Four years in Upper Burma

by W. R. Winston

“It is eight months to-day since I set out in the early morning to persuade a few lepers, who lay dying beneath the shadow of Mandalay’s pagodas, to enter the refuge we had prepared for them. I anticipated reluctance on the part of these lone creatures to commit themselves to the care of an Englishman. Only five years before, the Burmese king reigned in the palace. Suddenly all Mandalay was in a ferment of dread. English war boats had touched the strand, and British soldiers were marching through the streets, to take the city and capture King Theebaw. Only last year the crack of our rifles was heard in many parts of the country, and even as I write British troops are marching out of the city to take part in fresh expeditions on the frontiers. Burma is not the settled country it will be ten years hence, nor has there yet been time for the people of the conquered land to trust us implicitly. I quite expected, therefore, suspicion and fear on the part of these, the poorest and most desolate of our Burmese fellow-subjects. Persuasion was my only means of gathering them in. To many I was an executioner. What could I want with them except to put them to death? ‘We pray thee let us remain here,’ some said. ‘For mercy’s sake do not take me,’ others replied. All were in great terror. I could not but be touched by the timid, fearful attitude of many, and I was very thankful when I saw the first leper on his way in a bullock cart to our Home for Lepers. It was sad to see how they hugged their wretched dwellings, and clung to their filthy haunts. Christian philanthropy they could not understand. I promised them permission to return if they did not like the Home.

“The first day’s work of rescue was a long one, and the breakfast ran into the tea hour before I returned with seven inmates for the Home for Lepers. Bazaars, where the people congregate to buy and sell all sorts of food, are always centres of attraction to paupers, lepers and pariah dogs. It is not uncommon to see a poor old leprous native handle the orange or banana on the stall, and ply the world-wide query ‘How much?’ It is a sad and even disgusting state of things, and it is a dangerous one too. For ages it has gone on; and as far as I know, that morning’s work eight months ago was the first attempt ever made in Burma to stay the evil and rescue the lepers.

“We started with a small bungalow capable of housing fifteen inmates. In a little while the number was completed, and I thought of extending the work. I made use of the sufferers already gathered in, sending them out in bullock carts, in charge of a faithful Tamil helper, to advertise the comforts of the Home to their leprous countrymen. Narayanaswamy took a great interest in this work, and was invaluable as an assistant. He met a dreadful fate whilst living at the Home, as I shall afterwards describe, but for six months his fidelity and zeal in leper rescue work were admirable. You should have seen his face light up when he met me at the gate on my daily visit. ‘The leopards are all safe, sir,’ he would say. And though he knew no more of hunting than his own infant, he would often come across to the mission-house with joy to say, ‘Brought two more leopards to the Home to-day, sir.’ With his help I extended the work, and built four new houses for the reception of further cases. So that now we have three large bungalows and two hospital buildings, a caretaker’s house, and—for the purpose of preparing food for the settlement—a substantial brick cook-house. To-day we have fifty inmates in all stages of the disease, of all ages, varying from a little girl of twelve years, to an old man with hair as white as snow.

“The site of the Leper Settlement is over five acres in extent. This area is divided into two sections by a bamboo fence. The western section is given up to female lepers, the eastern to males. The bungalows for men will accommodate sixty, and we have room for twenty-five women. The hospitals are used for separating cases of extreme disease from the other inmates. A mortuary has recently been added. Daily worship is conducted, generally by our few young men whom we are training for preachers and teachers. The singing is not good—how can it be with such a congregation? But the poor souls make a noise, and that is enough in these early days! If they can’t sing, they can and do listen. In preaching we have to begin at the beginning and finish there. The idea of a Saviour is to them very surprising. They always thought they had to save themselves. The cleansing Jesus is a new hope to them, for they have been taught to cleanse themselves.

“Service over, the food is brought to the different houses. The boiled rice is carried in a large basket; the curry of meat, fish, or vegetables in earthenware bowls. The lepers eat like ravenous schoolboys, and I believe they have greater appetites than the hale and hearty inhabitants of Mandalay. After breakfast they sit and chat, and read, and—the inevitable—sleep. The few who are able keep the place clean; but no work can be done by the majority. Many of them are without fingers, some without hands. The evening meal is always welcomed, and we get evening worship when it is possible. At present we have no converted leper.[4] When we have a few Christian inmates, much of the religious work may be conducted by the lepers themselves. This institution, in addition to being a boon to the public, and to the diseased ones, will in time become to the latter the gate of heaven.

“In the eight months of our work among them death has been very busy. Naturally the bodies of these sufferers are little able to cope with sickness. When a leper sinks he sinks like lead. The pale face, the sunken cheeks, the loss of appetite, the unnatural smile, all tell of a speedy end. We have had nine deaths. Some of them have been very touching. The worst case we have received was a woman named Mah So. She was revolting to look at. She had no hands, and her wrists were raw; she was stone blind, and her sightless eyes were covered with a horny skin; she had no feet, and her legs were eaten away to above the ankles; she could only crawl about upon her elbows and knees. I felt more pity for her than for any other fellow-creature I ever saw. I preached to her in a little hut made on purpose for her. She was in dense ignorance. It was very difficult work indeed. She became ill, and was quite helpless. She lingered for a week. Often she would say, ‘I want to die; it is no good living; I can’t eat, can’t sleep; I want to die.’ I asked her, ‘Where are you going?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Would you like to go to Jesus?’ ‘Yes, but I don’t know Him.’ I told her to repeat after me, ‘Lord Jesus, I am Mah So, a dying leper; take me in my weakness and save me now. Amen.’ She repeated the short prayer, and died during the night. I never saw a case of more utter misery, and never did a soul pray to Christ from a lower depth of emaciation and disease. Was not that prayer answered?

“One night a young man came of his own accord to the Home. ‘Let me in; I am very ill,’ he said. He had only five days to live. Dysentery, fever and leprosy, a hideous trio, were all ‘dragging’ him, as the Burmans say. We had the opportunity of directing him to Christ in the last hours of his life. And other instances of dying lepers listening to the news of the lepers’ Saviour come to me as I write. But these cases are sufficient to show the nature of our spiritual work among this class of the population.

“Our greatest trial has been the loss of the caretaker. On my return from Rangoon recently,[5] we rode over to visit the Home. Narayanaswamy met us at the gates, but his face wore so unnatural an expression that I at once asked him, ‘Down with fever again?’ ‘No, sir,’ he replied, ‘but I have a bad pain here,’ pointing to the back of his head. He looked so strange that I told him to go to the doctor. A bullock gharry stood at the gate. The poor fellow walked to it, but had to cross a bridge over a little ditch, in which lay some water. Immediately he saw the water he uttered a great cry, pressed his sides violently with his hands, and rushed, a very madman, back to the house. In a moment every nerve in his body seemed to spring to life. Nothing could cross his vision without causing him to start violently; water gave him a terrible fright, and I beheld before me the first case of hydrophobia I have ever seen. For the next twenty-four hours I had no rest. He was removed to our own premises, to keep him from terrifying the lepers. He rapidly grew worse, and he who, but a few days previously, had been the best, quietest and most willing helper I had, became a raving maniac. A whole night of paroxysms preceded his death. ‘I want to bite you,’ was his frequent cry. All the native people fled, and I had to face him alone. The doctor did what could be done. Strange to say, though it is not strange to the disease, in the last hour of his life he was as quiet and reasonable as when in health. ‘A little dog scratched my ear,’ he said to me. On looking I saw the smallest of marks behind his right ear. He died quite suddenly whilst in the act of taking medicine.”

Our aim in establishing and carrying on the Home for Lepers in Mandalay is somewhat wide and far-reaching as a philanthropic enterprise:—

1. To succour and provide for the wretched, helpless, outcast lepers. We call this institution not a jail, nor an asylum, but a home; and it is our constant endeavour to make it as much of a home to them as the sad circumstances will permit. That the lepers have taken to it is clear from the fact that there has only been one case, since we commenced the work, in which there was a desire to live again the old mendicant life, and that was the case of a young leper gifted with a fair voice and able to make a good living outside. This speaks volumes, for there is no law either to compel them to come or to remain. It is clear that such a law is not needed.