Four years in Upper Burma

by W. R. Winston

Near the front of the palace is the great tower, now used as a fire look-out station. On the top of this a native sentry is always on the watch, and the moment he sees a fire anywhere, either in the cantonment or in the town, he gives the alarm, and the fire-engines are soon on the spot. This is a matter of no small importance in this great city of 188,000 inhabitants, where the houses are of such a highly inflammable material as bamboo, and where in one year 35 fires occurred, destroying 9 monasteries and 724 houses, of the total value of 310,000 rupees.

Close by the front of the palace was the residence of the famous Lord White Elephant, to whom royal honours were paid. He was regarded as the king of elephants, and therefore none but the king could mount him. His trappings were of the most sumptuous and valuable description—silk and rich cloth, ornamented with gold, rubies and emeralds. All his vessels and utensils were made of gold. None but the king and the white elephant might enjoy the dignity of the white umbrella, for that is the chief emblem of royalty. This august quadruped had his own retinue specially told off to do him service; his attendants and all visitors took off their shoes when they entered his quarters, and the people bowed and did obeisance when he passed through the streets. Not that he was white. No elephant is anything near a white colour; but besides the lighter colour of the animal there are other tests which, according to the Burmese science on the subject, settle the matter of a white elephant; and it is a science of considerable gravity and importance. He must have five toe nails on his hind feet instead of the usual four; and when water is poured upon him, if he is a true albino, he will turn red and not black.

The reason why so much superstitious and absurd reverence was paid to the white elephant was that the possession of an undoubted specimen was supposed to be a sign and symbol of universal sovereignty, so that it was deemed very lucky for the King of Burma to possess one. In the sixteenth century the kingdoms of Pegu and Siam fought over one for many years, till five successive kings and thousands of men were killed, which shows the importance attached to this possession by both nations. How often nations have fought over that which was only a white elephant when they had gained it!

It was a singular coincidence that within a few days of the capture of Mandalay the white elephant died, and was buried with some display, the troops being turned out on the occasion. It was as well he did die, for had he lived he would have been to the English a veritable white elephant in the English colloquial sense of that term. We can come quite as near to universal sovereignty as we wish to be, or as is good for us, without the magic aid of a white elephant.

The principal building to the front of the palace, and just within the stockade, is the Hloot Daw, a fine large hall where the four chief ministers of state, with their subordinates, used to meet for the transaction of their business. After the annexation in 1886, there was an attempt made to govern through the medium of the Hloot Daw, but it turned out a failure. These high Burmese officials, it was found, needed to learn the very A B C of honest, fair and disinterested administration, and as they were too old to learn they were pensioned off.

Altogether apart from the great walled royal city, now Fort Dufferin, was the still greater town of Mandalay. It is now constituted a municipality; but in Burmese times, when the city was all in all, it was merely in Burmese phrase the Anouk-pyin, i.e., the western suburbs. The town of Mandalay lies, more or less, on all the four sides of the city, but mostly on the west, filling on that side all the space between the city and the river, and from north to south extending five or six miles. The Mandalay municipality covers, more or less densely, an area of eighteen square miles. Some portions of that space are thinly populated, and a very little of it is under cultivation as fields and gardens; but most part of it is pretty well studded with houses, and some of it densely populated, so that it is a very large city. It is uncommonly well laid out. The streets are straight, very wide, run at right angles to each other, and many of them are planted with shady tamarind trees. Some of the streets are now metalled and made serviceable for traffic, but five years ago, though so well planned and broad, they were in a most deplorable state; and those of us who look back to that time have amusing recollections of the straits we were put to in order to get about in the rainy season.

The southern end of Mandalay touches the northern limit of Amarapoora, which was the capital up to 1860. Here are to be seen the remains of a great royal city nearly as large as that at Mandalay, and after the same model exactly,—square; set so as to face the four cardinal points; the ruins of a great wall around; a deep moat outside, now dry; the palace in the centre; pagodas and other sacred buildings here and there, scattered over the place; and everywhere broken bricks strewn about; some of the ground now cultivated, and the rest covered with dense tangled jungle; but not a single inhabitant.

PART OF THE PALACE OF MANDALAY (SOUTH SIDE).