Ban Yang Tone is a large village stretching along the banks of the Meh Low, and contains a fine temple and monastery. On entering the latter, we found the monks and their acolytes making fireworks, amongst which were rockets to be used at an approaching festival. These rockets were formed of a tube of bamboo, 14 inches long and 2 inches in diameter, tied to a light bamboo 15 feet long, the head of which had been turned into a whistle. Ten other whistles, of various lengths and notes, were fastened round the head of the rocket. When fired, the rocket ascends to a great height, and is accompanied by music made by the air rushing through the whistles. Other rockets of great size are made for setting fire to the funeral pyre on which the bodies of monks are burned. According to Mr Scott (Shwé Yoe), in his admirable work ‘The Burman,’ some of these rockets “are of huge size, constructed of the stems of trees hollowed out, and crammed full of combustibles, in which sulphur largely predominates. Many are 8 or 9 feet long and 4 or 5 in circumference, and secured by iron hoops and rattan lashings. Up in Mandalay some are very much larger. These are let off at the funeral pile from a distance of 40 or 50 yards, the largest being mounted on go-carts, and many others guided by a rope fastened to the pyathat, the rocket sliding along by means of twisted cane loops.”
Rocket-stick of bamboo, formed into a whistle at the top.
On strolling to the Meh Low, I met two Lolo-Lawa women. One of these would have been taken for a handsome gipsy in England. An artist would have been gladdened by the chance of securing such perfection for his model. The grace of her pose, the faultless symmetry of her person, her fearless aspect, and perfect self-possession, her pleasant voice, and the courteous unconstrained manner in which she answered my questions, bespoke her one of nature’s fairest works. Unluckily I had only the bumptious village elder Portow with me to catechise the woman; and a crowd of village boobies soon gathered round, who looked upon the whole matter as a joke, and jeered at the woman and her friend. She soon became justly and proudly irate, and refusing to impart further information, walked disdainfully away. The few words of her vocabulary that I procured, placed it beyond doubt that she was of the same race of Lawas whose villages I had passed in the upper portion of the valley of the Meh Low after leaving Muang Pa Pow. She said that she resided in one of the five Lawa villages that are situated in the basin of the lower portion of the Meh Low, which together contained about a hundred houses.
Leaving the village, we traversed a great rice-plain, and entered a forest of bamboo, in which many teak-trees were scattered. We soon afterwards crossed the Huay Wai, upon which is situated, three hours’ journey up-stream, the ancient city of Viang Wai (the rattan-cane city). Some of our men who made a detour through the city, reported that one of its gateways was still erect, and there were ruins of a temple inside the walls. The forest we now entered was brightened by yellow, orange, and red blossoms, and some of the trees were decked with tender spring foliage. After passing many teak-trees and another village, we crossed the Meh Low, here 300 feet wide and 12 feet deep, with 2 feet of water, and halted for the night at the pretty village of Ban Long Ha. We had travelled 15 miles during the day, and had risen 120 feet since we left Kiang Hai.
The next morning we were off by half-past five, and after skirting an old cut-off bend of the Meh Low (the ow in Low is pronounced as in “cow” in English), crossed the saddles of three small hillocks which mark the water-parting between the Meh Low and Meh Ing. The aneroid marked a fall from our camp to the crest of the saddles; but as there must have been a rise, I have assumed it to be 10 feet. The valleys between the hillocks are inundated to the depth of 3 feet in the rainy season.
Continuing through the vast plain, which, as near as I could judge, averages between 25 and 30 miles in breadth, we halted for the night not far from Ban Poo-ken, the headquarters of the governor of the district, which is known as Muang Hpan or Muang Phan.
Referring to this small province in 1887, Mr Archer writes: “Muang Phan, a cluster of villages half-way between Chienghai[[7]] (Kiang Hai) and Phayao (Penyow), forms an agreeable contrast to the new settlements farther north. The plain, laid out in rice-fields interspersed with fruit-gardens and villages, is bounded on the west by gently sloping mountains (an isolated hill); the scenery is picturesque, and the general appearance of cultivation and prosperity is most refreshing.
“The former capital of Muang Phan is said to be situated at the foot of the low range of hills which bound the plain on the east, and a new town is now being founded on its site.
“The history of this small province is interesting, as showing in what manner colonies are effected, and how confusing are the boundaries of the different States. The country was evidently deserted during the early part of this century; later, a part of it was occupied by people from Lakhon (Lakon), who, however, afterwards withdrew farther south. About fifty years ago a settlement was made by people from Lamphun (Lapoon), who have since gradually brought the country to its present prosperous condition. Muang Phan is therefore governed by the State of Lamphun, though not adjacent to it; but both Lakhon on the south and Chienghai on the north lay claim to at least a portion of the little province.