A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

Leaving camp soon after dawn, we continued for three miles through the grassy plain, crossing the beds of several dry streams and canals, and then entered the extensive rice-fields of Ban Meh Chai, the northern border village of Penyow, which contains 100 houses and a well-kept temple and monastery. According to the head-man of the village, owing to the land having been under cultivation for years, paddy only yields eighty-fold the amount sown in his fields, or less than one-third its yield in the newly taken-up land in the Kiang Hsen plain. Eighty-fold, however, is fully double the average yield in Burmah.

After crossing the Meh Chai, in the centre of the village, we skirted the fields for another mile, and crossed the Nong Hang near the site of a witch’s house, which had lately been pulled down, after the occupants had been driven from the village. Two miles farther, we came to and crossed the Meh Ing flowing to the right, close to the village of Ban Mai. This river was here 25 feet wide and 9 feet deep, and had only 1½ foot of water in its bed. It had a barely perceptible current, and flows south as far as Penyow, then doubles round Loi Loo-en and turns north-east on its way to join the Meh Kong. Turning to the east, we followed the plain for two miles to the foot of Loi Loo-en, along which the track continues to Penyow. Loi Loo-en is a pleasantly wooded hill about nine miles long, running nearly north and south, and has formed the site of several cities, some of which I subsequently visited during my stay at Penyow.

A fire was raging in the plain, and a terrified hare, the first I had seen during the journey, raced across the path in front of my elephant. The atmosphere had grown oppressive, and although scarcely eleven o’clock, the thermometer marked 91° in the shade. All were parched with thirst; the boys lagged one foot behind the other, and the men scratched holes in the dry stream-beds, seeking in vain for water. About one o’clock we reached a dry brook having a few muddy puddles in the bed, and determined to halt for breakfast. Half a mile farther would have taken us to the village of Pang Ngao, where we might have got better water, but we were all-unconscious of its existence.

Getting off our elephants, we flung ourselves down under the shade of a great tree, where the temperature was 96°, and waited whilst the men dug holes in the ground in search of pure water. None was to be found, so at length the boys set to work to boil some liquid mud to make our tea. Such tea, when made, we had not the stomach to drink, and could therefore only rinse our mouths.

The march had been very distressing both to the elephants and men, and it was well that Penyow, where we were to rest, was only three miles distant. We started again, continuing to skirt the hill, and about three-quarters of a mile from Penyow passed the site of the ancient city of Chaum Taung, which is divided into three compartments by the usual ramparts and ditches. A little farther we came to one of the most sacred places of pilgrimage in the Shan States, Wat Phra Chow Toon Hluang (the temple of the great sitting Buddha), and scrambled down from our elephants to inspect it.

The walls were of plastered brickwork, and the beautiful roof rose in five graceful tiers to a great height. On entering the temple, we saw a colossal image of Gaudama 60 feet high, measuring 26¼ feet across the hips, with hands 6½ feet long. Great pieces of yellow cloth, interwoven with tinsel, covered the chest, and many tawdry banners were suspended over and around the image, which is said to be of pure gold, but doubtless has been formed of brick, and overlaid with the usual plaster and gold-leaf.

LEGEND OF CHAUM TAUNG.

The legend of the temple runs as follows: At the time when Gaudama Buddha was proceeding from Kiang Hai to Penyow, he arrived at Loi Loo-en, where he met a yak or ogre, who attacked and wished to devour him. Avoiding the attack, the Buddh stamped on the ground, impressing a Phra Bat or Buddha’s footprint, and revealed himself to the yak. At the foot of the mountain he saw an old couple, husband and wife, clearing the trees to form a garden. These people, having nothing better to offer, reverently presented the Buddh with the stone mortar in which they crushed their betel-nut. Buddh therefore foretold that the country in future should be noted for its stone utensils.

On his reaching the site of Viang Chaum Taung, a goldsmith, seeing the Buddh, came forward with an offering of rice, and poured it into the Buddh’s begging-bowl. Wishing to quench his thirst whilst eating the rice, Gaudama sent An-nōn (Ananda, his favourite disciple) to the pond, which included the site of the temple. Phya Nyak, the king of the dragons, would not allow the water to be taken. On learning this, Buddh exclaimed, “The three last Buddhs, Ka-Koo Senta (Kaukasan), Ko-Na Kamana (Gaunagone), and Kakapa (Kathabah), have visited this place and eaten rice.” He then became gigantic, swelling to the size of Ko-Na Kamana, and stepping on the head of Phya Nyak, pressed him down into the water, and thus made him aware that he was a Buddh. The king of the dragons at once procured a stone for Buddh to sit on whilst bathing and drinking. Incensed at water having been refused to him, Buddh prophesied that the country should be without river-water in the hot season. He then ordered Phya In (Indra) and Phya Nyak, that after his entering Neiban (the state of eternal rest), and half of his dispensation of 5000 years had elapsed, they should take gold, and offer it to the old people who had made offerings to him, and who would be reborn on the same spot, and instruct them to make an image of him with the gold in the middle of the pond: the image to be of the size of Ko-Na Kamana. Having finished prophesying, he left Penyow.