an inch thick, nine inches long, and four and a half inches broad, and are turned up at one end for three-quarters of an inch to enable them to hang on to the battens of the roof. They are moulded separately on a bench, across which the man sits astride. After sanding the mould, he plunges the clay into it, and cuts off the superfluous material with a string fastened to a fiddle-bow. The upper face of the tile is then smoothed with a three-sided stick, which has been previously cleansed by rubbing it against two cylindrical brushes made of cocoa-nut fibre, which lie in a little trough, raised on posts, and full of water. The front of the mould is movable. The tiles are taken out and dried under a thatched shed, and afterwards are placed on their side-edge in a kiln and burned. The tiles are used for roofing the temples and better class of Shan and Chinese houses.

Two miles farther we passed another village of tile-makers, and at the 220th mile came to Ban Hsope Long, above which is a series of long, cultivated islands. Both banks of the river as well as the islands are embanked to save the cultivation from being swamped in flood-time.

Above Hsope Long, which extends for about two miles, we passed through the village of Ta Kwai, “the buffalo’s ford,” and halted for breakfast. From here the banks of the river to some miles above the city of Zimmé are nearly continuously fringed with villages. The houses, temples, and monasteries are imbedded in, and often hidden by, beautiful orchards, containing palms, cocoa-nut, mango, tamarind, citron, orange, pummelo, and many other fruit and flowering trees, and the whole scene on land and water is one of bustling life.

In an hour we were off again, and after passing the temple and monastery of Koon Kong, came to a large hong belonging to some Chinese merchants of Raheng. A mile farther the Meh Kha entered from the west, and just above its mouth is the village of Pak Muang.