The Folk-Tales of Burma: An Introduction (Handbook of Oriental Studies/Handbuch Der Orientalistik, 11) 9004118128, 9789004118126

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THE FOLK-TALES OF BURMA

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THE FOLK-TALES OF BURMA

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THE FOLK-TALES OF BURMA An Introduction

BY

GERRY ABBOTT AND KHIN THANT HAN

BRILL LEIDEN -: BOSTON - KOLN 2000

This book is printed on acid-free paper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The folk-tales of Burma : an introduction by Gerry Abbott and Khin Thant Han. cm. — (Handbuch der Orientalistik. Dritte Abteilung, Siidéstasien = Handbook of oriental studies. South-East Asia ; 11. Bd) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 9004118128 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Tales—Burma—History—Sources. 2. Minorities—Burma— Folklore—History—Sources. 3. Minorities—Burma—Social life and customs. 4. Tales—Burma—Classification. I. Title. Il. Handbuch der Orientalistik. Dritte Abteilung, Siiddstasien ; 11. Bd. GR309.2.B93 F65 2000 398.2°09591—de21 00-022316 CIP

Die Deutsche Bibliothek — CIP-Einheitsaufmahme

Abbott, Gerry: The folk tales of Burma : an intreduction / by Gerry Abbott and Khin Thant Han. — Leiden ; Boston ; K6éln : Brill, 2000 foenapucs der Orientalistik : Abt. 3, Stidéstasien ; Bd. 11) SBN 90-04-11812-8

ISSN 0169-9571 ISBN 90 04 118128

© Copynght 2000 by Koninklyke Brill N.V., Leiden, The Netherlands All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permasswon from the publisher. Authonzatin to photocopy items for internal or personal use 1s granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. PRINTED

IN THE

NETHERLANDS

We dedicate this volume to all the peoples of Burma, of whose unnumbered tales our selection represents only a small fraction.

CONTENTS ERODE MARE CD st Fe oe LSPOLY hour artieetle oa ge a

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PART ONE

A FRAME OF REFERENCE MP OCOD Us RAM ARM ee ils 55:5 dene 0 2) ERB eet Relates The study of folklore and the folk-tale ....000 0.00. -cece ee eeeee The folk-tale genre: function, form and field...............00.The collection and study of folk-tales in Burma ................A categorisation of selected tales from Burma..................ee

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5

HUMAN ORIGIN TALES

Creare atca Loti). vizidiny Bote Hs Vikan HPs WRI exes 1 The earliest humans (Mow) vanes: 2 After the old world was destroyed by the flood (Eastern Lisu) .. 3 The Lahoo narrative of creation abe) enuh- 249 4 Why the Kachins have no alphabet (Kachin) «i2) oxy 5 The Chin and the Burman are brothers (Mindat Chin). . 6 The Naga and the Burman are brothers (Tan-hkun Naga) 7 The story of the goats (Palaung)...... 8 The extinction of the Ari (Tan-hkun Naga) 9 10 11 12 13.

Plainsmen and hill men Why the Kachins have so many nats

The name given by a ghost The ‘Eating Early Rice’ festival Why people die

(Lani. sadn: (Kachwa)s) s5900 (Eastern Lisu) .. (Asho Chin).... (Kachin), 2775.

Vill

CONTENTS

SECTION I (B): PHENOMENA TALES Commentary 14 The original state of the earth

15 Sunset and sunrise 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

The story of the rainbow The eclipse of the sun The eclipse of the moon (I) The eclipse of the moon (I) The life-restoring plant on the moon Why we have earthquakes In-daw-gyi, or Naung-lut The elephant

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Buffalo and man Kyi-kan Why the owl’s eyes are open wide ‘The grass snake A-eik-pa How tea was discovered Thu-ya Hsa Ma [‘Lady Salt’]

Rawang).......

Tan-hkun Naga) Waechin)).2 0.0.5 Sgaw Karen) .. (Shan)... Se

SEcTION II (A): WoNDER TALES Commentary 32 The were-tiger and Keik Sal 33 The were-horse 34 The Snake Prince 35 & 36 Two Burmese crocodile tales 37 Concern for humans only brings me pain 38 Win-leik-pya: or, the soul-butterfly 39 Cham Seng and the pe-et 40 The ghost in the royal service 41 Aran Aung and his friend 42 Hpo Hkwe: from painter to king 43 Nan Yi-hsaing Kaw 44 The brown lotus 45 Smim Katut Kaiawam 46 Nan La An 47 Ein-daw Shinma 48 Master Born-of-Egg 49 The Silver. Hill 50 The Story of Tugleba

Karen): See Burman) Burman)? io... Arakanese) .... Burman) Palaung) Burman)

(Shank

Mi

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IVEORE), Le Burnian) yo. 2. Bwe Karen) ...

CONTENTS

Ix

SecTIoN II (B): TRicksTER / SIMPLETON TALES, ETC.

Commentary 51 ‘The man in a boat who wasn’t afraid of ghosts 52 The canny Lord of Death 53 Liar Mvkang sells ashes 54 Stick spear and golden spear 55 Ifyou shit on the way, there’s a hundred to pay 56 The story of Ataplem 57 The monkey and the crocodile 58 Kyong-si, the sparrow and the Naga king 59 The rabbit and the fox 60 The elephant versus the tiger 61 The fellow at the town-eater’s house 62 The ten simpletons 63 Tall tales 64 Mr Golden Simple and his wife 65 The end of the Na Hsaung Soe ogres 66 ‘The painting competition

Palauie) a. Mindat Chin) .. (Palauney, 33 Laungyo) ..0%. Arakanese) .... (YAW nsusihernes” «8 a (Burman lett ea: (Padaung)...... (Palaung) ... «2.

III (A): GumANcE TALES (LAY) ROUEN iyered Sel aries. bis eaAcumen cial: OS Sel cope raat a nto 4ictine

67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78

The peacock, king of the birds The ‘no hands’ dance The long-tongued person Aside ea ae has twice the burden The wise fox Jackfruit tree and bitter gourd vine Five hundred steps To each his own Looking for true love The abbot’s mantra Ie lain) ee sce The coconut palm owner The man who looked for the Lord of Death WEEN excinn aes Let’s have a carve-up

III (B): GumDANCE TALES (CLERICAL)

Commentary: Law tales (All Burman) .................+.556. ccs os alien ele eh eesti tS els EAA TMa CCCs PM eeee, ..--. 80 The ardent young lover as judge ........esses

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CONTENTS

84) TEhe Promises 1 eee. 0. REAL eee kee 82 The elephant-driver who lost his elephant ................ Bo WWiake-DCHEVE Tales icrricte cine Ga 5 ine ees aaa a aa

300 303 304

Commentary: Monk ’s.tales (AM Burman) 2502 oat ne ee Ste LO CAC! Ms OWN OOls @4ici Aaa ials 0h 2 oe ee eee MeO ALOT Cty SUOL IS

“Go on,” said the Snake, “I see a fig in your hand, and I know

that you are a liar.” The Tree-Stump became frightened and, pointing with his hand, he said, “Yes sir, yes sir, she went that way.”

The Snake then passed by the Hillock. “Hello,” said the Snake, “did an old woman pass this way?” “T have not seen any old woman today,” replied the Hillock. “Go on,” said the Snake, “I see a fig in your hand and I know that you are a liar.” The Hillock became frightened and, pointing with his hand, he said, “Yes sir, yes sir, she went this way.” Then the Snake passed by the Cowshed. “Hello,” said the Snake, “did an old woman pass this way?” “TI have not seen any old woman today,” replied the Cowshed. “Go on,” said the Snake, “I see a fig in your hand, and I know that you are a liar.” The Cowshed became frightened and, pointing with his hand, he said, “Yes sir, yes sir, she went that way.” So the Snake reached the old woman’s house and, slipping into the kitchen, hid himself in the big earthen jar where the old woman kept her rice. The old woman came into the kitchen and put her hand into the jar to get some rice. The Snake twined his body round her hand in a series of coils. “My lord,” said the woman in great fear, “if you want my eldest daughter, please undo one coil.” The Snake did as requested. “My lord,” again pleaded the woman, if you want my middle daughter, please undo one coil.” The Snake did as requested. ‘The woman now became bolder and said loudly, “My lord, if you want my youngest daughter, Mistress Youngest, undo one coil.” At this the Snake uncoiled itself completely and let go of the wom-

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an’s hand. The old woman realised that the Snake would harm her if she did not marry him to one of her daughters. So she said to the eldest daughter, “Will you please marry the Snake for my sake?” “What! Marry a snake?” the eldest daughter replied with contempt. “Certainly not.” So the woman said to the middle daughter, “Will you please marry the Snake for my sake?” “What! Marry a snake? replied the middle daughter with contempt. “Certainly not.” So the woman said to her youngest daughter, Mistress Youngest, “Will you please marry the Snake for my sake?” Mistress Youngest replied, “Of course, Mother I will do anything for your sake.” So Mistress Youngest was duly married to the Snake. Mistress Youngest was kind to the Snake, which was not surprising as she was such a kind-hearted young lady. She gave the Snake rice and milk, and when night fell she put the Snake in a basket beside her bed. She had a strange dream that night; she dreamt that a handsome young prince came and shared her bed. The dream was repeated the next night, and so in the morning Mistress Youngest told her mother about it. The mother was puzzled by the dream and so that night, without telling Mistress Youngest, she waited and watched in the dark. When midnight approached she heard a rustling noise from the basket, and then saw a young prince suddenly appear. She watched the prince get into her daughter’s bed, and then she stealthily took the basket into the kitchen. As she expected, she found in the basket the cast-off skin of the Snake, and she

threw it into the fire. At once the young prince came into the kitchen crying, “Give me my skin,” and then he fell on the floor moaning, “Oh, I am hot.

I am burning!” Mistress Youngest rushed into the kitchen and, seeing the prince in pain, threw a pot of water on him. The prince was now eased of his burning sensation, and as he had lost his skin he was no longer able to transform himself into a snake again. He came to be known as the Snake Prince, and lived happily with his wife, Mistress Youngest. The tragic ending

Mistress Youngest and her Snake Prince were so happy that the two elder sisters became jealous. Now they also wanted snake-hus-

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bands. The old mother begged them not to be in such a hurry to find husbands, as the right husbands would come to them of their own accord in time. But it was no good trying to make them see reason, and they worried and worried the poor old woman until she in turn worried her son-in-law the Snake Prince. But the Snake Prince pointed out that as he was no longer a snake his old snakecompanions would not know him any more, and moreover not every snake was a prince. The old woman therefore had no other course left to her but to go into the nearby forest with a big basket, in search of a snake. However, all the snakes seemed to have disappeared, and the day was far spent when at last she found a snake. It was a huge python who had fallen asleep, and he did not wake up when he was put into the basket. When the woman reached home the two elder daughters fought over it, so the old woman asked the python, “Do you want the younger or the elder?” but as the python went on sleeping she herself had to make the choice, and she gave the python to the eldest daughter. The eldest daughter went to bed, hugging the basket with the python in it. At midnight the python, who was of course only an ordinary snake and not a Snake Prince, woke up and, feeling fam-

ished after his long sleep, started to swallow the girl from the feet upwards. The girl woke up and cried out, “Mother, mother, the snake has swallowed me up to my ankles!” “Go on,” laughed the mother, “your husband loves you and is merely teasing you.” “Mother, mother, he has swallowed me up to my knees!” “Your husband loves you and is merely teasing you.” “Mother, mother, he has swallowed me up to my waist!” “Your husband loves you and is merely teasing you.” “Mother, mother, he has swallowed me up to my neck!” “Your husband loves you and is merely teasing you.” After that, no more complaint came from the daughter and the old woman laughed to herself, “Ha, ha, my daughter no longer fears

her husband.” When morning came, the old woman found the python stretched on the bed full length and asleep, but of her daughter she could see no sign. However, on careful scrutiny she noticed that the python’s stomach was bulging and guessed her daughter was inside. She moaned and wept, and asked the Snake Prince to cut open the

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python’s stomach. “Madam,” said the Prince, “please ask one of the neighbours to do that, for if a single drop of snake blood falls on my body, disaster will follow.” But the old woman was adamant; she raved and she cried. She said that as the Snake Prince was the only man in the family, it was his duty to protect his womenfolk; and she pointed out that she would become the laughing stock of the village if the neighbours should come to know that she had married an ordinary snake to her eldest daughter. At last the Snake Prince seized a sword and cut open the python’s stomach; blood splashed out and the Prince’s hand became stained with the python’s blood. The eldest daughter came out of the python’s stomach none the worse for her adventure, but the Prince was at once retransformed

into a snake. The Snake gave a glance of sorrow to his wife, Mistress Youngest, and slowly glided away from the house into the forest. And although Mistress Youngest moaned and waited, he never returned. The happy ending Mistress Youngest and her Snake Prince were so happy that the two sisters became jealous and were always trying to quarrel with their youngest sister. So Mistress Youngest and her Prince went and lived in a little cottage by themselves. Later a son was born to them. One day, a merchant ship from overseas stopped at their village and the Prince said to his wife, “Dearest Youngest, I want to be-

come rich for your sake, and so I must go overseas in the ship as a merchant.” He stored in the cottage enough firewood, enough rice, enough dried fish and enough water to last for many months, so that his wife should not have to go out during his absence. ‘Then he made his wife promise never to leave the cottage until his return, because he was anxious lest her two sisters should do her some injury. After that he went away in the ship. When the two elder sisters learnt that the Prince had gone on a voyage leaving his wife by herself, they plotted to kill her so that one of them should become the Prince’s wife in her stead. They went to the cottage and suggested to Mistress Youngest that they should go and gather some firewood. “But I have enough in my cottage”, replied Mistress Youngest. Then they suggested to Mistress Youngest that they should go out together and fetch some rice. “But I have enough in my cottage,” replied Mistress Youngest. ‘Then they suggested to Mistress Youngest that they should go out togeth-

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er and fetch some fish. “But I have enough in my cottage,” replied Mistress Youngest. “Surely there cannot be enough water in your cottage,” said the elder sisters, “so let us go out together and fetch some water.” “But I have water also,” replied Mistress Youngest, and the two wicked sisters went away in a temper. The next morning the two sisters passed by the cottage laughing and singing. Mistress Youngest looked out of the window and shouted to them, “Why are you so merry?” “We are going to play on the swing under the mango tree by the sea,” replied the sisters. “You remember how we used to play on it last year?” “IT wish I could come too,” sighed Mistress Youngest. “We don’t want you,” replied the sisters, “for you have become too proud to be our play-fellow since you married the Prince.” Mistress Youngest had been suspicious the day before as the sisters were so eager to make her go out with them, but now she thought there could be no plot against her as they did not seem to want her to come at all. So she rushed out of the cottage with her child in her arms, and followed them to the mango tree by the sea. As had always been their custom when playing on the swing, the eldest sister first sat on the swing and the other two sisters had to rock it. Then it was the middle sister’s turn to sit on the swing. Finally, it was Mistress Youngest’s turn and, as she innocently sat on it with her child in her arms, the two wicked sisters gave the swing such a push that Mistress Youngest lost her balance and she and her child were thrown off the swing into the sea. Luckily, however, there was a huge Stork nearby who was catching fish with his big beak, and he picked up Mistress Youngest and her child.. He took them to his nest high up in a tree on an island. The silly old bird looked upon Mistress Youngest as his wife, and her child as his own child. That afternoon when Mistress Youngest put the child to bed, she sang: “Hush-a-bye, my baby, Son of the Snake Prince.”

At this the old Stork shouted, “Shall I give you one peck, two pecks, with my big beak?” Mistress Youngest was frightened of the Stork, and she sang:

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“Hush-a-bye, my baby, Son of the Stork Bird”

and the old Stork was so pleased that he shouted, “Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

This happened every day, for Mistress Youngest could never forget her Snake Prince, and wanted to sing out his name. One day, the ship which was bringing back the Snake Prince passed by the island, and the songs of Mistress Youngest and the shouts of the Stork were heard by the sailors, who thought sea-spirits were trying to frighten them. They wanted to sail on but the Prince, recognising his wife’s voice, ordered them to drop anchor. The sailors obeyed,and the Prince went ashore to investigate. The Stork, see-

ing the Prince from the tree-top, flew towards him with his big beak raised for a fight, and the Prince drew his sword. Mistress Youngest now saw the Prince, and shouted, “Don’t fight but please listen to me first.” So the Stork lowered his big beak and the Prince lowered his sword. Mistress Youngest explained to the Stork that the Prince was her husband, and she explained to the Prince how the Stork had rescued her and her baby from the sea. “Thank you, Stork,” said the Prince, “and now I will take my

wife and child away.” “No, no,” replied he Stork, “I rescued her and so I am entitled

to have her.” “Stork,” said the Prince, “don’t be stubborn. You know I can kill

you with my sword, and moreover I have five hundred sailors to come to my help. However, I don’t want to kill you because you saved the lives of my wife and my child.” But the Stork remained stubborn and challenged the Prince to a duel. The Prince, not wanting to kill the silly old thing, tried to persuade him not to be so obstinate, but it was of no avail. At last the Prince asked, “Stork, which will you have, my wife or five hundred medium-sized fishes?” “Five hundred medium-sized fishes, of course,” replied the Stork,

his beak watering. So the Prince ordered the sailors to cast their nets and catch five hundred medium-sized fishes. The fishes were duly caught and given to the Stork, who at once surrendered Mistress Youngest and her child. So the Prince took them on board his ship and sailed away. Mistress Youngest now told the Prince in detail how she fell into the sea, and the Prince was very angry with the sisters for their

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treachery. “I will kill them at once when I get back to our village,” said the Prince but Mistress Youngest, being a kind-hearted young lady, begged for their lives. “Then I must at least shame them before the neighbours,” replied the Prince. With this end in view, he put Mistress Youngest and the child in a very heavy chest, just as the ship was casting anchor at their village. The ship had been seen approaching and the two sisters, after dressing themselves in fine raiment, rushed to welcome the Prince. The Prince came down from the ship and, with an anxious look, asked after his wife and child. “Oh, she and her child fell into the sea,” replied the two sisters. “Very sad no doubt, but don’t you fret,

Snake Prince, for you can take one of us or both of us.” The Prince said that the news had made him weak and faint, which was rather

unfortunate because there was a chest with gold and jewels so valuable that he ought to carry it himself instead of trusting it to the sailors. “Now I will have to ask the sailors to carry it,” the Prince went on, “and I only hope they won’t run off with it.” The sisters saw with gaping eyes bales of silk and brocade and heavy iron-bound chests being taken down by the sailors from the ship to the Prince’s cottage and they thought, “That chest must be a thousand times as valuable as the other chests now being handled by the sailors.” So out of sheer greed the sisters offered to carry the chest themselves. “You are so kind,” said the Prince, “and I am very grateful. More-

over, sisters, you can take the chest to your own cottage, for now that Mistress Youngest is dead I suppose you are entitled to all my wealth.” So the two sisters carried the chest between themselves, and it

was so heavy that they puffed and sweated. They refused all offers of help from the neighbours, because they were afraid lest they should have to give them a share of the treasure for their help. At last they reached the cottage and, no longer able to restrain their curiosity, they opened the box. Mistress Youngest and her child came out, and the two sisters had naught to do but to ask for her forgiveness. The neighbours saw all this through the window and they jeered at the two sisters. Htin Aung, 1948:124-136.

WONDER

35 & 36 Two Burmese

TALES

crocodile tales

149

(Burman)

[There was a series of folktales in Burma, dealing with Ngamo-yeit the crocodile. The main story dealing with the life of the crocodilehero is still well-known, but various minor stories in which he figured are all lost except one, and that is only preserved because, like the main story, it forms the subject of a play.] Ngamoyeit was brought up by a Talaing couple in Lower Burma. They were fisherfolk, and one day found an egg in their net. They put it in a pond, and to their surprise they found a newly-hatched crocodile some days later. He grew up, and they had to release him into the sea. But every nightfall they called to him from the shore, and he would come to eat out of their hands. One day he suddenly seized them, and as the husband died he prayed for revenge in his next existence. Ngamoyeit grew up and attained the age of one hundred years, at which age a crocodile could assume human form. Ngamoyeit assumed human form, travelled along the delta of the Irrawaddy, and at Myaungmya wooed and won a bride. But Nemesis was at hand. The old fisherman had been reborn, learnt magic,

and had discovered the secret of the magic wand. Now he stood on the bank of the stream which today bears Ngamoyeit’s name and hit the water three times, commanding the crocodile to come. ‘The crocodile knew that death was at hand, bade his wife and son fare-

well and hurried to the magician, at whose feet he died. ‘That part of the crocodile’s body which was in the water turned into rubies, and that part on the bank turned to gold. But nobody could move them until the wife arrived. She built on the river bank a pagoda in her beloved’s memory, and died of a broken heart. [In the other story, Ngamoyeit is not the hero.] A queen died, and her body was taken over the mouth of the Dagon River (the old name for Rangoon) to be cremated. The heat of the funeral pyre caused the womb to burst, and a little princess was thus born. As she was born in a cemetery she could not be taken back to the palace, as it would become defiled; so the king built her a palace on the site of the funeral pyre, and gave her the name of Princess Mway-lun (Princess Too-born), regretting her hard fate. ["LaterBorn’ would be preferable.| The place is now Syriam. She grew up into

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a beautiful maiden, and fell in love with Prince Nanda of Dagon Town. The prince was a great friend of Ngamoyeit, who always carried him in his mouth across the river to the princess. But the romance was. to end in tragedy. A female crocodile was jealous of Ngamoyeit’s popularity in the realm of man, and as she was a hun-

dred years old, she changed herself into a human being and took service under the princess as a maid. Now Nanda was a prince born with supernatural powers, and if they were lost disaster would follow him. The female crocodile knew that if a woman should sleep on his right arm the prince would lose his powers. So she advised the princess to test his love by asking him to allow her to sleep on his right arm. The princess asked and, though the prince realized that disaster would follow, because of his love for her he agreed. In the morning, as usual he entered Ngamoyeit’s mouth to return to Dagon and the crocodile swam across. But because the prince was destined to meet disaster, the crocodile forgot that the prince was in his mouth,

and dived and played for hours.

‘Then he remem-

bered and rushed towards the shore, but the prince was already insensible, and before the faithful friend he died. ‘The princess, when

she heard the news, died of a broken heart, and at nightfall they burned their bodies on a pyre on each bank, and the smoke from both met and became entwined, and the watchers on the banks saw

that a rainbow was formed across the river.

[The above is a brief outline of the stories, and those who had heard the stories told in the twilight of a Burmese delta village, and those who had seen the plays, would never forgive me for the way I have robbed the stories of their delicate beauty and pathos in retelling.| Htin Aung, 1931. [See also the charming version in khin 37 Concern for humans

Myo Chit (1984).|

only brings me pain(Arakanese)

Long ago there were two young men, Kyaw Tun Aung and Aung Tun Tha, who had been playmates since childhood in their village. They had been inseparable as boys, and as young men they promised each other that, so as never to be too far apart, when they had families of their own they would arrange a marriage between son and daughter. However, when they got married they had to move away to live in different villages. Soon their wives became pregnant

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and both men were delighted; but secretly, both wished for a son. Neither wish was fulfilled, though, because their wives each gave birth to a daughter. As the two friends had lost touch with each other by now, they didn’t know which of them had a son or a daughLew:

The years passed, the children grew up and there came a day when Kyaw Tun Aung began to think about his daughter’s marriage, and in order to find out whether his friend had a son he set off for the other’s village. When he arrived, Aung Tun Tha joyfully welcomed him and at once provided him with a good meal. When they began discussing their children, Aung ‘Tun Tha announced that he had a daughter. ‘Taken aback, Kyaw Tun Aung kept quiet and, now he knew that they both had daughters, tried to think of a way out of this situation. As for Aung Tun Tha, he assumed that his friend had a son. Then an idea began to form in Kyaw Tun Aung’s head, and suddenly he was laughing. “Well, since ve got a son and you’ve got a daughter, I’m the one who'll have to present money or property to the parents of the

bride-to-be.” After happily making plans for a wedding in the near future, Kyaw Tun Aung took his leave. Once he was back home he asked his wife for bananas, coconut, balls of popcorn

rolled in palm sugar,

and steamed leaf-wrapped packets of glutinous rice-dough stuffed with sugar and coconut. Then, taking his daughter with him, he went to the east of the village where there stood a banyan tree dark with age. After arranging his offering he addressed the spirit of the banyan tree. “Guardian spirit of the tree, please help us because we’re in trouble. Only you can save us from dishonour and shame. Please accept my offering and eat whatever you wish.” Being quite hungry the guardian spirit ate it all up and only then noticed the two people. When he asked what had brought them there, Kyaw Tun Aung told him all about how close he and his friend had been since childhood, and how they’d vowed to arrange a marriage of son and daughter, and how he was now in a spot because they’d both had a daughter. He told him that he’d allowed his friend to assume his child was a son that he would soon be bringing to the wedding, and that unless the spirit gave him the utmost help he would surely be in deep trouble. He hoped that the spirit would save him from the disgrace of seeming to tell a lie when he’d been

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honest with his friend all his life. The guardian spirit then answered him. “T don’t have the power to change a woman into a man, but as I’ve already eaten your offering ’m obliged to show you some consideration. If I were to exchange my sex for your daughter’s she would become a man, but not for life. Pd have to change it back again after seven months.” Cheered by what the spirit had said, Kyaw Tun Aung readily accepted the bargain. “Please help as you say you can, and I'll never forget. Pll be grateful my whole life. We’ll return to change things back as soon as the seven months are over.” The exchange was made, the spirit changing into a female form and the daughter becoming a man. Kyaw Tun Aung was now able to take a son to marry Aung Tun Tha’s daughter, so the wedding was carried out and the two young people settled down happily. By now the banyan tree spirit had turned completely female in mind and behaviour. One day a guardian spirit friend came to pay a visit and, astonished at the transformation, asked what on earth

had happened. When he had heard the whole story, he expressed his pity. “How sad for you, my friend.! What a strange fate!” Having been a friend for a long time, in his sympathy he often came to see her and gradually these frequent visits led them into a closer relationship. Now happy and very much in love, the female spirit had quite forgotten she had been a male; but as soon as he realised that she had got pregnant, her lover stopped visiting and finally deserted her. Only then in her bitterness did her thoughts turn to her former life. The moment the seven-month period was over, she went to Kyaw Tun Aung and made her demand. “Having to take responsibility for your daughter’s life is getting too much for me. She may well be quite happy as a man, but it’s been seven months now. Come and see to the exchange.” She then returned to her tree. Kyaw Tun Aung felt wretched as he saw the love between his son and daughter-in-law as they happily went around unaware of the guardian spirit’s summons. The next day he took his son to the banyan tree and on seeing the spirit was amazed to see that she was pregnant. On their arrival, she was quick to speak.

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“It’s seven months and a day already. Quick! We must do it now!” But Kyaw Tun Aung objected. “When you and my daughter did the exchange, she was completely undefiled. Now you’re heavily pregnant. How could she carry your pregnancy away with her? If there’s any exchange to be done, it must be done without it.” The guardian spirit realised there was no arguing with this, and as Kyaw Tun Aung took his son back home to live happily ever after with his wife, the spirit was left to complain: “Concern for humans only brings me pain.” (Trans KTH)

Mla sbaduy U1 992:25-31 38 Win-leik-pya: or, the soul-butterfly

(Burman)

[The leik-pya, despite the above title, 1s not a ‘soul’. It is an invisible compo-

nent without which a body would be helpless, though wt 1s not the life-force itself. Nats and otherworld creatures have the power to take away the leik-pya, and it 1s belveved to roam away from the body during sleep. People must thereSore never be awakened suddenly, before the \eik-pya has had a chance to return to its home.|

Mee Pyu was a five-year-old girl who lived with her mother in a wooden house in Amarapura, near Mandalay. The house was built on posts eight feet above the ground, and had a stairway running up across the front to a verandah from which one entered the living-room. There was a man who was occasionally seen about the house, but not often because he was a cultivator who, at this time

of the year, was out in the fields most days and every night, guarding his crops in a box-like hut on stilts, where he waited to scare wild animals with a clapper made of split bamboo whose two halves clapped together with the noise of a gun. Like other very young Burmese girls, Mee Pyu needed no clothing for daily wear. She did in fact possess bright clothes to wear for festivals, and knew how to dress in a red skirt, holding it out at the waist, folding the corner over, tucking it in, and then putting on a white coat and green scarf, capping it all with a red flower in her top-knot of black hair. But usually she wore nothing but a string round her waist carrying a silver trinket to set off her little brown

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body, as fat as a piglet; and she looked just like a piglet when she dropped on all fours and clambered up the stairs from the garden. The garden round the house had a fence which the man had made of split bamboo beaten flat and interwoven in broad strips. This kept out the wild pigs and deer; but white ants had eaten holes in it near the ground, large enough for a small pig to get in from the jungle. The man had been told about this, but had merely grumbled. Perhaps Mee Pyu was thinking about it when she fell asleep that night, and her soul-butterfly, when it was released, may have wished to see what the pigs were doing. In the dim dawn of next morning, when the crows were beginning to caw in sleepy voices and the fowls stirred on their perches below the floor of the house, she awoke and stretched herself on her grass mat on the floor. She called to her mother who was lying on another mat close by, inside the thin mosquito cloth that hung around them both. “Amay,” called Mee Pyu, with the bleat of a goat. “What is it?” asked her mother sleepily. “I came through the fence last night,” said the child. “I was a little pig and came through the hole in the fence by the tamarind (reer Her mother said it was silly to say such things, because she had been lying on her mat all night and merely been dreaming, but Mee Pyu insisted that she had really been a pig. “The dew was heavy,” she said, “and the air full of ground smells

that made me root about. I will show you the places where I came and rooted.” She led her mother down the outer stairway and across the garden to a place where, on the ground wet with dew, there were undoubtedly the marks of a pig’s hoofs, freshly made that night. She pointed to a stem from which a marrow had been bitten. “I was that pig,” she said, “and I came and ate that marrow.” Then she traced the hoof-marks back to the hole in the fence by the tamarind tree. Her mother felt a growing fear that her daughter might be bewitched. ‘There were cases of people being turned into animals. A woman had been known to turn into a tigress when asleep—a thing so horrible that the name is never spoken aloud. But Mee Pyu never went out of the house all night. Could she have exchanged souls with a pig? And if so, was the pig’s soul in her body while she slept?

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This was too heavy a basket of thought for Mee Pyu’s mother to carry on her head. She had to unload on someone. Her man was out in the fields; but Grandpa lived in a nearby house, and he must be consulted. Grandpa heard the story from the beginning to the end, and again from the end to the beginning. Then he sat in silence, chewing over it while he squashed the betel-nut in his mouth. At last he gave forth his finding, together with a stream of red saliva. “Mee Pyu must have been a pig in her last existence,” he said. “I have heard tell of a child having a memory of something from her former life which she kept when her soul passed over. It is said also that once a young girl remembered having been a pig that came into the garden. The elders said there was no harm in that, for the pig must surely have led a good life to be advanced to a human being in the next existence.” Mee Pyu was informed of this verdict, but the notion did not fit with things in her mind. It all came to this, that her soul-butterfly was in a pig before she was born. “But,” she protested to her mother, “I was this little pig last night, and not the dead pig that I was before I was born.” There was no denying that the hoof-marks in the wet ground had not been made by a pig that had died five years ago. Grandpa was therefore asked to revise his finding. He said that the matter was now beyond the reasoning-power of men and must be submitted to the village priest. After slow preparations, he went to the jungle dwelling of the pongy1, and put the problem before him, explaining that it could not be a case of past existence. The priest, after the recital of phrases from the ancient Pali language which gave him time for thought as well as inspiration, pronounced his finding: “The soul-butterfly of Mee Pyu, in her sleep, met that of the pig and they played together. There is no harm.” When Grandpa asked if a pig has a soul, the priest replied: “That must be so; for the passage of souls from one creature to another 1s the path to Nirvana”; and the disciples chorused, “True, true.”

Grandpa was then given leave to depart. He was satisfied and told Mee Pyu’s mother there was no harm. All the same, she was not entirely satisfied. She turned the matter over and over in her mind, feeling for something that was out of place, like an unhusked grain of rice coming to the top now and then in a stew that is turned over by a spoon. If Mee Pyu’s soul went with the pig, then the pig’s

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soul could go into Pyu while she slept; and if Mee Pyu was wakened suddenly, the pig’s soul might stay in her for always. ‘That was what was troubling her—Mee Pyu might become a pig. When night came, the woman took care to place her sleepingmat between her child and the exit that gave access to the stairway. Who knew what might be coming up those stairs? For a long time, she watched and listened, but at length she fell asleep. In the dark of the morning she was awakened by a small sound that tapped on her ear. It was not the bats squeaking in the tamarind tree, or the house-lizard scratching in the thatch above. They were usual noises; it was some other sound that had awakened her. Mee Pyu was grunting in her sleep. The mother lay trembling, not daring to move, because the pig’s soul had got into Mee Pyu and any sudden movement might waken her quickly and set the mould of her mind as a pig. What could be done if her daughter had the soul of a pig—and a jungle-pig, at that, which would not be house-trained—perhaps even a male pig? Even if it was a good pig, it would have no soul above eating, and it would start by eating all the vegetables in the garden. It would never wear any clothes, even when grown up; and perhaps Mee Pyu would grow to look like a pig in time, with a snout getting longer every year. Then as she lay thinking these terrifying thoughts, she heard a sound outside. Something was moving in the garden. It was coming towards the house. Now it had reached the foot of the stairway. It was scratching. Was it trying to come up the stairs? Was it the pig, with Mee Pyu’s soul in it, trying to enter the house? The cock crowed under the house floor. Mee Pyu stopped grunting, stirred, and slowly awoke. A scampering sound in the garden showed that something was running away from the house and out into the jungle. Mee Pyu’s rightful soul was back in her rightful body. When the man of the house came in from the fields at dawn, the

mother told him all that had happened, and the danger his daughter faced of a permanent transfer of souls when the pig came into the garden next night. The man told her to consult Grandpa again, and before he returned to the fields, he was careful to mend

the

hole in the fence. The woman prepared to visit Grandpa; but just as she was starting out, she saw Mee Pyu crawling on all fours, like a pig. She quickly

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found a cord and tied it round the child’s fat little legs with knots that neither pig nor girl could undo, and fastened the other end to the doorpost. Then, when she was sure Mee Pyu could not escape, she went off with great haste to Grandpa’s house and told all. He said there was witchcraft somewhere, and the priest must be asked to make an all-night visit to the house. So that night the yellow-robed, shaven-headed pongyi came with his retinue of disciples, one of whom carried a triangular brass gong hanging by a green rope. ‘This he struck in a corner with a wooden mallet, making it give forth a rich note and revolve with deep waves of sound — WAW — waw ~— waw. Another disciple carried by its long stem a great palm-leaf fan to wave behind the head of the priest, as disciples had waved away mosquitoes from the head of the Lord Buddha thousands of years ago. A third had a red lacquer box gay with gold-leaf, and a fourth carried the book with Pai writings scratched on strips of palm-leaf strung together as a packet with gilt wooden covers. A candle completed the outfit. After respectful salutations and exchange of compliments, the party were invited to sit upon mats and eat before beginning their allnight vigil. When the night was already well advanced, the session began with the striking of the gong. After the undulating sound had died away, the priest recited a long passage in Pali, his voice maintaining the note of the gong. At the end, after another gong-stroke, there was a long silence: then the gong spoke again, the priest recited once more, and the gong closed the period: and so on for every hour of the night. The rotund sounds of the ancient Pali language, flowing like a broad and placid river towards the ultimate Nirvana, carried the floating mind in peaceful meditation. The mellow sounds slowly fading to silence smoothed the surface of the mind until the tide of clear sleep poured over all ... until the dawn came, the bats squeaked, the lizards scratched, the crows cawed, the cock crowed,

and everyone awoke in natural mind and body. All except Mee Pyu. She was not on the sleeping-mat. She was not in the house, nor on the outer stairway. Only on the ground outside was there any trace of Mee Pyu—a bare footprint on the dewy ground—and then another, going towards the tamarind tree. There the footprints were confused with hand-prints, as of someone going on all fours—looking for a hole in the fence—finding a weak spot—pushing through at last. Outside the fence, the tracks

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vanished in the jungle. A silver medallion on a string dangled from a twig near the ground. Eggar, 1957. 39 Cham

Seng and the pe-et

(Palaung)

[Among the Palaung there is a traditional belief that a human spirit may take one of several forms, one of which is the pe-et. This spirit 1s similar to the western idea of a ghost: it usually appears soon after the death of a body, can move through doors and walls, can become invisible and 1s generally surrounded by cold air. Anyone chilled by a pe-et feels terror, falls ill and almost always dies. This 1s one of several tales narrated to Milne by Palaungs in their own language, and told as fact.| A man named Cham Seng used to go with his children to pick leaves in his tea garden. One evening when it was time to steam the tea they had picked and carried into the garden-house, Cham Seng decided to stay at work. “There are a lot of tea-leaves tonight,” he said, “so [ll stay here

and steam them. I won’t be finished until very late, so ll sleep here. You go back home to the village, get some food ready for tomorrow, and come back at dawn to do some more picking.” The children weren’t happy about this. “Please don’t stay here alone.” they said. “ Let us finish the work with you, then we can all go back to the village together.” But Cham Seng wouldn’t listen, and his children went home without him. He made up a good fire and began to steam the leaves. The sun was about to set, but it was still light when he suddenly heard a strange wailing noise at the top of the sloping bank behind the house. He thought someone was ill or had fallen and hurt himself, so he went outside and shouted out, asking what was the matter. Then he saw a figure coming down the bank, and although it was very steep this figure seemed to glide down it, not scramble down as an ordinary person would do. As it drew near, he saw with horror that it was carrying on its head a large yellow coffin. The peet was quite erect, as if it was the easiest job in the world to carry such a burden..Moving in complete silence it came nearer and nearer, so he ran into the house, grabbed his spear and went out again. The pe-et had now arrived near the door, and Cham Seng knew at

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once that it was indeed a pe-et because it seemed to be surrounded by bitter cold air. He was so terrified that he had no strength to throw the spear. All he could do was turn away and stand there hiding his face and covering his eyes as he leaned against the doorway. After he had stood there for some time with the piercing cold seeming to envelop him, the air grew warmer and Cham Seng found the courage to look round. The fe-et was going back up the bank, still carrying the coffin and seeming not to climb but simply to float on air to the top. Cham Seng had no sleep that night, but sat over the fire trying to warm himself. When the children arrived next morning, he told them what he had seen. In the evening they all went back together to the village to sleep in their own home. Cham Seng fell ill, and within two days he was dead. Slightly adapted from Milne, 1924:358-359. 40 The ghost in the royal service

(Burman)

It was in the year 1762 that King Naungdawgyi sent an army under two of his generals to settle some difference in Zimmeé [Chzengmai]. Udain-kyaw-kaung, one of the officers, happened to die on the way and became a ghost. One night he appeared to the king, who was asleep, shook him by the legs and having related the circumstances of his death demanded permission to enter the royal service. The king, who was as fearless as the lion, granted his request and made him Guard of the Palace Verandah. Hearing that the Siamese had surprised the Burmese guards at Martaban, the king despatched two horsemen, Nga Tha and Nga Shoon, by way of Toungoo to report on the matter. The king, being impatient of their return, sent after them the man-ghost Udainkyaw-kaung, who discharged the duty in the course of that very day. The king disbelieving that he could have done it so quickly, the ghost reported thus:- “May it please Your Majesty. Your most humble servant found on the return journey the two horsemen cooking their food under a tamarind tree in Toungoo at about one o’clock in the evening. To prevent any doubt on the matter, your most humble servant took the precaution to cut down some tamarind leaves and branches and to frighten the horsemen by shaking the whole tree. The horsemen have in their possession a letter from the

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Governor of Martaban to your most Gracious Majesty to the effect that the city, owing to the glory of Your Majesty, is not disturbed by any rebels, dacoits or thieves. These horsemen will arrive in due course at the Golden Feet of Your Most Gracious Majesty.” When a few days later the horsemen arrived, they confirmed everything the ghost had said. In recognition of this service the ghost petitioned that he might be honoured with a suitable title. ‘The king desired that he should appear bodily in his true colours and take the honour from his royal presence. ‘Thereupon, the ghost pleaded that, his true bodily appearance being hideous and awe-inspiring, his presence might be excused, but that the title having been duly conferred would be conveyed by him to his own residence (the Pillar in the Palace Verandah). Accordingly, in the presence of all the ministers, the king had the title of Javana-yakkha-kyaw-kaung (the celebrated Demon of quick despatch) inscribed on a gold plate, and everyone present saw the plate being carried by the string and placed at the haunted pillar by the invisible ghost. [Note: Adapted from the Burmese of Tayatthadipani kyan.| Maung Tin, 1913:185.

41 Aran Aung and his friend

(Mon)

In ancient times there was a man of prodigious dimensions whose name was Aran Aung. It isn’t easy to find a scale to measure his size against, so let’s just say he was a mountain of a man. One day a herd of wild elephants, five hundred of them, were making their way down the slopes of the foothills of the Himalayas looking for the lake they used for their bathing. With their tuskless leader (the hugest of them all) in the lead, they passed in single file through the creepers and scrub, which lay flattened in their wake. That was how they came to enter the valley in which Aran Aung was lying fast asleep. The leader, ‘Tuskless, mistook one of Aran Aung’s nostrils for the mouth of a cavern, and thinking that the cavernous passage must lead to the lake on the other side of this mountain, he went straight in. And so, one after the other, did the

four hundred and ninety-nine elephants following on behind. To Aran Aung, the feel of the five hundred elephants inside his nostril was like five hundred insects tickling him unbearably—so

LPR

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¢ ifj Ve “a Me

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6. Tuskless leading hisherd.

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unbearably, in fact, that he sneezed a mighty sneeze, and this nasal explosion was enough to send the five hundred elephants flying, like grape-shot out of a cannon, to a distance of seven hundred miles. At the end of their trajectory lay an arid region devoid of forested hillsides, and here they became more and more starved day by day. The herd was longing to get back to the Himalayas but, having arrived by air so to speak, they had no idea how to find their way back. In these dire straits they were fortunate to come across a friend of Aran Aung’s, a man who was as tall as a hundred palm trees standing one on top of another. Tuskless told Aran Aung’s friend how misfortune in the shape of a hurricane had sucked the whole herd up into the air and dumped them in this parched place, this famine area. Could he please, like a good friend, show them the way back to their old haunts in the Himalayas? This appeal touched the enormous heart of the enormous friend of Aran Aung. He told them to cheer up and go on ahead to the three stones that he used for supporting his cooking pot. ‘These were in fact three hillocks, and when all the elephants were assembled there he made them all march into the blowpipe that he used when he was stoking up his cooking-fire. When everyone was inside and all was ready, he aimed the pipe in the direction of the Himalayas, took a deep breath like a rumble of thunder and blew. Shot out of the end of the blowpipe the elephants found themselves in the air over the Himalayas, where they glided down gently one by one. While Aran Aung’s friend was exulting over the success of his mighty feat, the starved elephants, now safe in their old

haunts, were able to rejoice—thanks to Aran Aung’s friend.

Ad. from Hla, Ludu U. (Trans. ‘K’) 1972:23-25. 42 Hpo Hkwe: from painter to king

(Karen)

Long ago there lived a young painter, an orphan called Hpo Hkwe. From the first time he started going to school he wasn’t interested in learning a thing. He just wanted to paint pictures, which he did. As he grew up he got better and better at it, and gradually he became famous all over the country as a great artist. One day he tried imagining what the most beautiful woman would look like, and he painted a picture of this ideal woman and hung it

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on his wall. Everyone who saw this painting was amazed at how lovely and life-like the young woman in the picture was. The subject became the talk of the town and of the whole country, and of course the story reached the royal palace. Soon the king himself heard about it and being rather sceptical, he sent for Hpo Hkwe and his painting. So Hpo Hkwe took his painting to the palace, and as soon as the king saw it he was crazy about it. He couldn’t keep his eyes or his hands off the painting. He was sure that the young woman would come to life and greet him. And he was also certain that such a beauty as this must exist. “Young artist,” he said, “I’m sure a woman as beautiful as this is alive somewhere. You must find her, and tell me where she is and

who her relatives are.” This alarmed Hpo Hkwe greatly, but even at the risk of his life he had to tell the truth. “Sire, this isn’t a portrait of a real live woman. There’s no such creature. The whole picture is just what my imagination created. It’s the truth, please believe me.” But the king was so smitten that he wouldn’t listen to explanations or excuses or reasons. “If you have the talent to paint such a wonderful portrait, then you must surely have the ability to find someone exactly like her. Either that, or you really know of one. So [ll give you all the men you need to help you find her and bring her to me.” Hpo Hkwe could see it would be dangerous to refuse. He saw it as a case of do or die. “Great king,” he said, “if you really want me to look for this woman, I will. Please give me one ship, five hundred men and provisions for three months. And please let me take the painting with me, so that I’ll be able to compare and make a decision.” The king was only too delighted to give Hpo Hkwe everything he wanted. He’d asked for the ship and the men on the spur of the moment, though, and didn’t really know what to do. He kept wondering how he was to find someone who didn’t exist. In the end, he decided he would sail far away across the ocean, land on an island and stay put. So he and his men set out and, after sailing on and on for many days without sight of land, they at last saw land in the distance and Hpo Hkwe told his crew to head for the shore. When they found it was a large island, he went ashore alone to investigate, wanting to know whether the island could sustain hu-

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man life. While he was exploring he climbed up a hill and came to a huge and ancient banyan tree, and up in its branches he saw an equally ancient monkey looking down at him. “T’ve been here since the world began, and never before have I seen one human who has crossed the ocean. You’re the first. What have you come here for?” said the monkey. At that, Hpo Hkwe showed him his painting and explained everything. The old monkey looked long and hard at the portrait. “T know you'll find this hard to believe, but she’s here on this island,” he said. “Beneath this hill there’s an underground city that no stranger knows about, and the king down there has a daughter who looks exactly like this woman you’ve imagined and painted. The princess’s quarters are right under this banyan tree. If you want to go down there, move that big stone slab in front of you and you'll find an opening that leads directly into her apartment. But you'll need a rope with a big basket tied to it so that someone else can lower it with you inside it and pull you up again later.” Hpo Hkwe told the monkey how very grateful he was and returned to the ship, bringing back some men with ropes, a basket and also some food for the old monkey. ‘They pushed the stone slab away to reveal a large hole, and before descending Hpo Hkwe took some flowers and a gold comb that he’d brought for the princess and turned to his men. “As the king commanded, I’m now going to see whether this princess really looks exactly like the woman in this picture. I don’t know how long [ll be gone, but when I’m ready to come up [ll pull the rope. As soon as I give that signal, pull me up. Don’t go anywhere. Stay right here and watch, and wait for my signal.” He sat down inside the basket, and his men slowly lowered him into the dark, yawning hole. Hpo Hkwe soon found that what the monkey had said was true on both counts. He came directly into the princess’s apartment, where she was sitting alone, and she was

so much more beautiful in his eyes than his own portrait that he fell in love with her on the spot, forgetting all about his promise to the king. The princess suddenly caught sight of Hpo Hkwe standing in her apartment holding a bunch of flowers, and it gave her such a fright that for a moment she was struck motionless. When she moved as if to cry out, Hpo Hkwe hastily begged her not to, telling her that he’d heard how beautiful she was and had risked his life coming to

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see her. He showed her the painting and explained that here was the proof that it was his destiny to be with her. Looking at the painting, the princess got another shock when she saw what a perfect likeness it was: it was as if she had sat for the portrait in person. Hpo Hkwe now presented her with the flowers and the gold comb, and implored her to come with him and go above ground. The princess had never met a stranger before, and on hearing Hpo Hkwe’s many protestations of love she was very much attracted to him. Besides, she felt that her life underground was too restrictive and she wanted to see how other people lived. So she readily accepted Hpo Hkwe’s love and said she would go with him. He then explained how the basket worked and asked her to step into it, and as she did so the rope shook. The waiting men, thinking that the signal had been given, immediately pulled the basket up. It was all over so quickly that Hpo Hkwe didn’t even have time to get in, and when the men above ground saw the princess they crowded round, stunned by her beauty, and were so overjoyed that they forgot all about Hpo Hkwe, who was waiting to be pulled up. They hurried the princess down to the ship and sailed away, leaving the basket and the rope still lying by the banyan tree. Down in the princess’s apartment Hpo Hkwe waited and waited. That night he hid in an immense trunk that he found in the room. The next morning he got out and went to the place where the rope should come down, and as he waited he became very depressed. He thought back to what the elders used to say, that you should never give flowers or a comb to a loved one or you’d be parted. This was just what he had done, and now he bitterly regretted it. Meanwhile, the king of the underground city had got his men going around searching for his lost daughter. They were looking all over the city for her while Hpo Hkwe was hiding and waiting to be rescued. He wasn’t to know that his ship, with the princess on board, was already far out to sea. The old monkey on the banyan tree was also watching and waiting. He looked at the hole in the ground, and at the basket, and at the rope lying by it, and he wondered whether Hpo Hkwe’s men would return to pull him up. But when days passed and nobody came back the old monkey realised that Hpo Hkwe was in a predicament, and in the end he lowered the basket into the hole.

Down below, relieved and grateful, Hpo Hkwe jumped into the basket at once and gave the signal, and the old monkey pulled him

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up. Hpo Hkwe first covered the opening with the stone slab and then asked the monkey about the princess. When he heard what had happened he ran all the way to seashore. But of course there was no sign of the ship, so he went dejectedly back to the old monkey and there he wept and wept until the old monkey, taking pity on him, told him what he should do.

“Listen carefully, you poor human being. On the eastern shore there stands a large fig tree. Every night a white pig with a magic ball of mercury descends from the sky to eat the ripe figs. If you could get hold of that magic ball, you’d be able to fly back to your own country.” After thanking the old monkey again and again for all his help, Hpo Hkwe went to find the fig tree, and once he’d found it he climbed up into it to hide. He waited patiently as the sun went down. ‘Then the moon rose, and sure enough in its silvery light he saw a white pig flying towards him. It landed right underneath the tree, spat out the magic ball and began to eat the figs that lay on the ground. Hpo Hkwe picked a ripe fruit and dropped it near the pig, which went over to eat it. He threw another farther away, and the pig ran to eat that too. Hpo Hkwe kept throwing figs farther and farther until finally he threw one as far as he possibly could. As the pig scrambled off to eat the fig Hpo Hkwe scrambled down to get the magic ball and, putting it into his mouth, he flew off towards his own

country.

After he’d been flying for some time in the dark of night, he landed where he had seen a twinkle oflight so as to find out where he was. There he found a hermit in his hut who, amazed at his power of flight, welcomed him profusely and wanted to know where he’d come from, where he was going and how he’d learned to fly. Hpo Hkwe told him he’d come from an island in the ocean where an old monkey lived, and that he was on his way home. He’d got very cold while flying and had come down to have a rest and warm up by the fire for a while. When he explained that he was able to fly because of the magic ball in his mouth, the hermit told him about a magic rope he had which, on command, would tie up anybody or anything. He asked Hpo Hkwe to let him have the ball in exchange for the rope because whereas the rope was of no use to a hermit a magic ball would be, and as a holy man he ought to have it. Hpo Hkwe said he’d like to see this rope, and as soon as the hermit showed it to him he put

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the magic ball into his mouth, grabbed the magic rope and flew away, leaving the hermit standing there and looking up at him helplessly. On and on he went until he saw some light. Again he landed, and once again met a hermit sitting by a fire. He was welcomed and was asked the same questions, to which he gave the same answers. ‘This hermit also wanted the magic ball, this time in exchange for a magic cane that would, when ordered, continue to beat anyone or anything until it was told to stop. Hpo Hkwe asked to see the cane and flew away taking it with him. He went on through the night and, when he saw another light, landed for a third time. Here too there was a hermit, and this time

he got away with a magic drum whose power was such that, when beaten, its sound would compel anyone within earshot to dance nonstop. Now Hpo Hkwe had the magic ball, the cane, the rope and the drum to do his bidding. By dawn he had reached the outskirts of his own city, so he descended and walked into town to find out whatever he could about the princess. As he walked through the city he noticed that almost every house was hung with decorations. When he asked passers-by about these they thought he was dim-witted and asked him where he’d been sleeping all the time. They told him that today the king was getting married to the princess in the painting, and that the houses had been decorated in their honour.

He shuddered

at this news, but

pulled himself together with the thought that this had to be his wedding, not the king’s. He went to the palace gates, told the guards who he was and walked in. Inside the palace he saw a host of people milling about, laughing and joking and having a good time. He also saw, sitting near the king, the five hundred men who had accompanied him. He walked towards them, remembering how they had abandoned him on the island. With anger and resentment flooding over him at the sight of the king and the men sitting there with no thought for him at all, he took his revenge. He ordered the rope to tie up the king and the men, and commanded the cane to beat them. Instantly the rope leapt from his hand and whirled around, and the king and the men were tightly bound. The cane had started beating them mercilessly, but Hpo Hkwe didn’t stop there: he beat the drum continuously and made the king and the men dance as well. What with the sound of the drum and the cries for help and mercy

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from the king and the crew, the whole palace was in an uproar. In his misery the king managed to get near Hpo Hkwe, and begged him to stop beating the drum, which he did. The king then asked for the beating to be stopped and the rope untied. Hpo Hkwe commanded the cane to stop and the rope to release them. By this time the king had learned his lesson. He gathered the people around him and admitted how wrong he had been and how sorry he was. ‘Then he personally married the princess to Hpo Hkwe and made him king. That very night, he left for the forest to live out his days in meditation. So it was that the painter Hpo Hkwe, owner of the magic ball and master of the magic rope, cane and drum, became king. With his beautiful queen he lived very happily and was a wise and just ruler.

(Trans. KTH) Hla, Ludu U. 1968b:51-67. 43 Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw

(Shan)

[There are many versions of this famous folk-tale: the Burmans call it The Great Female Turtle, the Mons Midonbihtaw and the Karens The

Golden Female Crab. Vhey all have similar plots, but this Shan story differs in having the daughter rather than the mother as the main character. A small tributary of the Nam ‘Tein stream meanders around the Mong Pan area where the story is set, and this is where the town gets its name from—pan meaning ‘go around’ in Shan. It is also said that there was a large lake there long ago.] An oid man had two wives, who each had a daughter. The senior wife’s daughter was called Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw, and the junior wife’s daughter was Eh-ee. This old man earned a living by fishing and every day, after selling the fish he’d caught, he brought some home to be smoked. Every time he got back, his second wife would take the fish, clean them, smoke some and grill the rest, and then secretly eat up the smoked fish. Afterwards, she would stealthily put some of the bones into the senior wife’s topknot and tell her husband that the elder wife was a witch who had day after day been eating the fish and putting the bones in her hair. She also warned that one day when he was unable to catch any fish this witch would eat him.

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The old man was made to listen to these tales many, many times. When he counted the fish, he found that there were fewer every day, and whenever he called his senior wife and examined her hair knot he came upon fish bones. All this made him decide to deal with the problem once and for all, so he got her to go with him to the cliff edge and then pushed her into the water, where she drowned and changed into a turtle. Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw cried and cried, knowing that her father had misjudged her mother and killed her. The younger wife and her daughter Eh-ee showed no remorse whatsoever but, taking advantage of Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw’s situation, started treating her like a slave and telling her without a let-up to do everything in the house. Having to suffer this treatment at the hands of her stepmother and halfsister, whenever she had a few free moments

she soon took to sit-

ting at the water’s edge where her mother had died, weeping and calling out to her. ‘Then came the day when a great golden turtle emerged from the water. “Daughter”, it said, “don’t cry any more. You’re only tormenting yourself. I have the power to provide you with whatever you want.” From that time onwards she provided clothes and jewellery, but noticing all this finery the stepmother and Eh-ee wanted to find out what was going on. ‘They followed her when she went out and when they saw the golden turtle giving these things to her they wickedly planned to kill the turtle. One day the stepmother had an idea. She took to her bed pretending to be ill, but she had beforehand placed under her bedclothes some large thin crispies, so that every time she turned there were crackling noises. “Oh, oh, my breaking ribs!” she moaned. “Oh, my breaking ribs!”

The old fisherman was taken in by this deception and really believed she was suffering. He asked her tenderly whether there was anything she’d like to eat, or any medicine she wanted. She answered that her terrible pain would go away only when she ate the flesh of the great golden turtle. Otherwise she’d die. So in his love for her the old man asked his fellow-fishermen to help him catch the turtle, and they went down to the water’s edge with their nets and two-pronged spears. Finding that they had gone to catch her mother, Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw could do nothing except weep helplessly in her anguish. When the turtle had been caught, the fisherman took it back and

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showed it to his wife, who told Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw to boil it. But the thought of killing her former mother by putting her into boiling hot water horrified her. Shedding great tears and being unable to bring herself to do it, she put out the kitchen fire. Seeing this, the stepmother got out of bed and beat her repeatedly to make her do it until in the end, weeping all the while, she was forced to light the fire to boil the great turtle. As the water heated up, the golden turtle had one last thing to say to Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw. “Beloved daughter”, she said, “the water is heating up and I shall die soon. I know this is your wicked stepmother’s idea, so I don’t blame you at all. There’s only one thing I ask of you. When Pm dead they will eat my flesh, but when you clear up afterwards take my bones from the dishes and bury them properly. It will bring you great rewards.” Then the water quickly came to the boil and she died writhing in agony. Later the stepmother and Eh-ee ate the meat with great relish and smacking of lips, and told Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw to do the washing-up. As her mother had told her, she gathered the bones from the plates and buried them respectfully in the pasture. As soon as she had finished, a great banyan tree sprang up of its own accord, and as the breeze moved through its leaves the most beautiful music was heard, composed of the sound ofpipes and oboes and drums. News of this magic banyan tree spread by word of mouth, trayelling far and wide until it finally reached the ears of the king, and he went there. He considered it inappropriate that such a banyan tree should stand in a field like that, so he had his heralds go around with a gong, making it known to one and all that if anyone could transplant this mysterious banyan tree to the palace, he would make him crown prince—or queen if it was a woman. Hearing the gong on its rounds, people thought how impossible it was to move a banyan tree of that size without damaging it. But Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw came forward, convinced that as the tree had grown from her mother’s grave she would be able to move it if she committed herself. She put her long scarf around the great trunk. “Mother banyan tree”, she said, “please come with me to the palace.” She started to walk, pulling at the tree, and it followed right behind her. After setting the tree down near the palace, she went back home. In the morning the king opened his window and was amazed to see the banyan in all its beautiful greenery standing on the hith-

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erto bare plain, and moreover he could hear the lovely music it was still making. When he asked his ministers who on earth had transplanted this strange tree, he was told that it was Nan Yi-hsaingkaw, the daughter of an old fisherman. The king was struck with wonder. “What an amazing thing!” he gasped. “She’s an extraordinary woman. [| shall make her queen, as I promised. Go, taking along the insignia of a queen, and bring her back here.” As soon as Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw became queen, the stepmother and Eh-ee were so jealous of her that they kept thinking how one day they would destroy her. Not long afterwards the stepmother sent a messenger to her inviting her to come, even if only for a short time, because she wanted so much to see her. Thinking she was sincere Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw went, and the stepmother greeted her on arrival. “Daughter Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw, I’m so happy to be the mother of the queen. Your visit is auspicious, and to make it even more so Ive especially prepared a shampoo mixture. Please wash your hair before you go back.” At her insistence Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw, again trusting her implicitly, went with Eh-ee to the stream to wash her hair. When they got there Eh-ee pushed her into the water, but before she drowned she made a wish. “I have kept the precepts and regard all creatures with lovingkindness. Now that I am to die, and seeing that what I have said is true, let my body become a great lotus and let my spirit reside in i The moment she died, a huge and beautiful lotus appeared and was carried away by the stream. Once Eh-ee was certain Nan Yihsaing-kaw was dead, having watched her drown, she returned home

and she and her mother put their plan into action. Wearing Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw’s clothes and pretending to be the queen, Eh-ee went to the palace. The ladies there made remarks to each other about how the queen had changed in appearance as well as in her manner but the king, in his belief that his queen had mysterious powers, just assumed that she had transformed herself. From that day forward, though, the music of the great banyan tree fell silent. Meanwhile, the great lotus had been drifting away and came to a place where a washerwoman and her husband were washing clothes. When he caught sight of this beautiful flower, the husband went

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over to it and caught hold of it, and when they got home he put it in a pot of water so as to use it as an offering. Every morning the couple would go to the stream to wash clothes, and every time they came back after work they found their house had been cleaned and tidied and the rice and curry cooked. After many days of this and having become more and more curious, they went out as usual but returned quietly and peered inside the house. When they saw a beautiful woman come out of the lotus and begin to do the cooking, the man rushed up to the lotus and destroyed it. Now that she had no lotus to go back to, Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw stayed on with the couple as their daughter. Days and months passed, and the time came when by tradition the Shan people would go and pay respect to the king, who with his ministers and generals would receive them and provide lavish entertainment. ‘Together with crowds of people bearing gifts, the couple arrived at the palace with Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw. When their turn came, the king was struck by the resemblance of the young woman to the queen as she had been before she had, as he thought, transformed herself. He asked the

man who she was. The man told him she was his adopted daughter and explained how he had seen a great lotus being carried along and taken it out of the water and later destroyed it. Then the king put the question to Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw, who told him she was his queen. Then, starting from the time when her stepmother and the bogus queen had killed her, she told him everything that had happened. Having listened to her long story, the king immediately summoned Eh-ee and questioned her. Like a thief caught red-handed with stolen property, Eh-ee had to confess that everything Nan Yi-hsaingkaw had said was true. The king sentenced her, and her mother as accomplice, to death. They were sent to the executioners and Nan Yi-hsaing-kaw was reinstated as queen. As for the couple, they were also honoured as royal in-laws and were settled into the palace. And the lovely music of the banyan tree was heard again. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1964c:217-228.

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44 The brown lotus

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(Arakanese)

[A zeyat is a public wayside resting-place, roofed but formerly ofien unwalled.| Long ago there was a king who had as his queens seven sisters. One day he went marching out into the country to put down a rebellion, and on returning after peace had been restored he stopped to rest at a zeyat near the frontier. At this zeyat there was an ogress who had assumed the form of a very beautiful woman. When the king saw that she was so much more beautiful than his seven queens, he fell in love with her and took her back to the palace, where she was given a suitable title and made chief queen. The king gave her many privileges and absolutely adored her, setting her above all the other queens. He treated them with very little concern or indulgence or trust, and this made them feel miserable and insecure.

Every night the chief queen would return to her original ogress form and go to the graveyard to dig up corpses and feed on them, and then she would bring back the left-over bones and hide them under the king’s bed. As time went by she worried that she might be found out, so she planned to forestall this by deluding the king. “My lord king”, she said, “your seven queens are not human beings, they’re all ogresses. If you don’t believe me, just look at these bones under your bed!” She took out the bones and showed them to him, and without

any investigation the besotted king punished the queens. First their eyes were put out and then they were cast into a cavern and left without food. Meanwhile, now that she’d had her way the chief queen gathered up the eyes, put them in a new pot and despatched it to ogre-land, where it was put away in safe keeping. Down in the cavern the queens, all heavily pregnant, were having a terrible time. They suffered a great deal, and their hunger drove them to make a pact: they would eat the babies as they were born, sharing each one among them. Days passed, and the first to give birth was the eldest sister. The baby was eaten by all of them except the youngest queen, who put her share aside. When the next baby was born it was eaten in the same way, and so it went on until six queens had given birth and the babies had been eaten one by one. Then came the youngest sister’s turn, but she didn’t allow her child to be eaten. Instead, she satisfied her sisters’ hunger by giving them the portions she had been putting away. And so her son’s life

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was spared and he grew stronger every day. When he was old enough he went out of the cavern to play outside, and some boys from a monastery saw him, took him back with them and fed him well. As he grew older he understood more, and would take left-over rice and curry dishes from the monastery to feed his mother and his aunts. From then on, the seven sisters survived on the food he provided. Soon the ogress queen found out about this boy at the monastery and asked the king to send for him. ‘The king did this, and when the boy had arrived she appealed to the king. “This boy has the power to go and get the brown lotus from oere-land. I crave it so much that if Idon’t get it I shall die!” She pestered the king, and in the end he promised she could have

her way. He kept his promise by ordering the boy to go to ogreland and making it clear that he must obey. Not daring to go against this command, the boy promised to go. Before he left, the ogress queen gave him a note to take with him, which read: ‘As soon as thes boy arrwes, eat him without spilling a drop of blood. ‘The boy took the note back to the monastery and, deciding that he would stop and rest for a while before leaving, fell asleep with the note tucked be-

hind his ear. When the monk there saw this note, he removed it and read it. Upset by the thought that the boy would certainly be eaten, he tore it up, wrote another and put it behind the boy’s ear just as before, only this one read: ‘As soon as this boy arrives, do not let his feet touch the earth but carry him on your shoulders. He is the son of the chief queen’. When the boy woke up he respectfully told the monk, his teacher, that he would have to leave. ‘The monk gave him some

advice. “When you get there”, he said, “the ogres will close in on you from all around. Climb into a big tree and throw that note down.” Bearing this in mind the boy set off on his journey. Once he was there he followed his teacher’s advice, climbing into a tree as the ogres were Coming out to surround him, and then throwing the note down. Having picked it up and read it, the ogre king transformed everyone from their fearsome appearance—with their protruding fangs, long arms and legs and shaggy hair—into human form, so as not to terrify the boy. hen some of the ogres said things like “You're my sister's son, are you?’ and ‘You’re my grandchild’ and all of them greeted him, telling him who they were and how they were

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related. Finally the ogre king himself took the boy from the tree and carried him away lovingly, speaking kindly to him all the time. The boy stayed there for quite a long while. He studied their equipment, asked lots of questions about things and learned to play skilfully on harps that could make people cry or laugh or dance; and he found out about one thing of the utmost importance to the ogres—that there was a container in which they kept their lives. He also found the pot containing the eyes of his mother and his aunts. By all this observation he got to know how the ogres used the harps, how they would die if the container of their lives was broken, and how to attach the eyes back into their sockets by using some kind of remedy. One day when there were no ogres around he managed to escape, taking with him all the harps, the eyes plus the remedy, and the container of their lives. When the ogres set out in pursuit he played the harp that could make them cry, which they did; next he played the harp that made them laugh, and then the one that made them dance; and finally by breaking the container, he killed them all. When he got back he re-attached the eyes of the seven sisters using the ogre’s remedy, and they were able to see again. Then he petitioned the king. “To find out which are the ogres, your chief queen or my mother and her sisters, please allow me to do an experiment this very day.” When the king granted his permission the boy played the cryingharp, and the ogress wept whenever he did so. ‘Then he played the laughing-harp, and the ogress laughed a great deal. Finally he changed to the dancing-harp, whereupon the ogress started dancing. He did this many times, and every time the ogress chief queen was obliged to go through the motions. The seven human queens sat silent, unprovoked by any of this. Only then did the king realise how wrong he had been. Full of remorse, he had the ogress delivered into the hands of the executioners and reinstated the seven sisters as queens. Having regained their sight, they were so grateful to the boy that they couldn’t thank him or praise him enough. He was made crown prince by the king and his queens, and they all lived happily ever after. (Trans. KTH)

Eid

Wil 9646223230.

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45 Smim Katut Kalawam

FOLK-TALES

(Mon)

[In Mon, katut means ‘warts’, and people used the word like a title for anyone who had them; so because Kalawam had warts all over his body he was known as Katut Kalawam. It is said that the present Mot-tama is the place called Mutmawt in this tale.] Long ago in Mon territory, Thaton wasn’t in the place where the present town stands. The old Thaton (or Danyawadi) was at the foot of Kei-la-tha mountain, which used to be called Madana Pawgithsa-giri. King Theinna-ginga, the last king of Danyawadi, had a beautiful daughter whose name can no longer be found in the old writings and is furthermore lost from memory, so many years having passed since then. The king depended a great deal upon an astrologer named Pun-kari, who had a trusty attendant called Katut Kalawam. He was rather ugly and the warts all over his face made him uglier still, and what’s more he was extremely lazy. But the royal astrologer Pun-kari had discovered by means of his lore that this ugly, lazy fellow would one day become the most exalted man in the land so, entertaining great hopes for the future, he had attached him to his own household. He took him wherever he went,

even to audiences with the king. This he did in order to familiarise Katut Kalawam with the palace, and as he was taken there quite often people began to recognise him because of these frequent encounters. Although he was a member of the astrologer’s household, Katut Kalawam had no specific duties. He just did various jobs and ran errands. No one knew what came over him, but one day he planted a small lime bush in a corner of the garden. He never watered it, but as soon as he got up every morning he would run to this lime bush and urinate there. He did the same during the day too whenever he wanted to relieve himself, and although that was the only watering it got, it grew tall and strong. Soon it produced a flower which developed into a fruit. Every now and then Katut Kalawam would go and look at it, and under his watchful eye the fruit grew into a lovely round lime of a beautiful emerald green unlike any other. One day just before setting out for the palace with the astrologer, he picked the fruit and took it with him. At the palace he kept taking it out, handling and admiring it time after time. The prin-

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cess noticed the emerald-like lime and wanted to have it but, think-

ing it would be unbecoming to ask Katut Kalawam for it herself, in a whisper she asked her father to get it for her. The king was an indulgent father, so he asked the astrologer, who in turn asked Katut Kalawam. The lime was passed from him to the astrologer, who presented it to the king, who handed it to his daughter. Delighted with the lovely green fruit now in her hand, the princess too kept looking at it and sniffing it, and suddenly she longed to eat it. As soon as she was back in her quarters she cut it open and ate the whole fruit. Later she felt something indescribable happening to her and after two or three months she found she was pregnant, so she stopped going anywhere and stayed in her own apartment until she gave birth to a son. Her father was thoroughly ashamed at what had happened, but didn’t have the heart to kill or abandon his daughter and fatherless grandson. He commanded the princess to tell him who the father was, but she was unable to. This state of affairs went on for three

months, and to add to her cares the baby kept crying non-stop except when he was feeding. This situation was getting too much for the king to bear, and he summoned the astrologer Pun-kari. “Why is this baby crying all the time?” he asked. “And who is his father?” “My lord king”, said Pun-kari, “the baby’s only crying because he wants to see his father. As soon as he sees him, the crying will stop.” “But if Ican’t get an answer from his royal mother, how am Ito know who the father is?” “My lord, it won’t be difficult to find him”, answered the astro-

loger. “Each and every man in the land must come with a banana and show it to the baby. The father will be the man he takes the banana from, and from then on the baby will stop crying.” The king took the astrologer’s advice. He ordered every man in the palace to take a banana and show it to the baby. Everyone did so, but the baby wouldn’t take a banana from anyone. Nor did he stop yelling. The order then went out to the men in the city, but the same thing happened. Gradually all the men in the land came and went, and still the baby’s father hadn’t been found. This set the astrologer thinking long and hard, wondering who had been left out, and suddenly it came to him: his own attendant Katut Kalawam, who had been too lazy to take a banana to the baby, was the

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only one left. He was called at once and hauled off to the palace with a banana for the king’s grandson. Not daring to disobey his master, Katut Kalawam went into the princess’ apartment holding his banana. Immediately, the little baby stopped crying and, reaching out to hold it, took the banana from his hand. The king, watching all this going on before his very eyes, was furious at what he thought was the princess’ choice of man. Were men so scarce in this world, he thought to himself, that she must choose this lazy, ugly attendant? Full of shame and anger, he issued a command. “Give them what is necessary and then put my daughter, my grandson and Katut Kalawam on a raft and set them adrift!” Obeying the king’s command, the astrologer put the three on a raft, provided them with a month’s provisions together with a knife, an axe, a bow and arrows and raw rice, and then set them drifting

from the banks of Danyawadi towards the sea. ‘The princess was not only downcast but infuriated that this was her fate because she hadn’t even been friendly with Katut Kalawam, let alone been in love with him; yet here she was, accused of having a child by him.

She had known that it would be useless to deny that she’d been with anyone, and yet she’d been unable to explain why she was in this predicament. And when it came to the point when she would have to accept any man her father might name, this fiendish fellow Katut Kalawam had pushed himself forward, and this made her resent him so bitterly that she couldn’t bear to look him in the face. Katut Kalawam was unhappy about the situation too. He wanted to explain to the princess that thoughts about her had never entered his head; he just hadn’t dared to disobey the king. But she was crying the whole way and wouldn’t speak or look at him so, too timid to explain, hejust sat there letting the raft take them where it would. It drifted on and on and ran aground on the rocky shore of Mutmawt, where he went ashore, looked for a suitable place at the foot

of the hills and built a hut. When it was finished he invited the princess to go there and without a word she followed him back, carrying the baby. He then took everything from the raft to the hut and remained with the princess and the child; and so they settled down in the same hut, together yet apart, and the princess hated him so much that she still could not speak to him. Katut Kalawam began to realise that it was no good carrying on like enemies, not speaking to each other when they ought to be talking

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things over, because obviously they would have to ensure their survival. He thought he had better do something to shake off the princess’ despondency, cheer her up or at least get her to talk, because that was the only way she might stop regarding him as an enemy and make it possible to discuss their future. Then he had an idea. The next morning he started getting ready to cook some rice and deliberately made a fireplace with two stones instead of three. When he put the rice pot on, it wouldn’t sit properly and he had to keep changing its position. This happened so many times that the princess couldn’t stay silent any longer. “You can’t do it with only two stones”, she snapped. “You have to use three.” Encouraged by these words, he put a third stone under the pot and then, pretending to get flustered, tucked the ladle in at his waist while he tended the fire. When the rice came to the boil he looked high and low for the ladle, knowing full well that it was tucked at his waist. The princess didn’t want the rice to get too soft, and she was also getting irritated at his flapping about. “Isn’t the ladle tucked in at your waist?” she said finally. He grabbed the ladle and stirred the rice, thinking that as the princess had spoken to him she had begun to soften towards him. But to make her talk a bit more he continued with his policy. This time he picked up the cloth he was using for holding the cookingpot and wrapped it around his head. He stayed by the pot, stirring and testing the texture of the rice, and when it was done he started to search for the ‘lost’ cloth. Seeing this, the princess prodded him again. “How stupid can you get? Isn’t that your cloth, wrapped round your head?” Pretending he hadn’t remembered until then, he took the cloth,

picked up the pot and tipped the rice-water out. Having put the pot aside, he took a duck’s egg out of a basket with a pair of tongs and placed it near the fire. The princess, watching all the stupid things he was doing, realised that she would have to speak to him again. “You can’t grill a duck’s egg with tongs! Just put it in the pot, and by the time the rice is ready to eat, the egg will be done.” He did as he was told and when everything was ready for their morning meal he served it to the princess, who was realising by now that however much she disliked him, she was completely defenceless. She had only him to rely on, and he was willing to do

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whatever she said, so she did away with ceremony and instead of getting on her high horse as a king’s daughter she invited him to eat with her. Katut Kalawam guessed that her bitterness and hatred of him were melting. While they were eating, he made a good impression by his kind gesture of shelling the egg, giving the yolk to her and eating only the white himself. Knowing that the time had come to talk things over, he told her what he intended to do. “Royal daughter of my lord, we can’t carry on like this. We’ll have to think about finding food so as to survive, and also plan for the future. That means I’ll have to go into the forest and clear a plot of land for cultivation, and build a hut too. That won’t be finished in a day or two. I can’t tell how long it will take. Will you please stay at this hut until I’m back, and not go away anywhere? Pll come back as soon as the work’s finished.” The princess went along with the idea and promised to wait there for him so he left, taking the knife, the axe and other tools. After selecting a good place for cultivation in the forest he started felling trees, and when it got dark he slept exhausted in a small cave on the hillside, where he would be safe from dangerous animals. When he went back to the plot in the morning, he saw that a most extraordinary thing had happened. All the trees he had felled had become attached to their stumps again and were standing upright and alive. Wanting to find out what had caused this, he felled the trees again; and that night, instead of going to the cave to sleep, he hid in a sizeable bush nearby. Soon he heard the sound of monkeys approaching and then he saw a group of them, led by a large monkey. When they got to where the trees were lying, this monkey leader spoke. “Let these trees come to life again!” he said, beating a small drum slung over his shoulder. And as Katut Kalawam watched, the branches he’d cut joined together and attached themselves to the trunks, the trunks fixed themselves back on to their own stumps, and the trees were alive again. As he watched in astonishment, he supposed that all this was brought about by the power of the drum. The monkeys meanwhile, happy to see the trees standing again, danced and danced until midnight, when their leader took them deeper into the forest. Observing and taking note of everything, Katut Kalawam was determined to get hold of that drum somehow or other. Now in Danyawadi there had once lived, before the time of the

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princess’ father, a very pious hermit. As he lived in the forest far from other people, wild animals such as tigers, leopards, bears and elephants often came near and disturbed his meditations, so Thagya Min [king of the celestial nats) went to the old hermit and spoke to him with respect. “Lord hermit, to prevent the animals disturbing you, please accept this little drum. It’s a wish-fulfilment drum. What is desired or needed has only to be uttered, and when

it is struck, the wish is

granted.” And with these words he presented the drum to the hermit, who found that it did indeed fulfil his wishes. But he never used it for any other purpose than to get the animals to go away in peace, leaving him undisturbed and out of harm’s way. When that old hermit died, the drum had been passed on to King Adiwahana, who kept it with him at all times and took it with him wherever he went. On a hunting trip, while the king was sleeping in the forest, it was stolen by a large monkey that later became the king of the troop living in the mountains and forests of Danyawadi. And it was this monkey that Katut Kalawam had now found carrying the wish-fulfilment drum that had been donated to the hermit and later stolen from the king. In the morning, Katut Kalawam did what had to be done—the felling of trees. But this time he felled only a few. ‘Then he dug a pit near a huge tree, got down into it and covered it with twigs and leaves to hide it. As darkness fell, the monkeys came out noisily and, as on the previous night, the monkey king wished the trees alive again and struck the drum, and the trees were once again standing. Joyfully the monkeys danced with their king, who had put down his drum so as to lead them. At that moment Katut Kalawam sprang out of the pit yelling at the top of his voice and ran towards the drum. Terrified at the sight of a man racing towards them and screaming, all the monkeys fled—including the monkey king, who forgot to take his drum and so allowed Katut Kalawam to get it quite easily. Bearing in mind that the monkeys posed a danger, he made a wish. “Don’t let the monkeys come near me”, he said beating the drum. He went and slept peacefully in the hillside cave, and when morning came he revealed his personal yearning with his next wish. “Tet all the warts on my body disappear, and let me be a handsome man!” he said as he struck the drum.

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Instantly all the warts were gone and in looks he became as handsome as any prince. Mightily pleased with the power of the drum, he was happy to think that he could become king as the astrologer Pun-kari had predicted. He also considered what he ought to do about the princess, and it came to him that she was in effect his wife. The king had implicated him and cast off his daughter with him, so she ought to be his queen; but he also reflected that he didn’t know her character, and that he would like to find out about

this. So he shouldered his drum and went back to the rocky headland where the princess was waiting When he arrived at the hut she didn’t recognise him. ‘There was no reason why she should, because in appearance he had changed completely from Katut Kalawam, with warts all over his body, to a very good-looking prince. Once he was inside the hut he put her to the test. “Sister”, he asked, “do you belong to anybody?” “Yes, lord, there is someone.” “And may I ask if you love your husband?” The princess thought about this. Whatever had become of her now, she came from a good family and couldn’t allow herself to be unfaithful. She’d had nothing to do with Katut Kalawam, but her own father the king had accused her of having his child and handed her to him, and since he was now her husband, she must be a

good and faithful woman. “My lord prince”, she answered to Katut Kalawam’s great joy, “I do love my husband.” “Then may I please see him for a moment?” “My lord prince, my husband has gone away to provide for me and my child, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. Come back in seven days’ time. If he’s back by then, you may be able to meet him.” “Seven days is too long”, said Katut Kalawam. “Tl call him now.” He wished for his natural appearance again and beat the drum, and was instantly changed back to his ugly self, warts and all. Witnessing this transformation, the princess was so stunned that she all but fainted. Katut Kalawam then told her everything, starting from the tme he went into the forest. He told her how the trees he felled had sprung up again, how he went about finding the cause of this, and how he managed to get the drum from the monkey king. Having told the full story, he used the drum to cause food to be served

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to the princess and changed himself back to being a handsome prince. Then he wished for a palace at the foot of the hills, which they moved into; thanks to the power of the wish-fulfilling drum, they wanted for nothing and lived a life of ease and comfort. News of this palace and its king and queen spread by word of mouth among the people living nearby, and led them to go and settle there. Soon there came into being Mutmawt, a town that took its name from Mutmawt promontary. When the king of Danyawadi heard there was another king not too far away at Mutmawt, he marched there with his four divisions of soldiers and with much beating of drums and gongs, and on arrival he issued an ultimatum: either surrender the town or do battle. After discussion Katut Kalawam and the princess went out to welcome the king with all due pomp and ceremony. When the king saw his daughter he wanted an explanation, and without omitting a single detail she told him all that had happened from their being set adrift to the establishment of the town. Delighted with this turn of events, the king stayed with them for a while and then, conferring the town revenues upon his son-in-law, he returned to Danyawadi.

When he died, Katut Kalawam became king. The astrologer Punkari was promoted and awarded the highest honours in the land, and Danyawadi became more and more prosperous thanks to the wish-fulfilling drum. Despite the fact that he no longer had any warts, all over the country the handsome king Kalawam was still called Smim (Lord) Katut Kalawam. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1968d:71-91. 46 Nan La An

(Karen)

[The Karen maintain the tradition of aw-bwe at harvest festivals, pagoda festivals and so on. First, pairs of young women come and sit down where the bwe is to be held. Then young men come and eye the women as they parade before them. A pair of men will then sit in front of the pair of young women they like, and engage them in conversation. When the time comes for choral singing of bantering songs, these two pairs will sing together.}

Long ago in a village on top of a ridge lived a poor couple, quietly

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farming a small plot of hillside land. They had a baby, a daughter with a high forehead, protruding teeth, a wide mouth and a very dark complexion—so unsightly that they called her Nan La An (Miss Ugly). But ugly though she might be, her parents loved her very much and always let her have her own way. When she grew into a young woman, no man would ever come to see her and woo her, and at aw-bwe in the village none would come and talk with any pair of women if Nan La An was one of them. Gradually, the other young women stopped making up a pair with her because they got ignored whenever she was with them. Still, being very good-natured, she didn’t hold a grudge against anyone; she just blamed her poor kutho and stopped going to awbwe, preferring to stay quietly at home. One day a prince who had become separated from his companions and got lost on a hunting trip came across Nan La An’s house, which stood at the edge of the village. When he asked for a little water she gave him some, then gazed at the handsome prince as he asked for directions to the capital and she supplied them. By the time he had thanked her and gone on his way, she had fallen deeply in love with him. Some time later, unable to keep her one-sided love to herself any longer, she told her parents about it and pleaded with them to follow the matchmaking custom of the village and go to the king to ask him for his son in marriage. Her parents tried to console her. “Daughter”, said her mother, “this isn’t just a case of a king’s son and a village woman. The prince won’t like your looks, your expectations are too high. Please try to think of something more suitable.” “But mother,” she answered, “I don’t know whether it’s my des-

tiny, but ever since I saw him he’s been on my mind all the time. I’m sure I'll die if I can’t have him.” And from that day on she grew listless and refused to eat anything. After four or five days her misery and the lack of food had so weakened her that she could no longer stand up. In the end her parents, certain that she would die if they didn’t go and petition the king, gave her some encouragement. “Don’t be downcast, daughter,” they said. “Don’t take it so badly. We'll go to the palace right now and ask for the king’s son in marriage. Please, daughter. Please eat something.” And they set out for the palace. He carried a load of cucumbers

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on his shoulders, and she had a load of corn on her head. When

they got to see the king they presented their gifts. Then they told him how their daughter had seen the prince when he got lost on his hunting trip, and how she’d fallen so much in love with him that she could neither eat nor drink, and wouldn’t he please take pity on her and let her marry the prince. The king, being good and just, sympathised with this simple and honest couple in their plight and feared for the life of the young woman. He gave his promise. “Do not worry. Your daughter shall marry my son.” Now that they had the king’s word, the couple went home in Jubilation andjoyfully told their daughter that the king had agreed to the marriage. Only then did Nan La An start eating again, and every day she was busy trying to make herself prettier. Meanwhile the king had summoned his son and told him about the promise he had made. Listening to what his father was saying, the prince recalled the very ugly woman who had given him directions, and he knew straight away who it was that his father was referring to. “Td rather be dead than marry the ugliest woman in the world,” he objected. But his father stuck firmly to his principles. “Once an elephant’s tusk has grown out, it does not go in again. I’ve given my promise now, my son, so do not refuse. Seven days from now, there will be a wedding ceremony for you and Nan La an? The prince stood silent, not daring to say any more, and on the seventh day Prince Thamein Nut and Nan La An were married with all due pomp and ceremony. But some likened them to a golden hintha and a crow; and some made fun of the prince, asking if

women were in such short supply; but to some, Nan La An was a woman with special kutho. As for the prince’s mother, the chief queen, she just turned away and walked back into her apartment as soon as she caught sight of Nan La An, and after the ceremony the prince refused to see his wife and moved to another apartment in the palace. Although she was now the wife of the crown prince, Nan La An had to live alone. But she still made the prince’s bed and kept everything ready for him, as well as performing her duties as daughter-in-law to the queen sincerely and willingly. Nevertheless the queen hated her and couldn’t bear to set eyes on her. She likened her to

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a female ghost and, thinking of ways and means of driving her away from the palace, one day she had an idea. She called the royal physician and the brahmin, presented them with gifts and told them her plan. She then stayed in bed saying that she was getting terrible headaches. When the king told the physician to cure her he pretended to give various treatments before reporting to the king. “Nothing will cure her headaches but the scent of nat kathit flowers,” he said.

“But getting hold of some nat kathit flowers would be an impossible task. Isn’t there any other treatment?” “My lord,” said the brahmin, who was attending nearby, “the royal daughter-in-law is an extraordinary woman. According to her horoscope, she can get whatever she wishes for and is capable of achieving anything. So if you were to ask her to get these nat kathit flowers, she would be certain to get them.” In his desire to ease the queen’s pain, the king at once summoned Nan La An.

“My daughter-in-law,” he said, “your mother the queen 1s suffering from headaches. The physician has told me that smelling nat kathit flowers is the only thing that will cure her, and the brahmin has foretold that you are the only one who could find some. So I want you to go and bring some.” Not only did Nan La An look upon the queen as her own mother, she also knew how bad headaches could be. She was a sympathetic person herself and also accepted that this was her responsibility. Although she didn’t know where to look for the flowers she promised to fetch some, thinking that perhaps she could find them somewhere in the forest. So, taking some imperishable food with her, she set out from the palace the next day and headed directly eastwards to where there were dense forests and mountain ranges. After about two weeks she came to a hermit’s hut in the forest and knelt down to pay respect. “Grandfather hermit,” she asked, “do you know where there are

any nat kathit flowers?” “Pm now three hundred years old and I’ve never seen any, and I don’t know where you can find them. But if you carry on heading eastwards you'll come to a place where there’s a hermit who is five hundred years old. Ask him, maybe he’ll be able to tell you.” Nan La An rested there that night, and when she again paid her respect to the hermit before leaving, he made a request.

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“If you ever find any nat kathit flowers, would you please bring one for me on your way back? I’ve never seen one.” Promising she would, she set out again and a week later reached the hut of the five-hundred-year-old hermit. When she asked him the same question, he too said he didn’t know and directed her further eastwards to where a thousand-year-old hermit lived. He too asked her to bring him a flower. Stopping there for the night, Nan La An continued herjourney in the morning and a week later came across the thousand-year-old hermit, who was astonished at this unexpected visit. “Who are you? Why have you come to see me?” he asked. “Tm the king’s daughter-in-law and I’ve come looking for the nat kathit flower, which will cure my mother-in-law’s headache. So if you know where they grow will you please direct me there?” The old hermit thought that any woman who would come this far into the forest looking for that flower alone and undaunted could not be an ordinary woman; and daring to go to such lengths, not for her parents but for an in-law, showed that she was full of sincerity and compassion. Seeing what an amazing woman she was, he gave her the directions. “Very well. Rest here for some time, then continue eastwards. After a day’s journey you will come to a large lake that has five different kinds of lotuses. Every day many spirit maidens go there to play in the water. The only place where nat kathit flowers grow is where they live, so ask them to bring you some. And if you are destined to obtain some, please bring one for me.” After spending the night in the hut she left the next morning and set out for the lake. It was twilight when she arrived and encountered the nat-thami. She stood gazing at them, struck with wonder by their beauty. Then she remembered what she had come for, went to the water’s edge and appealed to them. “My ladies,” she began, “I have come for some nat kathit flowers,

which I need in order to cure my mother-in-law’s headaches. In recognition of my love and compassion towards her, please give me seven blossoms. If Ican’t obtain this flower she will surely die. You may think that I myself am not worthy; but just bear in mind you’ll be saving someone’s life, and give me the seven blossoms.” “This is a good-hearted responsible woman doing her duty,” said the senior spirit-maiden. “Let her wish be fulfilled.” Straight away one of them flew into the sky and quickly returned to hand seven nat kathit blossoms to Nan La An, who took leave of

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them and set out on her long journey home. With the queen’s headaches on her mind and the flowers in her hand she hurried back without even pausing to sleep, and in the morning found herself at the thousand-year-old hermit’s place. Having paid respect to him she presented one blossom to the hermit who, marvelling at the flower he had never seen before, returned the favour by giving her a magic shawl whose power was such that anyone could get a wish granted just by putting it on and wishing. Nan La An put it around her shoulders and wished she were now at the hut of the five- hundred-year-old hermit, and straight away she was there. This hermit too was so grateful to get a flower that he gave her a magic mirror of polished brass which, if she wished and rubbed it at the same time, would show her whatever she wanted

to see. Accepting this mirror, she put the shawl on again and wished she were at the three-hundred-year-old hermit’s place, and as before she was there in an instant. Here she handed over another flower and the hermit, also delighted, gave her a magic comb: anyone, however ugly they might be, had only to put that comb in their hair the wrong way round to become as good-looking as any nat or nat-thami. Nan La An put the comb in her bag, paid respect to the hermit, covered her shoulders with the shawl, wished herself back at the

palace and at once found herself in front of it. She went straight to the queen who, having assumed that her plan would put paid to anyone going alone into the forest, was astonished not only at her return but also at her success in getting the flowers. After sniffing at the flowers in her hand, the queen pretended that her headache had gone; and Nan La An, not realising that the whole thing was a pretence, was overjoyed and considered that all the trouble had been worth it. Nevertheless the queen still hated Nan La An for her ugliness, even though she couldn’t fault her in any other way. She was convinced that her looks weren’t compatible with being a queen. She decided that she must either banish her from the palace or arrange her death; and she knew she would have to do it without the king’s knowledge. So one day, having hatched a plot in her mind, she put the case to her son. “Do you love Nan La An?” “Love her? I don’t even want to look her in the face. I married her because I didn’t dare disobey father, but since then I’ve never once even been near the door of her apartment.”

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“Very well then, do as I say. Take a ship and go to visit your uncle across the seas, and stay there as long as you like. But before you go you must tell Nan La An to produce an heir while you’re away. If she doesn’t, then she’ll be seen as a barren woman, which would mean there’d be no place for her in the palace. And if she does produce a son rather than leave the palace, she’ll be seen as an adulteress and might even be put to death. If you go along with this plan you'll be rid of her, and the torment of having to be with someone you don’t love would cease.” The prince agreed. He went to Nan La An’s apartment for the very first time, told her that if she didn’t want to be exiled she must produce a son and heir while he was away, then turned and went out. The next day he boarded ship with his entourage and set sail for his uncle’s country. Nan La An was miserable. Never before had her beloved prince come to her; and when he did, instead of talking lovingly to her he had brusquely told her to produce a son or be exiled, and had then turned away and left. They hadn’t been face to face even for the short time it would take to chew a quid of betel-nut, yet even now she could not find it in herself to blame him: she put it down to his inexperience in relationships. She considered the problem of having to produce a son despite living alone in her apartment and thought of herself as a leaf about to fall from a tree. Just as a leaf had no idea where it would fall, so she was unsure where her own kutho and

karma would lead her. Sadly she let her thoughts run on and on until they came to her quest for the nat kathit flowers, and that reminded her of the magical things she had been given. Straight away she stood up, took the mirror that the five-hundred-year-old hermit had given her, rubbed it and wished to see the prince. She now saw an image of the prince’s ship preparing to approach a large port. Seeing this gave her an idea: she put on the shawl given to her by the thousand-year-old hermit and wished herself into that port. As soon as the magic of the shawl had transported her there she wished for a mansion near the seashore with a huge garden and people to do her bidding. Immediately all of this had materialised, she took the comb given to her by the three-hundred-year-old hermit, put it on the wrong way round and was instantly transformed into the most beautiful woman in the world. She then adopted the name Nan Gei-hi, a name more in keeping with her new life and surroundings. Meanwhile, the prince had disembarked. On his way to his un-

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cle’s place he caught sight of Nan Gei-hi picking flowers in her garden, and she was so beautiful that he fell in love with her at first sight. Although he went on to visit his uncle, he wasn’t able to stay there iong before returning to pay court to Nan Gei-hi. As she had been in love with him from the very beginning she accepted his love, and eventually she bore him a son whom they called Thamein Don. Full of love and happiness the prince had by now forgotten his parents, and when their boy was a year old Nan Gei-hi asked that a gold chain should be made for a lucky charm for the child, and that his horoscope should be prepared. The prince carried out her wishes and in due course put the gold chain around the boy’s neck and gave the horoscope to the mother. But now a message from his own mother arrived via his uncle, saying that after being away for years it was time he came back. This set the prince thinking about their original plot. He thought he would be free of the trouble of having Nan La An around because more than enough time had passed for him to be able to ask whether she had produced an heir and so, depending on what she said, she could be either exiled or executed. Then he could fetch

his son and Nan Gei-hi and make her his princess. Showing her his mother’s letter, he told her he would have to go back for a while but promised to return soon and take them both back to his country. Then he sailed away. The next day Nan Gei-hi took off the comb and resumed her life as Nan La An. She put on the shawl, wishing the mansion, the garden and the servants away, and herself [and her son] back in her palace apartment. As she wished, everything disappeared and she found herself and her son back in the palace. The king and queen hadn’t even realised that she’d left and come back, but gradually it came to their ears that there was a child in the apartment. They made no comment but secretly the queen was delighted, thinking that her plot had borne fruit and believing beyond doubt that the child was the result of an adulterous relationship. For Nan La An, a woman far too fond of the palace, the flower of death would soon be in bloom. Within days, Prince Thamein Nut arrived, and the queen lost no time in telling him that Nan La An had given birth. In a rage, the prince stormed into Nan La An’s apartment, accusing and threatening her. ~ “There’s not another woman in the world as wicked as you!” he

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cried. “You had a lover while I was away, and that’s his child. You’re just as immoral as you are ugly, and I shall kill you myself!” “Son of my lord, this child is your own son—just look at the evidence, said Nan La An, pointing the things out. “You yourself wrote out this horoscope, and here’s the lucky charm gold chain you gave him.” “Yes,” said the confused prince, examining the chain and horoscope carefully. “Yes, the day and date are in my handwriting. And yes, I also gave this chain to the child. Maybe this child 7s my son. But I got him with Nan Gei-hi, not with you.” “My lord prince, you have confessed to marrying a woman called Nan Gei-hi in your uncle’s country. Very well. But please tell me: who do you love more, Nan Gei-hi or me?” “How could you think about making such a comparison, Nan La An? You and she are as different as an ogress and a nat-thami. I wonder how you can begin to compare yourself with her.” As he finished speaking Nan La An took the comb and put it on the wrong way round, and instantly she changed into the gorgeous Nan Gei-hi. Seeing this transformation, the prince cried out. “ You’ve learned witchcraft! You’re a witch!” “My lord prince, I am not a witch. Please be patient and listen until I’ve finished my explanation.” She told him everything that had happened, starting with the queen’s headaches and ending with the fact that it was her great love for him that had driven her to live as Nan Gei-hi. Only now was the prince convinced. He took her hand and kissed it. “You truly are an extraordinary woman. Please forgive me for my wrongs. And please, always wear your comb.” In time even the queen came to appreciate her good and generous nature, and loved her like her own daughter. From the day when the prince asked her, Nan La An never took off her comb. The pair lived happily together, and when his father died the prince became king, a good and just ruler like his father. So although Nan La An had got stuck with that name, because of her love and generosity towards her parents-in-law the hermits had aided her; and as a result even when she was an old woman people still gazed at her nat-thami-like beauty. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1968b:99-120.

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47 Eindaw Shinma

(Intha)

[On the eastern side of Inle lake near Tha-le-oo village there is a place marked in the water by a bamboo fence, and every time a bamboo pole gets rotten it is replaced with a new one. The residents of Inle lake call this the site of the royal house. It is said that a sawbwa, or prince, of Nyaungshwe once had a grand palace built there and lived in it; when the water is clear its pillars can still be seen, and to this day people won’t row across the site but go around it. Some distance away to the north of it is the market jetty of Méng Thauk village, and further north still there stands a nyaung-kyat banyan tree forming a shady grove that the locals call ganaing. For a long, long time, they say, every year on the tenth day of the waxing moon of Thadingyut, when the Hpaung-daw-u Buddha statues are taken by karawetk barge from Linkin village monastery on the west bank to Méng Thauk village on the east bank, the barge will leave its course and stop for a while immediately in front of the nyaung-kyat banyan tree. They believe it stops to allow the Mistress of the Royal Household,

who dwells there, to

pay her respects to the image. Near In-gyin-kon village on the eastern shore there is also a place called naga-pwet-in where water bubbles up to the surface, and here too people will row around the spot rather than cross it. The elders of old used to tell this story about these strange places.|

There was once a sawbwa who lived in the large palace on the site of the royal house. He had a twenty-year-old son named Sao Myat Tha who, being a handsome young man, was very popular with the ladies. His parents were worried that he might marry some undesirable woman and urged him to accept someone they considered suitable, but he asked to be left in peace for the time being. One day Sao Myat Tha opened a north-facing window, looked out over the lake and saw a beautiful young woman standing on the surface of the water and gazing at him. He was stunned at the sight of her and thought she must be a water-nat. He stared back unblinking until, parting the surface, she sank beneath it. From then on, his mind filled with thoughts of her, although he stayed watching day after day from the same window hoping for

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another glimpse of her, she failed to reappear. But then one evening when he was thinking how wonderful it would be if he could go to her or she come to him, the waters before him suddenly rippled and parted, and the beautiful young woman appeared. Her strange beauty made him dizzy with love for her, and seeing her at such close quarters almost made him faint. Recovering his composure, he realised that she was now inside the room with him. To cut the story short, the young woman didn’t return to her underwater home but lived there with him. Then came a day when this beautiful creature from the water told Sao Myat Tha her story. She was Princess Zala-ka-devi, daughter of a king of the underwater world, where a war had been going on between her father’s kingdom and a neighbouring one. She had come up from below to escape from the war and, having once caught sight of him, had fallen in love and come to him for refuge. By now, she added, her elder brother Wi-ra Nanda should have won the war and become king in place of their father. “How good it would be”, said Sao Myat Tha, “if I could see your brother, King Wi-ra Nanda! I really would love to see him.” “If you want to see him”, said Zala-ka-devi, “I shall call him now.” She looked northwards across the lake and whispered softly, and soon the water before them parted and there emerged a handsome man wearing the regalia of a king. As they watched, as quick as a lightning-flash this figure materialised right in front of them. Zala-ka-devi first paid her respects to her brother and then asked after her parents and her country. Still standing, he answered briefly: their parents were well and they had won the war, defeating the enemy comprehensively. After the brother and sister had greeted each other Sao Myat Tha offered the king a seat and said how delighted he was to see him. King Wi-ra Nanda sat down and told him how the hated king of a neighbouring country, the cruel one-eyed Gaw-rehki, had come asking for his sister in marriage, how their parents had refused outright and how in his rage he had declared war on them and been killed in battle. “During

that war”,

he said, “not knowing

whether

we’d be

victorious or defeated, we allowed my sister to escape the danger

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and take refuge in a country above ground. And now I’m happy to see that she’s well-loved and happy with you.” He presented them with a small casket of jewels that he had brought with him, and Sao Myat Tha returned the compliment by presenting him with a box ofjewels for his parents. Having in this way established good relations between the two countries, Wi-ra Nanda bade them farewell. Saying that he would bring his mother the next time he came, he turned his eyes towards the waters, which at once parted, and went down at the place where they had divided. He disappeared as the waters flowed back over him. Sao Myat Tha’s parents were delighted that their son now had a consort, but as they didn’t know her family background they summoned the chief minister to talk things over. The minister had an ulterior motive in mind. “T shall soon reveal before your very eyes”, he assured them, “what sort of family your daughter-in-law comes from.” He had in fact been very disgruntled since hearing of Sao Myat Tha’s marriage, because he had intended to get his own daughter married to him. In his mind, Zala-ka-devi had supplanted his daughter and was therefore an enemy. When he got home after the audience he decided to use his skills in black magic to rid the palace of Zala-ka-devi somehow or other, and to marry his daughter to Sao Myat Tha. He set about making preparations for this undertaking and when everything was ready he went to the sawbwa. “Lord”, he said, “I shall today reveal the nature of your royal daughter-in-law’s family if it pleases you to have her come here.” In his eagerness to find out more the sawbwa sent off an attendant with the message, and soon Sao Myat Tha and Zala-kadevi arrived. When they were seated the chief minister addressed the king. “On your command I have called upon the good and noble nats, and have prepared nat water. Please allow me to pour a little on your daughter-in-law. If she is a real human being she has nothing to fear, because she will remain human. But if she is an evil spirit the nat water will expose her ancestry.” When Zala-ka-devi heard this, she turned to whisper to her husband. “Let them test me if they don’t trust me. But if Ishould at any

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time be in danger because of this so-called nat water, please call my brother and ask for help.” Having finished speaking, the chief minister raised the container and poured some water on her head and, as they watched, the evil water turned her into a parakeet, which fluttered here and there in a panic. “You evil spirit”, boomed the voice of the chief minister, “leave this palace!” The frightened bird flew out of the window and off into the distance. To make matters worse for everyone, once it was lost from view the gleeful chief minister turned in triumph. “Now, my lord”, he said. “Now you know your daughter-inlaw’s origins.” In a turmoil of emotions,

Sao Myat Tha sat silent, his tears

falling uncontrollably. He could scarcely believe what had happened before his very eyes. His mother, full of compassion on seeing her son so unhappy, came close and tried to console him with scriptural wisdom. But it was no use. What had happened was this. In order to ensure the success of his plan the chief minister had gone straight to an accomplice, a witch who

owed him many

a favour, and asked her if she had

any evil drug that could turn a human into a bird. “Yes”, she said. “I have one specially prepared. You first dissolve it in water. If you pour this on the head, the person will turn into a parakeet; on the body, a vulture; and on the hands

and legs, an eagle.” When she gave him the evil substance, the chief minister gave it some thought. If he splashed the evil solution on her body she’d turn into a vulture, and since no-one

ate vulture meat she

would live a long time. Then again, if he splashed it on her hands and legs and turned her into an eagle, she’d still live a long time because eagles were very difficult to catch. But if he poured it right on the top of her head and she turned into a parakeet, with birds of prey around she wouldn’t survive long. Coming to this conclusion, he had gone on to deceive the sawbwa and carry out his plan. The pain of his loss had made Sao Myat Tha forget Zala-kadevi’s last-minute advice to call her brother for help; but that evening he was going over what had happened as he stood by

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the window from which he had first seen her, and he suddenly remembered her words and called out. “Brother-in-law

King Wi-ra

Nanda”,

he cried, “your sister 1s

in grave danger. Please come and save her if you can!” The surface of the lake rippled, Wi-ra Nanda came into sight and in an instant he was in the room with Sao Myat Tha, who at once ran to embrace him and tearfully tell him the story. “If that’s the case”, he said, “we

don’t

know

whether

she’s

alive or dead. Let’s see where she is now.” He looked at the ruby in his ring and rubbed it. As they watched, they could see a parakeet flying desperately in all directions. “So she’s alive”, continued Wi-ra Nanda. “But she must be utterly exhausted. There’s just one thing I need to do. We have a scholarly physician in our underwater palace. [ll call him, and once he arrives we'll know what has to be done.” Sao Myat Tha urged him to call the physician at once, for this was an emergency. Wi-ra Nanda went to the window, looked out over the lake, whispered a word or two and immediately there in front of them stood a grand old man. After listening carefully to Wi-ra Nanda’s account, he explained to them at length. “This

is the work

of an evil drug prepared

by witches”,

he

said. “What we have to do first is get Zala-ka-devi back here, and then change her back by means of an antidote. The only problem is that when we try to get her back, she might already have turned wild. However, we could then try a second method: we could use the same kind of drug to change the prince into a parakeet, but use a second drug to prevent him from turning wild. So, with your agreement I should like to use the first method now, and only if that proves unsuccessful try the alternative way.” When they agreed the old physician asked for Zala-ka-devi’s scarf and, holding it in his hand while he uttered some mystic words, turned it into a parakeet. After rubbing its whole body with magic oil he let it fly out of the window, and it went straight towards the deep forest in the far distance. After about the time it would take to chew a quid of betelnut, the parakeet returned alone. “It’s just as I suspected”, said the old man. “Zala-ka-devi has turned wild. That’s why she has stayed behind. We shall have to

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try the second alternative and transform the prince into a parakeeti” Meanwhile, Sao Myat Tha’s parents had come in and they were aghast at the old man’s words, so their son explained why Zala-ka-devi had turned into a parakeet and how he was now going to bring her back. Still stunned by all this strange magic they watched

as the old man,

having dissolved

the evil drug,

splashed it on Sao Myat Tha. Before their very eyes he changed into a parakeet, just as Zala-ka-devi had done. The old man gently picked it up, uttered some more mystic words and let the bird fly out of the window. With a surge of energy, it eagerly sped away in the direction of the forest. His parents, having been told by the chief minister that only evil spirits changed into parakeets and having seen Zala-ka-devi turn into one, were now suspicious of the chief minister’s motives. Not long after the bird had left, two parakeets arrived and perched by the window. Catching them gently, the old man placed them on the floor in front of the sawbwa and his mahadevi and sprinkled the counteracting magic water on them. As soon as the water touched them they became Zala-ka-devi and Sao Myat Tha, who knelt to pay respect while their parents gazed at them, bewildered at the wonder of it all. Such was the power of the counteracting potion that, at the very moment when the prince and princess became human again, the chief minister and the witch changed into parakeets and flew off towards the forest. Full of remorse for blindly misplacing their trust but rejoicing that their son and daughter-in-law had returned to humankind, the sawbwa and mahadevi left the palace in the couple’s hands so as to pass their days in meditation. Wi-ra Nanda and the physician bade farewell and returned to their underwater realm. ‘The new sawbwa and his mahadevi spent their days in love and happiness and lived to a good old age. When one day his beloved Zala-ka-devi passed into the abode of the nats, Sao Myat Tha proposed to accord her great honour by cremating her in the style of a great queen. He had a large boat built and her body placed on it, to be taken to a certain place for cremation;

but

suddenly, while the preparations were being made, there arose a great storm. The boatmen and others working there had to run for shelter from the lashing wind and rain. As the storm grew more and more violent, the sky grew darker and darker until it

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became impossible to see things that were only a few yards away, and the force of the wind was so great that no one could remain standing. When at last everything died down, the great boat bearing the body had broken free of its moorings and was lost. Sao Myat Tha sent out bands

of men

in all directions over the lake, but

though they searched until late at night they found nothing. In the morning however, the boat was found at the water’s edge to the north of the present Mong Thauk market jetty, where the nyaung-kyat banyan grove stands; but the mahadevi’s body was no longer on board. The men who had come searching for the boat towed it back to the palace. When Sao Myat Tha heard about this he sadly concluded that the body must have been taken down to the underwater city, for there was no other way in which a body placed under a many-tiered roof fixed firmly to the boat could have disappeared. He greatly grieved that he could not cremate the body. He had the place where he first saw Zala-ka-devi marked out and fenced off with bamboo poles, and spent his days gazing at it from his window. One day, about a year later, he was found on his bed with his face turned towards the lake. He was dead, hav-

ing departed for the abode of the nats. They say that, on its return journey to Linkin village monastery from Mong Thauk on the eleventh day of the waxing moon of Thadingyut, the barge carrying the Hpaung-daw-u Buddha statues stops of its own accord exactly opposite the place where Zala-ka-devi’s boat was found. People say it stops so as to allow Zala-ka-devi to pay her respects. She has become known as Ganaing-san Eindaw Shinma, or ‘Mistress of the Royal House residing at the grove’. (Trans. KTH] Hla, Ludu

U.1969b:65-84.

48 Master Born-of-Egg Long ago in the naga land under the ocean king who had seven daughters. One day, after themselves, they went to ask their father if play in the lake at the foot of the Himalayas

(Mon) there lived a naga discussing it among they could go and where five different

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sorts of lotus bloomed. The naga king, always an indulgent father, let them go after warning them to be extra vigilant because there were many enemies in the land of humans. They were playing happily in this beautiful lake full of lotuses when they saw a werk-zado, a man with supernatural powers, flying across the sky. At the sight of this attractive figure dressed in such fine clothes, the youngest naga princess fell in love with him and went off to find out where he would come to earth. When she saw him landing near a cave, she returned to her sisters and told them she would be staying on for a while in the land of humans, and she asked them to tell their father that she

would be coming soon. Then she returned to the vicinity of the cave, and watched

and waited to see what the weik-zado would

do. She soon discovered that he left the cave every morning to go to the Himalayas and came back only in the evening, so she went to his cave one day when he was gone and covered his sleeping-place with flowers. When he came back the weik-zado was astonished to see this. That night he slept on his fragrant bed and in the morning went to the Himalayas as usual. Day after day, every time he got back he found his bed adorned with a blanket of flowers. One day he thought he’d better wait and catch whoever was doing this, so when he got up he pretended he was leaving but hid nearby. When the naga princess saw him leaving she transformed herself into a nat-thami, went into the cave and began laying flowers on his sleeping-place. The weikzado went straight into the cave and saw the princess in the guise of a beautiful nat-thami. “Why do you come here to lay flowers on my bed?” he demanded. “Who are you?” She told him she was a nat-thami, and that she had been putting flowers down out of pity because he had to sleep on a hard slab of rock. From then onwards they lived together, and some months later she became pregnant. Meanwhile the naga king had been worrying about why his youngest daughter was lingering so long, and he had sent a gallant naga to look for her in the land of humans. He searched high and low all over the Himalayas to no avail until, coming upon the cave by chance, he went in and at last found the princess.

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“Daughter of my lord”, he said, “your father has sent me to look for you because he is worrying about you. Will you please return with me to naga land?” “Very well, P’ll come now”, said the princess, suddenly realising how long she had remained there. “You go ahead. I have a little business to attend to.” The gallant naga bowed and departed swifly with a surge of power, leaving the saddened princess faced with a dilemma: quite apart from the fact that her husband didn’t know she was a naga and she couldn’t tell him, she could neither go back to naga land carrying a child nor stay on and disobey her father’s command. Deeply unhappy, she brooded in solitude until she came to the conclusion that, since it was impossible for her not to return, she would leave the child with its father, along with a letter

of explanation. So she laid her egg in the cave and wrote in her letter: ‘My lord, this egg you now see is your child. Please take good care of it. I have to go away, for I cannot disobey the command.’ Leaving the letter near the egg, she wept as she went away. When he returned from the Himalayas and didn’t find his wife waiting for him at the entrance as usual, the alarmed weik-zado feared that perhaps some enemy had carried her off. He rushed into the cave, and when he didn’t find her he was completely at a loss. After a while he caught sight of the egg near his bed, went to look at it, noticed the letter and found out that the egg was his child and his wife a naga. Left with the responsibility of looking after the egg, he thought he’d better do something about it. He would find someone of integrity and courage who was also a master craftsman, and ask him to take charge of the egg. He went off into the forest to look for such a guardian. It so happened that in a small village at the foot of the Himalayas there lived a hunter and his wife. The hunter’s skill in archery was unrivalled: he was so expert that he never needed to shoot twice to obtain his quarry. He was also a man of high principle for, when he was out hunting, no matter how many times he came upon animals, he would kill only once. While he was searching, the weik-zado saw this hunter but decided not to ask him outright. Instead he decided upon a plan, transformed himself into a golden deer and stood not very far from the hunter. On seeing the golden deer the hunter took aim, but the deer moved elsewhere and took cover in a bush. Without taking his

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eyes off it, the hunter followed and the golden deer moved deeper and deeper into the forest, keeping itself just out of bowshot. The hunter, thinking the deer could not go far now and determined to get it, stalked it until eventually the deer lured him to the cave and went inside. Now the hunter was sure he would get the deer, for where else could it go? He stepped right in. Inside, what confronted him was not the golden deer but the weik-zado standing in the middle of the cave and asking him to come closer. “Hunter”,

he said, “you’re a man

of integrity, and I’d like to

put my child in your care. Look at this, please. This egg is my child. Soon the shell will break and a son will be born. Are you willing to take care of this child until he grows up, and to teach him your skill in archery? It will be to your great advantage later on.” “Yes, my lord”, answered the hunter. “Ill take good care of your son.” On hearing these words the weik-zado handed him the egg and showed him to a large heap of gold in the cave, telling him to take as much as he could carry. After bundling lumps of gold into a piece of cloth, the hunter started to leave, but the weik-

zado stopped him. “Follow me, please”, he said, taking him to a large, deep pit nearby that was full of gold. “I want to show you this. Come and get this gold whenever you need it. And when my son is grown up, please show him this pit.” And the weik-zado vanished. The hunter joyously went back home carrying his crossbow on one shoulder, the bundle of gold on the other, and the large egg cradled in his arms. His wife was standing on the steps waiting to welcome him. “Wife”, he said jokingly, “I haven’t managed to get any game. Only a bundle of gold.” He asked her to take the bundle from his shoulder, and it was

so heavy that she had difficulty in lifting it off and carrying it indoors. As soon as he was inside, he explained how he had come by the gold as he handed her the egg he’d been cradling so carefully in his arms. When she’d heard the whole story his wife, also delighted, put the egg into her round bamboo paddybasket. Quite a while later the couple heard the crying of a baby coming from the basket and, realising the egg had hatched, went

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to look. Surrounded by eggshell lay a pale, spotless baby boy. They fed him first with the liquid from mashed rice and then with soft rice, and the boy grew. Because he had emerged from an egg they called him Master Born-of-Egg, and when at length the boy was fourteen the hunter began to teach him the art of archery. By the time he was eighteen he had become such a good archer that no-one in the world could match him. One day the hunter took him to the weik-zado’s cave and showed him the pit of gold. “The gold in there is yours”, he said. “We’ve got enough at the moment, so there’s no need to take any more. It’s to be taken out only when necessary. I’m just showing it to you now so that you'll know where it is.” They went back to the village, which over the years had been growing and growing until it was now five times its previous size because people had been coming from a long way off and settling there. When Master Born-of-Egg asked them where they had come from, he was told that they were from a country whose king had been sending his soldiers to attack a monster bird. ‘They had been valiantly defending the people by shooting at it, but it was impossible to kill it because it was the size of an elephant and its beak, legs, wings and even its blood were all of iron. The king’s policy had therefore been to prevent the monster bird from going on the rampage by offering it one person every day, starting with prisoners and, when there were none of these left, going on to the townsfolk. Not daring to stay there any longer, they had run away. Master Born-of-Egg went back home, told the old hunter what he had heard and asked permission to go and have a shot at killing it, because he was skilful enough to do it. Seeing the danger involved, the hunter was at first reluctant; but the lad was so

intent on stopping this dangerous monster bird of iron that in the end he consented. So Master Born-of-Egg set off with his bow over his shoulder. On his way through the dense forest he felt hungry and thought he would pick some bananas. Looking around for a banana plant he saw a parakeet hanging on a bunch of bananas and eating away and, annoyed that the bird had got there first, he aimed at it. But the parakeet had noticed his movements.

“Wait, lord!” it said. “Please wait. I was only eating here be-

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cause I didn’t know that you were going to. Let me live, and I’ll tell you how to be successful in your bid to kill the monster bird.” “Very well, I shall let you go”, said the boy. “Now tell me how to get rid of it.” “Lord, the monster bird you want to shoot is impossible to kill even with an iron arrow because its whole body, even the smallest hairs, are made of iron. If you want to shoot it, you’ll have to provoke it first. So when you find it, say ‘Hey, you! Purple sunbird! Why do you come here annoying these people?’ and make it really angry. Then it’ll lift up its wings as it usually does, to strike at you. And that’s the best time to take a shot, because as it spreads its wings it'll expose its featherless breast. That’s when you'll have the best opportunity.” Thanking the parakeet, Master Born-of-Egg went on his way and arrived at the king’s palace the next day. He asked for an audience with the king and told him he was going to destroy the king’s enemy, the monster bird. The king was overjoyed. “Young man”, he said, “if you can do that, you’ll be saving the whole country! If you can really do that, Pll give my daughter to you in marriage and make you crown prince.” “My lord king”, said the lad, “just direct me to where it is and Pll go at once.” The king told his men to take him, and he went with them to the great letpan tree where the monster bird was. When they got there-he shouted loud enough for it to hear. “Hey, little purple sunbird! How dare you come here to take the lives of the people when there’s someone like me around?” At the sound of his voice the monster bird glared down. When it saw an insignificant little human being coming to mock it, it was furious and spread its wings ready for the strike. The moment the vulnerable featherless spot was exposed, Master Bornof-Egg seized his one and only chance. He took aim and shot at it, and the monster bird dropped down dead. As the news spread, crowds gathered to look at the creature and they heaped praises on this courageous archer, Master Born-of-Egg. Furthermore, the king kept his promise, marrying his daughter to him and giving him half his kingdom. Not long afterwards, Master Born-of-Egg took his princess and his guard to the place where the weik-zado’s cave was, in order to bring back some lumps of gold. He also

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brought the old hunter and his wife back to the palace and made the old man a general. So they all lived happily ever after. (Trans. KTH] Hla, Ludu

U.

1967d:57-68.

49 The Silver Hill

(Burman)

[When Prince Thu-danu (here spelt “Thoodanoo’) went off to fight the enemy, a resentful Brahmin persuaded the king that the prince’s wife Dwei-menaw

(here, ‘Dwaymenau’ but better known in Burma as Manaw-hari),

a

kidnapped fairy princess who has just gwen birth to a son, should be offered up as a sacrifice to the Yeet-nat. She ran away to rejoin her father, monarch of the fairyland kingdom Silver Hill, and her six sisters. On returning triumphant from battle the prince set out to find her. After surviving ordeals and surmounting difficulties, he has now arrived in the courtyard of the Silver Hill palace. Helping a palace maidservant to carry a prtcher of water, he has surreptitiously dropped into it Dwaymenau’s ring.|

SCENE XI. Apartment of the Princess Dwaymenau. Dwaymenau, attended by her maidens, washing her head, finds the ring in the pitcher. DWAYMENAU

Ah me! I faint, — my thoughts are all confused, — Body and mind alike are paralyzed. The father of my child, as beautiful As these my tresses, has at last arrived. Brave heart! thus fearlessly to persevere, And conquer all the dangers that beset His way to me. What has he not endured! My heart is melting at the dreadful thought. Enter King Doomarajah. KING

Why, how now, daughter, — wherefore lie you thus, As though a thunderbolt had struck you down?

N

7's,

A

en

A Ne

Ws

-227y)) Ne wig

OPO

Sey! IS) >

y rere yy,

ya A

Oe

tite

Sf WONDER

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om

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205

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DWAYMENAU

O dearest father, this, my favourite ring, Which, as you know, my finger never left, And which I parted with not long ago For a most special purpose, has returned. From out this pitcher as my hand I drew, I found it to its former place restored; — This is to me a sign infallible That my dear husband has indeed arrived. Now, can you wonder that this sweet surprise Was more

than I, at first, could calmly bear?

KING (to attendants)

Which of you brought this pitcher from the well? FEMALE

ATTENDANT

Great king, forgive your slave, this slender arm In vain a task beyond its strength essayed, — A courteous youth, who stood beside the well, I asked to help me, and his aid he gave. KING

Bring him before

me

in the Audience

Hall.

[Exeunt]

SCENE XII. Audience

Hall of the Palace.

King on his throne. Enter Prince, escorted by Ministers. KING

O thou who art o’er all pre-eminent In beauty, with all qualities endowed Which

man

adorn, and as a lion brave,

Whence art thou, and what strange adventures led Thee to the country of the Silver Hill? Without concealment let us briefly hear. PRINCE

IT will,

O King. — In me behold the son

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Of him who o’er Pinzala reigns supreme, And next successor to my father’s throne; For some good deed which in a former state I must have done, it was my rich reward To win your lovely daughter for my bride, And to complete our happiness a son Our union blessed. But brief are all our joys; — A hostile force advancing to repel, Our arms I led, — one march I scarce had ta’en,

When, by a Brahmin’s artful tongue beguiled, My royal father issued a decree That your dear daughter should a victim bleed Upon the Yeetnat’s altar. Hearing this She fled for safety to her native land. I, counting life as but a grain of dust When cast into the scale against my love, Have followed her, and thus you see me now A suppliant kneel before your royal feet. KING

Listen, my Ministers: this gentle youth, Urged on, he tells us, by the love he bears Our daughter Dwaymenau, has hither come. If he so high a prize expects to win, He must convince

us that his love is true,

And undergo a trial of his worth. Therefore, from out our armoury bring forth The famous bow, whose string uncurved sustains A ton suspended; — let this stranger try If he can bend this tough unyielding bow. [Exeunt]

SCENE XIII. Lists in the courtyard of the Palace. Enter King, Ministers, and Prince. FIRST MINISTER

Here is the bow on which our Lord the King Has willed that you make trial of your strength. [Prince takes the bow.|

207

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PRINCE

Now is the crisis of my fate. Succeed, And Dwaymenau is mine for ever. Fail, — And all is lost. [He tries the bow and bends tt.| FIRST MINISTER

Your Majesty, The stubborn bow curved like the eagle’s wing, And hard as steel, is, in his hands, a reed. KING

He has done well; but to a further test

We needs must subject him, before the hand Of our Princess we can on him bestow. Bring from the stables our most vicious steed, And a wild elephant that ne’er has felt The driver’s goad, whose glaring eye proclaims A spirit unsubdued; — these let him mount, And in our presence to subjection tame. MINISTERS

You hear the royal order, will you dare This last, and worst, ordeal to assay? PRINCE

Is’t not enough that I the bow have bent, And must I still new trials undertake? Well, be it so; — I never can draw back, Bring the wild horse and wilder elephant! |The horse and elephant are led on.| (To the orchestra) Now thunder forth a bold inspiring strain, Whose echoes, spreading far and wide, shall shake The earth to its foundations. [He mounts the wild horse, and rides it round the Lists, after which he dismounts.} On the neck Of this fierce brute I plant my royal foot, ; [He mounts the elephant.| And thus obedient to my armed heel,

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209

He turns whichever way I please to guide. [He dismounts.| FIRST MINISTER

(To the King)

The second trial, which the King ordained, Has but confirmed the presage of the first. KING

Before my daughters let a seven-fold screen Of silk inwrought with gems suspended be, And from within let each of them, in turn,

One taper finger carefully expose. If he, who claims the lovely Dwaymenau, By this can single her from all the rest, I will admit his title to her hand. [A screen is dropped. The Princesses in turn put forth a _finger.| PRINCE

O all ye Powers, vouchsafe your gracious aid, Grant me some sign my choice to guide aright. [As Dwaymenau puts forth her finger, a bee settles on tt.} I hail the omen (takes the finger). Ah! the thrill I feel, As this dear hand I touch once more,

confirms

My happy choice. Now, King, my prize I claim. KING

Well hast thou earned it, true and gallant Prince. [Leads forward Dwaymenau from behind the screen.| Embrace your blushing wife, and happy be The reign of Thoodanoo and Dwaymenau. Fytche,

1878:54-58.

50 The story of Tug-le-ba

(Bwe Karen)

[This tale was recorded in 1954 by E. Henderson in Thandaung, near Toungoo|

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Now, little ones, be very quiet and listen carefully and grandfather will tell you a beautiful story of times long ago. Once upon a time there lived a husband and wife. This couple had a son and a daughter. The girl was the elder and the boy the younger of the two, and he was the last in the family. As they were the only two children, their parents loved them very much and took great care of them. The parents were cultivators, and so the boy went with them to work in the fields while the girl stayed at home to husk the rice and draw water and cook the meals. When the girl grew up and became of marriageable age, her parents married her to (a young man called) Tugleba. After their marriage, their parents and relatives were very fond of the young couple, and Tugleba went to live with his wife at the home of his parents-in-law. As he was a hard-working and industrious young man, he got on well and his parents-in-law were very proud of him and loved him very much. But before very long, misfortune fell upon ‘Tugleba and his wife. In olden times it was said that anyone who ate tortoise flesh with trumpet-flower fruit would grow a tail. Now one day when Tugleba went to gather vegetables in the forest he caught a tortoise, and at the same time he picked some fruit from the trumpet-flower tree. When he got home his wife cooked the tortoise flesh for him but told him not to eat the trumpet-flower fruit with it. Although his wife had warned him, his craving was too great and while his wife was out he secretly ate the tortoise flesh with the trumpet-flower fruit. He did not tell his wife what he had done. By and by his behind began to itch, and when he scratched it he discovered that he was growing a little tail. At first the tail was so short that no one knew about it except himself; but as time went on, the more his behind itched and the

more he scratched it, the longer grew the tail, and he dreaded having to tell his wife. One evening when he and his wife had gone to bed, he addressed her in these words: “Dear wife, I am in great trouble and distress. In spite of your warning not to eat tortoise flesh with trumpet-flower fruit, I turned a deaf ear and the craving was so strong that I ate them secretly. Not long afterwards my behind itched and when I scratched it I found a little tail. The more my behind itches, the more I scratch

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AN |

it and the longer grows the tail. It is now a span long already. Whatever am I going to do? If I cut it off, I shall be sure to die. If I don’t cut it off, by and by people will find out about it and who knows whether they will kill me or drive me back to my own country? Dear wife, what do you advise me to do? If your parents and relatives get to know about it, they are sure to drive me away.” His wife answered him thus: “Dear husband, did not I warn you from the very beginning? I told you time and time again not to eat tortoise flesh with trumpetflower fruit but you would not listen to me, and now see what trouble you are in! Once my younger brother knows about it he will turn against you and threaten you with violence, and will drive you away. Even if we do not tell him about it, he is bound to get to know sooner or later.” When his wife spoke to him thus, Tugleba was full of grief and very ashamed of himself. If his parents-in-law and other people came to know about it, the disgrace would be overwhelming. So he said again to his wife: “Dear wife, what is wrong cannot be righted, what is done cannot be undone. If your family get to know about it and tell me to go, I shall go peacefully. If they do not drive me out, then we may still live happily together as before.” Not very long afterwards, Tugleba and his young brother-inlaw happened to go down to the river together. When Tugleba took off his clothes (preparatory to going fishing) his tail came out and his brother-in-law saw it. He immediately ran home and told his parents what he had seen. When his parents-in-law heard about the tail, they said to Tugleba: “At first we thought you were a good man, and loved you as our son-in-law; but it turns out that you are possessed of an evil spirit and have a tail. Go, go back to your parents in your own country and live with us no more. We are ashamed of you. Our neighbours and friends would despise and mock at us (if they knew). Go at once, you cannot stay any longer in our home. Prepare a leaf-parcel of food for the journey and leave without delay.” While his parents-in-law were telling him to go, his young brother-in-law took up his sword and spear and made threatening gestures and said to him:

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“Go quickly. You are bewitched. If you don’t leave at once I shall kill you with my spear.” Day after day he was told to go. At last, having taken leave of his wife, he wrapped up food for the journey and set out for his home. Having said goodbye to his wife, he left the house and took the path leading up the hillside. His wife peered after him until he seemed only atiny speck (in the distance). As she gazed after him, she felt a great longing for him and wept for her husband, and called out after him:

“Tugleba, come back, come back! My tears are falling like the rain! Come back, come back, Tugleba! My tears are flowing like a winding river!” Her husband heard her weeping and calling out after him, and he looked back and sat down to rest. His wife wept and called to him once more as before, and Tugleba was moved to pity for her and said: “Ah me! My dear wife is weeping bitterly and is indeed greatly to be pitied. I cannot leave her like this. I must return to her.” So saying, he got up to return to his wife again. When he reached her she was filled with joy and was comforted again. For two or three days his parents and brother-in-law did not say anything. But when the third day had gone by, his brother-in-law began to threaten him and to tell him to leave once more. Eventually it became impossible for him to stay any longer, and he told his wife to prepare some leaf-parcels of rice and betel for him and next morning said goodbye to her and set out once more. As he was climbing the hill, his wife gazed after him once more and cried out to him. “Tugleba, come back, come back! My tears are falting like the rain! Come back, come back, Tugleba! My tears are flowing like a winding river!” Although he heard his wife’s cry, he did not look back but went on his way unheeding. When he went on without tuning back, his wife wept and called after him once again. Twice she called after him, but he did not look back. But when

she called

the third ume, he looked back and sat down and thought: “Ah me, my dear wife keeps on calling! I cannot help pitying her. | am very sorry for her, but if Igo back to her again there is certain to be the same unpleasantness as before. It is not pleasant to return; but if I do not, how unhappy she will be! Ah, how

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she calls after me! I cannot help taking pity on her. Come what may, I shall go back to her once more.” So saying, he went back once more to his wife. But before long his parents and brother-in-law told him to go again, as before. His brother-in-law threatened to kill him with spear and sword and told him to go, and insulted him. This time he could see no way out. So he called his wife and said to her: “Dear wife, I love you and am very sorry for you, but your family do not love me and are hostile to me. My staying here brings nothing but shame upon us. This time we must part for ever. Your parents do not want me to stay here, and they will not consent to your coming with me, so there is nothing for it but to part. Prepare me some rice and betel for the journey. Tomorrow I shall go, never to return. Do not weep nor call after me any more. Stay behind here with your parents and let me return alone to the home of my parents. Stay contentedly here with your mother and father.” Next morning at the break of day Tugleba took up his bundles, his packets of rice, betel and tobacco and took leave of his

wife, saying: “Dear wife, this time I am going for good. Do not weep and call out after me. If you do, you will only wear yourself out. Do not think of me any more. Do not mourn for me. I shall peacefully go on my way alone. You must be content to remain on your own here. It is our fate to be separated from each other like this while yet still living.” Tugleba then put his bundles on his back and walked up the slope of the hill while his wife watched him. By and by she began to long for him again , and wept and called after him as she had done before: “Tugleba, come back, come back! My tears are falling like the rain. Come back, come back, Tugleba! My tears are flowing like a winding river.” She called once, but Tugleba still went on; a second time, but still he went on; a third time, but still he went on. She then

knew that her husband was leaving for good, and so she called after him as follows: “When you reach the Flower-picking Rock, pluck a flower and wear it in your hair; when you reach the Fire-kindling Rock, strike a fire to light your pipe and smoke it; when you reach the

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Resting-for-food Rock, get out your leaf-parcel and have something to eat: when you reach the Look-out Rock, look carefully to right and left of you.” Not long after Tugleba had left, his young brother-in-law set out after him, armed with his sword and his spear. When Tugle-

ba’s wife saw this she picked up a bundle of bamboo watercarriers and carried them, running, to the stream. Then she made a hole in the bottom of one of the carriers, leant it against the water conduit and ran like the wind after her husband. Meanwhile, Tugleba did just as his wife had told him. When he got to the Flower-picking Rock he plucked a flower and stuck it in his hair. When he came to the Fire-kindling Rock he struck a fire and smoked his pipe. When he came to the Resting-forfood Rock he took out his leaf-parcel and had something to eat. After his meal he went on again until he came to the Look-out Rock. Here he looked to right and left of him as his wife had told him, and searched everywhere to make sure his enemies should not take him by surprise. But he was destined to be unfortunate and when he got up to proceed on his journey his brotherin-law, who had been lying in wait for him, jumped up and pierced him with his spear. ‘Then, thinking Tugleba was dead, the brother-in-law pulled out his spear and went home. All this time, Tugleba’s wife was following after him. When she came to the first resting-place she examined the hearth and, finding it was stone cold, she knew that Tugleba had left the place some time ago. Coming to a second resting-place she found the hearth was just warm, and so her spirits rose a little and she proceeded on her journey. Arriving at yet another resting-place, she found smoke still rising from the ashes. At once she knew that her husband was now quite close at hand. She set out after him again until she came to a place where the fire was still burning brightly. She at once ran about looking everywhere for her husband. At last she found him, lying severely wounded and with no hope of recovery. Although she heated up some water for him and washed his wound, it did not get any better. Her husband said to her: “Dear wife, return to your parents for I am going to die. Let me die peacefully by myself.” His wife answered: “Since we are husband and wife, if we die, we die together; if

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we live, we live together. I shall not go away and leave you. I should be quite happy to die here with you on the spot.” When his wife had spoken thus, Tugleba said to her: “Go to the magic taro and ask it for one of its flowers. If it gives you one, put a piece of it in my nose, in my ears, on my eyeballs and in my mouth. Then put some in yours too. When you have done that, lie down beside me and we shall both die straight away.” She began to look for the magic taro, as her husband had told her to do. She came to a taro plant and said to it, “Taro, are you

a magic plant?” and the taro answered, “No. The magic one is further on.” At the second place she came to, the taro again answered her: “The magic is further on.” At last she came to a clump of taro and said to it: “Taro, are you a magic plant?” The taro said to her: “Oh, yes. People do say that I have certain magic powers.” “If that is so, please will you let me pluck one of your flowers?” she said. “Yes. Pluck as many as you like”, said the taro.

Having plucked as many flowers as she wanted from the magic taro, she went back to her husband and put some into his nose,

mouth,

eyes and ears, and then did the same

to herself.

Then she lay down by the side of her husband and closed her eyes, and immediately both of them died. When

Tugleba’s wife, who had gone to draw water, had been

missing for a long time, her mother went down to the stream to look for her. By the stream, the bamboo water-carriers were leaning in a row but there was no-one near them. Her mother took the water-carriers back to the house and told her father. He immediately set out to look for her. When he came to where his daughter and son-in-law were he found only their dead bodies: he was not in time to see them before they died. As there was nothing else he could do, he buried them. At first he intended to bury them separately, but just as he was about to do so dark clouds rolled up and it began to thunder and lightning and to pour with rain.. When he placed the two bodies together again, the weather cleared up and a soft cool breeze began to blow. Not feeling satisfied, he tried to bury them separately once again, and once again the storm broke out. In the end he had to bury them together near a grove of bamboos in the forest. A year later, the parents were cultivating the land near where

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Tugleba and his wife were buried. In the weeding season, the young brother went alone to the fields to weed. While he was working, whenever the wind began to blow two young bamboos at the lower. end of the farm grated against one another and a voice said: “Brother dear, clear the ground near your sister’s (feet) and she will go home and pound rice for you. Brother dear, dear little brother, clear the ground near your brother’s (feet) and he will go home and split bamboos (for mats and baskets) for you.” At first he thought it was just a noise, and he didn’t listen carefully. But when it happened every day he listened carefully and realised that the sound was just like human voices. This struck him as strange, and he went home and told his parents. At first they wouldn’t believe him but, when he had told them about it several times, they both went with him to the clearing to see for themselves. Whe the wind began to blow, it happened just as their son had told them and they were filled with amazement. When they got home the mother and father went to see the village priest. They told him what had happened in the clearing and what they had heard with their own ears. The priest locked at their fates and said to them: “Some time ago you buried your two children in the lower end of the clearing. ‘They have now turned into two young bamboos and when the wind blows they call out (to you) like that. If you cut the two bamboos and bring them home, there will be no more voices.” They did as the priest instructed them and brought back the two bamboos and put them up in the rafters. In the daytime, once they had all gone to the fields, Tugleba and his wife came down and worked in the house, and when the family were due back they climbed up into the rafters again. When the parents got home and saw that someone had been pounding rice, and drawing water, and trimming and splitting the bamboo and weaving baskets, they thought that someone in the village had done it secretly in their absence, and they enquired of everyone: “Did you come and do our housework for us?” The honest people answered: “How could we come and work in your house for nothing when we cannot even manage to get our own work done?” But the dishonest ones said: “Oh, yes! We’re the ones who did it! Please give us our wages!” They went and asked the squirrel,

WONDER

TALES

OAR.

and the squirrel said: “How could I do your work for you? I have only just finished giving birth to my young.” After further experiences of this kind they lost patience at last and began to suspect that it was just their two children who were working in their absence. They went again to where the priest lived and told him once again what was happening in their house. The priest looked at their fates and told them : “When you all go out, the two bamboos change into human form and become your daughter and son-in-law, and come down and do the work in your absence. When you are due back home again they climb back into the rafters and turn into two bamboos once more. If you want them to change back into human beings, you must lie in wait for them and catch them. If you catch them when they have changed into human form, they will become human beings again as they were before.” So at sunrise (next morning) they got themselves ready as if they were going to work as they did every day and then left the house. In a little while the parents came back and climbed up and hid in the big threshing-baskets up in the rafters. When it was quite still and everybody had [apparently] gone and there wasn’t a sound to be heard, the two bamboos assumed human shape and came down and worked as they had done every day. Tugleba trimmed the strips of split bamboo and wove baskets, while his wife pounded rice and fetched water and cooked. The parents stayed in the rafters, quietly looking down at them. In the evening, at the time when people working in the fields are due back, Tugleba and his wife began to make preparations to return to the rafters again. While they were thus preparing, the mother and father who had been watching them secretly jumped down into the room and caught hold of them both firmly. As they were seen and caught before they could change back into bamboos, they remained changed back into human beings for good, as they had been before. They lived together again with their parents as they had done before, and lived happily ever after. Henderson,

1997:122-144.

SECTION II (B): TRICKSTER/

SIMPLETON TALES, ETC.

COMMENTARY

We should first explain the ‘etc.’ in the title of this section. We are here dealing with broad comedy, with tales that are sometimes labelled ‘anecdotes and jests’. Ashliman (1987:xi1) puts it this way: There is no magic here, no subtle symbolism, and no sophisticated moral reasoning. Told, more often than not, with crude humor, these tales

depict struggles for the basics: food, sex, power and revenge. The trickster steals food from his companion, sleeps with his master’s wife or daughter (or both!), then gives his competitor a beating, and we laugh at his exploits.

That ‘his’ is correct so far as Burma’s tales are concerned: the trickster is almost always male. (Tale 65 may be an exception that proves the rule.) Our tales illustrate two of Ashliman’s ‘basics’ (power and revenge) plus wealth, which he strangely omits. Also included in this section are ‘tall tales’, narratives that delib-

erately stretch credulity beyond breaking-point, in the manner of Aran Aung and his friend (tale 41 above). Our corpus included stories which, because they catered for the humour of bygone days, would be considered ‘politically incorrect’ if told in public today — the sort of tales that make fun of the simple-minded, the deaf and so on. There is for example a Mon tale about a hunchback and a blind man and another, called “The story of the four deaf peopie’, which starts with a deaf goatherd addressing a deaf ploughman (Stewart 1913a:55-56). A similar joke was current in the London of the 1960s. It concerned two deaf old men on an underground train and part of it ran like this: A: Excuse me. Is this Wembley? B: No, no. Must be Thursday.

A: No thanks. I’ve just had a cup of tea.

We omit Burmese tales of this sort not out of political correctness but because humour based on pronunciation cannot be adequately

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ETC.

219

rendered in English. If we had found any urban myths and ordinary jokes, we would also have included these under the ‘etc’. Probably every ethnic group in the world has its own set of tales about a trickster, a cunning person or animal that outwits an opponent nine times out of ten. In Europe he is Reynard the fox; in East Africa, Kalulu the hare; in West Africa and the Caribbean, Anansi the spider; in the southern United States, Brer

Rabbit; and in the various states of Malaysia, a mouse-deer. For the Kayah of Burma, he is a rabbit called Se-ye; for the Naga, a

man called Sisaw and for the Chin and Lisu respectively, the men are called Hsaung-kwaint and Hwa-sa-ha. It is not only the trickster but also the dupe that may be a man or an animal, and in Burma the dupes (but not the tricksters) include ogres and ghosts. However low-down the practices of these confidence tricksters, we are usually won over by their quick thinking, their ingenuity and their bravado. As Edmonson (1971:161) says, ‘making a fool of someone is certain to be successful everywhere’. The first six stories are about human tricksters. In tale 51 a man dupes a very substantial and sizeable but dim-witted ghost; but the ne’er-do-well in tale 52 far exceeds this feat, outwitting the Lord of Death himself and taking his place. The Rawang trickster in tale 53, charmingly bearing the title ‘Liar’, manages not only to claim inordinate compensation from villagers by dishonest means but also to wreak revenge on the elders who kicked him out of his own village. Intriguingly, a very similar though more extended trickster tale survives on an island thousands of miles from Burma: like the Rawang tale, it includes the burning down of the trickster’s house and his taking the ashes far away and selling them. This tale from Madagascar is reported by Haring (1982:325). Tale 54 is a story of sheer covetousness leading to a successful confidence-trick. Revenge for a bit of dishonest dealing is the motive for the crude practical joke played in tale 55 by another titled trickster, ‘Dirty’ Aung Pon, while the Mon trickster Ataplem (tale 56) seems to live only for the day when he can fool another dupe, be it the governor of his province, a band of thieves or an ogre. Ataplem pretends to have a magic pestle that can transform an old wife into a beautiful young virgin, and in tale 19 we encountered a pestle that resuscitates a dead dog and confers youth. Magic pestles occur in Chinese and African tales, but not for such purposes as these. Given their

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rejuvenation/resuscitation role here, might they be a remnant of some symbol of fertility or the life-force? Burma has its share of animal trickster tales too. Whereas the human mother in tale 43 wanted to eat the flesh of the golden turtle and nagged her husband until he gave it to her, the crocodile’s wife in tale 57 demands monkey-heart. The crocodile deceives a monkey, who then tricks both the crocodile and his wife. This story also occurs in a Jataka tale. Tale 58 has a ‘David and Goliath’ quality, the part of David being played by a humble but ingenious sparrow. Westerners are accustomed to thinking of the fox as intelligent and cunning, and the rabbit as an easy victim; but in tale 59 it is the rabbit who fools both the fox and the

farmer, the rabbit often appearing in Burmese and mischievous

creature,

like Kalulu

the Hare

tales as a bright in East African

tales. The rabbit is again the hero in tale 60, saving a very depressed elephant from the clutches of an obligingly stupid tiger. In the next four tales we are back in the world of humankind. In the first of three simpleton tales (no.61) we meet “Quibbler’, the sort of literal-minded

numbskull who, told to watch a baby,

merely watches it as it falls down the steps of the house; he also applies advice given in one context to a subsequent situation that is quite different. This trait is further illustrated in tale 62 which, being multi-episodic, is rather a sequence of simpleton tales. The first episode is an example of the well-known and widespread anecdote about counting the members of a group and, failing to include oneself, wondering why the total is one short. In the sequence, the ten simpletons are gradually killed off by misapplying the advice they have been given. The ‘frame’ for tale 63 is a competition to see who can tell the tallest story. In an English eighteenth-century version of ‘Jack And the Beanstalk’(see Opie and Opie,1974:162), the bean planted by Jack sprouts so quickly that it hits him on the nose. In our Yaw tale, a particular variety of rice-bean seems to grow equally fast. Tale 64 is a joke at the expense of a rustic couple so unsophisticated that they do no know a mirror when they see one. In a very similar tale from China (Eberhard:179), the couple go to a judge, not a monk. Such mirror jokes are widespread. One current in England in the 1950s concerned a long-distance train in India. A passenger goes several times to the toilet but on opening

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES, ETC.

ZarAd

the door sees his reflection in the mirror opposite and backs out apologetically. Eventually he sends the guard to eject the man, but the uniformed guard returns and says, “I am sorry, sir. I can do nothing. He is an employee of the railway company.” Otherworld creatures reappear in tale 65 in the shape of rather gullible ogres. In this, our only Padaung tale, it is a young woman that manages to trick the ogres—an exception to a general rule in Burmese tales if we do indeed regard her as a trickster. When Odysseus tricked Polyphemus the Cyclops by calling himself ‘No-man’ he was merely outwitting a foe, and the same can be said of the heroine in tale 65. Whereas Liar Mvkang and Ataplem are virtually professional swindlers, this young woman is simply defending herself; but the distinction between trickster and resourceful hero(ine) is not always clear. The strange motif of an intestine around the neck, which we met in tale 12, recurs

here: Nor is the final story a typical trickster tale: though trickery is the main

theme,

the hero, an old Palaung scholar, is certainly

not a compulsive con-man, and the reader may well prefer to classify both this tale and the previous one as ‘wonder tales’ The lifelike painting motif in tale 42 reappears here in tale 66, in which the canny old scholar writes the rules of a competition to suit his own ends. It is interesting that TThompson’s /ndex lists ‘Contest in lifelike painting’ as a motif (H504.1) occurring in a folk-tale from India. 51 The man in a boat who wasn’t afraid of ghosts (Mon) The villagers of Thetkaw on Bilu-kyun Island have to row down a stream to get to their fields during the monsoon season. ‘There was a time long ago when no-one dared to go rowing down that stream at night because a ghost would come out of a huge tree that stood on a bend at the water’s edge and haunt anyone who came that way. What the ghost did was this: whenever someone came round the bend and approached the tree, it would leap down and hit the water with an impact that made not only a huge splash but also a great noise. It was this that frightened the villagers so much that no-one would row along that stream at night. People talked about the haunted tree a great deal until a vil-

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‘

lager appeared who wasn’t afraid of this ghost. One night this fellow was rowing back alone from the fields to the village, and no sooner had he reached the tree on the bend than the ghost jumped from the tree into the water. The man knew he was being haunted,so he stopped rowing and shouted out to the ghost. “Aah! The way you jumped into the water. That looked really good. Do it again.” The ghost got out of the water, climbed the tree and leapt down with a thunderous splash. “Perfect! Pd love to see it again!” The ghost did it again. “That’s fantastic! Jump again.” The ghost was unwilling to give up. It continued to clamber out of the water, climb the tree and jump down, and every time it did so it was highly praised and urged to repeat the performance. On it went until, after about twenty leaps, the man applauded and urged the ghost to jump once more. “I’m exhausted,” the ghost admitted. “I won’t try haunting anyone like you any more. You just carry on and go wherever you like.” It let the man go quietly about his business and there were no more disturbances. (Trans. KTH) Hla, Ludu

U.

1968d

:92-93.

52 The canny Lord of Death

(Pa-o)

Long, long ago there lived a couple who farmed a plot of land at the foot of the hills. Having had a son late in life, they had always let him have his own way; they’d even agreed not to send him to the monastery, just because he said he didn’t want to learn to read and write. This boy grew up extremely spoilt because his parents were unwilling to discipline him, and soon he got into bad ways: he became a liar and a thief, he drank, he gambled heavily and he smoked opium too. But however badly he behaved his parents hadn’t the heart to say a word to him; they just went on hoping that one day their son would mend his ways. But when as an adult he was still causing them more and more trouble, they finally had to send him packing.

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220

“We’ve indulged you ever since you were born,” they said, “but now that we’re too old and weak to work properly in the field, you’ve been no help whatsoever. You’re old enough now to earn your own living. We can’t work hard enough to feed you any more.” Once they’d driven him out of the house the young opiumsmoker,

not knowing quite what to do, wandered

wherever

his

feet took him. As he was walking along, he saw a number of bluebottles on a pile of dog-turd. Swatting at them with his hand he caught one in his fist, put it in his opium-box and continued on his way. Walking on and on he came to the great capital city, where he made straight for the house of a gem-stone broker and told him he’d brought along a live ruby, which he wouldn’t mind selling if the price was right. The broker had never even heard of a live ruby, let alone seen one, and thought it must be a mar-

vellous and extremely valuable gem. Calculating that he would make a considerable profit when selling it, he entertained the opium-eater lavishly and then extended an invitation. “You must have come a long way,” he said. “Stay here for the time being, at least until you’ve sold the ruby.” His guest accepted, and the next morning he put his container close to his ear. He could hear the bluebottle still flying inside, and went on listening. Seeing this, his host the broker went up to him to find out what he was doing. The opium-smoker handed him the container. “If you want

to hear the sound of a live ruby, listen to that,”

he said. Delighted, the broker immediately put the container to his ear and, when he heard the buzzing of the fly inside, he longed to see the colour of the ruby now that he had heard its sound. Driven on by his curiosity he gently opened the box, whereupon the bluebottle shot out and sped away too fast for the eye to follow. Straight away the opium-smoker started wailing. “Oh! Now I’ve lost my priceless ruby! How could you do that? That lost ruby was to have been presented to the king. Now [’ll have to tell him about all this.” At the word ‘king’ the gem-broker went pale and began to plead with his guest. “Please, young man, please don’t let the king know! You won't lose out. I’ll give you everything I own!”

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True to his word he and his family moved out, leaving the house and property to the opium-smoker. But all of this was witnessed by the Lord of Death, who was displeased that the good and honest gem-broker, a friend of his many existences ago, should be treated so badly. He decided that this wicked opium-smoker shouldn’t be allowed to roam free in this way, and that it would be better to terminate his human life and bring him down to hell. So he pointed him out to two of his attendants and told them to go and bring him back. Off went the attendants, and when they got to the opium-smoker they commanded him to come along with them. Yes, he would come, he said; but as he said so he persuaded them to try having a little smoke of opium, and while they were in an opium-daze he took some scissors and cut their tongues out. They went running back to their master, but without their tongues they could only make unintelligible noises. The Lord of Death was furious. He clapped them into prison and went out himself to get the opium-smoker. Wanting to show how grand he was, he’d set off on horseback,

and when

he arrived

he found

the oprum-smoker

feeding his billy-goat. “Having to ride here in person to take you away has quite tired me out,” he grumbled. “Pll come with you right away, my lord, but seeing that you’re only in the land of the living once in a while, why don’t you try something new? Of all the ways of going around on an animal, there’s none more comfortable than riding on my goat. Id like you to try it, even if it’s only for half of your return journey.” Having suffered from horse-riding a little too much for his hiking, the Lord of Death dismounted and got on to the goat’s back. Once he had mounted, the opium-eater leapt on to the horse’s back and went off at a gallop until he reached Hell. Being the first to arrive, he seated himself in the Lord of Death’s place. In about the time that you can hold your breath the Lord of Death came into view, trying hard to keep his seat on the billy-goat. When he appeared, the Pretender turned to his attendants with a word of command. “That’s the opium-smoker arriving on a goat, straight from the land of the living. Throw him into the cauldron of Hell!” The Lord of Death was roughly hauled off his goat, and the command

was

carried out to the letter.

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TALES, ETC.

225

[The storyteller, having ended this tale, added: “That tells you why the present Lord of Death is no idiot. Having been a gambler, a thief and a smoker of opium, he’s too canny to be easily deceived: | (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1977:89-94. 33 Liar Mvkang sells ashes

(Rawang)

One day long ago, the rich old elders in his village wanted to drive out Liar Mvkang, so they burned down his house. Liar Mvkang spoke up for himself. “Now that you’ve burned down my house, the least you can do for me is to save the ashes and let me have them. Please.” The elders granted this wish and saved the ashes for him. Taking a load of the ashes and about three vss of salt in leaf-wrapped packets, he went away. After he had walked a long way and had almost reached a distant village, he stopped and mixed his salt into the ashes. Then he propped his load up just on the outskirts and went on into the village, where he had a word with the villagers. “Listen, villagers. I was bringing a load of salt, but I got so tired that I couldn’t carry it any further so [ve left it back down the path, close to the village. Please take care to pen your cattle in, otherwise they’re sure to lick up all my salt.” “That’s all right,” said the villagers. “Our cattle aren’t difficult to handle. As long as you’ve taken care to protect it, nothing will happen to your salt.” “Well that’s all right, then. ’ve taken good care of my load of salt, so you take care of your cattle. As your guest I hold you responsible for that load.” The next morning, Liar Mvkang went to check his load. Sure enough, the cattle had turned it over, scattering the mixture of salt and ashes, and had licked up all the salt. He went back to speak to the villagers. “Come on, pay up. Your cattle have licked up my whole load of salt, so hurry up and pay me”. “You have to be able to tell which cows are responsible. If

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you find out for sure which one did it, you can take the cow as payment.” Every cow in the village had a black ring around its mouth because of the ashes mixed in with the salt, so Liar Mvkang claimed that they were all responsible. He left taking all of the cows with him, and on reaching his own village he met the elders, the people who had burned his house down. ‘They were astounded. “Liar Mvkang,” they asked, “What treasures did you have to part with in order to buy all these cattle?” “Elders, there is a place where ashes are of great value. I bought all these cattle with the ashes from my house, which you kindly burned down for me.” Thinking he was telling the truth, the elders went and burned down their own houses. Then each one took the ashes of his house and carried them away, hoping to sell them in other villages. Everywhere they went, they called out “Hey, villagers! Don’t you want to buy ashes?” But in every village the answer was, “We’ve already got plenty of ash. You can’t do anything with it. Its completely useless.” The rich old elders never managed to sell their ashes. All they had succeeded in doing was to burn down their own houses. Ad.

from

Dorson

(ed),

1975:281-282.

54 Stick spear and golden spear

(Lahu)

There was once a crafty fellow called E-hke who lived in a large and well-to-do town. One day a group of merchants arrived with costly goods, and the leader at their head rode grandly on a horse and carried a golden spear over his shoulder. E-hke wanted this spear so badly that he lay through the night plotting and planning, devising ways of getting his hands on it, until an idea came into his head. Very early in the morning he rose before anyone else and went to the place where the merchants would later be resting and having their lunch. There, on either side of the road, he hid little parcels of cooked rice and packets of curry and memorised their locations. Having

done

this, he hurried

all the way

back

to the town,

went to the leader of the merchants and asked him if he could join their group. When the leader said that he could provided

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES,

ETC.

227

that he looked after the horses, E-hke readily agreed. So they set off with E-hke accompanying them, and when eventually they came to the resting-place they stopped for lunch. Soon everyone except E-hke was eating, and when they’d finished he still hadn’t eaten a thing. The merchant leader noticed this. “The rice and curry’s all gone now. Here, have some of these or you'll starve,” he said, offering E-hke some titbits. “Oh, it’s just that ?m not hungry,”said E-hke. “When I really want food, I can get it any time I like.” “All right then, show me how,” said the leader. “Right now,” he added, thinking E-hke was just showing off. E-hke put into action what he had planned. Nonchalantly, he picked up his old spear and jabbed at a spot by the roadside where he knew there was a little parcel of cooked rice. When he pulled the spear back, there it was on the point. Putting this parcel down right in the middle of the road he strolled over to the other side and jabbed again, and this time on the point of his spear there was a packet of curry. Right in front of the merchants he sat down, undid the parcels and began his meal. Everyone was astonished at this straight-faced demonstration of E-hke’s, and they bombarded him with questions. “Well, my spear isn’t an ordinary one like yours, you see,” he boasted. “It’s a wishing-spear. If I want rice it'll get me rice, or curry if I want curry.” The merchants weren’t sure whether to take him seriously, and needed convincing. “All right,” said E-hke. “If you don’t believe me, just watch this.” Turning to one side, he announced that he wanted chicken curry, jabbed with his spear, and there on the tip was a packet of chicken curry. Saying that he wanted pork this time, he turned to the other side and prodded, and there on the point was a packet of pork. Now all of the merchants believed him, and they were thrilled with the spear. The leader now offered to exchange his golden spear for E-hke’s magic one. “Ooh,” said E-hke, “I can’t just do a straight exchange. But if you throw in the horse as well, I will.” Without much ado, the leader handed over his horse too, and

E-hke rode back to town with the golden spear over his shoulder.

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The merchant continued happily on his way and that evening, when the others were having a meal, he didn’t join them but waited until they had all finished.It was only when they were setting off again that he began to spear first to one side and then to the other saying, “I want rice”, “I want chicken curry”. But alas, the spear found no packages for him. Still he didn’t give up but went on hungrily prodding away, saying over and over again that he wanted

packet broke chant, to run

rice, pork, beef, all kinds of food. But not one

appeared, and in the end the stick spear hit a rock and in two. That’s how it came about that the stupid merhaving lost his possessions and half-starved himself, had after his companions, who were already on their way. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu

U. 1993:122-124

55 If you shit on the way, there’s a hundred to pay (Intha) [At Inle Lake the big villages of Nant-ban, ‘Than-daung, ‘Taungdo, Mong Thauk,

Kyauk ‘Taing and In-dein have a market

day

every five days. By tradition pairs of villages—Nant-ban and Nyaungshwe, Than-daung and ‘Taung-do, Mong Thauk and Kyauk Taing, In-dein and Khaung-daing—share the same market day, but Méng Pyo no longer has one. On market days these villages are usually very busy and crowded as people from all around come to buy and sell, rowing along in their boats.] On the lake there was a fellow called Aung Pon who went around the villages on market days selling his goods. They called him ‘Dirty’ Aung Pon because, as well as having the gift of the gab and being humorous, he was devil-may-care and tricky. On one occasion, on the eve of the full moon day of Tagu, he went to In-dein village market and he was just about to go home after selling all his goods when he remembered he needed some kapok. So he went to a kapok seller from the hills, a Pa-o man he’d seen in the market earlier, and bought some. He didn’t have enough money to pay for the whole amount he needed so he said he’d take some on credit, promising to pay the extra hundred on the next market day, and the other man agreed. As he was cleaning the kapok at home he came across bits of

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES, ETC.

229

iron in it, and when he later weighed his kapok he found there was a lot less than he’d thought. He wasn’t very happy about this, so he didn’t go to the next market. When the Pa-o kapok seller didn’t see Aung Pon at the market that he’d promised to go to, he turned up at Aung Pon’s house the following market day, and Aung Pon welcomed him and gave him a good meal. Now the neighbours knew that Aung Pon had ended up with very much less kapok after he’d cleaned it and they were also aware that the seller who had given him credit had now come after him, so they pricked up their ears and waited to see how Aung Pon would make the seller pay for it. Some of them even went so far as to go into his house and saunter around, sizing up the situation. But all they saw was Aung Pon entertaining his guest with a meal. This persuaded them that everything was going smoothly, and that this time Aung Pon wasn’t getting up to any of his tricks. The kapok seller spent the night there, and in the morning he asked Aung Pon where the toilet was. “Oh,”

said Aung Pon.

“Oh, we

don’t have any toilets here,

because we’re close to the pagoda and the monastery. The toilets are right on the outskirts. Come on, I’ll take you.” Taking his oar and leading the way, he went down to his boat with his guest in his urgency right on his heels. Once the Pa-o had sat down, Aung Pon shoved off from the landing-stage and rowed hither and thither round the village, with the other man getting more and more desperate and asking time and again, “Aren’t we there yet?” And every time, Aung Pon answered “We’re nearly there” and went on rowing. After quite some time the Pa-o was unable to hold on any longer and said with his face all screwed up, “It’s urgent, Aung Pon!” Seeing how things were, he answered, “Just a moment, we're almost there.” As they were approaching a nearby toilet he pointed the bow towards it. But now the Pa-o said, with his face covered with embarrassment, “I’ve done it, Aung Pon.” “Oh-oh! Awkward. That’s really awkward. You can’t do that on a boat. If the villagers find out there’ll be real trouble.” “Isn’t it done, Aung Pon?” “No! No sir! You have to compensate the owner of the boat, otherwise harm will come to the whole village.” “How much is the compensation?”

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“Tf you shit on the way, there’s a hundred to pay’. That’s our custom.” “J haven’t got any money, Aung Pon. Will you please take the hundred you owe me as payment?” “Well, all right, yes I will. Don’t worry.” Then Aung Pon took him into shallow water, got him to bathe and to wash his trousers, and rowed him back home.

When the Pa-o seller had gone, Aung Pon’s neighbors came to his house eager for news, asking him what happened about the kapok. Aung Pon grinned widely. “Forget about that kapok business. I lost twenty-five on the muck in the kapok, but for shitting on the way he had a hundred to pay!”

(Trans. KTH) Hila, Ludu

UW 1992-13-17.

56 The story of Ataplem

(Mon)

Long ago, Ataplem borrowed money from the Governor and though many years passed the loan was still unpaid. The Governor was rather fond of him and did not press for repayment. One day he went to pay Ataplem a visit. When Ataplem saw him coming he made up some jaggery in a curious way and scattered it on a board. Then he tied a cock on the board beside the jaggery. As the Governor came up, Ataplem said: “See, here is the Governor and I have nothing to give him. I will feed him with this.” He then scraped up what was lying on the board and handed it to the Governor. “Where did you get this fowl? I should like to have it.” “If your worship really wants it, please take it.” So the Governor took the animal away to his house and called his wife and children together saying, “Come and eat a delicacy.” He then tied the cock up and they sat down and waited. And when there was something to eat he divided it among them all. “It smells nasty,” said his wife. “I cannot eat it.” “Why, so it does. It was quite sweet in Ataplem’s house. I will go and find out what this cock can have eaten.” As the Governor approached, Ataplem said quietly to his wife:

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES,

ETC.

Zo

“Go and buy doves and herons in the bazaar, kill them and throw them on the roof of the house.” Then he fetched his gun and took the Governor out shooting. The Governor shot and fired at all the doves and herons he saw. “Don’t trouble to hunt for them,”

Ataplem said. “We shall find them all on the roof of the house when we get home.” So when they had fired fifty rounds they went back and Ataplem said to his wife: “What have you got for his worship to eat?” “T have nothing at all.” “Nonsense. Take some of the herons and doves that you will find on the roof of the house and cook them.” So she climbed

on to the roof and threw down,

before

the

Governor’s eyes, a large number of birds. “This is an excellent gun,” said the Governor. “I should like to have it.” “IT should not like to part with it,’ Ataplem said, “but if you are very anxious to have it, you may.” So the Governor took the gun home and went out shooting. As he fired he said to each bird, “Go and die on the roof of my house.” When he had fired fifty shots he came home and said to his wife, “We will have some curry of doves and herons. Go and look on the roof. You will find lots there.” She looked on the roof, but there was nothing there. “How is this?” said the Governor. “I will go and enquire of Ataplem.” Meanwhile, Ataplem had been to the village and hired a very beautiful girl and hid her inside his mosquito curtain, giving her careful directions what to do. When the Governor came he called to his wife, “See, here comes his worship. Get a meal ready quickly. What, are you still pounding the pepper? Haven’t you finished yet?” So saying, he seized the pepper-pestle from her grasp and beat her so that she ran weeping into the inner room. After a little, he cried, “Well, have you not become

a beautiful virgin

yet?” At this, as she had been instructed, the girl who had been hidden under the mosquito-curtain came out and when the Governor saw her, “O my father,” he said, “I must have that pepper-

pestle.” When they had eaten curry and rice, he said to Ataplem, “Now please let me have that pestle.” Ataplem feigned reluctance but at last, on the Governor’s handing over all his

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‘

rings and chains and all the money he had with him, Ataplem let him have the pestle. On reaching home, the Governor struck his wife a blow on the head and she ran weeping inside the house. After a little he called, “Have you not become a beautiful virgin yet?” His wife came out still weeping: “How should I become a beautiful virgin? With a broken head.” The Governor looked at her head and said: “I verily believe Ataplem has been deceiving me. I will go and arrest him.” But Ataplem had run away before the Governor reached his house. As he fled, he came to a ferry kept by an old man with his wife and daughter. The old woman was cooking rice. “Ferrywoman,” said Ataplem, “I pray you row me across. I am in a hurry.” “What might your name be?” the old woman asked. “Sunninglaw,” said Ataplem. “Well, daughter, you row him across. I am busy.” When they got to the middle of the river, Ataplem took charge of the boat and rowed off with the girl. “Help, mother, help!” she called. “Help, help!” cried the old woman.

“Oh

fathers, oh mothers,

Sunninglaw has run off with my daughter!” When the neighbours heard, they said: “Well, what business is it of ours? If her son-in-law likes to take away her daughter, we can’t interfere.” Ataplem rowed upstream till he came to a place where five hundred dacoits were encamped. Some were sharpening spears, some were whetting swords and some were cleaning guns. When Ataplem saw them, he thought to himself: “Ha, I will cheat these dacoits.” So he approached them weeping. “What’s the matter with you?” the dacoit leader asked. “I miss my dear father so.” “What was your father?” “He was a great dacoit. He committed many dacoities and was never caught. No sword or gun could wound him. That is why I weep.” “Now, do you possess any of your father’s skill?” “He taught me it all.” “Well, if you were to impart a little of it to us, where would be the harm?”

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES,

ETC.

235

“All right. Go and fetch a two-masted boat and turn it upsidedown and get underneath it. I will compound a drug to inject [into] you. Then you will be dacoits indeed.” So the dacoits went and fetched a large two-masted boat and set it upside-down and, as instructed by Ataplem, they divested themselves of their clothes and went underneath the boat. Ataplem strictly enjoined them not to come out till dawn. He then took all the clothes and property of the dacoits and went his way. At length he came to the village where the wives of the dacoits lived. “Whence come you?” they asked him. “I am a soothsayer,” he replied. “Come,

neighbours,

come,”

they cried, “here

is a doctor of

learning come to our village. Doctor, our husbands have gone out as dacoits. Tell us by your art how they fare.” “You must first make me presents—rice, salt, ngapi, onions, chillis and money if you have it.” When all were assembled he said, “Fear not. Your husbands are all dead. They have become ghosts. ‘hey have no clothes. They will come tomorrow evening. Don’t let them come into your houses.” So saying, Ataplem packed all the goods he had collected in a cart and went off. Next day the dacoits came from under the boat and saw

that their clothes had been removed.

Thinking,

“That fellow has deceived us,” they went to their homes. When their wives saw them coming, “O mothers, O fathers,” they cried,

“here come the ghosts.” So they pelted them with stones and drove them off. “We are not ghosts,” the dacoits cried. “Ataplem has been deceiving you as he did us. He stole all our clothes and all our treasure.” bP)

“We also,” said the wives, “we also gave him rice and salt and

ngapi and silver and gold.” So the dacoits sorrowed for that they had been deceived. Ataplem journeyed till he came to a certain town. In this town there was a rich man who had a very beautiful daughter. Ataplem went into a ruined monastery and there procured a manuscript book. He then sat him down almost within hearing distance of the rich man’s house and pretended to read from the book: “Such a rich man borrowed of me two hundred thousand on such a date at so much interest. In such a month such a rich

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man borrowed a hundred thousand. Altogether the five rich men have borrowed of me so much.” The rich man overheard him as.he read and said, “This is the husband for my daughter,” and straightway arranged a marriage. So Ataplem became the son-in-law of the rich man. He did no work but spent all his tme smoking opium. The

townspeople began to jeer. “Other folk’s sons-in-law trade or speculate or ull the soil. But the rich man of our town has got a son-in-law who does nothing but smoke opium.” Then the rich man’s daughter said to her husband, “Do you not know how people jeer at you?” “Wite,” he replied, “tomorrow I will set forth to earn my living. Make me a bundle of food.” In the morning he sat down under a banyan tree in the cool shade. When he had laid out the food trom his bundle before him, he sat smoking opium. Now in the banyan tree was a Bilu. As he looked and saw the man smoking opium he said, “I have eaten many men. But while others eat rice and curry, this man eats fire. Such a man I have never seen. What manner of man is he?” And the Bilu shivered with fright in his banyan tree. Having finished his pipe, Ataplem considered and said, “Now, what shall I eat first?” and happening to look up and see the Bilu, he called. “Haik, come

down,

come

down

here.”

“Lord of benefits, do not eat me,” said the Bilu. “Ha, I have been without food for long. Come down.” The Bilu descended, crying: “Lord of benefits, do not eat me. I will give you a magic casket, wherefrom you can take as much gold or silver as you wish. Receive this casket and spare me.” Accepting the casket and telling the Bilu he might go, Ataplem went home and showed the Bilu’s gift to his wife. As often as she opened it, it was full of gold and silver, and as often as she emptied it, it refilled. Whereat she rejoiced exceedingly. The rich man also made over all his property to Ataplem, who became a rich man in that town. Stewart,

1913a:60-64.

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

57 The monkey and the crocodile

TALES,

ETC.

245

(Shan)

Once, long ago, a crocodile lived with his wife in a great river.

For some time they were happy, but a day came when the crocodile’s wife thought herself ill. She said to her husband: “There is one thing that I fancy, and that is the heart of a monkey. Get me the heart of a monkey to eat, or I shall die.” By the banks of the river were many trees, and in the trees lived many monkeys. So the crocodile went to the bank of the river and, as he lay in the sun watching the trees, he saw a monkey which seemed bolder than the others as it jumped backwards and forwards among the branches overhanging the water. So the crocodile said: “Little monkey, why do you stay on this side of the river? On the other side there are bananas and mangoes, and many other beautiful fruits. If you jump on my back I shall take you across the river.” But the monkey answered: “You lie; there are not more there than there are here.” Every day the crocodile’s wife grumbled, and every day the crocodile sunned himself on the bank and told the monkey the same tale. At last, because he heard the same story day after day, the monkey jumped on the back of the crocodile, and they began to cross the river.. When half-way across, the crocodile began to sink. And the monkey cried: “What are you doing? I am getting

wet.” Then the crocodile told him that he had indeed lied, and that

he was going to drown him, because his wife fancied that to eat the heart of a monkey would make her well. Then the monkey laughed and said: “If you wish to kill me, then kill me; but are

you foolish enough to think that I carry my heart with me? Surely you know that our hearts are so heavy we rarely carry them with us; we always hang them on the branches, or put them into holes in the trees, as we could not otherwise jump so lightly. If, however, you are anxious to have a monkey’s heart, put me on shore again,and I will bring you not one, but two hearts, in a

moment.” So the crocodile put him on shore; then the monkey brought him two figs, and the wife of the crocodile ate them; and as she

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thought that she had eaten the hearts of monkeys, she was perfectly cured. Milne

and Cochrane,

1910:224-225

58 Kyong-si, the sparrow,

and the Naga King

(Palaung)

[Kyong-st is the lion; we have already met various nagas; and the galon ts a fabulous half-beast, half-bird that guards Mount Meru and frightens even the nagas.| In the middle of three great peaks of a high mountain was a lake full of jewels where ogres, galon and Kyong-si used to meet. Now once, on his way to the meeting, Kyong-si met the King of the Nagas and they said to each other, “Let us see which of us is the strongest. Let us make a vow to each other that whichever of us is the weaker, the stronger will split his head and eat his brain.’ When they met again, the King of the Nagas said to Kyong-s1, ‘Show thy power first.’ Kyong-si roared , and many people died; then the King blew, and his breath caused darkness over three countries. The King said, “Thou dost roar and people die, but I the Naga do not die. Wait, and I shall show thee what I can do.’ The King blew again, and fire came from his mouth and burned up the mountain. Kyong-si was afraid, and fled far away. ‘Then the King of the Nagas shouted, and the fire died down. The King called to Kyong-si, ‘In seven days I shall come back and split thy head and eat thy brain.’ The King, with his Naga followers went away to his own country. When he reached his home, the King of the Nagas said to his people, ‘In seven days we shall go up to Kyong-si.’ Kyong-si said to himself, ‘I fear that the King of the Nagas will come back to kill and eat me.’ Kyong-si was afraid; he did not go anywhere. Tears were flowing from his eyes. A sparrow came down and saw Kyong-si weeping, and said to him, ‘Why dost thou weep?’ Kyong-si replied, ‘O bird! In seven days the King of the Nagas is coming to kill me and eat my brain.’ The sparrow said, ‘What art thou afraid of? Why dost thou fear him? Listen to me, it is not difficult. I, a little bird, will set free my

wisdom to thee; I shall not let thee die.’ Kyong-si said, “That is

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES,

ETC.

237

very good, O bird! I am grateful to thee. Set free thy wisdom to me, please. It is good. It is very good.’ The sparrow called a crow and said, ‘Let us unite to help Kyong-si. Please listen to my words. In seven days the Nagas will come back, and their King will split the head and eat the brain of Kyong-si. We must not let this be the history of Kyongsi, let us save him. Go, call together all kinds of the dwellers of the woods; tigers, bears, elephants, animals with two legs, and

animals with four legs; tell them all to come. Tell them that our King has called all his people to come.’ The animals every one of them arrived, not one remained behind of those that were called. The sparrow said to the crow, “There is still one to be called, the great bird that lives in an island in the middle of the sea.’ So the crow flew away, and arrived at the island and said to that great bird, ‘O big bird! Come with me, please, and we shall be grateful to thee. Our King is calling for thee.’ ‘It is good, it is good, I shall come,’ said the big bird. ‘They flew away together and reached the lion-king, Kyong-si. The great bird said to Kyong-si, ‘What dost thou desire of me?’ and Kyong-si said, ‘Please come, with all the other birds and beasts, and listen to the sparrow.’ Then the sparrow said, “The King of the Nagas is coming to split the head and eat the brain of Kyong-si. Tomorrow he with his followers will arrive. Please go and make a great nest in the Bo-tree yonder. Make it on the very top.’ So the great bird went up into the Botree, and made a large nest of huge pieces of wood. Then the sparrow hid all the animals in the jungle and said to them, ‘Stay quietly there. But tomorrow, when the King of the Nagas arrives, I shall call to you and you must all make as much noise as possible, all at the same

moment.

When

all are shouting, then

let the great bird kick its nest to pieces.’ When the King with his following of Nagas arrived next morning, the sparrow gave the word and all the animals began to shout. The King was surprised and said, ‘Why are you all making such a noise?’ And the sparrow answered, ‘Why should they not make a noise? They are all waiting to see thee kill Kyong-si; even galon is coming down to look on.’ Now galon was a creature very much feared by the Nagas and as, just at that moment, the great bird kicked its nest to pieces and the huge pieces of wood began to fall from the top of the

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FOLK-TALES

tree, the King of the Nagas thought that it was galon descending, and he was so much afraid that he flew away, and all of his following with him. Then all the birds and beasts went home rejoicing that the sparrow had been so clever, and that Kyong-si had been spared to reign as King of the beasts. Milne,

1924:394-396.

59 The

rabbit and the fox

(Mindat

Chin)

Once in a forest there lived two friends, a fox and a rabbit. One

day the fox (as was his wont) wanted to go and steal some food, and asked the rabbit to come along with him. At first the rabbit refused but, fearing that the fox would pick a quarrel with him afterwards, he agreed to accompany him. So off they went to a farmer’s field, with the fox carrying a basket to hold all the vegetables they would be getting there. He had told his friend to bring one too, but the rabbit brought an old basket with a large hole in the bottom that he had especially selected to take with him. On the way, the fox noticed the hole in the basket. “My friend,” he asked, “why did you bring a basket with a hole in it?” “Well, it’s like this,” explained the rabbit. “When you're stealing things, you’ve got to be quick at tucking them away. That’s why Ive brought a basket that you can put things into from both ends.” Taking the rabbit seriously, the fox began to see that this was a good idea. Wanting the basket for himself so that he could tuck away the vegetables very quickly, he asked the rabbit to exchange it for his own. At first the rabbit pretended to object; but later he said that as he was a good friend he would make the sacrifice, and he gave it to the fox. When they got to the field the rabbit began carefully stowing away cucumbers and pumpkins and heads of corn into the good basket. Meanwhile, the fox was having trouble with the other one: every time he moved the basket the vegetables kept dropping out, and he had to stop to pick them up and put them back in. It was while he was doing this that the farmer spotted them and came chasing them. The rabbit shouldered his bulging basket and ran away as soon as he saw the farmer came running,

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but the fox was so busy lifting the basket, picking up the vegetables and putting them back in that in the end the farmer managed to catch him by grabbing his hind legs. The fox called out to the rabbit to say that he’d been caught, and from a distance the rabbit called back. “My friend, how are you being held?” “The farmer’s holding both my hind legs!” yelled the fox. “Oh, that’s all right, then,” shouted the rabbit. “He hasn’t got

you by the nose. If he had you by your snout you’d have no way of escaping at all!” When he heard this, the stupid farmer let go of the fox’s hind legs so as to grab at his snout and in the process allowed the fox to run away into the forest without any difficulty.

(Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1969a:207-210. 60 The elephant versus the tiger

(Palaung)

[The letpan tree is Bombax malabaricum, the so-called ‘silk-cottontree’, which bears showy red flowers as large as 15cm in width on leafless branches. | Long ago, every time the Jletpan flowers were in bloom the mynah birds would come to eat the buds and flowers, chattering and calling to one another and generally making a lot of noise. One day a tiger and an elephant arrived at the /etpan tree together, and heard the racket the mynahs were making. “Let’s agree,” said the elephant, “that whichever of us can silence the mynahs with his own call shall eat the other.” The tiger accepted the challenge. First the elephant trumpeted loudly three times, but even though he did this to the best of his ability the mynahs in the tree didn’t take the slightest notice and just carried on in their noisy fashion. Then the tiger took his turn and roared three times without any pause and, as his bellowing vibrated through a forest that was full of the sounds of birds and wild fowl, everything went quiet in an instant. Even the mynah birds in the tree were silenced. The tiger was triumphant.

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“T’m the winner,” he announced to all and sundry, “so I can eat you.” In his distress at losing, the elephant let fall a few tears and pleaded with the tiger. Now that he was to be food for the tiger, he begged, couldn’t he be given a week to go back to his wife and children and say goodbye? The tiger said yes, he could go, but he must be back in the designated place in seven days’ time. So the elephant went to his family and then, on the day he was to be eaten, made his way back miserably. The mournful creature was noticed by a rabbit who was hopping around looking for food. “Elephant, my friend!” called the rabbit. “Why are you so downcast? Please allow me to help you if I can.” Weeping, the elephant told him all about the contest and how as a result he was now on his way to be eaten. “Elephant, my friend,” said the rabbit, “don’t worry about it one little bit. Pll save you if you just do as I say.” “Pll follow your instructions,” the elephant promised readily. “Please save my life.” The rabbit made him lie down and started to stick all over his body the sort of pancakes that rabbits eat. That done, he gave the elephant his instructions. “When we get to the place where the tiger’s waiting, Pll say to him ‘Let’s take turns pushing this elephant and see which of us is strong enough to make him fall over.’ When he agrees, Ill let him push you first. You just stand firm. Then [ll push you, and as soon as my fingertips touch you, you must fall over with a great big thud. All right?” Then they set off and came to the meeting-place. “Tiger,” said the rabbit, “I’ve heard that you’re extremely strong, and I know you’ve even defeated the elephant, who is much bigger than you. Let’s have a contest now, you and I, to see who’s the stronger. We'll push this huge elephant, and the one who can push him over on to the ground will be the winner, and he eats=the Joser:” “How dare you!” fumed the tiger. “How dare an insignificant little creature like you challenge a powerful tiger such as me?” And he pushed at the elephant, who stood firm without even the slightest-twitch of a muscle. The tiger kept on pushing and pushing to no avail, and had to give up in the end. With a derisive laugh the rabbit then put one hand on the

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elephant, who immediately fell over with a loud thud. The rabbit immediately jumped on to the elephant’s body and started pulling off the pancakes and eating them with relish. The tiger, thinking he was eating the elephant’s flesh, immediately ran away; and that was how the elephant was saved from becoming food for the tiger. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1966c:200-203. 61 The fellow at the town-eater’s house

(Taungyo)

[The Burmese word myo-sa, literally translated as ‘town-eater’, denotes a civic postition. The town-eater was an official appointed to gather taxes from a town on behalf of the king. Much of the money thus gathered was retained by the myo-sa, who therefore quite literally fed on the town. Also, in Burmese as in many languages, the words for moon and month are the same. |

Once in the Taungyo area there lived a fellow called Quibbler who, as he had no surviving parents or relatives, was taken in by the town-eater’s wife to do household chores on condition that he had to leave when two moons were up. He agreed to this, but couldn’t do any task well, and whenever instructions were given to him he would follow them quite literally. One day, although she was rather anxious about leaving the baby in his care, the town-eater’s wife asked him to keep an eye on it while she went to the market. So Quibbler sat looking at the baby in the cradle, and when it started to cry because it was hungry he just watched it crying, and when it rolled around still crying he still watched it. Eventually the baby fell out of the cradle and tumbled down the steps one after another until, still howling, it was lying on the bottom step. Quibbler, who had been closely watching the baby falling until it reached the last step, noticed the soft spot that was pulsing on the top of its head. He thought it was a boil, and that the baby was crying from the pain of it. Thinking that if he opened it and drained out the pus the baby would go to sleep again, he pierced the soft spot with an awl, took out the brain (which he thought was pus) and put it on a plate. Then he sat down and kept an eye on the dead baby.

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Meanwhile the mother was hurrying back, and as soon as he saw her Quibbler reported. “T’ve taken the pus out of the boil on the baby’s head, and after that it stopped crying and fell asleep.” And he showed her the plateful of brain. Running to the baby and finding it dead, she began in her grief and fury to drive him out of the house. But Quibbler refused to leave because he hadn’t yet seen

two

moons.

On another day the town-eater told him to accompany him on a trip, following on behind his horse. While they were resting on the way, the town-eater felt like having a quid of betel and looked in his bag for his gold betel-nut container. When he couldn’t find it he thought it must have fallen off, so he asked Quibbler whether he’d picked it up. When Quibbler said he hadn’t, the town eater told him to be sure to pick up anything that might fall off behind his back. Not long afterwards the town-eater set off on another journey and again took Quibbler with him. Remembering what he’d been told on the previous trip, Quibbler this time picked up all the horse dung left behind and bundled it into his headcloth. At the resting-place the town-eater noticed the bundle. “What’s this, that you’ve taken so much trouble to bring with you?” he asked. “I did what you told me to do last time,” answered Quibbler. “IT picked up anything that fell off.” When he handed over the bundle of horse dung, the towneater was angry but couldn’t face all the trouble of explaining things to Quibbler. After that little episode, the town-eater’s wife was one day making some crispy rice batter pancakes and, wanting her husband to have some, she sent Quibbler to go and fetch his master. He went off and found the town-eater sitting with some other officials discussing some business or other. Quibbler butted in. “Master, master!” he called out. “Mistress would like you to come back home to have some crispy rice pancakes.” “You

mustn’t

call out to me

like that,” muttered

the town-

eater. “You should stand where I can see you and just give me a wink.” Then came the day when there was a fire in the neighbourhood. As their house was in danger of being burned down, the

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town-eater’s wife asked Quibbler to take things out of the house. But when she saw Quibbler carrying paddy-husk bags outside instead of getting valuable things, she told him to go and fetch her husband. So Quibbler went to the office, stood where he could be seen and kept winking at his master. The town-eater, who was dealing with some important matters, just assumed that his wife had sent for him to come and eat pancakes, and he ignored Quibbler. When he came home in the evening, he found that his house was now just a heap of ashes. His wife was getting utterly fed up with Quibbler. Time after time she had insisted on his leaving and he had refused to go, and he had been hanging on for nearly a year now. She had to think of a way to get rid of him. Quibbler had no idea that he’d been staying at the town-eater’s house for many months, and didn’t seem to have realised that he was to leave after just two months, two moons ..... One night when the moon was shining very clearly she put some water in a tray and pointed out the moon in the sky and its reflection in the water. “There’s one moon, and here’s another,” she said. “I'wo moons.

Now you can go wherever you like.” And she drove him away. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu

U. 1968g:171-175

62 The ten simpletons

(Arakanese)

True to the old saying that birds of a feather generally flock together, there once met in a village, by some quirk of fate, ten simple rustics of similar tastes and disposition. One day while they were having breakfast under a large and shady tree, one of them began counting the number of those who were present. But forgetting to include himself he could not get beyond nine. So after going through the same process three or four times he eventually told the others that a misfortune had happened because out of ten, their original number,

only nine remained,

and that

one of them had mysteriously disappeared. One or two disbelieved this, as they were fully certain that no one had left them from the time they first assembled together under the tree. So to satisfy themselves they began counting over again, and to their

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astonishment they could not get beyond the number nine for, like the first man, each of them excluded himself in the telling. Many were the reasons put forward to account for so strange a disappearance, but somehow nobody could be fully convinced. While these things were taking place, an old man happened to pass by that way. Seeing the men in hot dispute over something or other he addressed them thus, “My sons, if you are not actually quarrelling, you are at least very much excited and are on the verge of coming to blows. Tell me, I pray you, the nature of your dispute so that I may, if it lies in my power, settle it amicably.” So one of the men replied, “Grandfather, you are just the person we are looking for. My friends and myself are disputing as to our actual number. Some say we are only nine but others stoutly refuse to accept this, and hence all the present excitement.” “Very well,” said the old man, “if I can convince you that you are not nine really but ten as you originally were, will you become my slaves?” To this they all agreed. They did not care what manner of work they did, provided they could be certain that all their friends were together. So the old man told each of them to bring him a stick. When this was done the men were told to count the sticks. They all counted ten, and when they were fully satisfied that their number had in no way diminished, they greatly marvelled at the wisdom of the old man. So they willingly became his slaves and followed him home. At that time the paddy was just ripe. One morning the old man sent for his newly acquired slaves and said to them, “My sons, I want you to do some reaping for me today. Don’t do the job in bits, one here and one there, but you should all keep together to one side of the field and gradually work up in a line till you come to the other side.” Unfortunately these instructions were too technical and too complicated for their simple pates, for they contained a phrase which when literally rendered meant “put a hamadryad on one side and reap”. So, totally misunderstanding the phrase, the poor rustics began their work by searching high and low for the elusive reptile. From early morn till dewy eve this went on until, night approaching rapidly, the old man in his anxiety at their delay went out to investigate for himself. He found them in the midst of their fruitless search, and on

enquiry one of them replied, “Oh grandfather, tell us what we

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are to do now. The whole day long we have been searching for a hamadryad to enable us to begin our operations on the field. We have not succeeded and hence all this delay.” The old man was astonished, and after having cursed their gross stupidity he explained to them what was really meant by his particularly puzzling instructions. The next day reaping began in real earnest. By sunset the whole business was completed. When the labourers returned home with sheaves of corn (sic) on their heads the old man was unfortunately away from home. So not knowing where to deposit their loads they asked the old lady, who was then engaged in weaving, where they should do so. She happened to be extremely cranky at the time, and so she shouted at the top of her voice, “You fools, do

you mean to say that you really do not know where such things are usually placed? If so, place them on my head.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the men, impatient to relieve themselves of their loads, began discharging them on the hapless old lady. The result was disastrous, and her soul was instantly carried away on the wings of death. When the old man returned home he enquired after his wife. They told him all that had happened and pointed out the spot where she was lying, at her expressed wish, beneath the sheaves of corn. Instantly he was flinging aside the heavy bundles and, as he feared, he found his better half lying cold in death. What was to be done? The utmost he could do was to abuse them roundly for their gross stupidity. The next day the men were ordered to go to the forest to cut firewood for the proper cremation of the body. Having arrived at the place the simpletons first selected a tree of proper girth and proportions. One of them was then sent up to the highest branch of the tree for the purpose of playing the flute so that the rest might be amused. Another was told to cut the trunk, while the remaining eight men stood in a row to receive the tree on their shoulders. The tree was eventually cut and in the act of falling the eight men were crushed to death, and at the same time the flute player was dashed to pieces. The only survivor was the one who undertook the cutting. Sad and dejected at the loss of his friends, he resolved to die also. He therefore laid himself down by the

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bodies of his friends and, thinking that the simple process of death consisted in keeping quite still, he soon fell off to sleep. By and by a mahout riding his elephant while passing that way came across these men stretched out on the ground. Not knowing whether they were dead or alive he tried to find out by prodding each prostrate figure with the iron goad he had with him. Of course there was no response from the dead; but when he touched the man who pretended to be dead and who in reality was asleep, the man jumped up in extreme surprise. He looked upon the iron goad as a marvellous instrument capable of resuscitating the dead; for was he not quite dead a little while ago, and was he not now fully alive simply by being touched with the wonderful goad? So he addressed the mahout in these words, “Good mister mahout, I should very much like to possess your goad if you will let me have it; and in return I am willing to give you all the dahs and axes I now have with me.” The mahout was much pleased inwardly at having come across such a simpleton, and blessed the star that guided his footsteps to that place. His goad was not of much value, while the dahs and axes were far more valuable. Without therefore saying a word he handed over his goad and received the other things the man offered him, and departed. Armed with the goad the man set out on his travels, determined to earn an honest living by means of his new possession. After several days of wandering he entered a large and prosperous village where he found all the people in the deepest grief. Being very curious he asked a person what it was all about. “Don’t you know,” replied the man, “that the richest man in the village has Jost his only daughter? As he is a very good and influential man in these parts, we are all expressing our grief for his sad loss. Where can you have been, not to have heard about this before?” Our traveller replied, “Friend, I am a stranger to this place; please overlook my ignorance. If this rich man’s daughter is dead and is still in the house, I have the means of bringing her back to life. Go and inform him, I pray you, about my presence here, so that if he wishes it I am willing to raise her from the dead.” For some moments the villager remained dumbfounded. Then, with a long indrawn breath, he ran as fast as he could towards the rich man’s house, eager to impart the wonderful informa-

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tion. Arrived there, he related everything to the bereaved parent who, unable to believe his ears, caught the man by the arm and hurried him to the spot where he had left the marvellous being. When they reached the place the rich man said, “Worthy stranger, is it true that you can restore life to the dead? If so, I pray you to come to my house and perform the operation without delay. I will give you such a reward as will enable you to live in comfort for the remainder of your life.” Arrived at the house, the man looked upon the serene face of the deceased. He ordered a thick curtain to be placed around it so as to prevent others from looking. He then entered, and began prodding the corpse with his goad. After the first few applications, he was surprised to see that there was no response from the dead. So in his eagerness he jabbed the body with all his might, tearing the flesh everywhere. This went on for quite a long time. At last the bereaved parents, impatient to learn the result of the cure, raised the curtain to see how far the man

had

succeeded. To their horror and indignation they found that instead of the dead coming back to life, the remains of their daughter were mutilated beyond recognition. The servants of the house were hastily summoned and were told to take the man outside the village and after thrashing him soundly to drive him away. When they had carried out their instructions they told him as a parting piece of advice that it would have been better for him if he had joined them in weeping and mourning from the time he first entered the village. But now, since he pretended to be what he was not, he had been justly punished. Much puzzled and grieved at the failure of his goad he left the village. For several days he walked aimlessly on and at last he came to another village where a marriage procession was passing along its main street. He stood in the middle of the road and calmly waited for it to come up to him. As soon as it was sufficiently near, he began weeping very loudly and rolled himself in the dust. He did this because he had been told to do so by the people of the last village. Whereupon the people who formed the procession became very angry, for they looked upon such evident signs of grief as something out of place and, being highly superstitious, they considered the man’s conduct to be very unlucky. So they beat him severely and told him that on such occa-

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sions he should never weep, but should shout, laugh and sing with gladness. He then left the village with the parting advice fully remembered. On the way he had to pass through a thick jungle in which he saw from a distance a trapper wholly absorbed in his work. The man was hiding behind a tree trunk and was intently looking at a bird about to fall into his trap. Of course our simpleton knew nothing at all about this. As soon as he saw the man he began to shout, laugh and sing as previously advised; and all in all he made so much noise that the bird near the trap flew away in fright. As may be imagined, the trapper was furious. With one great bound he came up to our hero and rained merciless blows on his face and body. Then with a final kick he said, “You utter idiot, didn’t you see I was trying to catch a bird, and that to do so it was necessary to remain absolutely quiet? You should have done the same as I was then doing. But now you have spoilt it all, for which you have been justly punished. On the next occasion, it will pay you to remember my instructions.” The poor simpleton begged and prayed to be excused and informed the irate trapper that his conduct was due to a piece of advice he had previously received. After faithfully promising to do all he was told he left the forest with a sad weary heart. The next place he reached was a small village of dhobies. Now in this community there had been several thefts of late and the people were particularly careful about strangers lurking about in the neighbourhood. So when he saw from a distance that the people were engaged in washing clothes, he stealthily approached them by taking advantage of every available cover, as was told to him by the trapper. It being broad daylight, the dhobies saw him soon enough. At once their suspicions were aroused and they caught him and tied him up to a tree and flogged him severely, taking him to be the thief who had robbed them. The man howled with pain and told them he was no thief but a mere traveller. He said that he approached the village in the manner he did because he was told to do so by a man he met on the way. The dhobies, finding out their mistake, soon released him; but at the same

time they told

him that it was entirely his fault. They said that what he should

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have done was to join them in their work and to do exactly as they did. He would then have been given food and shelter for his services,

instead

of which

he now

received,

for his foolish

conduct, a punishment he justly deserved. Early next morning the man left the village to take up once more the course of his interrupted travels. After walking all day, and just as the sun was about to dip itself beneath the western horizon he saw a lone hut by the bank of a small stream. He knew something was wrong there, for even from a distance he could distinctly hear the sound of blows and angry voices. He rapidly approached the hut, and in it he was amazed to see a man and a woman, apparently husband and wife, engaged in a

desperate struggle. Mindful of what he was told previously in the dhobies’ village he rushed into the house and began beating both of them in turn. He did this because he really believed that it was the only way of ingratiating himself with them. But the irate couple, seeing a total stranger interfering in their affairs without any rhyme or reason, soon forgot their own differences. A common enemy had come on the scene. It was their bounden duty to get rid of him as soon as possible. So they both attacked him with curses and blows; and before long the intruder howled for mercy. On being questioned as to the cause of his strange conduct, he told them the details of his last adventure. He said that it was because he was told to do exactly what he saw others doing and thereby earn their gratitude, that he joined them in their quarrel. “Unfortunately,”

said the owner

of the house, “that advice,

though it may do in certain cases, does not apply here at all. The proper thing for you to have done was to separate us by coming in between and then to make up the quarrel by sweet words and phrases.” The man faithfully promised to do so on the next occasion. After properly apologising for what he had done he left the house that very evening. When night had fairly advanced he entered a dark forest. The path could not be properly seen because of the darkness. So more in prudence than in fear he climbed up a tall tree and passed the

remainder of the night in fitful slumber. When day broke he was again on his legs walking rapidly through the forest. At last he came out to an open field and paused a while to consider what direction he should take. Suddenly his attention was drawn to

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the sight of two buffaloes charging each other with lowered heads. This went on over and over again till he was thoroughly convinced that they were really fighting. What was he to do? He knew full well what he did on the last occasion and how badly it ended for him. So he at once decided to act on the farewell advice given by the owner of the hut he last visited. When the buffaloes separated once again before charging each other he rushed in between them. Flinging wide apart his arms in opposite directions he shouted to them to stop and not to lose their tempers over a trifling affair. But the maddened beasts took no notice of his antics. They came on with the fury of a tornado, and met just at the place where our hero was standing. The result was disastrous. His body was crushed and the weary soul, shuffling off its mortal coil, joyously soared away to that realm in which the nats have their uninterrupted bliss. ad. from

San Shwe

63 Tall tales

Bu, 1926b:96-101.

(Yaw)

One day Master Gasbag went to visit Master Windbag and sat quietly listening to a discussion that was going on about which strain of paddy would give the greatest yield for the least planting, how to plant various sorts of bean and corn, and how to use manure most effectively as a fertiliser. As soon as there was a break in the conversation, he plunged in to say how good his grandfather’s strain of rice-bean was. “However good they say that somebody else’s paddy or bean strain is,” he said, “itll be nothing compared to my grandfather’s rice-bean. It’s a real fast grower, that one. You won’t find anything like that in a hurry.” “All right then,” said the others. “Tell us. Tell us all about this variety of rice-bean your grandfather’s got.” “Well,” said Master Gasbag, “I was still very young when I went to the field with my Grandad to sow the seeds. Grandad wouldn’t take the cart into the field. He left it just outside the gate and told me to sit in the cart and wait and not to go along with him, because the plants were such fast growers that I could get into danger. So I had to stay outside on the cart. Then Grandad took a basket of rice-bean seed, went straight to the far end of

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the field and put the basket down while he made a pouch in his longyi, poured some bean seeds into the pouch and started scattering them. And as soon as those seeds hit the ground, shoots began to spring up. You should have seen the way they grew taller and taller—it was fantastic! Well, Grandad was walking backwards as he was sowing, and by the time he’d got halfway, the plants where he’d started had grown into big vines and were already covered with flowers and beans.” “Wow! What a superb variety!” said the others. “Of course. You know why? He got them from the south-eastern cave. And the reason he went there was that he’d had a dream, sent by Thagya Min. They really grew very fast, those plants. It got so that he had to do everything almost at a gallop, going backwards all the time, and when he got near the gates he called out, ‘Don’t get down from the cart, grandson, stay there quietly!’ Well, I stood up to look at the plants, and they were like waves in a thunderstorm, tossing and swaying—you wouldn’t believe it.” “They really did grow fast, didn’t they?” “By this trme Grandad, still scattering seeds to right and left, was scurrying backwards and the closer he got to the end the faster he had to move. Then, at the gate, he threw one last handful,

grabbed his basket and jumped over the fence. Even so, the tendrils from the seeds at his feet managed to wrap themselves around his topknot, and as he jumped they pulled the knot in his hair undone. Phew! It was only when he was outside that he could heave a big sigh and relax.” “Ah, that really is an excellent strain,” 29 the others agreed. But listening to Master Gasbag’s story about his grandfather’s excellent strain of rice-bean, the host Master Windbag couldn’t take it lying down. He wanted to tell the others about his grandfather’s decoy dove. “Yes, yes, your grandfather’s rice-bean is very good. If we were able to grow that and export the crop all over the world, there wouldn’t be enough ships for the job. But let me tell you about my grandfather’s decoy dove.” “Oh yes, please do.” “Well, then. My grandfather’s field was just within shouting distance from the north side of our village. It was during the cool season, round about the waxing moon of Pyatho. The pad-

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dy had already been trampled and put away in the granary, and in the field there were only haystacks—you know the way they’re stacked all around. One day Grandad said, “Grandson, we’re going to have a lot of dove meat today’. He went to get the decoy dove that he kept at the back of the house and put it on the jujube tree. Other doves have to call ‘cu-cu-cuu, cu-cu-cuu’ many times, don’t they, before the male doves come? But my erandfather’s dove ... hmm-hmm....” “Well go on, tell us!” “This decoy dove had only just started to go ‘cu-cu-cuu’ when with the very first ‘cu-’ a dove had shot straight into the net that was strung up there. And as it went on going ‘cu-cu-cuu’ without stopping, you should have seen how many doves came flying in from the surrounding forests, flock after flock after flock, and all

going straight into the net.” “Tt sounds as if you had a problem on your hands plucking all the feathers out.” “Quite right! How could you pluck the doves one by one? It was a good thing the field was empty. All the dead doves were placed like paddy-stalks ready for trampling, and five bullocks were driven over them to remove the feathers.” “That’s the way to do it!” “Now a cool northerly wind was blowing at the time, the wind that brings on the toddy flower buds, and the village monastery was still being built on the eastern side of the village, a threestoreyed one, and the donor had just had the spire coated with oleo-resin because he wanted it gilded. Well, what happened was that all those dove-feathers were carried away on the northerly wind and got stuck on the spire.” “What? People would have to unstick all those feathers!” “Oh, that wasn’t the last of it. As the wind got stronger and stronger, more and more feathers got stuck there. Soon there were creaking sounds and the spire began to rise, and then the whole monastery flew up into the sky. The voices of the young boys reciting the scriptures got fainter and fainter, and finally, with the faintest of ‘O Nats’, the monastery disappeared into the sky.” Later, on another day and in another round of conversation, Master High Wind—not to be outdone—told his friends this story.

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

TALES,

“My friends, some predictions can come our ancient elders gave us the old saying:

ETC.

253

true. It’s no wonder

‘Be careful with tradition and the cash you have to spend. Be careless of tradition, and you may well offend. Be careless when you’re shopping, and in poverty you'll end.” “Wow, what a prologue! What strong winds and heavy rains! Come on, tell us what you’ve got to say.” “You know that saying:

‘South-west is the lucky way To set out on a Saturday. Then fortune, like a heavy rain Will shower on you to your gain.’ Well, I just want to show you how true it is.” “All right, then, get on with it.” “It was in Nayon, the time when the first rains had already arrived. Everything was green, the trees and bamboos all green and beautiful, and on this particular Saturday I was a bit bored and thought I'd go fishing. So I shouldered my fishing-rod, took a container and went outside, and remembering that it was a Saturday I thought I should go south-westwards and go to the Saturday corner or south-west bend in the Myit-tha river. Td hardly got beyond the village fence when on the way I saw a bee’s nest on a vine. So I lit up a cheroot, carefully got underneath the plant and blew smoke at the nest. When the bees flew out I cut through the branch it was on with a knife I’'d brought with me, and I took the honeycomb with me. Oh, and that honey! It was flowing out, and as I walked along the bank I broke bits off the honeycomb and ate and ate, and by the time I'd got

to a good place for fishing I'd finished it. Then I went down the bank, found a shady place and sat down. I baited the hook, cast it into the river and stuck the rod into the

ground, and I’d only puffed once or twice on my cheroot, my friends, before the rod was being tugged and tugged, and kept bending towards the water. And what do you know? What Id hooked was a huge fish! I kept wondering what it was. A carp? A short-headed catfish? A banded snakehead? But though I pulled and pulled, the fish was so big that I couldn’t land it for a long time. I played it for quite a time, letting it go, pulling it back and

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letting it go again, and by this time I knew it was a big carp. When it had got very tired I managed to haul it in, straight into my container. But because I’d had to pull so hard and it landed with such force, I was thrown backwards, and as I fell I found myself clutching the neck of a large common rat snake with my

left hand, and in my right there was a huge mushroom head, because I’d thrown that hand into a mushroom bed. I killed the snake and grilled it, and then I went around gathering mushrooms, picking one after another until I had about a bushel. I got some soft bamboo from a nearby clump and made two baskets. I put in the mushrooms hung the baskets on a stick and carried them back. In no time at all I'd got honey, a huge carp, about a bushel of mushrooms and a large snake. You know why? Because I followed the saying and went to the south-west. And I’m Saturday-born myself, so what more can I say? You see how true these old sayings can be?” As he picked up a bowl of green tea to quench his thirst, another man called Master Trumper started talking. “Friends of my youth, the southernmost chasm of the Htonkyauk Khin mountain range to the east of our village is extraordinarily deep. You can’t even estimate how deep it is.” “Arent you overdoing it a bit?” “Look. About four years ago during the month of Wagaung I went into Hton-kyauk Khin forest to get some bamboo shoots. When I got near the southern chasm I saw a lovely big shoot coming out of the edge of it so, while I held on to a branch of a tree tightly with my left hand, I reached out to cut it with a knife

in my right hand. The first stroke hit the shoot too low, and when I struck the second time my knife slipped from my hand and fell into the chasm. It went down and down, hitting the rocks as it went and making tinkling sounds like the bells on the feet of a little Indian dancing girl. I stayed for a long time listening, but as the sound didn’t stop and I couldn’t hang on any longer I went back home with the bamboo shoots that I'd managed to get. Not long after that I went to work in Mo-gaung jade mine, as you all know, and after three years of going around mining in the Hpa-kant jade area I'd got only one piece of raw jade, but because it was a good colour I got my share of 5000 and came back to the village. About a month later when I was searching for mushrooms I went to the chasm at Hton-kyauk Khin where

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255

I'd dropped my knife, just to go and look. And lo and behold, I could still hear the tinkling sounds it was making as it fell. Mind you, the sound

wasn’t as loud as before, but I recognised

the

sound that my knife made. That made me think the chasm must be so very, very deep that I had no hope of ever getting my knife back. So I gave up and left the place. Just imagine the depth of that chasm!” When he had finished, there was laughter all round and then the group broke up.

(Trans. KTH) Hla, Ludu

U.

1969c:193-203.

64 Mr Golden Simple and his wife

(Burman)

Long, long ago in a village far, far away from crowded towns there lived a couple who earned their living by farming. They had never been to any of those towns even for trading purposes, because they ate only the produce from their own farm. They were such simpletons that people called them Maung ShweYoe

and Ma Shwe Yoe, or Mr Golden Simple and Mrs Golden Simple. In that village there was an abbot who was respected and depended on by all villagers who needed someone to turn to. He was a scholar interested only in the scriptures, and he had no knowledge of what was happening in the world because he was intent only on meditating and trying hard to be released from the cycle of rebirths. He too was called Monk Golden Simple, because he had not seen or heard any of the strange modern inventions that we use these days. One day the husband, Golden Simple, came home after a hard day’s work in the fields and went straight to bed. When his wife saw this she spoke to him. “Oh, Golden Simple, must you go straight to sleep as soon as you're back? Won’t you please go and get me some water?” So he got up, shouldered

the water-jar and went out to get

some. On the way, he came upon a small round mirror. The brightness of it caught his eye, and when he looked at it closely he didn’t realise that the image of a man with his hair in a topknot was his own reflection. Seeing that it resembled an uncle with a similar topknot who had died five years before, he thought

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.

\

ue |

|

i

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\

WEN

VY

Sz \ i

8. Golden Simple and his Wife.

TRICKSTER/SIMPLETON

he would look at it whenever

TALES,

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257

he missed his uncle, and took it

home. Handling the mirror with respect he put it in a box that was kept in the front room, knowing neither that it was called a mirror nor what a mirror does. From then onwards, every time he came back from the fields he would take it out and gaze into it, convinced that the image he saw was a picture of his dead uncle. His wife became curious about the way her husband was opening the box and looking inside rather frequently, and decided to take a look while he was out. When her husband went off she opened the box, rummaged about in it and found the little round mirror. She had never seen a mirror before either. She picked it up, looked at it closely and saw her own reflection. “Aha!” she muttered. “So this is why His Lordship Golden Simple has been opening this box and looking inside. He’s got a picture of his lesser wife. Just you wait, you adulterer! Just you wait and see!” The moment Golden Simple came back, she grabbed him by the hand, hauled him inside and over to the box, took out the

mirror and confronted him. “This is your lesser wife, isn’t it?” she hissed, pointing at the mirror. Golden Simple was taken aback. He grabbed the mirror from her hand and looked into it. “This is a picture of my uncle,” he said. “You can see the little moustache!” His wife snatched the mirror back, peered into it and pointed at her image. “Hey, Golden Simple, you just look at it carefully. This one wears her hair wrapped around a comb. How could it be your uncle?” “It as my uncle!” “No. It’s your mistress!” And it went on and on like this until the wife had an idea. “Now, now, Golden Simple, don’t deny it any more. Let’s go and ask our abbot at the monastery. He’s fair and honest. If he says it’s your uncle, you win.” “All right then,” her husband said. “We'll go by what he says.” So they made their way to the monastery to see the abbot, who had also never seen a mirror before. When they arrived

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they found him with his prayer beads around his neck, sweeping. He greeted them. “Ah, my donors, where have you come from?” “We’ve come to ask for your expert opinion,” said Golden Simple. “My wife here has been accusing me of keeping a picture of a new wife when it’s really a picture of my dead uncle that I found in the road.” “Well, I certainly knew your uncle, so let me see it.” The abbot who had never before seen a mirror gazed into it. “This isn’t Golden Simple’s new wife, and it isn’t his uncle either. This is a picture of my teacher, the late abbot.” Golden Simple and his wife accepted the word of Abbot Golden Simple and went home at peace with each other. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1967a:21-25. 65 The end of the Na Hsaung Soe ogres

(Padaung)

[Long ago people believed that ogres and other supernatural beings lived on earth alongside humans. The bodies of these beings, they thought, consisted of infinitely small particles, matter too fine to be seen by human eyes. They could therefore transport themselves anywhere in an instant, but could also condense the particles so as to become visible. (For the nature of the leik-pya, see the note preceding tale 38.)| Long, long ago, a community established a small village at the foot of Na Hsaung Soe hill, where Si-mahka ogres lived. In that village lived a family, a couple and their two daughters, and the younger one, Mupa, was considered to be the village beauty and outshone her not-so-pretty sister. One day the mother and her daughters set out for the forest to gather firewood, because there was none left at home. Although they lived at the foot of the hill no trees grew on it, so they had to go on a long and tiring journey to get a backpackful of firewood. They had been walking along the foot of the treeless, rocky hill since the sun was toddypalm high, and by the time the sun was beginning to decline they still hadn’t reached the forest; and they were suffering from heat and thirst.

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259

One of the Si-mahka ogres had been watching the three women wending their way in full view in the midday sun and had come down the hill to put three bundles of wood and a container of rice wine at a spot where they would be passing. He then promised himself that he would take as wife whichever of the three women drank the brew, whether she was young or old, beautiful or not. He hid nearby and soon the three women, soaked with sweat, came

across the bundles and the container.

“What luck, mother!” exclaimed Mupa. “This is very handy, seeing that we’re so thirsty. Now that we’ve found firewood as well as this brew, let’s quench our thirst, put the wood

in our

backpacks and go back home.” “Don’t touch it, daughter!” her mother warned her. “We’ve been here before and never found anything like this. Strange that we should find these things today. It’s not natural. I think this is an ogre’s trickery. On no account drink that brew, daughter. If you do, I fear there might be trouble.” But it was too late. Unable to contain her thirst Mupa had drunk some even before her mother had finished speaking, and the moment she replaced the container the huge Si-mahka ogre appeared and grabbed her hand. “What is your name?” he demanded. “My name is Mupa.” “Well, Mupa. You drank my brew, so you are now my wife!” Mupa resisted going along with him and her mother and sister pleaded with him, offering ten times the amount that Mupa had drunk, but the ogre would not hear of it and dragged her away. Although she had been taken away by force and was now inside a cave on Na Hsaung Soe hill, Mupa was well able to avoid the unwanted attentions of the ogre by means of deception. However powerful the huge ogre was, he was no match for her craftiness. Knowing that it wouldn’t be difficult to find a ladleful of blood in a den where

raw meat was eaten, she found some

and

smeared it on her waistcloth. When the ogre saw the blood there he asked her what had happened, and she answered that her seasonal flower was in bloom. This answer and the blood kept the ogre away for months, because every day she rubbed some into her waistcloth and gave him the same reply every time he asked. Many months later, the ogre asked again. “Hasn’t your flowering stopped yet?”

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“Tt’s all because you only saw fit to drag me away and didn’t think to go and pay your respects to your in-laws. That’s why I’m having to go through this. Seven days after you’ve paid your respects, I'll be all right.” On hearing this, the ogre got busy planning for the occasion. He let it be known to Mupa’s father La-balan that he would be coming to pay his respects so as to be recognised as son-in-law, and he specified a meeting-place on the boundary between the foot of the hill and the outskirts of the village. On the designated day, longing to see his daughter and not wanting to slight the ogre, La-balan made a point of attending. The ogre came with a companion,

but not Mupa;

he had left her behind,

because

if

her father were to disapprove and take her back it would lead to fighting against humans, and that could become a great problem. The big ogre presented his father-in-law with gifts, paid his respects and then went back. But his companion, the other ogre, wanted to eat La-balan. After following him and imprisoning his leik-pya without his friend’s knowledge, he planned to suck the blood from his victim’s neck the next day under the pretence of going out hunting in the forest The morning after the ogre had paid his respects, Mupa found the dead body of a one-eyed grasshopper inside the cave and immediately knew that her father had been robbed of his lezk-pya and had died, eaten by an ogre. She knew that a victim’s lek-pya could not be left alone or it would return to its own body within minutes. She also knew that the distinguishing features of the victim would be found on any host body. In this case, when she noticed that the grasshopper had only one eye, she was reminded that her father had been blind in one eye. ‘The ogre had put La-balan’s /le:k-pya into an insect’s body. She began to cry. That evening, when the ogre returned from his search for food,

Mupa showed him the dead grasshopper and told him that her father had died. She would like to go to his funeral, and he ought to accompany her. The ogre approved of the idea and the next day they went down the hill. But the funeral was already over when they arrived at the village, and they could only pay their respects at the spot where her father had been buried. As they bowed down to do this, Mupa took off her necklace and stealthily placed it close to the grave. Halfway back to the cave she touched her neck.

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261

“My necklace!” she said. “It must have fallen off near the grave. Somebody might find it. Will you please hurry back and get it fon, mesc She said she would wait there. If she was in any danger she would scream at the top of her voice to bring him running. While he was away, she sharpened some bamboos and thrust them into the ground, pointed end uppermost. Next, she made bundles of grass and hung them at the ogre’s eye-level. Then she sat down to wait. Soon she saw him coming with her necklace in his hand, and immediately she started screaming very loudly. Startled by his wife’s screams and thinking she was in terrible danger, the ogre rushed towards her in great haste. The first thing he knew as he went headlong was the slapping of the grass bundles against his eyes, which blinded him; the second was the sensation of falling helplessly forward as he groped around; and then he was dead, impaled on Mupa’s sharpened stakes. After his death Mupa still had to live with her powerful in-law ogres, because as yet she had no way of escaping. But one day she made a request. Being so recently widowed—and being only human at that—she felt very insecure, she said. She got very frightened every time she saw an ogre so, if possible, would they please change themselves into little insects while she was in mourning? That was the only way she could face staying in the cave. Her father-in-law called all his subordinates and ordered them to transform themselves into insects, while he himself turned into

a chameleon.

Later, she told the chameleon that she was going

to make him the rice-brew that humans have, and when the oth-

ers heard this they wanted some too. They made themselves as small as they possibly could and hid here and there near the place where she was making it. Mupa knew, of course, that they were there and that each and every insect was an ogre; but she acted as if she wasn’t aware of what was going on. When she had cooked the brew, before taking certain substances out of the pot she glanced at the mat where she was going to put them. Seeing the insects hiding in the nooks and crannies of the mat, she picked it up and shook it over the fire, beating it with a stick so that the insects fell and were burned to death. The brave ones who managed to cling on were killed when she poured the hot brew on to the mat, and not one insect was left

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alive. Then she heard something like footsteps behind her. She turned and, seeing a toad, took it by the legs and dropped it into the boiling liquid. And so Mupa was able to wipe out, once and for all, the Si-mahka ogres of Na Hsaung Soe hill who had been intimidating the people for so long with their devious trickery. Nevertheless, when she returned to the village the people there refused to accept her. They muttered among themselves that she’d lived with the ogres for such a long time that she must have turned into an ogress herself and couldn’t be a real human any more. So although Mupa told them she had wiped out the ogres and pleaded with them to let her stay with her mother, they drove. her away. Then one shrewd man spoke up. “All right”, he said. “If you survive the customary test for finding out whether you're telling the truth, we'll let you stay in the village.” Mupa told them to put her to the test, so one of the men sitting in the group went back home and killed a dog. Then, in front of the others, he measured the length of the dog’s intestine and, wrapping it around Mupa’s neck, told her she must keep walking round the village all night until bright daylight. So all through the long night Mupa went round and round the village with the intestine dangling from her neck, as was required of her. In the morning, under the bright glare of the sun, the elders took the dog’s intestine and measured it carefully again to see if there was any discrepancy. There was none: it was exactly the same length as before. Only then did they announce to the village that Mupa was telling the truth, and that she had not turned into an ogress but was still human. So Mupa was accepted at last. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, ludusU.

£99 161595169:

66 The painting competition [In this tale—as in the early parts of Hman-nan Palace Chronicle—China 1s called ‘Ganda-layit’.|

(Palaung) Ya-zawin,

the Glass

Long ago in Pagan there was a king who sought out scholars from all around, requested their company and welcomed and

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honoured them at the palace, where they in turn were required to share their knowledge. Among them was an old Palaung scholar called Ta-ta-aung, who could read the omens of bird activity and was also unrivalled in the study of human behaviour. One day three ships from Ganda-layit territory arrived in Pagan, and during an audience the captain let it be known to the king that he wished to hold a painting competition, if the king agreed to these terms: if the visitors’ painter lost they would give 300,000 pieces of silver, and if he didn’t lose then the Burman

king would have to give 900,000, at odds of three to one. In front of his own scholars, the king had a demonstration laid on by the Ganda-layit master painter, to see what kind of painting he might like to do in the competition. The painter put up a canvas, mixed various colours in a container and splashed the mixture on to the canvas with one throw. Then with a single stroke of his paintbrush he created a beautiful multi-coloured picture of mountains, forests and water, trees and flowers, and animals such as deer and sambhur, all of them very realistic. The king and his scholars were speechless and couid only gaze at it in wonder. Afterwards the king agreed to the proposal for a competition and gave his ministers the responsibility of looking for a painter who would like to take part. When the ministers let this be known all over the country, many people arrived in the capital; but one look at the one-stroke Ganda-layit painting was enough to make them lose their enthusiasm, and they vanished from the scene. In the end, to the chagrin of the king and his ministers, not a soul had dared to take up the challenge. Knowing what a big headache this was, the old Palaung scholar ‘T’a-ta-aung informed the king that he would compete against the Ganda-layit painter. He later asked the captain and the master painter to attend, and before witnesses from both sides he laid down six rules concerning the painting. They were these: (1) The painting must be of something real. (2) It must be lifelike. (3) It must contain a creature. (4) Anyone seeing it must be able to say immediately what it was a picture of. (5) It must be made with one stroke. (6) The paint could be anything that happened to be handy.

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265

Although the painter wasn’t too happy about the last two rules he agreed to the conditions, certain that as the challenger he would win. Delighted with Ta-ta-aung, the king had paints and brushes presented to him, and fine clothes to wear at the competition. But the ministers and the other scholars were astonished at ‘T'a-ta-aung’s offer. They had no idea he was a painter; they knew him only as someone well-versed in human and bird behaviour, and were

more

than a little anxious that if he lost the

king would be angry and that he might lose everything, even his life. On the day of the competition, crowds gathered on the open ground where it was to be held. The king and his retinue of scholars and ministers arrived, and all the Ganda-layit men also turned up. Right in the middle of the grounds stood two canvases for the competitors. At the appointed time the master painter from Ganda-layit came forward and the old Palaung too, wearing his fine robes, walked towards the middle of the field. Every eye was on them. The Ganda-layit painter mixed about six different colours, threw the paint on to the canvas

and, as before,

with one stroke produced a wonderful picture of mountains, a river, a waterfall, trees and flowers and fruit, wild animals

and

even people collecting water. The audience gazed at it in silent amazement. With an air of triumph the painter tossed his brush into the paint container. Ta-ta-aung, who hadn’t started painting yet, stood looking at the painting and then turned to the audience. “My friends”, he said, “will three of you please come here?” He then also called out three from the Ganda-layit party and asked these to stand in front of the painting. One by one he asked them what it was a painting of. One said it was a picture of mountains

and a forest, another said it was

a waterfall and the

third said it was of deer and sambhur. After these Ganda-layit men, the other three also gave various answers, all of which the audience was asked to take note of. “Well then”, said the old Palaung, “it’s my turn now. I shall observe those six rules when I draw. Please watch carefully.” Into the red lime that he always ate he dipped his five fingertips, put them on the canvas and drew curved lines. Then he turned to the three Ganda-layit men. “These are earthworms, aren’t they?”

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One after another they answered yes, and when all six had agreed that it was a picture of earthworms the rest of the scholars asked the challengers to look into whether Ta-ta-aung had followed the six conditions. They replied as follows. (1) Earthworms were red and never stayed straight for long, so it was realistic. (2) It was life-like in that it reflected the way earthworms moved. (3) It was a painting of a creature, the earthworm. (4) The three Ganda-layit sailors had agreed at once that it was a picture of earthworms. (5) It was drawn with a single stroke. (6) ‘Ta-ta-aung had used red lime that happened to be handy. And so, praising the old Palaung scholar Ta-ta-aung, they conceded defeat. And from that day to this the Palaungs have said: “Our grandfather’s red lime is better than Ganda-layit paint”. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu

U.

1966c:259-267.

SECTION III(A): GUIDANCE TALES (LAY) COMMENTARY

These tales need very little explanation over and above the notes provided by Ludu U Hla. Tales 67 and 68 clearly convey political messages encouraging unpretentiousness and independence of mind, messages that are timelessly valid. Although in tales 69 and 70 the themes concern everyday morality (discretion and gratitude being the moral values inculcated) tale 71 is no doubt intended as a warning to political as well as other upstarts. The moral of each of the remaining tales in this section is in the realm of “domestic philosophy’ and their universal messages may be summarised as follows.

Tale 72:

Never put off to tomorrow what should be done today. Tale 73: Housework is hard work. Tale 74: (To quote one of Shakespeare’s sonnets) ‘Love is not love/ Which alters when it alteration finds’ Tale 75: Do not neglect your old parents. Tale 76: ‘Thou shalt not steal.

Tale 77:

(To quote Dr Johnson)

Tale 78:

‘Who can run the race with death?’ Don’t go to law if you can help it: lawyers are bloodsuckers.

Tale 77 is reminiscent of the Middle-Eastern the West as ‘Appointment

in Samarra’;

folk-tale known

in

and the final tale, evi-

dence that Charles Dickens was by no means the first person to vilify the legal profession, leads us nicely into the following section. Some of Burma’s ‘lay guidance’ stories are derived from ancient tales which were absorbed into Buddhist lore, where they appear as Law tales, Monk’s tales and Jataka tales. We shall sample each of these three categories in Section III (B).

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67 The Peacock, king of the birds

FOLK-TALES

(Karen)

At the beginning of time when the four-legged animals chose the lion as their king, the insects along with the birds chose the Hornbill as theirs. As soon as the Hornbill became king, he beat the gong to summon the insects and birds to come and build a palace for him. [The Kachin always say that hornbills beat gongs, because that’s what their call sounds like.] So at the sound of King Hornbill beating his gong every morning many birds and insects would gather to build the king’s palace. Days passed, and months, and years; but King Hornbill wanted a magnificent palace, and was never satisfied. The building of the palace went on and on until the birds and insects got fed up and exhausted by this neverending labour. One day the Grasshopper asked the Purple Sunbird to let him spend the night in his nest, because the sun had gone down and he couldn’t get back to his own home in the dark. The Purple Sunbird willingly took him to his nest, but the Grasshopper couldn’t stretch out and sleep in comfort because the nest was very small and already contained two babies. He did his best to keep his long arms and legs folded up so as not to disturb the babies, but for all his good intentions he stretched his legs in his sleep and accidentally kicked the babies. Pushed out of the nest, they fell to the ground and were killed. Poor Purple Sunbird! In his grief he didn’t blame the Grasshopper. His anger was directed at King Hornbill for keeping them all unnecessarily long at the building of his palace. He reasoned that it was because of their frustration and exhaustion that things happened which shouldn’t have happened and mistakes were made. He placed the blame for the death of his two babies entirely on King Hornbiill’s head. In the morning Purple Sunbird made known what had happened. He told all the birds and insects who had gathered to continue their work at the palace site, and said that they should take steps to remove the Hornbill from his kingly post. At this all the weary birds and insects, who were sick and tired of Hornbill’s whims, agreed in one voice. They went to Hornbill and told him in no uncertain terms to step down. There was some violence—that’s why hornbills have a big dent in their beaks— but of course the Hornbill couldn’t ignore the combined will of

GUIDANCE

TALES

(LAY)

the birds and the insects, and he had to abdicate.

269

All the birds

now looked around for another bird to choose as king, and some put up the Peacock for election. Everyone went along with this, but they came to the conclusion that they ought first to find out what sort of palace the Peacock would want built. So they went to see him and asked him about it. “Oh, that’s simple!” said the Peacock. “My palace will have the sky for its roof and the earth for its floor. And for the walls weve got the mountains and forests.” The birds were delighted with this answer, and they unanimously elected the Peacock as their king. (Trans. K’TH)

Hla, Ludu

U. 1968b:161-164.

68 The ‘no hands’ dance [In Lisu dances, both men circle led by a dance leader. his steps or hand movements the time. Most villages have Once,

(Lisu) and women join in and dance in a Whenever the dance leader changes all the others have to follow suit all a skilful dancer to act as leader.|

in a Lisu village in the Kachin

hills called Wa-lawdei,

there lived a wealthy village elder who was a far-sighted man of integrity, a fair and just administrator who had been able to get the whole village to unite and live in harmony. It was his habit to celebrate his birthday every year by inviting friends from far and near, giving them a feast and later having a celebratory dance that went on all through the night and ended in broad daylight the next morning. One year, when this elder sent gifts as usual to his many friends with invitations to come and help him celebrate his birthday, he especially invited two dance leaders. When his birthday came round, his friends arrived and were welcomed and provided with everything they needed, but only one of the two leading dancers could make it. The other sent his apologies, saying that he’d been taken ill and couldn’t even get out of bed. So after the birthday feast all the guests danced the whole night with just the one dancer leading them, and they thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

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But on the following day, after another meal to welcome in the new birthday year, this dance leader asked to be excused from leading that night’s dance: he was too tired. It was now necessary to choose a new dance leader, and a man with a harelip came forward from the crowd. He had always secretly wanted to be a dance leader and told the elder that he would lead the celebratory dance. The time came to start the dance near the bonfires, and this man came out to take his place. Then he suddenly remembered his harelip. He was very self-conscious about it and didn’t want

the others to see it, so he decided to dance

with his hand over his mouth so as to hide it. Just then he looked down and noticed a tear in the crotch of his trousers. Being very embarrassed and unable to think of anything else to do, he put a hand over the front of the tear and started the dance. Seeing their dance leader at the front dancing with one hand over his mouth and the other over his crotch, the others thought they were being taught a new dance step and followed suit and put one hand over the mouth and the other on the crotch. ‘The dance leader carried on, right, left, forward, back, varying his steps but never removing his hands, and the whole group followed all the steps, dancing with their feet only and keeping their hands in the same positions. The village elder sat watching them and thinking that people everywhere usually imitated what their so-called leaders did, whether it was right or wrong. If the leader was corrupt, others became corrupted too, but if their leader was good, they too would be good. The next morning, after the all-night ‘no hands’ dance, he spoke to his guests before they went back to their villages. “My friends, we have a lesson to learn from that dance, and it is this. As the followers are the ones who have to look at the leader and follow in his footsteps, once the leader knows he’s stepped the wrong way it’s his responsibility to put things right so that all his followers can do the right thing. Also, the followers who are doing things wrong should try to change and do what’s right. The leader himself, once he’s changed from wrong to right, shouldn’t place the blame on his followers and say it’s their fault that things went wrong. Where there is no knowledge or skill, there should be no desire for the title and honour of being a leader.”

GUIDANCE

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With that, the celebrations came

(LAY)

271

to an end, and all his friends

departed happily. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1992:59-63. 69 The long-tongued person has twice the burden (Intha) [The Intha are very guarded in their speech. When someone is being thoughtless and loose-tongued, they will use this story to stop the guilty party.]

Long ago in a large village near the king’s city lived a man who hunted deer and sambhur for a living. One day he lost his way in dense forest and came unexpectedly upon a hermit’s hut. This hermit had an extraordinarily long nose, and the hunter was so startled on seeing it that he commented on it straight away. “Respected hermit, what a long nose you’ve got!” The hermit studied the hunter thoughtfully. “Yes, hunter,” he agreed. “But don’t let your tongue get any longer than my nose.” And he offered him food and shelter for the night. The next day the hermit accompanied the hunter for a little distance to show him the way back, and just before they parted he gave him a reminder. “There’s no harm in having a long nose, but a long tongue can lead to a lot of trouble.” But the hunter was a very talkative fellow and when he got home he told his tale to his family, describing the hermit’s nose in elaborate detail and with a great deal of relish. He made such a good job of it that the story, started by his family and getting into general circulation, finally reached the ears of the king. On being summoned by the king and asked to verify the story, the hunter assured him it was true. Agog with curiosity, the king was determined to see the celebrated nose and sent the hunter to request the hermit to visit him. The hunter did as the king had commanded and made his way back into the forest. Then, as he approached the hut, he remembered the hermit’s warning and felt uneasy. At that moment the hermit caught sight of him and stood up with a smile.

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273

“The king has sent you to fetch me, hasn’t he?” “Yes, sir, he has,” replied the hunter, paying his respects. The hermit considered the situation. He deduced that the king could have no reason to send for him other than to see his nose,

and that this must have been because the hunter couldn’t hold his tongue. As things stood, if he just went along with the hunter he would only tire himself out. He must think of something. “Hunter,”

he said, “I want to go with you to the palace but,

as you can see, my nose is so long that whenever I walk I get very tired. If there was somebody who could carry me there on his shoulders I would certainly come along, but not otherwise.” Now it was the hunter’s turn to think things out. It would be a great burden to carry the hermit on his shoulders all the way to the palace. But if he didn’t, the king would think that in spite of his command he couldn’t bring the long-nosed hermit because there had never been one, and would put him to death for daring to lie to him. Therefore, he had no choice but to carry the hermit. And so he did. Later on at the palace the king observed the hermit carefully and satisfied his curiosity. “Sir,” he said, “I requested you to visit me

for no other rea-

son than to see your nose, which I had been informed was extremely long. Now that I have seen you, if you wish to leave please do so.” “O king,” replied the hermit, “I cannot walk back. You have seen how the hunter had to carry me all the way from my hut to your palace. I can only return to my hut if I am carried back in the same way.” The king turned to the hunter. “Hunter, put the hermit on your shoulders and carry him back to his hut.” There was nothing the hunter could do but carry him back, and when they arrived the hermit had a question to ask. “Hunter, you’ve seen my long nose. Have you noticed how long your tongue is?” ‘Hermit, sir, I now know that the long-tongued person has twice the burden.” (Trans. KTH) Hla, Ludu

U.

1966h:223-226.

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70 The wise fox

(Somra Naga)

[Naga people carry a spear everywhere and use it like a walking-

stick. | Long ago in a Somra Naga village there was a man named Supawt who chose to hunt for food rather than follow tradition and work

at terrace

cultivation.

He was

now

in his forties, and al-

though he had been hunting from the time he grew up he had never trapped a single animal, preferring to go from hill to hill searching and shooting to kill with his crossbow. It was only by facing an animal and killing it for food that he could value the meat he obtained. It was his belief that only the hunter who was brave enough would risk doing this; snaring, trapping and ambushing he considered cowardly acts. Because he thought this way, whenever he found an animal caught in a trap he would set it free, and if one was being stalked he would scare it off. One day when he was in a dense forest seldom frequented by people, he came upon a tiger in a trap and approached it, glad to have another chance to do what he considered to be his duty. The tiger started to growl, thinking that he had come to kill him. “Tiger,” said Supawt, “why are you growling at me like that? I’ve come to free you, not to kill you. It’s my duty to teach cowardly fools a lesson. Don’t be afraid, ’'m letting you go.” At these words the tiger lost his fear and calmed down. “If that’s the case,” he pleaded, “please set me free straight away.” Supawt pulled and shoved at the rocks and sticks and poles

that the trap was made of and finally managed to free him, but as soon as he was out the tiger leapt at him thinking he had better eat this man because after being trapped for two whole days without food he was too weak to catch any other prey. But having become an experienced hunter over the years Supawt easily evaded him, and when the tiger tried again he called out to him. “Hey, tiger! What are you up to? I’ve just set you free, so why kill me? I’ve saved your life, so don’t forget you owe me a debt of gratitude.” “I owe you nothing,” growled the tiger. “Man is downright wicked and deceitful. I’m going to catch you and eat you!” “Listen, uger, ’m not begging for my life”, Supawt explained.

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(LAY)

275

“I’m not afraid of you. I could easily shoot you dead with just one of my poisoned arrows, but I don’t want to kill an animal that’s starved and weakened like you. I’m just reminding you that each and every creature owes a debt of gratitude of some kind.” The tiger had been scared by the mention of poisoned arrows but was unwilling to give in. “All right”, he growled. “Let’s go and ask someone to give a second opinion. Let’s see whether what you say is true or not. If there’s no such thing as what you call gratitude, then I’ll eat you.” Supawt agreed, and they went to find someone to settle their dispute. On their way they came to a footpath, and the tiger stopped. “Mr Earth,” he asked, “this man

who’s come

with me

says I

ought to show him gratitude rather than eat him. Is there such a thing as gratitude in this world? Shouldn’t I eat this man?” “Big tiger, in this world there’s no such thing as gratitude. Man depends on me for life, but people still jab at me every day with spears, saying it’s their custom. This shows that man knows no gratitude, so you don’t owe him any. If you want to eat him, go ahead.” “Well?” said the tiger, turning towards Supawt. “You heard the Earth’s reply, didn’t you? Now I can eat you.” “Wait. We can’t just take Earth’s word for it. Let’s look for another.” The tiger was certain that he would win, so he went along with Supawt. After they had gone a long way they came to a huge forest and the tiger asked the same question. “What

the man

said isn’t true,” said the trees.

“There’s

no

such thing as gratitude in this world. All creatures can live because there are trees, and yet deliberately men cut them down every day, and burn them too, all those trees that don’t endanger them at all. So, tiger, you don’t need to show any gratitude to man.” “Ha-ha! What about that?” roared the tiger in triumph. But Supawt insisted that they should ask a third time, so they went on with their search for another judge. Soon they saw a fox drinking at a pond, and when the tiger asked the same question he said he couldn’t possibly give an immediate answer. He needed

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to know how the dispute started and see the exact place. So all three went to the place where the tiger had been trapped. Here the fox turned to the tiger. “Now, just to see how it all happened, let’s start from the beginning. Show me how you were placed at the time.” Showing how he got caught in the first place, the tiger walked into the trap. Once he was in, the trigger was released and the tiger was again trapped. “That settles the case,” said the fox. “You can go home now, man.” The fox went on his way. As for the tiger, he died some days later—starved to death. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu

U. 1966e:23-28.

71 Jackfruit tree and bitter gourd vine

(Maru)

Once upon a time there was a bitter gourd vine that lived on a jackfruit tree. It climbed up the tree higher and higher day by day till its shoots were above the treetop. Forgetting that it was the jackfruit tree which had enabled it to reach such a high position, it started to get a swollen head. It spoke to the tree. “Hey, you! How old are you now?” “I shall be thirty this year,” the tree answered. “Jack, you’ve been growing and growing for all those thirty years and yet you’re not as tall as I am at three months old?

How’s that?” “Little fellow, you’ve climbed up using me as a ladder and got to a high position, and now you’re vain enough to look down on me and talk big.” “Me? Talk big? Why, I could get as high as this by myself, without any support from you.” The ungrateful words of the bitter gourd vine prompted the jackfruit tree to give him a talking-to. “Listen, young fellow-me-lad, you just bear in mind your own nature and your species when you open your mouth to speak. You may think no end of yourself for having grown so tall in three short months, but think of your life-span. Do you imagine you're going to live even for three short years? Your parents,

GUIDANCE TALES

(LAY)

rage|

your grandparents, your ancestors—none of them lived as long as three years. They all died within a shorter time, and so will you. So have a care with that boastful tongue of yours.” Realising the error it had made in belittling its benefactor, the bitter gourd vine was silent.

Ad. from Hla, Ludu U.(trans. ‘K’) 1972:159-160.

72 Five hundred

steps

(Rawang)

Once there was an old man who lived with his two grandsons in a small village. The old man had been looking after them, and now that they were almost grown up he was getting more and more disappointed with the older grandson, Hpongum, who was lazy and foolish and didn’t want to learn anything the old man tried to teach him. The younger one, Htinnaung, was polite and intelligent, sensible and hardworking, and didn’t give him any trouble at all. The responsibility of bringing up these two was weighing heavily on the old man, and one day he called the elder grandson to him. “Hpongum,” he said, “you'll have to fetch some water from the lake down there in the ravine. How many steps will it take to get there?” “Five hundred, grandfather,” said Hpongum, answering as he’d been taught. “Right. By this evening, go down to get water and fill every pot and pan and bamboo container in the house. Understand?” “Yes, grandfather.” Hpongum left the house and went off with his bow, wandered around aimlessly the whole day and came back only when it was almost dark. When he reached home he suddenly remembered what his grandfather had told him to do, so he picked up a bamboo container and rushed towards the ravine. But by now it was quite dark and when he reached the edge he couldn’t see a thing, so it was impossible to go down. Back home again, he told his grandfather that he didn’t dare go down to get water because it was too dark. The old man said nothing, but in the morning he called Htinnaung. “You'll have to fetch some water from the lake in the ravine. How many steps will it take to get there?”

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“Five hundred,

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grandfather,”

}

FOLK-TALES

said Htinnaung,

who

had been

taught in the same way.

“By this evening, I want all the pots and pans and bamboo containers in the house filled with water. Understand?” “Yes, grandfather, I'll do it.”

Then, instead of waiting until evening, Htinnaung immediately started filling all the containers with water. The old man saw all this, and that evening he called his grandsons to him and sat them down in front of him. “Hpongum,” he began, “when I asked you to take five hundred steps and get water from the lake down in the ravine, you couldn’t do it because it got late and you didn’t dare go down in the dark. Remember that. Now while I’m still around, you’re comfortable and you’ve got nothing to worry about. But when I’m dead and you’re on your own, the steps you’ll have to take in order to carry on will be far more difficult than the five hundred steps it takes to get water. If you can’t get water from five hundred steps away while I’m still alive, how are you going to get on without me? How are you going to get ahead if you do as you did yesterday and drag your feet and the path gets dark? Those who don’t persevere usually find themselves in the dark with a load of trouble. But Htinnaung had determination and was able to manage the five hundred steps easily, not in the dark but in daylight. In the same way, after I’m gone and you have to take many, many steps along the way, only that sort of determination will lead you away from the darkness and into the light, so that you can get what you want without any difficulty. So you mustn’t get slack, because drive is very important in life. If there’s something that needs to be done, do it immediately because even if others have the same goal the one who acts straight away will be the first to achieve it.” From

then on, both brothers were

industrious; and after their

grandfather died they grew prosperous because of their hard work. (Trans. KTH)

Hla, Ludu U. 1970:85-88.

GUIDANCE TALES

(LAY)

73 To each his own

279

(Mon)

[In telling this story, some Mon elders use the saying ‘There’s a place for an awl and a place for a chisel’. When the hollow log is beaten in monasteries (at about 4 a.m.) it is time to get up; and thanahka is a cooling lotion made from ground bark.]

Long ago in a small village not far from Zin-gyaik Hill a man called Ayu married I-payet, who came from the outskirts of the village. ‘They left his parents’ house to live by themselves, and as was the custom they made a living by cultivating a plot of land. Following their marriage Ayu worked hard on his small plot because it was not fertile, and he was always having problems with water. In years when there were droughts he had to get water into his fields from near the sea by irrigation, and in years when there was heavy rainfall the water running down from Zin-gyaik Hill would flood them and for days on end he had to spend the whole day scooping the water out. There was some good virgin soil on

the hillside, which

he could

clear and cultivate.

If he

were to do that, he would still have to get water for irrigation during a drought, but at least his fields wouldn’t get flooded, and that would save him a lot of trouble. But he never entertained any thought of clearing new land, because he was so attached to his own plot. So he went on year in and year out working on his little plot until he’d got four children, the eldest an eight-year-old who was beginning to help look after the cattle as they grazed, and the youngest still being nursed. One year there was a lot of rain and the water from the hill came flooding into his land. Every morning he got up as soon as he’heard the hollow log being struck at the monastery and walked to his plot, which was quite a distance from his house. There he set the long-handled scoop on its stand and stood ladling water out until the sun was high and it was time to go home for his midday meal, after which he returned and carried on working. Not until dark did he make his way back hungry and exhausted, and day by day he was getting more and more sick and tired of having to scoop out the water. One day when he was particularly tired after a hard morning’s work, he went back for his meal and snapped at his wife. “Month after month, year after year I’ve been working every

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day come rain or come shine! How is it that while Pve been slaving in the fields you’ve stayed indoors plastering youself with thanahka from head to toe? Can’t you help me once in a while when you know how hard I have to work?” “Tm still nursing the baby,” said I-payet. “If we didn’t have one, of course I’d be able to come and help you. But I’m not exactly idle here at home, either. I look after the children and cook and get the water and pound the rice—I don’t have a minute to myself all day.” “Oh, don’t be so high and mighty! As if housework was so tiring! I’m the one who works hard, I’m the one who gets dead tired. You don’t know what hard work is. What you call hard isn’t even as tiring as when I sit down to rest for a bit.” “IT told you, it’s difficult with a little baby! All right, if you think I’m exaggerating, you look after the children tomorrow and Ill go to the fields. Let’s swap jobs and see.” Having come to this agreement, as soon as she heard the sound of the beaten log the next morning, I-payet took what she would need and left for the fields. Soon afterwards Ayu got up and started cooking the rice, but just as it was coming to the boil he heard the baby stirring and crying. He left the pot boiling, went to pick up the child and walked about in an attempt to make it stop crying. When it didn’t he offered it a banana, but instead of stopping it wriggled and screamed at the top of its voice. Meanwhile the second youngest had woken up and he too started to cry, complaining that he was hungry. Ayu put down the yelling baby to feed the older child, but found that the rice was now too soggy to eat. Now both children were wailing in unison and in attending to them he wasn’t able to cook another pot of rice. Unable to cope with this situation he shouted to his eldest son, telling him to go to the fields and fetch his mother. “Mother!” called the boy, running up to her, “Father wants you to come back because little brother’s crying.” “IT can’t,” said I-payet. “I haven’t finished scooping out the water.” And the boy ran home. “Hasn’t your mother come back yet?” asked Ayu. “Mother says she can’t,” answered the boy. Ayu had been unable to stop the children crying. Realising how heavy his responsibility was and how great was his misery, he grew tearful and called to his son again.

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(LAY)

281

“Just go and fetch your mother. I can’t get anything done here. Tell her to please come home.” The boy returned to his mother. “Mother,” he said, “please come back. It’s not just little brother who’s crying now—Father’s crying too.” Getting alarmed and unable to imagine what was going on, she followed her son back. At home the whole house was in an uproar. The children were still crying, and now the unfed pigs in the pen below the house were squealing for food. She ran up into the house and her husband, with tears in his eyes, quickly handed the baby to her. “I-payet,” he said as he left for the fields, “from now on, you look after the house and [ll work on the farm for the rest of my life” I-payet looked into the kitchen, took the soggy rice and threw it into the pigs’ trough. Then, while nursing the baby, she cooked another pot of rice and fed the other children. Later she did her daily round of all the chores that had to be done. Ayu didn’t appear for his midday meal but chose instead to work the whole day through. When he returned at dusk his meal was ready and waiting for him as usual. “Now you know what it’s like,” said I-payet once he was eating. “Do you still think housework is easy?” “My job out there is exhausting, but only one kind of work is involved. When

it comes

to housework, though, I know now that

you’ve got to see to a hundred different things at the same time. No, I wouldn’t do that even for the short time it takes for the sun

to get to high noon. I’d rather work outside on the farm for the rest of my life.” And from that day forward, Ayu worked on his plot of land with never another complaint. (Trans. KTH) Hila, LuduiWy

1967d:145-151.

74 Looking for true love

(Lahu)

Once in a large village there lived a very rich man with a son and a daughter who in time married a merchant. One day this young merchant borrowed some money from his rich father-in-

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law, put this together with what he had saved, bought some materials and clothing and left the village with two friends to go and sell them elsewhere. Being a likeable fellow as well as a good salesman, he did good business wherever he went and had sold off almost all his goods when unfortunately war broke out in the territory they were covering, and he became separated from his friends. Left by himself, he had to consider how to get back to his family, and an idea soon came to him. From the clothing he still had left he chose one jacket and one pair of trousers that fitted him. He put these new clothes on underneath his old ones, stuffed his money in between the two layers and then sewed the layers together. It was a lot of money, and as he had sewn not only at the hems but all over, the old jacket and trousers were covered with seams. This made him look like a beggar wearing clothes that had been torn and patched many times over, so although he came across a lot of people on his way back he ran into no danger because everyone assumed he was a beggar and had no idea he was carrying such a large sum of money. Thanks to his dirty ‘much-patched’ clothes and his acting ability, he soon arrived safely back in his village. As soon as he entered his home compound he caught sight of his wife and in-laws he joyfully rushed up the steps to them, but his father-in-law was aghast. “You take money from me, and you come back tattered and torn! You haven’t even held on to that capital, let alone made a profit. Even if you couldn’t make any money you ought to have kept yourself neat and tidy, but look at you! You look like a beggar. Get out right now! I can’t allow my daughter to live with a creature like you.” With this tirade he began driving the young man out of the house. The daughter, anger showing on every part of her face, joined in with more accusations. “You unfaithful husband! You’re a good-for-nothing! You took the money and spent it all on having fun with women, didn’t you? Now what have you got to say for yourself? It’s true, isn’t its The merchant didn’t have an opportunity to speak up for himself, and lacked the spirit. He felt so let down after surviving various dangers and avoiding robbers on his way back, and with only the thought of a joyful reunion with his wife and relations to

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keep him going. His father-in-law was dragging him down out of the house and his wife was still bitterly going on at him. “I can’t put up with this sort of life any more. You go off wherever you like. From now on there’s nothing between us. We'll go our separate ways.” With his head bowed and with heavy steps he left the house and trudged away, feeling sad and resentful at being driven away on his return and frustrated at having all his hopes and expectations dashed. He had left the house without any idea of where he was going until he realised he had come quite close to the home of one of his friends. Going in, he told his friend what had Just happened and when he asked to be put up for a while his friend readily agreed and made him feel very welcome. He now asked his friend’s wife to let him have a large tray. Then he took off his jacket and started undoing the seams and shaking out the money on to the tray. Soon that tray was full and he had to ask for another one, and when that one was full he changed into another pair of trousers, asked for yet another tray, undid the seams in his old trousers and shook the money out of them too. Soon that tray was also full, so by now he had three large trays heaped high with money. At the sight of all this money, the friend and his wife wanted to know what had happened, and this time he told them everything. Indignant at the way he had been treated and unable to bottle up their feelings, the couple went to his wife and fatherin-law and told them he had brought back quite a lot of money. Although they didn’t believe the couple at first, they were astonished when they learned how the money had been brought back sewn between two layers of clothes and how it had been shaken out. This news made them change their minds, and they accompanied the couple back to their house. When they arrived they found the merchant sitting in clean new clothes, counting the money. He saw his father-in-law and wife coming in. “Ah! The father-and-daughter team!” he said. “Have you come all this way to drive me out again?” “No,

no,” said his wife very sweetly.

“I’ve come

because

I

can’t live without you. From this day onwards, I'll never be parted from you for the rest of my life.” “Tt’s true, son,” the father-in-law added

in a wheedling man-

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ner. “We were only teasing you in a loving sort of way when you arrived. Please don’t take offence, because although you’re my son-in-law, I love you as if you were my own.” Being a shrewd man, the merchant knew why they had come, why his father-in-law was so ingratiating, why his wife was now all smiles. So he too spoke with a smile on his face. “Oh, thank you for letting me

know,”

he beamed.

“First it’s

one thing, then it’s another. First you drive me away and now you're pleading with me to come back. You haven’t come here out of love for me, you’re here to get the money. It’s money you love. If Icame along with you now, you’d only drive me away when all the money was gone. So please don’t ask me to go back with you. Pll lead my own life from now on, however it turns out. Just go away, please.” His wife started to cry, but now he knew what she was really like. “Don’t cry. Stop shedding those tears. They can’t cover up your cruelty towards me, and nothing you can say means anything to me now. I realise it was all a pretence. You’ve only come here because of my money. I can’t trust you, so I can’t take you back again.” Then he turned to his father-in-law. “You say you want me to come back. I’m sorry, I can’t live with people who put money first. Here’s what I owe you.” He then shouldered his bundles of money and walked away from the house leaving father and daughter gazing after him and deeply regretting the mistake they’d made in humiliating him and driving him away. (Trans. KTH) Hla, Ludu

U.

1993:47-52.

75 The abbot’s mantra [The ‘five enemies’

mentioned

(Pa-o) are, by tradition:

flood, fire, the

king, thieves and people who are hostile towards you. The ‘sabbath’ is here a day, especially during Buddhist Lent, on which the eight (or more) Buddhist precepts are observed.|

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Long ago there was an old man who ever since his old wife died had been living alone in a small hut on the outskirts of a village. Every morning after getting up he would go into his little vegetable garden to water and weed and hoe and tie up plants, and do whatever else was necessary. After spending the whole day tending his garden he would cook himself a simple meal and having saved five hundred pieces of silver he was quite contented. His four sons, who lived separately with their own families, knew that he had this silver hidden away but didn’t know where he kept it because he hadn’t told them and never said a word about it. As the years went by the four sons thought they should do something

about this, because, if their old father died sud-

denly and no-one knew where the silver was, it would be such a waste. ‘hey decided to go and ask him to give it to them as their inheritance. So one day they and their wives turned up at the little hut bringing with them some snacks for the old man. “Father,” they said, “if you’re just going to hold on to your silver, it won’t be doing any good to you or anyone else. Won’t you please divide it among us? Then you'll be able to live in peace before you die, and we'll be comfortable too. If you gave it to us, we could use it as capital, do something productive with it and be prosperous. Then we’d be able to take good care of you.” The old man thought about this and came to the conclusion that what his sons had said was true: keeping the bundle of silver didn’t make it grow, in fact it was at the mercy of the five enemies. He thought that in giving it away he would have less worry and gain merit by quietly doing good deeds. So he took out his silver and divided it equally among his four sons. Once each had got his share, the eldest offered an invitation. “Father”, he said, “don’t work here any more. Come and stay with us, please, so that you can observe the sabbath properly when you want to.” The old man agreed and left his little hut and garden to go and live with him. But after a couple of months the son’s wife started stirring up trouble. “I don’t begrudge having your father here in the front room and looking after him,” she said to her husband,

“because

after

all, we’re gaining merit. But I don’t like the way your brothers are taking us for a ride. Just think about it. We all got the same

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amount, but we’re the only ones who have to feed Father. It’s too much if you ask me. At least the others should take a turn at looking after him.” When

he heard this, her husband

thought how silly he’d been

to let the others carry on without even asking after their father. Deciding to do something about it, he spoke to his father. “Father, you’ve been here for more than two months now. Younger brother said he’d like you to go and stay with him. Whenever you feel like going so as to let him earn some merit, just let me know.” “Oh well,” answered his father, “if your brother wants to take a turn at looking after me, Ill go tomorrow.” The next day his eldest son took him to the second son’s house and took his brother aside. “Father said he’d like to stay with you,” he said. “That’s why I've brought him here. Take care of him for a while and make him feel secure.” And he went back home. But after about two months the second son’s wife also changed her tune and pressed her husband to take his father somewhere else. “I know we’re getting merit by looking after Father,” she said, “but Pm getting heavily pregnant now. Take him to your brother’s place, please, and let them get some merit for a while. We could always ask him to come back after the baby’s born.” Her husband thought this was reasonable, so he spoke to his father about it. “Father,” he said, “younger brother says he wants to take care of you for a while, and his wife’s a pretty good cook too, so if you like [ll take you to his place.” “Yes, I think I ought to go”, said the old man, thinking how good his sons were. “Please take me tomorrow.” At the third son’s house the next day, the second son called his brother aside. “Father says he’d like to move to your house. That’s why I’ve brought

him.

This

is all to the good,

because

looking after old

parents brings you many benefits. Take good care of him,” he added as he went away. But here too the daughter-in-law got really resentful after a couple of months and complained to her husband. “How could they! They come and park the fussy old fellow

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here and then they can’t even be bothered to turn their feet in

this direction! What with helping the old thing with one hand

and doing the rest of the chores with the other, I just can’t cope. Take the old man away, to your younger brother maybe, so that I can have a bit of a rest.” One day, unable to take all this nagging, the son had a word with his father. “Father, you’ve been here for some time now and you haven’t been to younger brother’s house yet. Let’s go and visit him.” At the fourth son’s place he took his younger brother aside, Just as his elder brother had done with him. “Brother”, he said quietly, “take a turn at looking after the old man. Money’s a bit tight at the moment. [’ll come and get him when things improve.” Then he went over to the old man. “Father, younger brother says he too wants to take care of you. So please stay here,” he said as he went away, “and [ll come and fetch you soon.” But the old man had only been there for about two months when his daughter-in-law started getting at her husband. “How can we go on feeding this creature all the time without any help?” she grumbled. “I don’t even have time to scratch myself, what with doing things for him, trying to make some money and having to do the cooking. Let his other sons feed him.” This time the old man heard everything that was being said, so without a word he went out of the house. As he left he realised what had been happening, knew why his eldest son had taken him to the second one, why he had passed him on to the third, and so on. Knowing this now, he didn’t think he could go

back to any one of them. His own

hut would be dilapidated

now, and the garden too overgrown. So he decided to go and stay at the monastery. Once there, he paid his respects to the abbot and explained why he was asking permission to stay there. “Reverend abbot, I divided my savings among my sons. At first they were willing to take care of me, but now nobody wants to any more. So now I’m asking to take refuge at your feet. It’s true what they say, that one father can feed ten sons, but ten sons cannot feed one father.” “It might be true”, the abbot replied. “Still, Pll give you a walking-stick and a mantra. If you recite the mantra as you walk

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with your stick, your sons will soon be taking good care of you, so peace be with you.” The abbot gave him a bamboo walking-stick and taught him a mantra which meant: “T have four sons but now that I’m old I can’t lean on them as I can on this stick.

This dead stick’s more

reliable than my sons.”

And presently the old man went walking into the village, leaning on his stick and reciting the mantra. Soon the whole village was talking about the way this old fellow was walking around and what his mantra meant. His four sons came to know about this too, and realised the error of their ways. It seems that they discussed matters among themselves, because they went to the monastery to pay their respects to their father, to ask him to forgive them and to beg him to come and live with them for the rest of his days. (Trans. K’TH)

Hila, Ludun Wied 9:442139-14676 The coconut palm owner

(Kachin)

There was once a swindler who went around boasting to all and sundry that his coconut palm produced one nut every day, and he had thought up a way of making people believe him. What he did was this: during the night he would go to someone else’s palm tree, one that had plenty of nuts, steal one, take it up his own palm and tie it there. Then, at the busiest time of day when quite a lot of people were passing by, he would climb up his palm tree and make out that he was picking it. As he did this every day, a lot of people began to take notice, and there were some who would stop to watch; there were even some who would ask if he’d got one that day, or whether the palm was still producing regularly. His coconut palm was a source of wonder; everybody was taken in by his lies, and soon people were saying how good it would be to have that strain of coconut palm. Some even expressed a willingness to buy the palm itself, but the owner said he wouldn’t sell it for under a thousand. The villagers were all farmers and no-one could afford that

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much, except for one who through hard work and frugality had some savings. Although it was far too expensive he bought the coconut palm, reckoning that he would recoup his capital in no time by selling the coconuts it produced every day. But once the palm was in the hands of the new owner there weren’t any more coconuts, and even the stalks were drying up. He went to the previous owner and told him what had happened. “Well, you saw how it regularly produced one every day when I owned it”, he was told. “But you’re the owner now, and perhaps it’s because you don’t deserve it that it isn’t productive any more.” Seeing what was happening between an honest man and a swindler in the world of humankind,

the Lord of the Nats took

matters into his own hands. He sent a nat-thami to make the coconut palm produce one nut every day and, on full-moon and no-moon days, to produce gold coconuts instead of ordinary ones. She had to take these special days very carefully into account, because her orders were to give one thousand golden coconuts, one for every coin the man had paid to the swindler. Once again this palm became the wonder of the village; the man who had bought it with his hard-earned cash grew rich because of the gold coconuts. Having seen all this, the previous owner wanted to get the palm back and went to the current owner asking him to sell it; but the owner refused on the grounds that if he’d acquired it, it was because he had deserved to. After midnight at the darkest hour on a no-moon day soon afterwards the previous owner, certain that the tree would be producing a gold coconut, climbed up the palm tree to steal it. Having carried it down he found that, as soon as his feet touched the ground, the gold coconut changed into an ordinary one. What was more, he couldn’t get it off his hand. He started hammering it on the palm tree trunk to dislodge it, and this woke up the owner and his neighbours, who came running out of their houses at the sound of the banging. The thief was therefore caught red-handed and had no further opportunity for further trickery. As day dawned the villagers slowly gathered to satisfy their curiosity. In their presence, the owner of the palm tree asked the thief to give back the coconut that belonged to him, whereupon it became unstuck. The instant it was back in the owner’s hands

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it turned into gold, and from that moment on nobody dared to climb up that palm tree to steal a coconut. (Trans. KTH)

Hla Ludusll..1975:19 1-135. 77 The man

who

looked

for the Lord of Death

(Arakanese) Long, long ago in a certain country there was a man living in such depths of poverty that he wanted to leave this world. Longing to die, he began to search for the Lord of Death. He would ask anyone he met if they knew where the Lord of Death was. The people he asked, taking him to be a madman, would walk away without giving any reply. When they walked away like this, or worse still, avoided him completely, he thought it meant that they did not look on him as a fellow human being and despised him because of his poverty. The result was that he no longer wanted to live with his fellow men. Overwhelmed with misery, he left the village. Then he went from place to place, always avoiding the haunts of men, till finally he came to the seashore. Thinking the Lord of Death might be there, he sought him along the shore. One day, he met an old man walking towards him supporting himself with a staff. “Where are you going, young man?” the old man asked as he came up to him. “T’m so miserably poor”, the unhappy young man replied, “that I no longer want to live in this world and I am looking for the Lord of Death.” On hearing this, the old man laughed heartily and said, “Young man, you really are out of your mind!” The old man’s words discouraged the young man, who was turning away when the old man reached out and caught hold of his hand. “Wait!” said he. “You aren’t going away, are you? I am the Lord of Death you wanted to meet.” “In that case, why are you looking at me like that, Lord of Death? Please take my life now. I have been waiting to die for such a long time.” “Young man”, said the Lord of Death laughing, “though you

GUIDANCE

(LAY)

y

yy

ig

eso T CE

”)

itm,

yt

ie CEP

OW C en C=

y Sy 2

)

TALES

11. Trying to hide from the Lord of Death.

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may want to die now you cannot die yet, for your hour has not yet come. When the time comes, you will surely die even if it is against your will. You will not escape however hard you try to

hide yourself.” “Do please tell me when the day of my death will be.” “On the seventh day after leaving this place, you will become a rich man. You will die ten years to the day after becoming rich. Here’s a bow and ten arrows. Use them as you like.” With these words the Lord of Death disappeared. The young man took the bow and arrow and went away. On the way he started to feel very hungry as he had had no food for two days. Looking round, he saw a bird and shot it with his bow and arrow. When he found that the bird he had shet was no ordinary one but a golden bird, he was delighted. With the golden bird in his arms, he continued his wanderings. After a short ume he came to a town. There, he exchanged his golden bird for a good plot of land. Then, shooting an arrow from his bow, he commanded a house full of gold and silver to appear immediately. The house he wished for appeared at once and he became a rich man. Time flew by but he did not notice, as he was enjoying himself living in his fine house complete with servants and every kind of luxury. Amidst all this, the words of the old man were forgotten. But one day, when nine years and nine months had passed in this way, he dreamt in his sleep about his own past from the day before he became a rich man, and he woke up really frightened. Only now did he remember what the Lord of Death had told him: “You cannot die yet, even though you may want to die. After leaving this place you will become a rich man, and on the day you have been a rich man for ten years, you will die When he thought over the time he had spent enjoying the pleasures of wealth, he realised there were only three months left till the ten years were up. He began to fear that he would die at the end of those three months. Next morning he called his servants and told them to make a watertight box. They were to put in it enough food which would not go bad to last for three months and-to take the box to the seashore. On reaching the seashore he gave his servants the same instructions again and again.

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“When I get inside, close and seal the box to make it watertight and let it down into the deep sea until it reaches the bottom. Then tie a really long, strong rope to the box. In three months counting from today, you must drag it back up on to the shore.” So saying, he got into the box. His servants closed it and tied a long rope to it as he had instructed. This done, they dropped the box into the sea where it was really deep. The free end of the rope they tied to a tree at the edge of the seashore. When the Lord of Death looked at the list of people from this world who were to die, he found that the rich young man’s turn had come. “Oho!” said he. “The rich young man’s turn has come. Now we will meet again.” With that he went to the world of man to look for the rich young man. The Lord of Death looked for him in house after house in one big town after another, but failed to find him. Then he searched house after house in one small town after another. Again, he did not find him. The Lord of Death began to have doubts, but when he looked again at the list of people who were to die, he found that the rich young man was definitely on the list. So he searched everywhere, in house after house in village after village, but without success. Now the Lord of Death hardly knew what to do, but still he went on looking. He went over the hills and through the forest till he was weary. The day on which the young man was to die came nearer and nearer till there were only two days left for him to live. Still the Lord of Death would not give up. He did his best to find the young man but could not. Finally it looked as if he would have to stop searching. He walked along on weary feet until he reached a certain beach by the sea. He walked along the beach thinking he would rest for a while and wash his tired limbs. Then suddenly he tripped on a rope and fell over. The Lord of Death was very angry. He began to pull up the rope, and it took him a long time because the rope was so long. In the end, however, a big box appeared at the end of the rope. The Lord of Death stared at the box in surprise. When he opened it he found the rich young man inside. “Young man”, he exclaimed angrily, “do you think you can

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escape by hiding like this? I am worn ot looking for you. Come out of that box this minute!” Frightened out of his wits, the rich young man got out of the box. He admitted that he had tried to escape and apologised to the Lord of Death. “Lord of Death”, he begged, “please spare my life. In return I will give you half my wealth.” “Didn’t I tell you once before”, replied the Lord of Death, “that no-one can die before his appointed day, no matter how much he may want to die? By the same token, when his day comes there can be no delay. It is all the effect of your karma, of what you did in the past.” Turning a deaf ear to the pleas of the rich young man, the Lord of Death (who granted extra time on earth to no man) did not spare the rich young man who long before had wanted to die at once,

but who

did not want

to die when

his time had

come. Hla, Ludu

U.

1994:43-50.

78 Let’s have a carve-up

(Mon)

There were once two brothers living in a village who had inherited from their parents some belongings and some lands. Among these was a large farm which, along with all the other possessions their parents had left them, they had divided between them. Although they were quite satisfied with this arrangement at the time, years later they were to have an inheritance suit over that plot of land. What happened was this. They had divided the land equally and each was farming his own half when right on the boundary between the two a mango tree started to grow. No-one ever tended this self-seeded plant, but it grew strong and in a few years began to blossom and bear fruit. This was the cause of the two brothers arguing. Each claimed that the mango tree was his, and eventually they went to court over it, but before it ever got to the court, the village headman

had pronounced judgement on the matter. “As this mango tree is exactly in the middle of the two farms” he declared, “both of you are entitled to the fruits it produces.”

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But when the brothers refused to accept this, he changed his finding. “All right, then. Each of you must take the mangoes on alternate years.” But the brothers would not agree to this either. It was traditional knowledge that if a mango tree had an abundance of fruit one year it wouldn’t have so many the next, and neither of them would want the tree on the year when it bore less fruit. As the dispute couldn’t be settled there and then, it ended up in court. In taking their case to court each brother had to hire his own representative. The elder brother, the plaintiff, engaged a representative and told him that his brother had also engaged one, and he told him who the person was. “No problem”, said the representative. “You’re sure to win. I know the one your brother has engaged. Oh, and as you’re going back that way, would you mind taking a note to him, please?” He wrote a sentence or two and handed the note to the elder brother, who took it and bade him farewell. He set off , but half-

way there he began to have suspicions about the note and kept thinking that the contents

might be detrimental

to him; he was

also getting more and more curious about what these two representatives, who would be giving opposing arguments, had to say to each other. Unable to resist any longer, he opened the letter carefully so as to leave no evidence of its having been opened. When he read it, he was aghast. It read: My frend, Let’s eat the meat of these two bulls slowly, bit by bit, slice by slice. So instead of going on to his brother’s representative he went home and sent for his brother. When his younger brother arrived, he showed

him the note.

“This is what my representative sent to yours”, he said. “As you can see, it means that they plan to prolong the case and slowly milk us until we have no money left. So come on, brother, let’s put an end to all this. Let’s not stay alienated over one mango tree and make ourselves poor in the process. If you want the tree, take it.”

“No, no.” said his brother. “I don’t want it for myself either. Let’s settle for owning it together. We'll share the fruit.”

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They dropped the lawsuit and lived in harmony for the rest of their lives.

(Trans. KTH) Hla,

Ludu

U.

1968d:100-103.

SECTION III (B): GUIDANCE TALES (CLERICAL) COMMENTARY:

LAW

TALES!

In twelfth-century Pagan a monk who was Mon by birth came to teach Buddhism and was given the title Shin Dhammavilasa (‘expert on Buddist scriptures’). He later wrote a law treatise which came to be called Dhammavilasa Dhammathat,

a Burmese

translation

of

which survives as the oldest extant Burmese law text. It contains nine law tales that must originally have been communicated orally in the period before the heyday of Pagan, when there was as yet no orthography for the Burmese language. Hindu influence among the Mon was strong, and Shin Dhammavilasa had drawn upon the Hindu myth of Manu, a sort of Moses-cum-Noah figure who was the first law-giver and who had compiled the Manu Dhammathat. When Wareru came to the throne of Pegu in 1287 he ordered the production (in Mon) of a new law treatise incorporating the existing one in Burmese; and this was later translated into Burmese and Pali and adopted by the conquering Bayinnaung for use in his Burman empire. Then in 1640 a Burman court minister arranged for himself to be styled as a second (but Buddhist) ‘Manu’ and compiled a further treatise in which the laws were now often justified by reference to Buddhist scripture. Later, under Alaunghpaya’s Burman empire, a summary of the previous treatises was compiled and this popular work was called Manu Kye. There once also existed collections of legal judgements, or Pyat-hton. Some were named after fictional or mythical characters but only one of these has survived, the one attributed to the Princess Learned-in-the-Law. For a more detailed account of early Burmese law and lawbooks, the reader is referred to the Introduction to Htin Aung (1962). From this book of tales, collected over the years 192629 in villages between the Arakan Yoma and the Irrawaddy, we have drawn five which illustrate the nature of the tales and their affinity with lay tales of other kinds. Two of them (nos.79 and ! See also Part One, p. 26-27.

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81) occur in the Pyat-hton of the Princess Learned-in-the-Law, but the other three are not included in any Dhammathat or Pyat-hton. Tale 79 paints the tiger once again as a stupid villain (in another tale not selected here, the rabbit is shown to be wise) and in no.80 we meet ogresses, but mild and even generous ones in this case. An ogre appears also in tale 81, in which a trivial promise is seen to be so binding that a bridegroom even encourages his new bride to risk death and dishonour rather than break it. (The reader may well disagree with the judgement that concludes this tale!) A number of the tales in earlier sections reflect the 1mportance attached to keeping one’s promise. The final tale in this section (no.83) is just a variety of tale 63 with a legal issue addeG. In conclusion, those readers with an interest in the legal history of Burma and her neighbours should refer to Huxley, ed.(1996), especially to the section on early Mon and Burmese legal literature.

79 Tiger as judge Once there was a jackal and he had a wife. They were happy for some years, and they had three little jackals, two female and one male. But afterwards Master and Mistress Jackal could not agree in many matters, and they decided to part. The father took one little she-jackal, and the mother took the other, but they quarrelled over the little he-jackal. ‘I am the father and I trained him,’ argued Master Jackal, ‘and so I am entitled to have him.’ ‘On the contrary,’ replied the mother, ‘I gave birth to him and I fed him with the milk of my breast.’ They could not come to an agreement, and so they went to the tiger and asked him to decide their dispute. ‘Ho! ho!’ laughed Judge Tiger. ‘It is a simple case. Does not the law say that when a husband and his wife part, the family property should be equally divided?’ So saying, he seized hold of the little he-jackal and tore it in two. Then he gave one half of the little body to Master Jackal and the other half to Mistress Jackal. . My Lord fustices, do not decide as Fudge Tiger did in cases that come up before you. The law must be strictly interpreted, but at the same time you

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must see that your decision does not impose unnecessary hardship on the litigants. Htin Aung,

1962:65.

80 The ardent young lover as judge The young woman,

man

had been paying court to a beautiful young

and he was so ardent a lover that he did not notice the

passing of time. It was now nearing midnight, and the young woman’s parents in the back room were yawning noisily and coughing deliberately, to hint that the visitor had outstayed his welcome. ‘I must go now, fair maiden,’ sighed the ardent young man, ‘but let me give you yet another proof of my love for you. As you know, to get back to my home I will have to pass through the cemetery at midnight, and I would not have stayed so late if I did not love you.’ Seen off to the gate by the young woman, he walked away into the darkness with brisk and bold steps. However, as he approached the cemetery he did not feel so courageous after all, and wished that he had not been so ardent and stayed so late at the young woman’s house. Suddenly he saw two ogresses, carrying a dead body on their heads, approaching him. ‘Alas!’ exclaimed the young man, ‘I could have dealt with a ghost or even an evil spirit but I have no chance against two ogresses.’ To his relief, the ogresses proved to be friendly. ‘Welcome, young man,’ they greeted him, ‘welcome young judge! We found this dead body together, but both of us want to eat the upper portion, so tell us who is entitled to it.’ “Surely, one of you must have seen the dead body first?’ asked the young man. ‘We saw it together, we ran towards it together and we reached it at the same time,’ replied the ogresses. The young man remained silent for a few moments and then regretted aloud that he did not have a knife on him to divide the body. “There is no need to cut it up yourself,’ said the two ogresses, ‘just tell us how you would divide it and we will follow your advice.’ “Cut it in half from the head downwards,’ instructed the young man, ‘and both of you will get an equal share of the upper portion.’ ‘The two ogresses were so pleased with his decision that they gave him two pots of gold which they found buried near the cemetery gates.

‘

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My Lord Justices, remember that a good judgement is not only correct in law but also restores harmony between. the two disputing parties. Htin Aung,

1962:71-72.

81 The promise Once upon a time the beautiful daughter of a rich man was studying at a University. She was a most assiduous scholar and one day as she sat by the window of the classroom inscribing on a palm leaf with a stylus a valuable formula which the learned teacher was reciting to the class, the stylus slipped through her tired fingers and fell through the window on to the ground. She thought that it would be disrespectful to the teacher to ask him to pause, but if she left her seat to pick up the stylus, she would miss the formula. While she was in that dilemma, a fellow-student passed by her window and she begged him in a whisper to pick up the stylus for her. Now the passer-by was a king’s son and a mischievous youth. In fun he replied, ‘Promise me that you will offer me your first flower on the first night.’ The girl, engrossed in the teacher’s formula, comprehended at that moment only the word ‘flower’ and nodded. He forgot his joke in a short time, but thinking over the incident the girl comprehended later the full meaning of the prince’s words, but thought no more of them and hoped that the words were said in fun. At the end of their respective studies in the University, the prince returned to his kingdom and soon after succeeded to his father’s throne, and the girl returned to her home in a neighbouring kingdom and soon after she married a rich man’s son. On the night of the wedding, her memory flew back to the incident of the stylus and, troubled by her conscience, she confessed to her husband of her promise but expressed the belief that the young man was only joking. ‘My dear,’ replied the husband, ‘it is for him to say whether it was a joke or not. A promise made in honour must never be broken.’ The girl, after making obeisance to her husband, started at once on a journey to the neighbouring kingdom to fulfil her promise to the king if he should exact such fulfilment. As she walked alone in the darkness, a robber seized hold of her and said, ‘What woman is this that walks in the night be-

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decked with gold and jewels? Surrender me your jewels and your siken dress.’ ‘Oh, robber,’ replied the girl, ‘take my jewels, but leave me my silken dress, as I cannot enter the king’s palace naked and ashamed.’ ‘No,’ said the robber, ‘your silken dress is as precious as your jewels. Give me the dress also.’ The girl then explained to the robber the reason why she was travelling all alone in the dark. ‘I am impressed with your sense of honour,’ said the robber, ‘and if you will but promise to return here after giving the first flower to the king, I shall let you go.’ The girl made the promise, and was allowed to continue her journey. She walked on until she passed under a banyan tree. “What woman is this, that is so fresh and tender and yet walks alone at night?’ said the ogre of the tree. ‘I will eat you up, as all those who pass under my tree during the hours of darkness belong to me.’ “Oh, ogre, pleaded the girl, ‘please spare me, for if you eat me now, my promise to the prince will ever remain unkept.’ After she had explained the purpose of her journey by night the ogre said, ‘I am impressed by your sense of honour, and if you will but promise to return here after you have met the king, I will let you go.’ The girl made the promise and she was allowed to continue her journey. At last, without further adventure, she arrived at the city and

was soon knocking at the gates of the king’s palace. “What manner of woman are you?’ asked the palace guards. “What mean you by coming to the palace and demanding entry at this hour of midnight?’ ‘It is a matter of honour,’ replied the girl. “Please go and tell my lord the king that his fellow-student at the university has come to keep her promise.’ The king, hearing the commotion, looked out of his bedroom window and saw the girl standing in the light of the torches of the guards, in the full bloom of her beauty. He recognised her and desired her, but when he had heard her tale he admired her for her loyalty to her oath, and her courage in facing all dangers and difficulties to keep her promise. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘you are a marvellous

woman,

for you

prize your honour even above maidenly modesty. Your promise was demanded by me as a jest and I had forgotten it. So return to your husband.’ So the girl went back to the ogre of the banyan tree and said, ‘Oh, ogre, eat my body, but after eating, take my silken dress and my jewels, and give them to the robber who is waiting for me onlyé a few yards from here.’ The ogre said,

GUIDANCE

TALES

(CLERICAL)

303

‘Friend, you are a marvellous woman for you prize your honour even above your life. You are free to go, as I absolve you from your promise.’ The girl went back to the robber and said, “Oh, robber, take my jewels and my silken dress. Although I shall have to go back to my husband naked and ashamed, the servants will let me in, for they will recognise me.’ The robber replied, ‘Friend, you are a marvellous woman, for you prize your promise above jewels and fine dresses. You are free to go, as I absolve you from your promise.’ So the girl returned to her husband, who received her with affection and regard, and they lived happily ever after. My Lord Justices, of these four noble beings, the husband, the robber, the ogre and the king, whom do you consider the most noble? This problem will give you an exercise to train you to come to a decision in complicated cases that must come up to you from time to tume. The husband on his wedding night was noble and allowed the girl to go to the king to keep her promise. The king, in nobleness and magnanimity, absolved the girl of her promise although he became drunken with her beauty and desired her. The ogre saw that the girl’s flesh was plump and tender, and yet he refrained from eating her. The robber had in his grasp untold riches in the form of the jewels and the silken dress which the Girl was wearing, but he didnot take anything and let her go. Of these four, I ask you again, who was the most noble? In my opinion, my Lord Fustices, the robber was the most noble. Compared to greed, lust and hunger for food are easter to control, and so the robber had the most difficult task in controlling his greed. Htin Aung,

1962:79-82.

82 The elephant-driver who lost his elephant The elephant-driver and his elephant were on a journey, and they reached a large village at the hour of noon. They had left their home at dawn and were now hungry and tired. So the elephant-driver decided to rest for a few hours and looked about for a place where he could tether his elephant. As he did not want to leave his elephant unattended in the street, he was very glad to notice an empty house. He boldly went in and tied the elephant to a kitchen-post of the house. After feeding the elephant with some fodder, he went for a stroll in the village. The house belonged to a debtor who, finding himself unable to pay

304

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FOLK-TALES

the debt, had that very morning given up the house with all its contents to the creditor. The creditor now arrived to take possession of the house

and all it contained,

and was pleasantly sur-

prised to find the elephant.. ‘I did not know that the contents of the house included an elephant,’ he said to himself, ‘but even with the elephant thrown in, I will realise only the principal and not the interest.’ He then untied the elephant and took it to the market place, where he sold it to a timber merchant. Late in the afternoon the elephant-driver returned and to his dismay did not find the elephant. He went and reported the matter to the village headman, who after due enquiry traced the missing animal. But the tmber merchant refused to part with the elephant, saying that he had bought it in the open market. The creditor also refused to pay any compensation to the elephant-driver, saying that he sold the elephant with the genuine belief that it was part of the debtor’s property. The dispute finally reached the Princess Learned-in-the-Law, who passed the following judgement: As the creditor and the timber merchant acted in good faith, the sale of the elephant was valid. However, as the elephant-driver was the genuine owner, he has the right to buy back his elephant at the exact price which the tember merchant paid.

Hun

Aung,

83 Make

1962:109-110.

believe

tales

In a village there lived four young men, and they could make up strange and impossible tales. One day they espied a traveller resting in the rest-house outside the village and he was wearing fine clothes. The young men conspired to cheat him of his fine clothes. So they went to the traveller and engaged him in conversation. After some time one of the young men suggested, ‘Let us make a bet. Let each of us tell his most wonderful adventure and anyone doubtng the truth of the story shall become the slave of the narrator.’ When the traveller agreed to the suggestion the young men smiled to themselves thinking the traveller to be an old fool. They did not suspect that the traveller could also tell impossible stories and they expected that their stories would be so strange and impossible [that] the traveller would forget himself and express his doubt as to the truth of the stories. Of course, they did

GUIDANCE

TALES

(CLERICAL)

305

not really mean to make him their slave, but they meant to claim the clothes of the traveller, as a master owned not only the person of the slave but also his property. The first young man now narrated his adventure. ‘When I was in my mother’s womb my mother asked my father to pluck some plums from the tree in front of our house, but my father replied that the tree was too high for him to climb. My mother asked my brothers, but they gave the same answer. I could not bear to see my poor mother disappointed over her desire to eat a few plums, so I slipped out and climbed the tree. I plucked some plums and wrapped them up in my jacket. Then I left the plums wrapped in the jacket in the kitchen, and re-entered my mother’s womb. Nobody guessed how the plums came to be there, but my mother was able to eat some plums. As there were many plums left over after my mother had eaten, she gave seven plums each to all the inmates of the house and to all the neighbours. Still there were many plums left over, so my mother piled them in front of the door and, do you know, the door could not be seen from the

street, so high was the pile of plums!’ The first young man looked at the traveller hoping that he would express some doubt as to the truth of the story, but the traveller merely nodded his head to signify that he believed the tale. The other three young men also nodded their heads. Now it was the second young man’s turn, and he said: ‘When I was a week old I took a stroll in the forest, and saw a big tamarind tree with ripe tamarinds. I climbed up the tree swiftly as I felt so hungry. When I had eaten my fill, I felt so heavy and sleepy that I could not climb down. So I went back to the village and, bringing a ladder, I propped it against the tree. Then I came down by the ladder. It was really fortunate that I found a ladder in the village, otherwise I would still be up that tamarind tree.’ The second young man looked expectantly at the traveller who, however, nodded his head to signify that he believed the tale. The other three young men also nodded their heads. The third young man now narrated his wonderful adventure. ‘When I was of the ripe age of one year I chased what I thought to be a rabbit into a bush, but when

I crawled into the bush I

found that it was really a tiger. The animal opened his mouth wide, meaning to swallow me. I protested that it was grossly unfair of him for I was looking for a rabbit and not for a tiger. But

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the tiger took no notice of my protest and came nearer with his big mouth open. So I caught hold of his upper jaw with my left arm and gave a jerk. To my surprise the huge animal broke into two and died.’ The third young man looked expectantly at the traveller who, however, merely nodded his head to signify that he believed the tale. The other three young men also nodded their heads. The fourth young man then narrated his adventure. ‘Last year I went fishing in a boat but I could not catch a single fish. I asked other fishermen, and they said that they had not caught a single fish either. So, deciding to investigate what was happening at the bottom of the river, I jumped out of my boat and dived. After about three days I touched bottom, and I discovered that a fish as huge as a mountain was eating up all the other fishes. I killed the fish with one blow of my fist. By that time I was feeling so hungry that I decided to eat it then and there. So I lit a fire and, after roasting the fish, ate it at one sitting. Then I float-

ed back to the surface and regained my boat, none the worse for my little excursion to the bottom of the river.” The fourth young man looked expectantly at the traveller, who merely nodded his head to signify that he believed the tale. The other three young men nodded their heads also. The traveller now told his adventure. ‘Some years ago I had a cotton farm. One cotton tree was unusually big, and was bright red in colour. For a long time it had no leaf or branch, but four branches later appeared. The branches had no leaves but they had a fruit each. I plucked off the four fruits and, when I cut them open, a young man jumped out from each truit. As they came from my cotton tree they were legally my slaves, and I made them work on my farm. But, being lazy fellows, they ran away after a few weeks. Since that time I have been travelling all over the country

in search

of them,

and only now

have

I found

them. Young fellows, you know very well that you are my longlost slaves. Come back to my farm with me now.’ The four young men hung down their heads in mortification, for they were in a hopeless position: if they should say that they believed the story, it would amount to an admission that they were the traveller’s long-lost slaves; but on the other hand, if they should say that they did not believe the story, they would become his slaves according to the bet.

GUIDANCE

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(CLERICAL)

307

The traveller asked the young men three times to indicate whether they believed this story, but as they remained speechless and motionless with downcast eyes, he claimed that he had won the bet. However, the young men refused to accede [sic] defeat and took the matter to the village headman, who decided that as the bet was on absurd and impossible incidents, it was a ‘Fools’ Bet’ and therefore

unenforceable

in law. The

traveller, not satisfied

with the decision of the headman, took the dispute to the Princess Learned-in-the-Law, who passed the following judgement: It 1s true that the incidents contained in the stories told by the four young men and the traveller were absurd and impossible, but the bet was not on those incidents. On the contrary, the bet was on the game of telling ‘Make Believe Tales’, which is a game like, for example, a game of chess, where

both players imagine that the little move them about on the chessboard, a bet on a game of chess 1s valid Believe Tales’ 1s valid. However,

wooden pieces are two great armies, and according to certain agreed rules. Just as in law, so a bet on a game of ‘Make although bets on such games as chess,

checkers, marbles and cards are valid, the winner 1s to be paid only what he

can actually receive on the spot. In the case before us also, although according to the bet the traveller is to receive all the property and all the services as slaves of the four young men, he 1s in law entitled to take only the clothes and the money which were actually on the persons of the four young men at the time of the game. Htin

Aung,

1962:153-156. COMMENTARY:

MONK’S

TALES?

Htin Aung (1966:33-34) asserts that during the reign of King Mindon (1853-78) ‘there was an influx of European fairy tales, short stories and novels’ and that the cities were ‘inundated with pamphlets issued by the Christian missions’. A cultural invasion of such a kind might explain some of the similarities noted in previous pages between Burmese tales collected after that time and European folk-tales of long standing. Certainly the influx of

2 See also Part One, p. 27.

308

A SELECTION *

OF BURMA’S ’

FOLK-TALES

western values provoked the invention by the Thingaza

Hsay-

adaw of the Monk’s tale, and contributed to the diffusion of this

genre. These tales were short parable- or fable-like stories aimed at holding fast to that which was good in the indigenous way of life, and all our examples except the last one are attributed to the Thingaza Hsayadaw. Tale 84 was told to King Mindon himself as a plea for flexibility when he proposed tightening the rules for making foodofferings at pagodas. As the hsayadaw said when leading up to the tale, ‘people have their own reasons and their own difficulties, which outsiders may not know’. Tale 85 seems to have been intended as a diatribe against flattery, but can also be read as a warning not to rely on superstition or even a condemnation of the Abbot’s pride. The moral of the Lisu ‘no hands’ story (tale 68 above) reappears in a non-secular context in tale 86: lay people follow certain fashions, says the hsayadaw, but ‘we monks are also to be blamed, because we usually dance to the tune called by the laymen’. ‘Tale 87 has the same moral, and the story smacks a little of prejudice against the ‘Hillman’. With tale 88 we are back in the Court of King Mindon, where the hsayadaw manages to employ the British envoy’s own gift to the king in teaching a lesson about points of view. ( King Mindon was very taken with his gift, and would use it to examine visitors who came for an audience.) The teller of our final tale was the Hpayagyi Hsayadaw, of the Maha Myat-muni (or ‘Arakan’) Pagoda in Mandalay. He tells how a lay preacher, who prided himself on his grasp of Buddhist scriptures but had completely misunderstood them, tried to prove that the correct interpretation was quite the opposite of the accepted view expounded by the hsayadaw. The hsayadaw’s story is in effect a simpleton tale rather like no. 64. 84 To each his own

foot

Prologue: king Mindon said to the Thingazar Sayadaw: “My lord, at the full-moon feast of Tazaungmon, special offerings of alms food are made to the pagodas-by the people. Some make the offerings at dawn on the full-moon day itself, while others make the offerings before midnight the previous evening. I consider that the second practice is wrong, because alms food is offered to

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(CLERICAL)

309

monks only in the morning. Therefore, I intend to issue a proclamation prohibiting the offering of alms food to the pagoda before dawn.” “Your majesty,” the Sayadaw replied, “when one offers alms food to a monk, it is meant to be eaten, and as a monk eats only in the morning, one makes the offering before noon. In contrast, when one makes an offering of alms food to a pagoda or an image of the Buddha, it 1s meant merely as a token of worship. Your Maesty must realise that people have their own reasons and own difficulties, which outsiders may not know. Thus, a person who makes his offering of alms food to a pagoda before dawn perhaps does so because he has some work to perform in the morning, even though it is a full-moon day, and will not be able to come to the pagoda then. As long as he makes the offering with real devotion, it does not matter whether it 1s done at dawn or the previous midnight. As the mouse said to the elephant, “To each his own foot.” An elephant narrated to am the king the enemy.

and a mouse met in the forest one afternoon and each other their adventures. The elephant said, “I of the forest, and ordinarily I never run away from But today I met a rogue elephant and, wanting to

avoid battle with him, I turned round and ran under some trees.

The trees were not high enough, and a branch made a deep gash on my back. If you will look, you will see that it is fully two feet long.” “Doubtless it is a painful wound,” said the mouse. “But, my friend, you were never in danger of your life because, first, the rogue elephant could not have killed you and, second, the tree branch could never have reached your heart. With me, it was different. Only an hour ago I was chased by a wild cat, and was nearly caught. He gave a jab with his claws, and nearly ripped open my side. If you will look, you will see a gash at least two feet long.” The elephant looked at the mouse and smiled. “My friend,” he said, “I am not saying that you are a liar, but I may point out that your whole body from tip to tail is not even one foot in length. Then how can you say that your wound is two feet long?” “Great

animal,”

the mouse

replied,

“to each

his own

foot.

You measure the length of your gash by your big foot and I measure mine by my own small foot.” Htin Aung,

1966:65-66.

310

A SELECTION OF BURMA’S FOLK-TALES

85 Saturday-borns

Prolegue: When the Thangazer Savedaw was visiting Henzada, an elderly man whe was an admirer ofthe Okpe Savadaw said, “I listened tomy lerd’s sermon the other mht and, & my surprise, I found ti te be of the same excellent standard as the sermans of the Okpe Sayadaw. Only thes mernng I ound out that both my lord and the Ope Sayadaw are Sunday-berns. Oberously, Sunday-beres ane great wacker.” The Sapadaw, displeased with the flatten, omiled and said. “Layman, I wil telyouabout a great abbot who was bern net on @ Sunday bat en « Saturday.” In the golden city of Ava there ence lived a famous abbot. He was not only a great preacher but also a great teacher. The highest officials of the land, including the King himself, flocked to hear his sermons, and most of the other abbots im the great city had been his pupils at one ume or another. Although learned and pious, he had owo faults. First, he was very short-tempered, and second, he took pride im the fact that he was born on a Saturday. . Qne day the Queen held a great alms-giving ceremony, to which the abbot was specially invited. After the monks had finished their meal and the abbot had given his sermon, the King, the Queen, the Ministers of State and the Judges of the Supreme Court remained sitting while the palanquins were being called to take the monks back to their monasteries. The great abbot said to the Queen, “Your Majesty can hold this. great ceremony because you are a great Queen, and Your Majesty is ‘a great Queen because you were born on a Saturday. Your Majesty's censort, the great King himself, was born on a Saturday.” Some of the Ministers joined in the conversation and said that they were Saturday-borns too. Many of the Judges were also found to be Saturday-borns. The abbot, feeling very pleased, commented, “We Saturday-borns always achieve greatness in various fields of life. You have become Ring and Queen, Ministers and Judg-_ es, and I have become a great abbot.” Among the group of beggars waiting in the courtyard to receive the alms food left over by the monks was a Saturday-born, and he hstened with interest to the abbot’s words. When the palanquins had arrived at the door and the abbot was getting into one of them, the Saturday-born beggar came forward and

GUIDANCE

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(CLERICAL)

311

said, “My lord, I am also a Saturday-born.” The abbot gave him an angry look and explained, “We were born on royal Saturdays, golden Saturdays, glorious Saturdays, whereas you were born on a begging Saturday, a tramping Saturday, a good-fornothing Saturday.” — Htin Aung,

1966:60-61.

86 The monk and the dwindling tiger Prologue: After offering some alms food to the Thingazar Sayadaw, a group of laymen said, “My lord, we beg you to give us a ‘fan-down’ sermon.” “Good laymen,” replied the Sayadaw, “I will give you a sermon, but it is neither formal nor informal, neither fan-up’ nor fan-down’. A sermon is a sermon, no more, no less. It 1s the lay people of Lower Burma who invented these new terms, ‘fan-up’ or formal sermon and ‘fan-down’ or informal sermon. But we monks are also to be blamed, because we usually dance to the tune called by the laymen. As a result, we often appear very foolish, as in the case of the monk and his dwindling tiger.”

Once there lived a monk who was not too learned. His sermons were very boring to listen to, and there came a time when noone offered him alms food. So he migrated to another village but, benefiting from his previous experience, he did not go to the village monastery but resided in a makeshift monastery of bamboo and thatch on the edge ofa small forest. As forest-dwelling monks were believed to be taking advanced meditative exercises, they were never expected to give any sermons, and the villagers flocked to the forest monastery, bringing offerings of alms food and robes. After some weeks, some of the villagers begged the monk not to expose himself any longer to the ferocious animals of the forest, but to come and dwell in the village monastery. But the monk prudently remained in the forest. The fame of the forest-dwelling monk spread to the neighbouring villages, and more and more people visited him and begged of him to come and dwell in their village monasteries. Then the monk thought to himself, ‘I must please my followers in some way or other. I must either go and reside in their monastery, or agree with them that there are wild animals in the forest, although I have come across none.’

312

A SELECTION

OF BURMA’S

FOLK-TALES

So when some villagers again came and insisted that he should no longer expose himself to the ferocious animals of the jungle, he replied, “Yes, yes, laymen, only last night I saw a tiger under yonder tree, but I will risk my life to complete my meditative exercises.” This remark made the monk even more popular and he received more and more alms food and robes.. There was a mischievous fellow among the villagers and he, after a time, guessed that the monk was using his imagination. So one day he came alone and extended to the monk the usual invitation to the village monastery, referring as usual to the ferocious animals of the forest. “Yes, yes, layman,” replied the monk as before. “Only last night I saw a tiger under yonder tree.” “How big was it, my lord?” asked the mischievous villager, looking innocent. “It must have been between seven and nine cubits in length,” replied the monk. The mischievous villager burst out laughing and said, “My lord, my lord, obviously you have never seen a tiger. No tiger can be bigger than the breadth of my lord’s palm. So, sir, be careful next time when you are describing the tiger.” The monk thanked the mischievous villager and promised to be more careful in the future. A few days afterwards a group of villagers arrived and they again invited the monk to their monastery in the village, mentioning the danger from

wild animals.

“Yes, yes, laymen,”

re-

plied the monk. “Only last night I saw a tiger under yonder tree and it was as big as my palm.” The villagers looked at him in silence and shook their heads. “What is the matter, laymen?” the monk asked feebly. “What is wrong with my tiger?” “My lord,” the villagers replied, “the average length of a tiger 1s from seven to nine cubits.” “My tiger was all right, my tiger was all right,” wailed the monk, “but that mischievous villager dwindled it.” Htin Aung,

1966:68-69.

87 I ran because

the other ran

Prologue: While the Thingazar Sayadaw was visiting Pegu, a layman announced that_he was an admirer of the Chapter of Junior Monks. “Why do you admire them?” asked the sayadaw. “My lord,” replied the layman, “I have no particular reasons. My neighbour admires them, and I simply follow

GUIDANCE

TALES

(CLERICAL)

suit.” “You are like the hillman,” smiled the sayadaw, the other ran.”

313

“who ran because

On a road among the eastern hills a Burmese [?.e. Burman] traveller heard a hillman shouting out his ware, which happened to be rice. But as he was shouting in his own language, the Burmese traveller did not understand and asked, “What is it? What is it?” The hillman of course knew Burmese, but like most hillmen he

spoke it with a twang. To enlighten the Burmese stranger, he shouted the Burmese word for rice. The Burmese word for rice was sunn, but because of his twang it sounded like sinn, which meant ‘elephant’. So the Burmese traveller thought that the hillman was warning him of an approaching wild elephant, and started to run as fast as he could. The hillman, although perplexed at at the Burman’s behaviour, ran behind him. The sun was hot and the road was rough. About an hour later the two arrived at a village, and both fell down in a swoon through sheer exhaustion. After the two strangers had been nursed back to consciousness, the villagers asked, “Why did you come running so hard? Did robbers waylay you, or did some wild animal chase you?” “This hillman here warned me of an approaching wild elephant,” explained the Burman. The hillman looked at his fellow runner with amazement and denied that he had ever given such a warning. “Then why did you run?” the villagers asked. “It was quite simple,” replied the hillman. “I ran because he ran.” Htin

Aung,

1966:131-132.

88 The British envoy The High Commissioner of Lower Burma, Sir Arthur Phayre, had arrived at Mandalay as the envoy of Queen Victoria. In the audience chamber of the palace and before the assembled abbots and courtiers, the British envoy presented to the King various gifts from his sovereign. Among these was a powerful telescope, which the King passed round to the abbots and courtiers to inspect. After the ceremony of presentation was over, the King and the envoy conversed on many subjects. Sir Arthur Phayre said, “Your Maesty, I have a great respect for the teachings of Buddhism, but I find it difficult to accept

‘

314

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OF BURMA’S

FOLK-TALES

the superstitions. For example, I am told that the Burmese believe that the Buddha, although six feet tall, appeared sometimes as big as a mountain and at other times as small as a sesame seed. How can that be?” The King turned to the Thingazar Sayadaw and invited him to answer the envoy’s question.

“Great envoy,” requested the Thingazar Sayadaw, “will you please look out of the window and tell me how far Mandalay Hill is from this audience hall?” “My lord,” Sir Arthur Phayre replied, ‘St is about three miles.” “But some can say that it is only a few yards away,” asserted the Sayadaw, “and others can say it 1s some ten miles away.” “My lord,” objected Sir Arthur Phayre, “I do not think anyone can misjudge the distance to that extent.” The Sayadaw smiled and said, “Great envoy, if one looks through your telescope from the correct end, the hill will seem only a few yards away, and if one looks at it from the wrong end, the hill will seem to be some ten miles away.” Sir Arthur Phayre bowed deeply and said, “My lord has answered my question well.” Htin

Aung,

1966:142.

89 The village wiseman

and the elephant tracks

Prologue: A group of laymen posed this question to the Payagyi Sayadaw: “In Lower Burma, my lord, some butchers and fishermen have become very rich. Are their riches due to merit or demerit from their past existences?” The Sayadaw answered, “Their way of earning a lwing is not a good way, because ut involves the slaughter of many animals, and for this they will have to suffer in ther future existences. Nonetheless they are now rich and live in luxury and comfort because of some good deeds in the past.” But the lay preacher in the group, who prided himself on a knowledge of the scroptures, refused to accept the Sayadaw’s explanation and, misquoting and misinterpreting some texts, he argued at length that the butchers’ and _fishermens’ riches were the result of some evil deeds in thew past lives. The Sayadaw, after refuting him, smiled and said, “Lay preacher, you remind me of the village wiseman and the elephant tracks.”

The inhabitants of a small village in Upper Burma were ignorant and foolish, but there was one who was less ignorant but more foolish than the others. The villagers, however, regarded

GUIDANCE

TALES

(CLERICAL)

S15

him as their wiseman and consulted him on all matters that puzzled them from time to time. One night a rogue elephant wandered into a sugar-cane field belonging to a villager and ate up all the sugar-cane. The following morning the owner of the field discovered the loss and was mystified to see the elephant’s tracks. It never entered his mind that the tracks were those of an elephant. So he went and fetched the village wiseman. The village wiseman looked carefully at the elephant tracks and sat down and pondered the whole day. Just as the sun was setting he stood up and announced with a smile, “I have solved the mystery. There are two problems to be considered. First, how could anyone steal sugar-cane without leaving any footprints? Second, what are those large round marks on the ground? The explanation is this: the thief tied a winnowing tray to each foot, came walking across the field, and carried away the sugar-cane on his shoulders.” Htin

Aung,

1966:162-163.

COMMENTARY: JATAKA TALES? The Jataka tales did not lay down legal principles or give bits of advice;

they offered

a whole

moral

code, using a medium

al-

ready familiar to courtier and villager alike. In considering how difficult it is to distinguish orthodox Buddhism from folklore, King (1964:59) suggests that ‘the Jataka tales, so popular in Burma, almost perfectly embody the actual working synthesis of orthodoxy and folk tale’. One feature of that synthesis is the fact that some folk-tales and Jatakas have storylines in common: both tale 57 above and Jataka 208, for example, tell the same story of the monkey and the crocodile. The tales are consistently structured. The outer framework of the whole set is the recollection by Gautama of episodes in his former lives. Each original episode consists of a short piece of aphoristic verse, an account of the circumstances which led Gautama to tell the story, the tale itself, and a final brief commentary in which Gautama

identifies the characters in the tale, including his

3 See also Part One, p. 27-28.

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FOLK-TALES

previous incarnation as Buddha-to-be. However, as the full text often amounts to a very lengthy account, we exemplify this structure only in our first tale (no.90) and omit all but the central story in the tales that follow. The first three we have selected are in formal mode, being careful translations from the classical Pali texts. However, Jataka tales are still listened to today: on special occasions a hsayadaw or other member of the sangha may tell the congregation a tale suitably chosen and tailored to the circumstances, and some parents, grandparents and teachers also tell well-loved tales, in simplified form, to youngsters. Furthermore, the tales remain a source of inspiration to contemporary writers. We therefore present, in addition to those classical texts (nos. 90, 91 and 92), three modern examples. The first of these (no.93) is an attempt to render into English a tale cast into free verse by a modern Burmese poet; quite by chance, in the translation process the tale took on the rhythms of Hiawatha. There follows an abridged version of a very long tale (no.94) in which the Buddha-to-be, a naga, is found coiled around an anthill; for this motif, see the commentary to Section [(B),

page 00. This, one of the last ten great Jatakas, has long been well-loved in Burma. As long ago as 1486, for example, a young man at Court was so moved on reading the original Pali version that he put it into verse for the king; Shin Maha Rat-hta-tha-ra (1468-1530) was to become Burma’s greatest classical poet. Next comes a text which at some stage was simplified so as to be suitable for youngsters in school (no.95). The reader may wish to compare this with the rigorous translation by Khoreche, a Sanskritist who maintains accuracy while bringing out the elegance of a text produced in the fourth century ap or perhaps somewhat earlier; see Aryasura (1989:32-38). Here is a sample sentence: To this day the hare’s image shines in the sky when the moon is full, like a reflection in a silver mirror. Ever since then the moon, which

opens the white lilies and is the mark on the forehead of Night, has been popularly known as “hare-marked”.

90 The lovesick widower

[Assaka-Jataka]

(“Once with the great king Assaka,” etc.—This story the Master told whilst staying in Jetavana, about someone who was distract-

GUIDANCE

TALES

(CLERICAL)

BAY.

ed by the recollection of a former wife. He asked the Brother whether he were really lovesick. The man said, Yes. “Whom are you in love with?” the Master continued. “My late wife”, was the reply. Then the Master said, “Not this once only, brother, have you been full of desire for this woman; in olden days her love brought you to great misery.” And he told a story.] Once upon a time, there was a king Assaka reigning in Potali, which is a city of the kingdom of Kasi. His queen consort, named Ubbari, was very dear to him; she was charming, and graceful, and beautiful passing the beauty of women, though not so fair as a goddess. She died: and at her death the king was plunged in grief, and became sad and miserable. He had the body laid in a coffin, and embalmed

with oil and ointment,

and laid beneath

the bed; and there he lay without food, weeping and wailing. In vain did his parents and kinsfolk, friends and courtiers, priests

and laymen, bid him not to grieve, since all things pass away; they could not move him. As he lay in sorrow, seven days passed by. Now the Bodhisatta was at that time an ascetic, who had gained the Five Supernatural Faculties and the Eight Attainments; he dwelt at the foot of Himalaya. He was possessed of perfect supernatural insight, and as he looked around India with his heavenly vision, he saw this king lamenting, and straightway resolved to help him. By his miraculous power he rose in the air, and alighted in the king’s park, and sat down on the ceremonial stone, like a golden image. A young brahmin of the city of Potali entered the park, and seeing the Bodhisatta, he greeted him and sat down. The Bodhisatta began to talk pleasantly with him. “Is the king a just ruler?” he asked. “Yes, Sir, the king is just,” replied the youth; “but his queen is just dead; he has laid her body in a coffin, and hes down

lamenting her; and to-day is the seventh day since he began.— Why do you not free the king from this great grief? Virtuous beings like you ought to overcome the king’s sorrow.” “I do not know the king, young man,” said the Bodhisatta; “but if he were to come and ask me, I would tell him the place

where she has now come into the flesh again, and make her speak herself.”

‘

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“Then, holy Sir, stay here until I bring the king to you,” said the youth. The Bodhisatta agreed; and he hastened into the king’s presence, and told him about it. “You should visit this being with the divine insight!” he told the king. The king was overjoyed at the thought of seeing Ubbari; and he entered his chariot and drove to the place. Greeting the Bodhisatta, he sat down on one side, and asked, “Is it true, as I am

told, that you know where my queen has come into being again?” “Yes, I do, my lord king,” replied he.

Then the king asked where it was. The Bodhisatta replied, “O king, she was intoxicated with her beauty, and so fell into negligence and did not do fair and virtuous acts; so now she has become a little dung-worm in this very park.” “TI don’t believe it!” said the king. “Then I will show her to you, and make her speak,” answered the Bodhisatta. “Please make her speak!” said the king. The Bodhisatta commanded- “Let the two that are busy rolling a lump of cow-dung, come forth before the king!” and by his power he made them do it, and they came. ‘The Bodhisatta pointed one out to the king: “There is your queen Ubbari, O king! she has just come out of this lump, following her husband the dungworm. Look and see.” “What! my queen Ubbari a dung-worm? I don’t believe it!” cried the king. “T will make her speak, O king!” “Pray make her speak, holy Sir!” said he. The Bodhisatta by his power gave her speech. “Ubbari!” said hes “What is it, holy Sir?” she asked, in a human voice. “What was your name in your former character?” the Bodhisatta asked her. “My name was Ubbari, Sir,” she replied, “the consort of king Assaka.” “Tell me,” the Bodhisatta went on, “which do you love best now—king Assaka, or this dung-worm?” “O Sir, that was my former birth,” said she. “Then I lived with him in this park, enjoying shape and sound, scent, savour and touch; but now that my memory is confused by re-birth,

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what is he? Why, now I would kill king Assaka, and would smear the feet of my husband the dung-worm with the blood flowing from his throat!” and in the midst of the king’s company, she uttered these verses in a human voice: “Once with the great king Assaka, who was my husband dear, Beloving and beloved, I walked about this garden here. But now new sorrows and new joys have made the old ones flee,

And dearer far than Assaka my Worm

is now to me.”

When the king Assaka heard this, he repented on the spot; and at once he caused the queen’s body to be removed and washed his head. He saluted the Bodhisatta, and went back into the city;

where he married another queen, and ruled in righteousness. And the Bodhisatta, having instructed the king, and set him free from sorrow, returned again to the Himalayas.

[When the Master had ended this discourse, he declared the Truths and identified the Birth:- at the conclusion of the Truths, the lovesick Brother reached the Fruit of the First Path:- “Your late wife was Ubbari; you, the lovesick Brother, were king Assaka;

Sariputta was the young brahmin; and the anchorite was I myself.”| Cowell

(ed.), 1895-1907. Jataka 207.

91 The narrow highway

[Rajovada-Jataka]

[A variant of this story occurs as Law Tale no.42, “The collision on the bridge’ (Htin Aung, 1962:124).| Once a upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, the Bodhisatta was conceived by his Queen Consort; and the ceremonies proper to her state having been duly done, she was afterwards safely delivered. On his name-day, the name they gave him was Prince Brahmadatta. In course of time, he grew up, and at sixteen years went to Takkasila for his education;

where

he mastered

al] branches

of

‘

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learning, and on his father’s death he became king in his stead, and ruled with uprightness and all rectitude, adminstering justice with no regard had to his own will or whim. And as he ruled thus justly, his ministers on their part were also just; thus, while all things were justly done, there was none who brought a false

suit into court. Presently all the bustle of suitors ceased within the precincts of the palace; all day long the ministers might sit on the bench, and go away without seeing a single suitor. The courts were deserted. Then the Bodhisatta thought to himself, “Because of my just government not one suitor comes to try issue in court; the old hubbub is quiet; the courts of law are deserted. Now I must search whether

I had any fault in me;

which

if I find, I will eschew

it

and live a good life hereafter.” From that time he tried continually to find someone

who

would

tell him

of a fault; but of all

who were about him at court he could not find one such; nothing could he hear but good of himself. “Perhaps,” thought he, “they are all so much afraid of me that they say no ill of me but only good,” and so he went about to try those who were outside his walls. But with these it was just the same. ‘Then he made inquisition of the citizens at large, and outside the city questioned those who belonged to the suburbs at the four city gates. Still there was none who had any fault to find; nothing but praises could he hear. Lastly, with intent to try the country side, he entrusted all government to his ministers, and mounted in his carriage, and taking only the driver with him, left the city in disguise. All the country he traversed, even to the frontier; but not a faulttinder could he light upon; all he could hear was only his own praises. So back he turned from the marches, and set his face homewards again by the highroad. Now it fortuned that at this very tme Millika, the king of Kosala, had done the very same thing. He too was a just king, and he had been searching for his faults; but amongst those about him there was none who had any fault to find; and hearing nothing but praise, he had been making enquiry throughout all the country, and had but then arrived at that same spot. These two met, in a place where the carriage-road was deeply sunk between two banks, and there was no room for one carriage to pass another.

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“Get your carriage out of the way!” said king Mallika’s driver to the driver of the king of Benares. “No, no, driver,” said he, “out of the way with yours! Know

that in this carriage sits the great monarch Brahmadatta, lord of the kingdom of Benares!” “Not so, driver!” replied the other, “in this carriage sits the great king Millika, lord of the realm of Kosala! It is for you to make way, and to give place to the carriage of our king!” “Why, here’s a king too,” thought the driver of the king of Benares. “What in the world is to be done?” Then a thought struck him; he would enquire what should be the age of the two kings, so that the younger should give way to the elder. And he made enquiry of the other driver how old his king was; but he learnt that both were of the same age. Thereupon he asked the extent of the king’s power, wealth, and glory, and all points touching his caste and clan and his family; discovering that both of them had a country three hundred leagues long, and that they were alike in power, wealth, glory, and the nature of their family and lineage. ‘Then he bethought him that place might be given to the better man; so he requested that the other driver should describe his master’s virtues. The man replied by the first verse of poetry following, in which he set forth his monarch’s faults as though they were so many virtues: “Rough to the rough, king Millika the mild with mildness sways, Masters the good by the goodness, and the bad with badness

pays. Give place, give place, O driver! such are this monarch’s ways!” “Oh,” said the man of the king of Benares, “is that all you have to say about your king’s virtues?” “Yes,” said the other.- “If these are his virtues, what must his vices be!” “Vices be it, then,” quoth

he, “if you will; but let us hear what your king’s virtues may be like!” “Listen then,” rejoined the first, and repeated the second verse: “He conquers wrath by mildness, the bad with goodness sways, By gifts the miser vanquishes and lies with truth repays. Give place, give place, O driver! such are this monarch’s ways!”

At these words both king Millika and his driver descended from their carriage, and loosed the horses, and moved

it out OL the

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way, to give place to the king of Benares. Then the king of Benares gave good admonition to king Millika, saying, “Thus and thus must you do;” after which he returned to Benares, and there

gave alms and did good all his life, till at the last he went to swell the hosts of heaven. And king Millika took the lesson to heart; and after traversing the length and breadth of the land, and lighting upon none who had any fault to find, returned to his own city; where he gave alms all his life and did good, ull at the end he too went to swell the hosts of heaven. Cowell (ed.), 1895-1907. Jataka

92 The grateful elephant

151.

[Alina-Citta-Jataka]

Once upon a time, when Brahmadatta was king of Benares, there was a village of carpenters not far from the city, in which five hundred carpenters lived. They would go up the river in a vessel, and enter the forest, where they would shape beams and planks for housebuilding, and put together the framework of onestorey or two-storey houses, numbering all the pieces from the mainpost onwards; these then they brought down to the river bank, and put them all aboard; then rowing down stream again, they would build houses to order as it was required of them; after which, when they received their wage, they went back again for more materials for the building, and in this way they made their livelihood. Once it befell that in a place where they were at work in shap-

ing timbers, a certain Elephant trod upon a splinter of acacia wood, which pierced his foot, and caused it to swell up and fester, and he was in great pain. In his agony, he caught the sound of these carpenters cutting wood. “There are some carpenters will cure me,” thought he; and limping on three feet, he presented himself before them, and lay down close by. The carpenters, noticing his swollen foot, went up and looked; there was the splinter sticking in it. With a sharp tool they made incision about the splinter, and tying a string to it, pulled it right out. Then they lanced the gathering, and washed it with warm water, and doctored it properly; and in a very short time the wound was healed. Grateful for this cure, the Elephant thought: “My life has been saved by the help of these carpenters; now I must make myself

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useful to them.” So ever after that, he used to pull up trees for them, or when they were chopping he would roll up the logs; or bring them their adzes and any tools they might want, holding everything in his trunk like grim death. And the carpenters, when it was time to feed him, used to bring him each a portion of food, so that he had five hundred portions in all. Now this Elephant had a young one, white all over, a magnificent high-bred creature. The Elephant reflected that he was now old, and he had better bring his young one to serve the carpenters, and himself be left free to go. So without a word to the carpenters he went off into the wood, and brought his son to them, saying, “This young Elephant is a son of mine. You saved my life, and I give him to you as a fee for your leechcraft; from henceforward he shall work for you.” So he explained to the young Elephant that it was his duty to do the work which he had been

used to do himself, and then went

away

into the forest,

leaving him with the carpenters. So after that time the young Elephant did all their work, faithfully and obediently; and they fed him, as they had fed the other, with five hundred portions for a meal. His work once done, the Elephant would go play about in the river, and then return again. The carpenters’ children used to pull him by the trunk, and play all sorts of pranks with him in water and out. Now noble creatures, be they elephants, horses, or men, never dung or stale in the water. So this Elephant did nothing of the kind when he was in the water, but waited until he came out upon the bank. One day, rain had fallen up river; and by the flood a half-dry cake of his dung was carried into the river. This floated down to the Benares landing place, where it stuck fast in a bush. Just then the king’s elephant keepers had brought down five hundred elephants to give them a bath. But the creatures scented this soil of a noble

animal,

and not one

would

enter

the water;

up went

their tails, and off they all ran. The keepers told this to the elephant trainers; who replied, “There must be something in the water, then.” So orders were given to cleanse the water; and there in the bushes this lump was seen. “That’s what the matter is!” cried the men. So they bought a jar, and filled it with water; next powdering the stuff into it, they sprinkled the water over

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the elephants, whose bodies then became sweet. At once they went down into the river and bathed. When the trainers made their report to the king, they advised him to secure the Elephant for his own use and profit. The king accordingly embarked upon a raft, and rowed up stream until he arrived at the place where the carpenters had settled. The young Elephant, hearing the sounds of drums as he was playing in the water, came out and presented himself before the carpenters, who one and all came forth to do honour to the king’s coming,

and said to him, “Sire, if woodwork

is wanted,

what need to come here? Why not send and have it brought to you?” “No, no, good friends,” the king answered,

“Tis not for wood

that I come, but for this elephant here.” “He is yours, Sire!”- But the Elephant refused to budge. “What do you want me to do, gossip Elephant?” asked the king. “Order the carpenters to be paid for what they have spent on Tes bee

“Willingly, friend.” And the king ordered an hundred thousand pieces of money to be laid by his tail, and trunk, and by each of his four feet. But this was not enough for the Elephant; go he would not. So to each of the carpenters was given a pair of cloths, and to each of their wives robes to dress in, nor did he omit to give enough whereby his playmates the children should be brought up; then with a last look upon the carpenters, and the women, and the children, he departed in company with the king. To his capital city the king brought him; and city and stable were decked out with all magnificence. He led the Elephant round the city in solemn procession, and thence into his stable, which was fitted up with splendour and pomp. There he solemnly sprinkled the Elephant, and appointed him for his own riding; like a comrade he treated him, and gave him the half of his kingdom, taking as much care of him as he did of himself. After the coming of this Elephant, the king won supremacy over all India. In course of time the Budhisatta was conceived by the Queen Consort; and when

her time was

near come

to be delivered, the

king died. Now if the Elephant learnt news of the king’s death, he was sure to break his heart; so he was waited upon

as before,

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O25

and not a word said. But the next neighbour, the king of Kosala, heard of the king’s death. “Surely the land is at my mercy,” thought he; and marched with a mighty host to the city, and beleaguered it. Straight the gates were closed, and a message was sent to the king of Kosala:- “Our Queen is near the time of her delivery; and the astrologers have declared that in seven days she shall bear a son. If she bears a son, we will not yield the kingdom, but on the seventh day we will give you battle. For so long we pray you wait!” And to this the king agreed. In seven day the Queen bore a son. On his name-day they called him Prince Winheart,

because, said they, he was born to

win the hearts of the people. On the very same day that he was born, the townsfolk began to do battle with the king of Kosala. But as they had no leader, little by little the army gave way, great though it was. The courtiers told this news to the Queen, adding, “Since our army loses ground in this way, we fear defeat. But the state Elephant, our king’s bosom friend, has never been told that the king is dead, and a son born to him, and that the king of Kosala is here to

give us battle. Shall we tell him?” “Yes, do so,” said the Queen. So she dressed up her son, and laid him in a fine linen cloth; after which she with all the court

came down from the palace and entered the Elephant’s stable. There she laid the babe at the Elephant’s feet, saying, “Master, your comrade is dead, but we feared to tell it to you lest you might break your heart. This is your comrade’s son; the king of Kosala has run a leaguer about the city, and is making war upon your son; the army is losing ground; either kill your son yourself, or else win the kingdom back for him!” At once the Elephant stroked the child with his trunk, and lifted him upon his own head; then making moan and lamentation he took him down

and laid him in his mother’s

arms, and

with the words- “I will master the king of Kosala!” he went forth hastily. Then the courtiers put his armour and caparison upon him, and unlocked the city gate, and escorted him thither. The Elephant emerging trumpeted, and frightened all the host so that they ran away, and broke up the camp; then seizing the king of Kosala by his topknot, he carried him to the young prince, at whose

feet he let him fall. Some

rose to kill him, but them

the

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Elephant stayed; and he let the captive “Be careful for the future, and be not that our Prince is young.” After that, the power over all India own hand, and not a foe was able to Bodhisatta was consecrated at the age Winheart; just was his reign, and when went to swell the hosts of heaven. Cowell

(ed.) 1895-1907. Jataka

93 Learning

FOLK-TALES

king go with this advice: presumptuous by reason fell rise of he

into the Bodhisatta’s up against him. ‘The seven years, as King came to life’s end he

156.

an old one’s tricks

can get you out of a fix

[Tipallattha-Miga Jataka]

(1) Long ago in Rajagaha reigned a king of Magadha. A stag in those days, Bodhisatta lived in a forest with a herd of deer;

and one day Bodhisatta’s sister brought her son to him, requesting, “Brother, here’s my son, your nephew: when he’s roaming in the forest men can always be a danger, so to help him steer well clear teach him, please, the wiles of deer.” “Yes”, he promised, “I shall teach him.” And he set a starting date. And upon the day appointed by his uncle, being respectful and obedient, this young stag came io him. And so his uncle Bodhisatta taught the youngster all about the tricks of deer-kind, thoroughly and with great care.

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(2) One day, roaming through the forest his young nephew chanced to stray

p)

towards a hunter’s hidden snare and,

stepping in the noose, was held. Finding himself caught, the young stag cried out now in great alarm, and others who were nearby browsing heard his cry and ran away, found his mother and informed her. She ran swiftly to her brother. “Oh, my brother!” she cried, panting. “Have you taught the wiles of deer to your nephew, my dear son?” “Dearest sister, yes, I taught him”,

Bodhisatta answered gently. “Now my nephew knows those skills, he cannot be in grave danger. Soon he’ll be here, safe and well.” This he said with calm conviction,

listing every ruse as follows: “How to lie still on his left side I have taught him. How to lie still on his right side I have taught him. How

to lie still on his back, too,

I have taught him. How to use each of his eight hoofs I have taught him. How to drink only at midnight I have taught him. And how to breathe with downward nostril I have taught him. These six ruses of the deer I have taught my dear young nephew.”

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3) .Making no attempt to struggle Held fast in the snare, the young stag simply stretched out all four legs As he lay there on his right side, all the earth and grass in reach he scrabbled at with every hoof. Having emptied bowel and bladder, he let his head rest on the ground as he lay with lolling tongue,

then with his saliva foaming

lathered his whole body over. Breathing

in, he swelled

his belly,

rolled his eyes to show the whites and closed the upward-facing

nostril,

breathing only through the lower. Making his whole body rigid, he pretended to be dead. Even bluebottles swarmed round him, even crows came down and settled. When the hunter came and patted the swollen abdomen he thought,

beginning to untie the noose, “This one must have got caught early. The meat may well be going bad. I must take the flesh off now.’ Then, suspecting not a thing, he went to fetch some leaves and branches to make a fire, but in a flash

the young stag scrambled to his feet, shook himself and stretched his neck and, like a cloudlet in a high wind, as swiftly as his legs would take him ran back to his waiting mother. Minthuwun,1989

(Book II):89-97. Jataka

16 in Cowell. (Trans. KTH and GA]

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94 The naga prince

329

[Bhuridatta-Jataka]

In the depths of the earth, far below the world of men and surrounded by jewels, live the nagas. They sometimes leave their country and appear among people as human beings, but their great enemy is the galon, the huge bird that lives in the upper air. Once when a galon was hungry he caught a naga in his talons and flew off with him over the forest. The naga managed to coil his body around a great banyan tree, but the galon was so strong that the tree was uprooted and the bird flew on. Having eaten the naga, the galon remembered that there had been a hermit’s hut under the branches of the banyan, and he was afraid that he might suffer some punishment for his deeds. He went back to apologise and was told that, as he had not intended to do the hermit any harm, no harm would come to him. The galon was so relieved that he revealed to him the words of a powerful naga spell and gave him a magic fan to use while chanting it, but the hermit had no use for it and passed it on to Alambayana, a Brahmin snake charmer and faithful servant of the hermit. Alambayana decided to use the magic charm to become rich and famous by capturing a naga. He set off through the forest until he came to the bank of a river where he saw a group of naga youths, and with them a precious naga jewel. Alambayana began to chant the galon’s magic spell, whereupon the terrified nagas withdrew into the river leaving their jewel behind. When the nagas had gone Alambayana, delighted with his find, took the gem and went on through the forest unaware that this was the jewel that granted all wishes. Soon he met a hunter and his son, and when the hunter saw the jewel he coveted it because he knew its power; he was also resentful because he had many years earlier been given an opportunity, which he had not taken, of possessing the gem. In his mind’s eye he saw the scene again. It was dawn, and he had spent the night in the forest. He had heard music and laughter and crept to where the sounds were coming from. A group of naga maidens were playing, and when they caught sight of him they fled to the river leaving behind a snake-like figure, richly dressed and coiled around a huge old anthill.

He had asked who

the creature

was,

and learned

that

this was Bhuridatta, prince of the nagas, who had earned the title

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of ‘Godly Datta’ because of his virtue and who had decided to increase his merit by leaving his palace and his wives and becoming an ascetic. Bhuridatta had found this great abandoned anthill in the world of men, and every night he would leave his own realm and coil himself around the anthill saying, “Whoever wills it may

take my

skin, my

muscles,

bones

or blood.”

And

there he would meditate until daybreak, whereupon his naga maiden attendants would come and conduct him back to the domain of the nagas. Not wanting anyone else to know about this place of meditation, Bhuridatta

had invited the hunter

and his son to go to his

kingdom, and the two men lived there in luxury for a year or so until the hunter became restless and homesick. Bhuridatta wanted him to stay, and offered him great riches, including the jewel that granted all wishes, but the hunter refused to accept them, saying that he too wanted to become an ascetic. He and his son went back to their previous home, but when the hunter’s wife learned that he intended to leave her again to become a hermit she grew angry. She had insisted that he must stay and support his family, so he he had returned to his former life as a hunter. Now,

however,

when

he saw the gem

in Alambayana’s

hand,

he was sick with regret and avarice and he was determined to get his hands on it somehow. He tried to deceive Alambayana by telling him that the jewel was dangerous, but the Brahmin was too shrewd for him. But when Alambayana said that his aim was to become famous and rich by capturing a naga, and that he would only part with the gem in exchange for being shown the whereabouts of one, the hunter saw his chance. His son pleaded with him not to betray the friend who had trusted him to keep his meditation-place secret, and who had welcomed the hunter as a guest in his palace for a full year; if he wanted riches, said the lad, he had only to ask the naga prince. But the covetous hunter would not listen. He took Alambayana through the forest to the secret place. There was Bhuridatta, coiled around the anthill. Alambayana, eager to capture the great naga, hastily handed over the magic gem; but the hunter, eager to grab it, let it slip through his fingers. The magic jewel fell into a crack in the earth, disappearing into the world that it came

from, and the hunter went back be-

wailing his fate. But Alambayana

was intent on capturing this

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great creature. He advanced on Bhuridatta, chanting the spell and waving the magic fan. He had no difficulty catching him, because Bhuridatta kept the vow he had made: “Whoever wills it may take my skin, my muscles, bones or blood”. The hunter crushed the bones of the Bodhisatta—for that is what Bhuridatta was—and crammed him into a basket. The naga prince was in great pain , but did not allow himself to feel anger towards his captor. Alambayana carried his prisoner to a nearby village and made him perform for the people. The great serpent danced and changed colour and breathed smoke, astonishing the villagers so much that they paid a great deal of money to watch the performance. It was the same in village after village until, by the time he reached Benares, Alambayana was both rich and famous. Down in the realm of the nagas meanwhile, Bhuridatta’s mother and his wives had grown uneasy at his absence. His brothers were sent out to find him: the first went searching in the kingdom of the heavenly beings, the second scoured the forest and the eldest, Sudassana, sought him among the dwellers on earth. Sudassana had disguised himself as an ascetic, and he took along with him Bhuridatta’s favourite sister, transformed into a frog and hidden in his unkempt hair. On and on without success he searched through the land of men until he came to Benares, just when the citizens were gathering in the market-place to see the great serpent’s performance. When Bhuridatta lifted his head out of his basket he saw his own brother in the crowd. He went forward to him, laid his head

on his brother’s foot and wept. When Sudassana wept in sympathy Alambayana, watching from a distance, thought that the naga had bitten the ascetic, and he hastened to assure Sudassana

that

this snake was not poisonous. The proud answer was that no venom, whether from a snake or any other creature, could harm Sudassana. This haughty reply angered Alambayana, who challenged the ascetic to demonstrate his powers. The ascetic therefore summoned

his sister who,

possessed a highly venomous drops of her venom

in her embodiment

as a frog,

poison. He asked her to spit three

on to his palm and, when

this was

done,

approached Alambayana. “You see these deadly drops waiting here on my hand?

he

N“

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said. “They have only to touch the ground and the whole of Benares will be devastated. Shall I demonstrate?” Alambayana shrank back, the onlookers cried out in fear and only one person remained calm. “How can this poison be destroyed?” asked the king. The only way, said Sudassana, was to dig three vast pits and to fill the first with drugs, the second with cow-dung and the third with medicines. As soon as this had been done, he tipped the three drops of venom into the three pits. All three exploded on impact, filling the air with heat and din, whereupon the terrified Alambayana swore three times that he would set the naga prince free.

At this, Bhuridatta rose from his basket in great radiance, presenting himself to the multitude in all his glory. The wicked Brahmin stole away, never to be seen again; the two brothers showed the king that they were in fact his nephews; and before they returned to the naga kingdom there was a grand celebration. ‘Through the years

that followed,

Bhuridatta

succeeded

in observing

the

precepts and, when this life ended, joined the hosts of virtuous nagas in the heavenly regions. [Jataka 543 in Cowell (ed.) 1895-1907; but this very long Jataka is here abridged by GA from various sources, including Wray et al. 1972.]

95 The hare

[Sasa-Jataka]

Once upon a time the Lord Buddha came to life as a hare. He lived near a stream in the forest, and he was so wise and gentle that all the animals in the forest respected him. The animals that loved him the most were a jackal, a monkey and an otter, and they tried to be as generous as their friend the hare. One evening when the four friends were all together, the moon rose and shone like a great silver mirror. The hare looked up at it and said: “Look! ‘The moon is almost full. That means that tomorrow is a sabbath day. Let us fast, so that if a visitor comes we shall be able to offer him some food.” The jackal, the monkey and the otter agreed, but the hare was worried. He thought:

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‘My friends can find food and offer it to a visitor, but I cannot. I can find grass and cut it with my teeth, but I cannot offer grass to a guest. What can I do?’ He was very sad, but then he had an idea. He said to himself: ‘Ah! I know what I can do if a visitor comes! I shall offer him some very precious food, not food that is easy to find.’ Now the hare was happy and was able to sleep. But news of his thoughts reached the ears of Thagya Min, the king of the nats, who wanted to test the hare to see if he was really such a generous creature. The next day, the sun was very hot at midday and the forest was silent because all the creatures were resting. Then a holy man appeared near the forest home of the four friends. He seemed to be lost, and he looked very tired. He cried out: “Please help me! I am hot and thirsty and very hungry, and I do not know where I am!” The hare and his friends ran to him, and the hare greeted him and said: “Do not worry. You are among friends. We want you to feel at home here. Please stay with us and let us give you food and drink.” The holy man thanked the hare by silently bowing his head. The otter, the jackal and the monkey hurried away to look for food, and soon the otter came

back with seven fish. He set them

at the guest’s feet and said: “Holy one, I found these fish on the bank of the stream. Perhaps they were forgotten by a fisherman, or perhaps they jumped out of the water. Please take them and stay with us.” Then the jackal came back with a bowl of milk and set it at the holy man’s feet. He said: “Holy one, someone left this offering near our hermitage. Please take it and stay with us.” Then the monkey came back with sweet, ripe mangoes and set them at the visitor’s feet. “Holy one, I have brought you these sweet mangoes. Please take them and stay with us.” But the hare was not able to find good food for his guest. So he said: .

GUIDANCE

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(CLERICAL)

335

“Holy one, I am only a forest hare, so I cannot bring any food for you. But please accept my body and eat that.” Now this guest was really Thagya Min. He had come in order to find out whether the hare would really offer himself as food. He said: “Your offer shows that you are more generous than all the other creatures on earth. But how can I let you die when you have welcomed me into your home?” But the hare was unhappy. He said: “But you are my guest and you are hungry, so I must offer you everything that I have.” Then Thagya Min made a fire appear nearby. The fire burned brightly without any smoke, and when the hare saw it he was happy at last. He said: “Ah! Now I can offer myself to you.” He shook himself three times because he did not want any insects on his body to die, and jumped into the fire. But Thagya Min had made the fire cold, so that it did not burn the hare, and

he first called upon all the heavenly nats to see how generous the hare had been. Then he went back to his heavenly palace and decorated it with images of the hare. Finally, he drew the hare’s image on the moon. Even today, we can see his image when the moon is full. After Thagya Min had gone back to his place in the heavens, the four friends lived happily ever after. [Jataka 316 in Cowell (ed.) 1895-1907; but here an anonymous and undated simplified version apparently prepared for use in schools. For another version for juveniles, see Mackenzie, 1929.]

SECTION IV: COMPOUND

TALES

COMMENTARY

When first presenting the categories for our tales, we stressed that our scheme was over-simple. However, one complication must by now be obvious: some tales perform two or more functions. For instance several tales, whatever their category, contain ‘lay guidance’ in the form of reminders that one should always strive to obey an elder, even if that person is (say) a murderous sister or mother-in-law; again, we wondered whether the old schol-

ar in the painting competition (tale 66) could be called a trickster. The plain fact is that, just as the teacher who says “Are you talking?” can be asking a question and ordering silence and expressing annoyance in one utterance, so too can tales be multifunctional. Moreover, like any utterance a tale is open to interpretation: people may respond to its functions differently and some functions may even pass unnoticed, especially if that tale is crossing cultural boundaries. In this final section we present a few tales which we consider exhibit just two salient functions, and we ilustrate various permutations. We regard tale 96 as primarily a ‘phenomena tale’ [I(B)] because it purports to explain the domestication of the elephant and the horse, but secondarily the two domestications are achieved by means of trickery [II(B)]. It is rather like the initial trickery in tale 57 with the roles of carrier and passenger reversed. We have therefore labelled tale 96 as ‘[I(B)] + [II(B)]’ in that order. The labels of the remaining tales should need no further explanation. ‘Tale 97 is, almost to the very end, a ‘wonder tale’; it is only the final sentence that converts it into a ‘phenomena tale’. But the reader

may

also see it as a piece of moral

guidance,

as indeed

Ludu U Hla does in his preliminary comments. In tale 98 the collector’s own words merge into the opening and closing of the story, making it impossible for us to pinpoint the boundaries; his own conclusion concerning rafts is also open to question, since the pemn-gaw is a large dug-out boat. Claiming historical authenticity, the tale is of a wondrous journey as history merges into fantasy. Although its salient functions according to our scheme

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are to tell us how tea arrived in Burma and how a certain type of music and boat originated [I(B)], and to explain how the Palaung group got its name [I(A)], the overarching purpose might be seen as the glorification of a king. The Karen legend (no.99) also purports to record historical events and has been interpreted as showing evidence of the southward migration of a people [I(A)]. However, one episode in which people expect snail shells to soften with boiling is in itself almost a complete simpleton tale [II(B)]. Similarly, Sao Saimong says in a note to tale 100 that the Shan regard this tale as having some historical validity as evidence of north-south migration [I(A)]; but within the story the metamorphosis of a dead child is said to explain the origin of a bird, the Koel [I(B)], the placidity of a stretch of river is explained [I(B)| and various stars are said to be rebirths [also I(B)].Our final tale is of a consummate trickster, a con-man who even beyond the grave contrives to swindle people. As it stands it looks like a trickster tale only, but according to Ludu U Hla’s final note the Pa-o tell it as a guidance tale. We therefore label it ‘guidance + trickster’ rather than the reverse. 96 The elephant and the man

[I(B) + II(B)]

(Kayah)

[This story was told by Yi Ye and interpreted by U Ba Pe on 84-72 at the Tagun-daing festival held at a spot between the villages of Chi-ke and Daw-hsaw-bi, Kayah State.| Long, long ago in a great forest there lived a large elephant who, as he had remained

there, had never

come

across

a man

and

wanted very much to see one. So one day, instead of wandering around his usual haunts, he went to the fringes of the forest hoping to find a man and satisfy his curiosity. He soon encountered one

but, never

having seen

one

before, he wasn’t aware

that it

was indeed a man. So in his ignorance he questioned the creature. “What are you? If you’ve seen a man, will you show me one? Ivesnever seen one before.” The man was delighted at receiving this request because it had already occurred to him that such a huge creature could be of great use. So with the intention of tricking the elephant he pointed to a nearby lake.

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“To see a man”, he said, “you’d have to go to the middle of that lake. There’s one out there.” “Well”, said the elephant, “I'd very much like to see a man, but I don’t know how to go out into that water.” “All right, Pll take you there”, the man offered. “Right”, replied the delighted elephant. “Climb up on to my head and take me there.” So the man guided the elephant into the deep water. “Where’s this man?” asked the elephant. “Isn’t it possible to see him yet?” “No, no. Go on.”

The elephant went on walking. The more difficult it became for him. “Hey!” he protested. “Where is this fern, They were now right in the middle knew that he’d got the elephant right

deeper the water got, the man? I can’t go any furof the lake and the man where he wanted.

“J am a man”, he said, “the one sitting on top of you.”

He started pricking the elephant’s ears with a sharp hook, and the elephant squealed with pain and cried out. “Stop it! Stop! ?m scared of you!” “If youre scared of me, will you do as I tell you?” demanded the man. “Yes, I will’, said the elephant. The man folded the elephant’s tongue back inside his mouth and from then on, by using his hook all the time, made the creature work for him. Man did the same to the horse, too. He took him into deep water, beat him and asked him if he was afraid. If so, he demanded, would the horse work for him? When the horse said he would, a bridle was attached to his mouth and he was made to work.

(Trans. KTH) Ludu

(4 Hla,

199:1:57-59;

97 Hkun Hsaik

[I(B) + III(A)]

(Shan)

[The following story contains a lesson about how a man got into trouble for disobeying his parents; there is a reminder that a curse spoken by a benefactor may well come true; and there is the old

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339

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FOLK-TALES

belief that peacock bones must be thrown away together, or else there might be a separation of lovers. There are many versions of this story, but this one told by U Kawthala of Méng-yai town is the most cogent.] Long ago there was a wealthy and respected village elder who had four sons:

Hkam

Yi, Hkam

Hsaik, Hkun

Hsan

and Hkun

Hsaik. Only the youngest, Hkun Hsaik, was still single; but as he was in love with a young woman called Nan Myat, from a nearby village, and because both sets of parents approved of the match, plans had already been made for an imminent wedding. In the meantime, in order to make some money before settling down, Hkun Hsaik went off to a large town on a business venture, with his men and his wares in bullock carts. Not long after his departure Nan Myat died of a very high fever, and because the night of her death coincided with an eclipse of the moon a ghost came and took possession of her body. Laid out on a raised platform, the body slowly began to stir and then suddenly sat up. Some of those who had witnessed this fled down the house

in terror, but some

braver

ones

caught

hold of the

moving body, used force to drag it away to the graveyard, heaved it into a pit and buried it. But that was not enough to make the ghost leave Nan Myat’s body. When the people who had buried her arrived at the village, they discovered to their horror that Nan Myat had been following them all along and was right behind them. The ghost then passed into Nan Myat’s house and proudly sat down, taking possession of the property. From that point onwards,

one group

after another left the village until fin-

ally it was completely deserted. News of the Nan Myat ghost was the talk of the whole district, and as time went by she became more and more violent. Appearing in various forms, she haunted anyone who ventured near, but by night the deserted village looked like any other from a distance, for lights could be seen twinkling there. But every traveller entering the village and anyone losing his way and straying into it at night was found dead in the morning. Returning one night after completing his trading, Hkun Hsaik passed by Nan Myat’s village on his way home. He hadn’t seen her for a long time and he had missed her, and seeing all the lights there he thought he would go and see her as soon as he had unloaded his carts at home. So once he had finished un-

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341

loading he asked his father if it was all right to go and see Nan Myat. His father tried to stop him. “While you were away, son”, he said, “Nan Myat died. The thing living there is a ghost, and it grew so violent that in the end the people had to abandon the village. I don’t want you even to step out of this house if it’s anything to do with Nan Myat.” Hkun Hsaik didn’t believe a word of this. Having seen the lights twinkling with his own eyes, he couldn’t accept that the village was deserted. He thought there must have been some quarrel between his own parents and Nan Myat’s, and consequently his father was persuading him not to go because he didn’t want his son to have any further contact with Nan Myat. He was determined to find out what had really happened. He would go and see her and ask her. So in spite of the fact that everyone— his parents, his brothers and their wives—begged him not to go, he purposefully set out from the house. When he reached Nan Myat’s village he could see that everything was as before and at her house there she was, standing at the entrance and waiting to welcome him. So he went up into the house and, as usual, sat down and chatted away. But as they talked on and on, and as the night deepened, his beautiful Nan Myat began to change. She became more and more ugly: gradually her eyes grew bigger and bigger and protruded more, and her tongue got longer and longer, hanging out at first about nine inches from her mouth and then about eighteen inches. When finally a disgusting smell overwhelmed him, he lost his nerve, jumped down from the house screaming, and ran and ran. He never knew how long or how far he had run. When he came to, it was broad daylight and he found himself lying on the ground near a large forest. Then he could hear their delight as two women spoke. “Oh, he’s coming round!” they said. “He’s conscious now.” After that haunting by Nan Myat, Hkun Hsaik had run for his life wherever his feet took him. He had then passed out with shock and collapsed on a fringe of the forest. In the morning two young women out looking for certain leaves had found him lying there. The ugly one of the two had immediately gone down a ravine to get some water and splashed it gently on his face to make him regain consciousness.

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Once Hkun Hsaik had recovered, each of them asked him to come back to her house,and Hkun Hsaik chose to go with the pretty one. The ugly young woman who had gone to such lengths to tend him was hurt and resentful and began to curse him. “T loved you as soon as I saw you”, she complained, “and out of love for you I tried my best to help you. Now, without a thought for me, you're going off with this pretty one. I take offence at this. Your benefactor now curses you. If you eat beef, may you become one of the cattle; if you eat pork, may you become a pig; and if you eat peacock, may you become a peacock!”

She went home sadly. Some time later Hkun Hsaik, having fallen in love with the pretty woman, married her; and not long after that, his wife cooked peacock meat. As they ate, paying no regard to the words of the elders, Hkun Hsaik threw the bones here and there and immediately after his meal he turned into a peacock. His wife wept and spoke to him. “Oh, my beloved husband whose fate it was to turn into a golden peacock, even though you may not want to stay here but to go into the forest, please do not forget me! If you ever want to eat chillies, don’t go looking elsewhere. Please come here to our own fields. And please don’t go and destroy other people’s crops. I fear for you, my beloved husband golden peacock.” She tried to prevent him from flying away by cutting his tail, but as he had turned wild and was flying away she managed to get only one feather. She was left wiping away her tears with his feather.

‘They say that ever since then there have been shapes like eyes on peacock’s tails.

(Trans. KTH) Ludu

U Hla,

1964c:163-169.

98 The rose apple tree [I(B) + I(A)] {Concerning the adventures of the ruler of Burma, the entre world upon a bamboo raft.]

(Burman) who traversed

King Alaungsithu, the ruler of Burma, set forth on his splendid bamboo raft that could carry him anywhere he wished with his

COMPOUND

TALES

343

magical driving power. He had decided upon a very great journey to the fabulous Zabuthabyebin, the Rose Apple Tree, at the foot of Myinmo Mountain, overlooking the world at the source of the sacred rivers. In order to reach the Zabuthabye tree, it was necessary to traverse the entire Zabudipa, the then known world. With the most important and favourite members of his retinue, King Alaungsithu embarked upon the regally decorated raft. So great was his power, not only over his human subjects but also over the Nats, of Spirits, of earth, water and wind, that he

could proceed wheresoever he listed by merely pointing with his forefinger in the desired direction; whereupon water and wind enough would at once appear, to aid the progress of the raft. During the first part of the journey, King Alaungsithu was visited by a Nat, who presented him with seven tiny seeds of Japhet, tea so-called because of the medicinal properties and power of its leaves to induce deep sleep in those holding a handful in one of their palms upon retiring. To King Alaungsithu the Nat spoke thus: “O King, take thou these seven seeds of laphet that thou mayest savour of the freshness of the brew that may be made from their growth and of the cleaness of their use, which only the great kings merit.” King Alaungsithu accepted the gift with humble thankfulness and took the seeds with him as far as the mountains now called the Paunglaung Range, where he beheld a poor man, who slept so soundly near his fire that he did not perceive that a fold of his wood-pulp garment had ignited and was flaming on his thigh. Seeing the deep sleep of the poor man, the King bethought him of the seven seeds of laphet and taking this as an omen, he awoke the burning man and, calling him straightway Paung Laung which is Flaming Thigh, said: “Take thou these seven seeds of laphet, O Paung Laung, and plant them on the hillsides of this place and every year tend carefully the crops. The first crop of each year shalt thou give to me as tithes.” So Paung Laung in turn took the seeds as humbly and thankfully from the King, as the King had taken them from the Nat, and set out there and then to plant tea. After this, while travelling along an unknown river, the King

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FOLK-TALES

one day saw an enormous heap of skeletons of elephants that had been devoured by a huge Kinn that lived on the flesh of animals and inhabited this river. Ivory, then as now, was counted one of the precious commodities, so the King took all the tusks that the raft would hold, even setting ashore some of his followers, commanding them to walk home. This took place while the Kinn was feeding elsewhere, but, upon discovering the robbery, the infuriated annelid pursued the raft, swimming rapidly with its head and tail high out of the water. Just as it was about to swamp the raft and snap up the voyagers, a colossal Pazun, which is to say a lobster, caught the Kinn in its pincers, snapped it in two, and so killed it.

Seeing this feat, out of gratitude to the Pazun, King Alaungsithu named the place the Pazungaung River and to commemorate his rich haul of ivory and the death of the annelid, he designed a kind of vessel called a paingaw, with prow and stern built high out of the water, so that it resembled a swimming Kinn. Having come thus far in his journey of quest without mishap, passing through the uneasy climate and mud and floods of the Irrawaddy Delta, the terrors of the banks of the forests Kanazo and Myinka where tigers snarled and boars wallowed and fireflies illuminated the night, King Alaungsithu at last approached so near to the Rose Apple Tree that he could even hear the plashing of its ripe golden fruits as they fell into the holy water of the river that coursed in its shade. ‘This plashing made melody with the rustling of the wind and the sudden gulps of the gigantic ananda fish which, after encircling the world with its body, here beneath the Zabuthabyebin joins head and tail. The head of the ananda eternally tries to swallow its tail and between these efforts eternally feeds its lengthy body by gulping down the falling Rose Apples. Here, just before the raft swung into sight of the Zabuthabyebin, The King of all Nats, called Thagyamin, appeared before King Alaungsithu in the form of an ancient man. Thagyamin did not wish that any of the earth’s dwellers should set eyes on the Rose Apple Tree and he commanded the King to be gone from that place, upon pain of losing his power over the Nats of earth, wind and water, if he disobeyed. Though thwarted in his desire upon the threshhold ofits achievement (a thing no man easily brooks), King Alaungsithu judged it

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345

prudent to turn away from the wondrous place. He made his return journey to Burma by way of Bengal and after safely weathering storms in the Bay of Bengal, he came to Pagan, the capital. There he sought to record the unique music he had heard—the sound of the Rose Apples falling into the sacred river. So he composed the music that is called the Byaw, played usually at religious festivals. The Byaw has the continuous rhythm of the single beat of a small, long drum, representing the tinkling of the water as the fruits of the Zabuthabye tree fell into it. This beat is punctuated by sudden thumpings on a huge, thick drum, to represent the spasmodic gulps of the giant ananda. It is chronicled that having once heard the music at the Rose Apple Tree, King Alaungsithu could never more rest, but wandered constantly on the paingaw that he had built, all the remaining days of his life, visiting Flaming Thigh of the Paunglaung Range once each year, to collect his tithes from the first crop of tea. To this day the hilly tracts of the Paunglaung Range are cultivated by Palaungs, to which form the name has been corrupted through the centuries, after the manner of words; and the tea from these plantations sold in packets and bundles in the bazaar of that place are stamped Palaung Brand, that when its excellence is savoured its origin may be known. Woodmen of the Htindaw Area of the Irrawaddy declare that the music of the falling fruits of the lamu trees that bend over the river is as sweet as that of the falling Rose Apples that Alaungsithu heard and that this original music is now sent to them alone from the heavenly world of Nats. Thus the tea and the Byaw music remain to Burma, though the curious paingaw, now mostly used in Upper Burma, is gradually being displaced by modern craft. Tallantyre,

1939.

99 The legend of Taw-mé-pa

[I(A) + II(B)]

(Karen)

{In any presentation of Karen folk-lore, the legend of ‘Taw-mepa must needs be in the forefront, as it is by far the most popular one among the Karens. Its theme is a common one in the legends of many races and religions—a hero of the olden times

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who is still alive somewhere and is expected to appear as a deliverer in the hour of his people’s need. Aside from its merits as a tale, this story has a twofold interest. It has been supposed to shed light on the origin and affinities of the Karen race, and it is always liable to enter as a complicating element into any popular movement arising among the Karens. We give the story as it was reduced to writing by the late Rev. J.B.Vinton, D.D. The Karen original can be found in a little book of Karen Folk-Lore Tales, published in 1908, by the American Baptist Sgaw Karen Mission, Rangoon.| Long ago there was an old man living at the foot of [a mountain called| ‘Thaw-thi-kho Pghaw-ghaw-kho. He was very old. A wild boar came along and ate the standing crops of the old man’s children, so that there was fear of famine. The boar was so big and fierce that nobody dared to go near him. But the old man was unhappy because he was old and feeble, and he did not care for his own life. Said he to himself, “If I die, I die.” The boar had made himself seven lairs, and used to

lie hidden in a different place each day. The old man went about thrusting his spear into the boar’s lairs one after another, until the boar stirred. The old man thrust, the boar dodged, and by-and-by the boar died. But the old man was so tired that he could hardly get home, and as for the boar’s flesh he couldn’t carry home a bit of it. When the old man got home he told his children that he had got the boar, and bade his sons and sons-in-law go and fetch its flesh. Those who went to bring back the flesh sought it everywhere, as the old man had told them, but they could not find its body anywhere. They went back home, and scolded their father, and said, “You couldn’t get the boar. You were fooling us. We’ve gone and tired ourselves to death for nothing.” But their father scolded them, and said, “You’re like men.

When

the boar was

a pack of children. alive you

didn’t

dare

You’re

not

to face it,

and now it’s killed you can’t even find its body.” Father and sons quarrelled with each other, and it got worse and worse, until they went to the jungle so that the old man might show them the place where he had killed the boar. When they reached the place and searched for the boar’s body, they could not find it. They saw that the boar had grappled with

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347

the old man until the blood spurted out, and their footsteps had trodden the ground all into mire. They sought for a long time, and found one boar’s tusk. As this boar was a magic boar it could not die. But since the old man had overcome it, some of its magic power had departed, and one of its tusks had fallen out. This boar’s tusk was very unusual; it was white on one side, blue on one side, red on one side. The old man said, “This

boar’s tusk will be good for something or other,” and he took it home. When he got home, he made an ivory comb of it, and took good care of it. One day while he was sitting with nig family his head began to itch, and he wanted to comb his hair. He combed it at once, and although he was very old, he at once became a young man again. ‘hey say it was lucky that he combed his hair in front of the company, because if he had become young again while he was behind them, his family would no longer have known him. His wife saw that her husband had become young again, and she combed her head and at once became a young woman again. By means of that comb, death and old age and disease disappeared in that family, and the old man has been called ‘Taw-mé-pa, Father Boar-tusk until this day. Since there was no more death among the descendants of Tawmé-pa, they multiplied greatly, and there was no more room for them. Some of them went down to the plains, some went up into the hills, and the various kinds of Karens

are descended

from

him. The children of Taw-mé-pa multiplied until there was no longer anybody with whom they could intermarry, and they formed alliances with many different races. They intermarried with the Burmans, and gave rise to the Taungthus; they intermarried with the Chinese, and gave rise to the Chinese Shans; they intermarried with natives of India, and gave rise to the Lé-mé Karens. When the children of Taw-mé-pa had become so exceedingly numerous, he said, “Land such as this cannot support my children, and I must seek a pleasant country somewhere, where the soil has richness, and we shall get a better reward for our labour.” He thought that if he could not find a pleasant country, his children were in danger of being scattered. And this is the way he went to seek for land. “In this land, the earth dug out of a pit won’t fill up the pit. See what happens when you bury a

348

~y

A SELECTION OF BURMA’S POLK-TALES

man. You put in the dead man’s body, coffin and all, bat you

have to dig some more earth to fill up the grave, everyume,.~ Taw-mé-pa determined to seek till he found land where the earth dug out of one pit would fill up seven pits, and to live there. He sought and sought until he came tw a sandy river. On this ade, the earth dug out of one pit would fill up fur pits. He said, “This is a litle better, but it's not good enough.” And when he | crossed over to the other side he found that the earth dug out of one pit would fill up seven pits, and he determined tw live ther. and he went back to call his children. His children heard about this pleasant country beyond the sandy river, and followed their father all together, When they reached the sandy river, the descendants of T aw-me-pa said they were faint with hunger and could go no further. They asked permiksion to cook rice and to rest a little while. But Tawrméraa id, “Children, the pleasant country is Very Rear NOW, aS SOQN as YOR

get there you shall eat your fill.” But his children und a let of screw shells and roselles, and though they had never seen them before, the people of the country told them that they were very good to eat, so they did not obey Taw-mépa. They boiled some screw shells and roselles. They boiled them and boiled them. and from time to time they tied a shell by pinching it benween the thumb and finger. Some said, “It’s not sof yet, i's not done yet.” Others looked and saw the red juice of the roselles and said, “When will it ever be done? Its bleed & Sill bright red

Taw-mé-pa waited and waited and by-and-by he got crass and said, “I can’t wait any longer, Pll go on. PM blaze a path for you to follow me.” But the children of Taw-mépa boiled and boiled the screw shells. They boiled them all day, but they dida’t get soft; they boiled them all night, but they didn’t get soft. At st a party of Chinamen came along and told them. “What you take for blood is the juice of the roselles. This fish has a shell, and you can’t make it soft by boiling. You mast knock in the pomt, and suck it.” Only then did they eat up the screw shells, and set. out to follow Taw-mé-pa. They went on a bit, and saw that wild plantains had sprang

up, some a hand-breadth high, and some a span high. They said to one another. “If these plants have grown up as high as this, Taw-mé-pa has gone such a long way that we shall no longer be able to overtake him.” They spoke thus because they had never

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seen wild plantains before, and did not know that when we cut down wild plantains they quickly spring up again to a great height. Since ‘Taw-mé-pa had gone on ahead of his children, and taken the magic ivory comb with him, his children, who boiled the

screw shells and couldn’t make them tender, and came back again (that is to say, we Karens) are subject to sickness and death. They tell of T’aw-mé-pa that he is still alive somewhere on the other side of the sandy river, keeping a close watch on us, his unruly children. When we have been freed from all our sins, Taw-mé-pa will come back for us, and take us to the pleasant land beyond the sandy river. They say that ‘Taw-mé-pa will once again eat the demon feast with his children. He will eat a big pig, whose ankles are each seven handbreadths long and whose ribs are each seven cubits long. When Taw-mé-pa again eats the demon feast with his children, they will look one another in the face without being able to understand one another’s speech. Gilmore,

1911.

[See also a short recent version, “he story of ‘Toh Meh Pah’, in Pallayel991,) 100 Nang Upem and Khun Samlaw

[I(A) + I(B)]

(Shan)

[The Koel is Eudynamys scolopaceus malayana, a bird of the cuckoo family whose calls (“Paw hoe! Paw hoe!”) mean in the Shan language “Father! Father!”] Khun Samlaw was a handsome young man and a model son who lived with his wealthy parents in Kengtawng. Being heir to a rich estate and an eligible young man, many girls of Kengtawng tried to capture his heart, but he did not pay any attention to their advances. Among his admirers was one by the name of Upaem who was neither young nor beautiful but she was a hard working girl and knew all about house work. When Upaem failed to win over Samlaw by her own efforts, she worked through his mother by trying to please her in every way. The mother wanted Samlaw to marry Upaem as she thought she would make a good wife and an excellent daughter-in-law. Upaem’s attention and his mother’s persistent entreaties made life quite miserable for Sam-

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OF BURMA’S

FOLK-TALES

law. He told his mother he was too young and too inexperienced to marry; but his mother told him he was old enough to be a father. Finally he told his parents that he would marry any one they chose for him if he was first allowed to go away to trade and to widen his knowledge and experience. His parents gladly provided him with 500 pack bullocks complete with merchandise and camp followers. ‘Trading and learning new experiences, Khun Samlaw with his 500 pack bullocks and followers travelled all over the Shan States. Towards the end of his wandering, he came to Mongkiing which was a great trade centre, and he pitched camp on a good site

near the town. His business was brisk. In the course of his transactions he came across a very beautiful girl called Nang Upem. He first met her by the bank of the Teng river, where he tried to say something to her but the river was flowing with such noise that they could not hear each other. Upem then told the river: Good gentle river, do be silent, pray! Hear what our handsome Samlaw has to say. From that time up to this day, that portion of the Teng river near Monkiing has been flowing silently. When the river had become silent, Khun Samlaw spoke: Deep water, blue and clear, Oh that I could assume The shape of some furry otter! How I would glide and swim

Amongst your gambolling beautiful fish. Whereupon

Nang Upem

spoke:

O wide expanse of stream! What fish could ever hope to escape. The mouth of otter bold,

Should he by fate invade this pool.

After this opening they became friendly with each other. Samlaw later discovered that Upem was a daughter of well-to-do parents in Mongkiing. He introduced himself to her parents and, in due course, asked for her hand in marriage. After their marriage, Samlaw and Upem were so happy together that he forgot to return home. It was not until a year later

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351

that the thought occured to him of returning home to see his parents for a while—he had been away from them for quite a number of years by now. Upem was loath to let him go for she was now great with child, but knowing the duty of a son to his parents, she did not stop him; she asked him to return to her as soon as possible. Samlaw set out alone on his horse, leaving behind his pack bullocks and followers as proof that he would soon be returning to Mongkiing. When he reached Kengtawng his parents, though glad to see him, were angry with him for having married without their knowledge or consent, and forsaken Upaem. The parents forbade him to leave their house again. At Mongkiing, Nang Upem became worried when her husband did not return early as promised, so she set out with some girl followers to look for him. When she reached Kengtawng and found her husband, her mother-in-law made

a show of wel-

coming her, but in reality she did not like her and made up her mind to make her as unhappy as possible. As an example of her oppression, she buried a sharp knife in the rice basket, and when Upem put her hands into the basket to scoop up rice for cooking she cut one of her hands very badly. To make the wound septic, the mother-in-law would fry onions and garlics night and day and give unwholesome food for Upem to eat. The mother-inlaw’s oppression became so unbearable to Upem that when her husband was out of town on business one day, she left Kengtawng with her attendents. On her way home, the pain of labour came upon her and she gave birth to a son, but unfortunately, he died after birth. Upem wept at the loss of her son, and said to his remains: My first born child! Why must you rush away — Away before your father saw your bonny face? If only he were here, by mother’s side You still would be alive and well. My son, your fortune is great; your fate unkind: It was a fortune to be born in human

race,

But then to go so soon from mother’s breast- that was your fate. But, is it right to blame your fate, When in my womb you stayed for ten long happy months?

My fairest son, remember these —

my parting words:

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OF BURMA’S

FOLK-TALES

No matter what or where you are, You must, must

always, call your handsome

father dear.

But how shall I inter my son? Should I give you a watery grave, You would

become

the food for fish,

Should I give you an earthly tomb White ants would gnaw your bones. So let me place my son on this tree branch, From here your comely father you may call.

This child since has become the Koel. When Upem arrived at her home in Mongking, her septic hands and loss of blood through child birth brought on high fever. This, together with the loss of her son and the journey’s toll, was too much

for her and she died.

At Kengtawng, when Samlaw returned to his parents’ house and discovered that his wife had left, he immediately harnessed his horse and followed her. On the way he came upon a group of boys tending cattle, and he said: Oh hatless children playing on the sand, What came your way, by water or by land?

The children rephed: We saw a group of maidens fair, Who

southward went with lotus in their hair;

They laughed and sang along the way, Whilst mountains echoed with their voices gay. When

back they came,

their hair was all undone;

“Twas then they wept and wailed — each distraught one. Across the water they had just gone by, Still muddy is the stream, and their foot prints not yet dry. Oh, hurry, gallant sir, and whip your steed, You'll overtake them if you move with speed. As he approached Mongkting, Samlaw saw more signs that all was not well. When he met an old Ryang peasant working on his taungya, he asked if anything came by his way, and the old man replied that he saw Nang Upem being carried away. At various stages from the entrance of Mongkiing to Upem’s house he came upon groups of village women fetching water, pounding

COMPOUND

TALES

rice and cooking food. On being asked by Samlaw women angrily and bitterly replied that they were funeral ceremony of Nang Upem who died as a result received from her husband. Upem’s house itself who were very hostile to Samlaw and would not enter the house. Samlaw

dismounted,

353

each group of helping in the of ill treatment was of people allow him to

took out handfuls of coins

from his bag and scattered them on the ground. As people began to pick up the coins he made his way to the house, and finally reached the middle of the house where his wife’s coffin was. He opened the coffin lid, lay down alongside Upem and with his dagger stabbed himself to death. Samlaw’s family was informed of the tragedy and when his mother arrived for the funeral she put Samlaw’s body into another coffin, and between this and Upem’s coffin she placed a three-notch bamboo carrier pole with the curse that the husband and wife should never meet again. Upem and Samlaw met as spirits in the world of shadows and said to each other:

“If we were

reborn in water or on land, we

could never escape persecution: let us be reborn as beautiful stars in the firmament for all the world to see.” In the sky the two eternal lovers have become stars in the constellation of Orion- Betelgeux [szc] 1s Khun Samlaw and its colour is reddish because he died the bloody death of stabbing, Rigel with its white brillance is Nang Upem, and between them, what the Western astronomy calls Orion’s belt, is the three-notch bamboo carrier pole placed by the malicious mother. Upem’s chicken and dog also joined their mistress—the former became the Pleiades and the later the evening star Venus. In Mongkiing and Kengtawng today people still point to places where incidents in the story took place. Sao Saimong (1960)

101 Don’t trust every smooth talker [III(A) + II(B)]

(Pa-o) [A parabaik is a length of writing material, made of paper, cloth or metal; it opens and closes in folds, accordion-style.|

Once there was an old man who had a very smooth way with words. Very cleverly, he would flatter without seeming to be in-

354

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OF BURMA’S

FOLK-TALES

sincere, and by adopting a very humble pose he always managed to get whatever he wanted. As he went around the villages, putting up at one house after another, he would hold forth; it seemed that his only way of earning a living was by being ingratiating. In whatever village he found himself in, he would begin by saying how good and kind the villagers were; how much merit they would be gaining by taking care of old folk such as himself; how they were sure to attain good positions in their next existences even without praying for them; and how he had never ever come across people so ready to give things away in their charity. Afterwards he would gather up everything that was being donated and go on his way. Although he assumed a modest air, he was in reality a selfish and wicked person who spared not a single kind thought for other people. But he was such a smooth talker, so brazen in his self-effacement and so adept at getting money out of people’s pockets that, far from being indignant, the people he had taken for a ride had nothing but sympathy for him. One day, he arrived in a village to do business as usual and was staying in a zeyat when he fell seriously ill and began to doubt whether he would recover. One night as he lay in bed he asked for the villagers to come, and when they arrived he gave a little speech. “My sons and grandsons”, he began, “I don’t think I shall be able to get over this hill [2.e. recover] now. As this is not my own village, allow me to depend on you. If I die, please bury me; but before you do that, please drive a stake through my bottom, because that is the tradition in our family. Please, don’t forget to do that. Promise me that you'll do as I ask, because only then will I be able to die in peace. I have no-one except you to rely one All the villagers promised that they would do exactly as he had asked, and once he had got their promise the old man went on. “T am so very grateful to you that now I can die in peace as if I were dying in my own family home. Would you please also let me have a piece of parabaik if you have one? I should like to write to my wife and tell her that I died in your hands, well cared-for by all of you.” The villagers looked for one and gave it to him. He wrote

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four or five lines on it and then, soon after asking that it should be sent to his wife, his breath left his body. Later, after the vil-

lagers had fashioned a fine bamboo stake and pushed it through him as requested, he was appropriately buried. Two days later his old wife, attended by some of her friends, arrived in the village, and the villagers took good care of her and catered for the needs of every one of them. In front of the villagers the old woman began to weep, saying what a good man her husband had been. She then asked for their help in digging him up; she had to see him, she said, because in his letter he had told her to do so, and

she showed them the parabaik. He had written that it was imperative that he should be dug up before three days had passed because within that time the magical powers tattooed on him when he was young would bring him back to life, so it must be done without fail. Having read the letter the villagers found themselves in an awkward situation, not knowing what to think, but feeling sorry for the old widow, who kept begging them to help, they set about digging up the grave. Soon the unsightly corpse, with a bamboo stake poking out from the bottom, came to light. The old woman instantly started crying again, and screamed and screamed. Her husband couldn’t come

to life again, she wailed, because he

hadn’t died a natural death. She knew now how he had met his end: the villagers had killed him by driving a stake through him! The upshot was that the villagers, anxious to avoid any further trouble, collected a sum of money and gave it to her as compensation. [The Pa-o tell this story as a warning to people not to trust such smooth ingratiating talkers, because they can get you into real trouble with their humbug.] (Trans. KTH)

Ludi

Usillay

97721 599-163;;

BIBLIOGRAPHY I. SOME

BURMESE

TALES

PUBLISHED

IN ENGLISH

A. As collected, anthologised or included in books and articles on Burma JBRS = Journal of the Burma Research Society. Antisdel, C.B.

1911. “The Lahoo narrative of creation’. JBRS 1,1:65-69.

Brockett, KE. 1965. Burmese and Thai Fairy Tales. London: Frederick Muller. Calthrop, H. 1895. Burmese Tales and Sketches, No.1. Calcutta: Thacker. Dorson, R.M.(ed.) 1975. Folktales Told Around the World. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. (Four Rawang tales included) Eggar, A. 1957. ‘Win-laik-pya: or, the soul-butterfly. A folk-tale collected in Burma.’ Folklore, 68:420-423. Enriquez, C.M. 1923. A Burmese Arcady. London: Seeley, Service. (Some Kachin legends reported) Falla, J. 1991. True Love and Bartholomew: rebels on the Burmese border. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. (Some Karen tales reported) Fielding-Hall, H. 1900. Palace Tales. New York: Harper and Brothers. Francis, H.T. and Thomas, E.J. 1916. Jataka Tales. Cambridge: The University Press. Fytche, A. 1878. Burma Past and Present. London: Kegan Paul. ( “The Silver Hill’ drama included in Vol.2.) Gilhodes, C. 1922. The Kachins: religion and customs. London: Kegan Paul, ‘Trench, Triibner. (Part I contains human origin and phenomena tales.)

Gilmore, D. 1911. “The legend of ‘Taw-mé-pa’. JBRS 1,1:75-82. Hallett, H.S. 1890. A Thousand Miles on an Elephant in the Shan States. London: Blackwood. ( Some Shan tales reported.) Halliday, R. 1917. The Talangs. Rangoon: Government Printing, Burma. (Some Mon tales reported). Henderson, E,J. (ed. A,J.Allott) 1997. Bwe Karen Dictionary: with texts and EnglshKaren word-list. Vol.1. London: School of Oriental and African Studies.(Three tales included, each in Karen as well as English.) Hertz, H.F. 1944. A Practical Handbook ofthe Kachin or Chingpaw Language. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink. ( Five Kachin tales included) Hla, Ludu U (trans. ‘K’)1972. Folktales of Burma. Mandalay: Kyi-pwa-yay Press. (trans. Than Tun) 1974. Tales of Indigenous Peoples of Burma. Mandalay: Kyi-pwa-yay Press. (trans. Than Tun and K. Forbes) 1980. Prince of Rubies, and other tales. Mandalay: Kyi-pwa-yay Press. (bilingual, trans. ‘K’, Than Tun and K.Forbes) 1994. Folktales of Ludu U Hla. Mandalay: Kyi-pwa-yay Press. Htin Aung, Maung. 1931. ‘Burmese crocodile tales’. Folklore 42:79-82. 1948. Burmese Folk-tales. Calcutta: Geoffrey Cumberlege, Oxford University Press. 1952. Thirty Burmese Tales. London: Oxford University Press.

358

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1962. Burmese Law Tales. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1966. Burmese Monk’s Tales. New York and London: Columbia University Press. 1990. Folk-tales ofBurma. London: Macmillan. and Trager, H. 1968. A Kingdom Lost for a Drop of Honey: and other Burmese Folktales. New York: Parents’ Press Magazine. Keely, H.H. and Price, C. 1972. The City of the Dagger, and other tales from Burma. London: Frederick Warne. Khin Myo Chit 1984. A Wonderland of Burmese Legends. Bangkok: The Tamarind Press. Ledgard, E. 1999. The Snake Prince and other stories. New York: Interlink Books. Mackenzie, D.A. 1929. Burmese Wonder Tales. London and Glasgow: Blackie. Maung Maung Pye. 1952. Tales ofBurma. Calcutta and London: Macmillan. Maung Tin, 1913. ‘Burmese ghost stories, II’ JBRS 3,2:185. Milne, L. and Cochrane, W. 1910. Shans at Home. London: John Murray. (Twentyfour Shan tales included) Milne, L. 1924. The Home of an Eastern Clan. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (Ten Palaung tales included) Minthuwun. 1989. (Trans. Win Pe) The Sea of the 550 Jatakas.(Books I and II). Rangoon: Pyinnya Beikman. (Bilingual texts). San Shwe Bu.1921a. ‘Leik-kam-pha-ma-wuttu, or The Story of the Turtle’. JBRS LIE VO=28

——— 69. —— ——— ———

192I1b. “The legend ofthe early Aryan settlement of Arakan’. JBRS 11,2:66192lc. ‘Folk-tales of Arakan I’. JBRS 11, 3:153-157. 1922a. ‘Folk-tales of Arakan IP. JBRS 12,2:96-101. 1922b. ‘Folk tales of Arakan III: The Ten Simpletons’. JBRS 12,2:96-

101. ——— 1923. ‘Folk tales of Arakan IV: Ngan-daw-shay wuttu, or The Story of the Hamadryad’. JBRS:13,3:280-286. Sao Saimong. 1960. ‘Shan folk tales’. JBRS 43,1:83-90. Siek, M. 1975. Favourite Stories from Burma. Hong Kong/Singapore/ Kuala Lumpur: Heinemann Asia. 1978. More Favourite Stories from Burma. Hong Kong/Singapore/ Kuala Lumpur: Heinemann Asia. Stewart, J.A. 1913a. “Talaing folklore’ [7 tales] JBRS 3,1:54-64. 1913b. “Talaing folklore (continued)’ [5 tales] JBRS 3,2:170-182. —~—— 1914. ‘Talaing folklore (continued)’ [one tale] JBRS 4,1:49-52. Tallantyre, R. 1939. “The rose-apple tree’. Folk-lore, 50:382-385. Trager, H.(ed) 1969. We the Burmese: voices from Burma. New York: Frederick A. Praeger. Troughton, J. 1991. Believe it or Not: a folk-tale from Burma. London and Glasgow: Blackie.

B. As retold in Burmese magazines F = ‘Forward’ (Rangoon); G = ‘Guardian’ (Rangoon).

Aung, Pearl. 1967. ‘Competing with rich neighbours’: a Burmese folk tale. F 6,7. ———

1968a. “The selfish hunter’: a Kachin folk tale. F 6,10.

———

1968b. ‘Maung Pauk Kyaing’: a Burmese folk tale. G 15,9.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

359

1968c. “The Snake Princess’: Burmese folk tales. G 15,10.

1968d. “The Prince of Thihapura’: Burmese folk tales. G 15,11. 1968e. ‘Ngamoyeik the crocodile’: Burmese folk tales. G 15,12. 1969a. ‘Four deaf people’: Burmese folk tales. G 16,1. 1969b. ‘Four foolish friends’: Burmese folk tales. G 16,2.

1969c. “The food fit for kings’: Burmese folk tales. (Publication of tales continued through 1971.) Bholst, H. 1957. “The tale of Master Head’: a Burmese tale. G 4,11.

Go Suan Nang, H. 1962a. ‘Leng Tong Moih’: a Chin legend, greatly abridged. G ONS: 1962b. “The little chicken’s revenge’: a Chin folk tale. G 9,6. Ludu U Hla.(trans. ‘E’) 1967a. ‘Bo Hein’: a Chin folk tale. F 5,15. trans. ‘K’) 1967b. “Double fatigue for tongue-wagging’: an Inle folk tale. F 5,16. trans. ‘K’) 1967c. “'wo stubborn jungle cocks’: a Somra Naga folk tale. FSG: trans. ‘K’) 1968a. “True love’: a Taung-yo folk tale. F 7,4. trans. ‘K’) 1968b. “The cock, the bullocks and the buffaloes’: a Palaung folk tale. F 7,6. (trans. “K’) 1968c. ‘Rich in wisdom too’: a Burmese folk tale. F 7,7. trans. ‘K’) 1969. ‘U Pan Hmway’s method’: an East Karen folk tale. F

Tet

‘KK’

1967. ‘Ahsha’: a Palaung folk tale. F 7,4.

II. SOME

TALES

PUBLISHED

IN BURMESE

Hka, U.1934. tahsei-pon nyunt-paun-gyan (The Spirit World). Prome: Pyinsa Rupan Press. Saya Thein (compiler) 1911. thin-gaza sagabon paung-gyok. Rangoon: privately printed. (Also a 1975 edition, Rangoon: Ledi Mandaing.)

All of the following are by Ludu yei Press. The reader is warned tions, the titles of which are not tale Publication Number’, which

U Hla and published in Mandalay by Kyi-bwathat the Burman collections ran to several edialways consistent. Each collection has a ‘Folkis given below along with the English title.

1962. kayin pon-byin-mya. ( No.1: Karen folk-tales) 1963a. kayin pon-byin-mya. (No.2: Karen folk-tales, Vol. 2) b. rahkaing kyet-let pon-byin-mya. (No.3: Arakanese village folk-tales) 1964a. mun pon-byin-mya. (No.4: Mon folk-tales) b. kachin pon-byin-mya. (No.5: Kachin folk-tales) . shan pon-byin-mya (No.6: Shan folk-tales) . kayin pon-byin-mya. (No.7: Karen folk-tales, Vol.3) . mun pon-byin-mya. (No.8: Mon folk-tales, Vol.2) rahkaing pon-byin-mya. (No.9: Arakanese folk-tales, Vol.2) +hoaoa 1965a. anya-kyei-let pon-byin-mya.(No.10: Upper Burma village tales, I [= Burman folktales, Vol.1] ) b. chin pon-byin-mya. (No. 11: Chin folk-tales) c. myanma pon-byin-mya (No.12: Burman folk-tales, Vol.2) d. palaung pon-byin-mya. (No.13: Palaung folk-tales)

360

BIBLIOGRAPHY

e. kyaung-kan ani myanma pon-byin-mya. (No.14: Tales from Burmese monasteries, Vol.1 [? = Burman folk-tales,Vol.3?] ) 1966a. lu-shaing pon-byin-mya. (No.15: Lushai folk-tales) b. chin pon-byin-mya. (No.16: Chin folk-tales, Vol.2) c. palaung pon-byin-mya. (No.17: Palaung folk-tales, Vol.2) d. rahkainge pon-byin-mya. (No.18: Arakanese folk-tales, Vol.3) e. som-pra naga pon-byin-mya. (No.19: Folk-tales of the Somra Nagas) f. kayin pon-byin-mya. (No.20: Karen folk-tales, Vol. 4) g. kayin pon-byin-mya. (No.21: Karen folk-tales, Vol.5) h. inlet pon-byin-mya. (No.22: Inle folk-tales) i. myanma pon-byin-mya. (No.23: Burman folk-tales, Vol.4) 1967a. kyaung-kan ani myanma pon-byin-mya.(No.24:Tales from Burmese monasterLessa VOlk22) b. myanma pon-byin-mya. (Also numbered 24: Burman folk-tales, Vol. 5) c. tan-hkun na-ga pon-byin-mya. (No.28:Tan-Hkun Naga folk-tales) d. mun pon-byin-mya. (No.25: Mon folk-tales, Vol.3) e. palaung pon-byin-mya. (No.26: Palaung folk-tales, Vol.3) f. taing hkamti pon-byin-mya. (No.27: Taing Hkamti folk-tales.) 1968a. anya-kyei-let pon-byin-nya.(No.29: Upper Burma village tales,I] [Burman] ) b. kayin pon-byin-mya. (No:30: Karen folk-tales, Vol.6) c. li-hsu pon-byin-mya. (No.31: Lisu folk-tales) d. mun pon-byin-mya. (No.32: Mon folk-tales, Vol.4) e. rahkaing pon-byin-mya. (No.33: Arakanese folk-tales, Vol.4) f. ashei-baing kayin hkalaukno pon-byin-mya. (No.34: Eastern Karen tales from Hkalaukno) g. taung-yo pon-byin-mya. (No.35: Taungyo folk-tales) h. myanma pon-byin-mya. (No.36: Burman folk-tales, Vol.7) 1969a. chin pon-byin-mya. (No.37: Chin folk-tales, Vol.3) b. inlec pon-byin-mya. (No.38: Inle folk-tales, Vol.2) c. yaw-ne shei-tin-mya. (No.39: Old tales from Yaw-ne) 1970. yawan pon-byin-mya (No.40: Rawang folk-tales) 1971. laing-naung na-ga pon-byin-mya. (No.41: Laing-naung Naga folk-tales) 1975. kachin pon-byin-mya. (No.42: Kachin folk-tales, Vol.2) 1977. pa-o pon-byin-mya. (No.43: Pa-O folk-tales) 1980. badamya min-tha-hnin acha pon-byin-mya. (Bilingual, not numbered: Prince of Rubies, and other stories) 1991. kaya pon-byin-mya. (No.44: Kayah folk-tales)* 1992. thwei-gyin tha-gyin pon-byin-mya. (No.45: Tales of our fellow countrymen)* 1993. la-hu pon-byin-mya.(No.46: Lahu folk-tales)* 1996. ashei-baing kayin hkalaukno pon-byin-mya. (No.47: Eastern Karen tales from Hkalaukno, Vol.2)* [* These last four voluines were prepared for publication by Ludu Daw Amar. Most of the above information is drawn from the following unpublished dissertation, written in Burmese: Win Tint, 1993. Hostory of the Ludu Kyi-bwa-yei Press and a Bibliography of Books Published by the Press, 1938-1992. Rangoon: Library Department, Rangoon University.]

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ill. SoME

BURMESE

TALES

PUBLISHED

361

IN OTHER

LANGUAGES

Deopik, D.V.(ed.) 1976. Skazki Narodov Birmy. (Folk-tales of the peoples of Burma) Izdatel’stvo: Nauka. [Russian translations of 200 tales from ten ethnic groups; editor’s introduction is wide-ranging. | Esche, A.1976. Mérchen der Volker Burmas. (Folk-tales of the peoples of Burma) Leipzig: Insel-Verlag. [German translations of over 100 tales from a dozen ethnic groups; Esche provides scholarly analysis and commentary. ] Jung, E.(ed.) 1980. Marchen aus Burma. Bern: Morzsinay Verlag. ( 28 folk-tales from Burma; more than half translated from the English versions in Hla (1972) above.) (See also Henderson 1997, in section IA above.)

IV. SECONDARY

SOURCES

ON FOLK-TALES TOPICS

AND

RELATED

Aarne, A and Thompson, S. 1961. The Types of the Folktale: a classification and bibliography. FF Communications, no.184. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia.

Allott, A.J. 1997. ‘Half a century of publishing in Mandalay: the Ludu Kyi-bwayay Press.’ Journal of Burma Studtes, Vo0l.1:83-106. Aryasura (trans. P. Khoroche) 1989. Once the Buddha was a Monkey. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Ashliman, D.L. 1987. A Guide to Folktales in the English Language. Westport, Ct.: Greenwood Press. Bartlett, F.C. 1920. ‘Some experiments on the reproduction of folk stories’. Folklore, Vol. 31:30-47.*

Bascom, W.R. 1954. ‘Four functions of folklore’. Journal ofAmerican Folklore,67:333oa ON Bettelheim, B. 1976. The Uses of Enchantment. (See Peregrine edition, 1978) Harmondsworth: Penguin. Briggs, K.M. 1962. Review of Burmese Law Tales (by Maung Htin Aung). Folklore 73:70-71. Campbell,J. 1976. ‘Myths from West to East’. In A. Elliott, Myths. New York: McGraw-Hill. 1988. The Inner Reaches of Outer Space: metaphor as myth and as religion. New York: Harper Perennial. Cardinaud, M-H. 1998. ‘Femmes et contes en Birmanie.’ In: P. Pichard and F. Robinne (eds) Etudes Birmanes en Homage a Denise Bernot. Paris: Ecole frangaise d’ Extréme-Orient. Chomsky, N. 1957. Syntactic Structures. The Hague: Mouton. 1965. Aspects of the Theory of Syntax. Boston, Mass: MIT Press. Colby, B.N. 1989. ‘On the scientific study of folktales.’ Fabula, 30:230-233. Cowell, E.B. (ed.) 1895.The Jataka; or, stories of the Buddha’s former births. Cambridge: The University Press. Cox, M.R. 1893. Cinderella: three hundred and forty-five variants of Cinderella, Catskin and Cap O’Rushes. London: David Nutt, for The Folklore Society. David, A. and David, M.E. 1964. ‘A literary approach to the Brothers Grimm.’ Journal of the Folklore Institute, 1:180-196.

362

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Davids, T.W. Rhys. (trans.) Buddhist Birth Stories; or Jataka tales. Edited by V. Fausbéll rom the original Pali. London: Triibner. Davidson, H.R. 1975. ‘Folklore and literature’. Folklore 86:73-93. Dorson, R.M, (ed.) 1975. Folktales Told around the World. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. 1968. The British Folklorists: a history. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Douglas, A. 1992. The Beast Within. London: Chapmans. Dundes, A. (ed.).1965. The Study of Folklore. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. 1980. Interpreting Folklore. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. — (ed.) 1982. Cinderella: a folklore casebook. New York: Garland Publishing. Eberhard, W.(ed) 1965. Folktales of China. london: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Edmonson, M.S. 1971. Lore: an introduction to the science of Folklore and Laterature. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Fine, G.A. 1988. “The third force in American folklore: folk narratives and social structures.” Fabula 29:342-353. Frazer, J.G. 1922. The Golden Bough. London: Macmillan. Georges, R.A. 1970. ‘Structure in folktales: a generative transformational approach.’ The Conch, 2:4-17. Glassie, H.(ed.) 1985. The Penguin Book of Insh Folktales. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Gray, J. 1886. Anctent Proverbs and Maxims from Burmese Sources: or, the Niti literature ofBurma. London: Triibner. Grimm, J and Grimm, W. (trans. M.Hunt) 1972. The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales. New York: Pantheon Books. Halliday, M.A.K. 1985. An Introduction to Functional Grammar. London: Edward Arnold. Haring, L. 1982. Malagasy Tale Index. [FF Communications, No.231.] Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia. Hunt, R. 1865. Popular Romances of the West of England. London: J.C.Hotten. Hutton, J.-H. 1931. ‘Lycanthropy’. Man i India 11:208-216. Huxley, A.(ed.) 1996. Thar Law: Buddhist Law: essays on the legal history of Thailand, Laos and Burma. Bangkok: White Orchid Press. Hymes, D. 1972. “The contribution of folklore to sociolinguistic research.’ In A. Paredes and R. Bauman (eds) Toward New Perspectives in Folklore. Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press. Ingersoll, E. 1928. Dragons and Dragon Lore. New York: Payson and Clarke. Jaini, P.S. 1966. “The story of Sudhana and Manohara: an analysis of the texts and the Borobudur reliefs.’ Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 29,3:533-558.

Jason, H. 1986. ‘Genre in folk literature.’ Fabula 27:167-194. Johansen, T. 1993. An Experiment with Oral Transmission. Copenhagen: The Royal School of Librarianship. King, W.L. 1964. 4 Thousand Lives Away. Oxford: Bruno Cassirer. Kotzin, M.C. 1980. “The fairy tale in fiction: enchantment in early Conrad’. Folklore 91,1:15-26. Krappe, A.H. 1930. The Science ofFolklore. London: Methuen. Lang, A. 1885. ‘From the ghost’s point of view’. Time, January issue. 1907. * Edward Burnett Tylor.’ In: Anthropological Essays presented to EB. Tylor in honour ofhis 75th birthday. Oxford. Leach, E. 1954. Polttical Systems of Highland Burma. London: G. Bell and Sons. Leach, M. and Fried, J.(ed.). 1984. Funk and Wagnalls Standard Dictionary ofFolklore, Mythology and Legend. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Lévi-Strauss, C. 1978. Afpth and Meaning. London: Routledge.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

363

Lowie, R.H. 1942. ‘Some cases of repeated reproduction’. In Studies in Plains Indians Folklore, University of California Publications in American Archaeology and Ethnology, Vol. 40:19-22.* Lithi, M. (trans. J.D. Niles) 1982. The European Folktale: form and nature. Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues. Malinowski, B. 1926. Myth in Primitive Psychology. New York: Norton. 1960. A Scventific Theory of Culture, and other essays. (2nd edn.) New York: Oxford University Press. Mandler, J.M. 1984. Stories, Scripts and Scenes: aspects of schema theory. Hillsdale, N.J: Erlbaum. Miller, H. 1869. Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland.(8th ed.) Edinburgh: W.P.Nimmo. Milloy,J. 1999. ‘When a language dies’. Index on Censorship 28, 4:54-64. Miller, M. 1856. ‘Comparative mythology, an essay ’. In Oxford Essays, but issued separately with additional material, ed. Abram Smythe Palmer. 1909. London: G. Routledge. Nicolaisen, W.F. 1990. ‘Why tell stories?’ Fabula 31:5-10. Olrik, A. 1909. ‘Epische gesetze der volksdichtung’. Zeitschrift fiirDeutsches Altertum, Vol.51:1-12. Trans. as ‘Epic laws of folk narrative’. * (trans. K.Wolf and J.Jensen) 1992. Principles of Oral Narrative Research. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Opie, I. and Opie, P. 1974. The Classic Fairy Tales. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Oring, E. 1986. ‘Folk narratives’. In E, Oring (ed) Folk Groups and Folklore Genres, 121-146. Logan: Utah State University Press. Ortutay, G. 1959. ‘Principles of oral transmission in folk culture’. Acta Ethnographica, Vol. 8:175-221. 1962. Hungarian Folk Tales. Budapest: Corvina. Percy, T. 1765. Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. London: G. Bell. Propp, V. 1958. Morphology of the Folktale (Publication 10). Bloomington: Indiana University Research Centre in Anthropology, Folklore and Linguistics. Ralston, W. 1873. Russian Folk-tales. London: Smith, Elder. Richards, A.(ed) 1963. The Sea Dayaks and Other Races ofSarawak. Kuching: Borneo Literature Bureau. Rubin, D.C. 1995. Memory in Oral Tradition: the cognitive psychology of epic, ballads and counting-out rhymes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rumelhart,

D.E.

1975. ‘Notes on a schema for stories’. In Bobrow, D.G. and

A.M.Collins (eds) Representations and Understanding: studies in cognitive scvence. New York: Academic Press. Russell,W.M.

1982. ‘Folktales and science fiction.’ Folklore 93,1:3-30.

Rutter, O. 1929. The Pagans of North Borneo. London: Hutchinson. Salzmann Z. 1993. Language, Culture and Society: an introduction to Linguistic Anthropology. Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press. Sandin, B. 1978. The Living Legends: Borneans telling their tales. Kuching: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka. Seki, K.(ed) (trans. R,J.Adams) 1963. Folktales ofJapan. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. and Vampire in Romania. New York: Columbia UniSenn, H. A. 1982. Were-wolf versity Press. Shway Yoe. 1882. The Burman: his life and notions. London: Macmillan. (Reprinted in 1963, New York: Norton.)

364

:

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Sokolov, Y.M. (trans. C.R.Smith) 1950. Russian Folklore. New York: Macmillan. St.John, R.F. 1889. ‘Indo-Burmese folklore’. Folklore Journal, 7:306-313. Straparola, G. 1550-1555. Le Piacevoli Nott. Vinegia. Swales, J.M.(trans. C.R.Smith) 1990. Genre Analysis: English in academic and research settings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taw Sein Ko. 1913. Burmese Sketches.(2 vols.) Rangoon: British Burma Press. Taylor, A.1948. ‘Folklore and the student of Literature’. The Pacifte Spectator, 2:216230: : Tedlock, D. 1972. ‘On the translation of style in oral narrative.’ In A. Paredes and R. Bauman (eds) Toward New Perspectives in Folklore. Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press. Temple, R.C. 1886. “The science of folk-lore’, Folk-Lore Journal, 4:193-212. 1884-1900. The Legends of the Panjab. Bombay: Education Society’s Press. Thompson, S. (ed) 1929. Tales of the North American Indians. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 1955. Motif-index of Folk Literature. Copenhagen: Rosenkilde & Bagger. [Also, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, which can now supply a revised form of this work on CD-ROM. ] Thoms, W. (“Ambrose Merton”) 1846. ‘Folklore’. The Athenaeum, No. 982:862863.* Tylor, E.B. 1871. Primitive Culture: researches into the development of mythology, philosophy, religion, art and custom. London: John Murray. Vogel,J. 1926. Indian Serpent Lore. London: Arthur Probsthain. Waley, A. 1947. “The Chinese Cinderella story’. Folk-Lore 58:226-238. Warner, M. 1994. From the Beast to the Blonde: on fairy tales and their tellers. London: Chatto and Windus. Willis, R.(ed) 1993. World Mythology: the illustrated guide. London: Duncan Baird/ BCA. Wray, E., Rosenfield, C. and Bailey, D. 1972. Ten Lives of the Buddha. New York: Weatherhill. Zan, Y. 1989. “The scientific motivation for the structural analysis of folktales’. Fabula, Vol. 30:205-229. * These

papers

are reprinted in Dundes

V. SOME

(1965)

BIBLIOGRAPHIES

Embree, F. and Dotson, L. 1972. Bibliography of the Peoples and Cultures ofMainland Southeast Asta. New York: Russel And Russel. Herbert, P.M. 1991. Burma. (World Bibliographical Series, 132). Oxford: Clio Press. [See especially pages 124-152] Huffman, F.E. 1986. Bibliography and Index ofMainland Southeast Asian Languages and Linguists. New Haven, Ct. and London: Yale University Press. Kirkland, E.C. 1966. A Bibliography of South Asian Folklore. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press. Shulman, FJ. 1986. Burma: an annotated bibliographical guide to international doctoral dissertation research. Lanham: University Press of America.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

VI. SOME JOURNALS Journal of the Burma Research Society (1911-1977) Journal of Burma Studies (1997 > Fabula: Journal of Folktale Studies (1958 —) [Three issues per year] Folklore Fellows: FF Communications. (1911 —) [Irregular series]

365

ETHNOLOGICAL NOTES [Since we make no claim to ethnological expertise we offer the following notes and suggestions as starting-points, rather than exhaustive or authoritative commentary, for those intending to study further the folklore of any of the groups dealt with in the previous pages. The reading lists are therefore deliberately brief.] GENERAL

INTRODUCTION

There is no universally accepted classification of Burma’s ethnic groups, though it is generally agreed that they number more than a hundred. With regard only to those whose tales we have illustrated, plus one

or two others added

within brackets, the main

groupings seem to be as shown below. The broken line linking “Tibeto-Burman’ and ‘Karen’ indicates that some authorities would not regard these two as distinct families: MAIN

Mon-kKhmer

FAMILIES

Tibeto-Burman ————— Karen

Ta

Mon

Burman

Bwe

Shan

Palaung (Wa)

Rakhine Kachin

Pwo Sgaw

Rawang Yaw

Pa-O Kayah

Chin Lahu

Padaung (Bre)

Lisu Intha

Naga Taungyo Maru

(Ahka)

The reality on the ground, however, is by no means as clear-cut as such a chart suggests. Firstly some of the above communities are regarded by outsiders, though not necessarily by themselves,

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

367

Major Ethnic Groups of Burma TIBETO-BURMAN

ee

Chin

{

Sy

Ni

< &

Rakhine

so

Falam

see

MJ

\ @

Other 1. Naga 2. Lahu 3. Akha

BURMAN AND MON-KHMER

KAREN AND BURMAN

MON-KHMER 7. Mon

ae

8. Wa

\

9. Palaung

\

BURMAN AND SHAN

a

N.B. All areas approximate. In many regions there is considerable of ethnic races and many smaller sub-groups are not marked. Chinese, Indians and Bengalis can be found in towns throughout and also locally close to the China and Bangladesh borders. Arakan are sometimes referred to as Rohingyas.

overlapping In addition, the country Muslims in

15. Burma’s major ethnic groups.

| } {

368

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

as sub-groups of others. Secondly the tendency of smaller groups to assimilate to larger ones, together with migration and even emigration (often as a result of military activity) has blurred many cultural boundaries. For a brief but valuable up-to-date review of the situation, we recommend as a starting-point Diran (1997), in particular the ‘Ethnographical History’ section (pp. 196-233) by Gillian Cribbs and Martin

Smith.

Further reading Abbott, G. 1997. Inroads into Burma: a travellers’ anthology. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Diran, R.K. 1997. The Vanishing Tribes ofBurma. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Enriquez, C.M. 1933. Races of Burma. Delhi: Manager of Publications. Forbes, C.J. 1878. Britesh Burma and its People. London: John Murray. Herbert, P.M. and Miller A.C. (eds) 1989. South-East Asta Languages and Literatures: a select guide. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. LeBar, F., Hickey,G. and Musgrave, J. 1964. Ethnic Groups ofMainland Southeast Asia. Newhaven,

Ct: Human

Relations Area File.

Lowis, C.C. 1910. The Tribes of Burma. Rangoon: Government Printing. Mason, F. 1860. Burmah: its people and natural productions, etc. London: Triibner. Smith, M. 1994. Ethnic Groups in Burma: development, democracy and human rights. London: Anti-Slavery International.

ARAKANESE

This large minority group calls itself Rahkaing and constituted a separate kingdom until conquered by the Burmans in 1784. For the historical background up to about 1830, see Harvey (1925) and Phayre (1883)—Ch.5 in both cases. Influences from nearby India have included the spread of first Buddhism and then Islam. Today most Rahkaing are Buddhists; but perhaps a quarter, clustering mainly in the north where they are known as Rohingya, are Moslem. Their language is thought to contain forms surviving from an earlier stage of the Burmese language. Further reading Collis, M. 1953. The Land of the Great Image. London: Faber & Faber. Fraser-Lu, S. 1987. ‘Ancient Arakan’. Arts ofAsia 17, 2 (March-April):96-109. Harvey, G.E. 1925. History ofBurma. London: Longmans, Green. Phayre, Sir A.P. 1883. History ofBurma. London: Triibner; New York: Kelley, 1969.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

369

BURMAN

Burma’s majority ethnic group constitutes about sixty per cent of her population. A people of the central plains, they traditionally call themselves and their language either Myanma or Bama. Although almost entirely peace-loving Buddhists, their kings and leaders have a history of aggression and conquest, and at one stage the Burmese empire covered large areas of what are now Thailand, Laos and India. For a historical survey that contains cultural information,

see Abbott

(1998); but for cultural detail,

‘Shway Yoe’(1882) is still the most authoritative account. Further reading Abbott, G. 1998. ‘There Before You’: the traveller’s history ofBurma. Bangkok: Orchid Press. Htin Aung, Maung. 1962. Folk Elements in Burmese Buddhism. Westport, Ct: Greenwood Press. Khin Myo Chit. 1984. A Wonderland of Burmese Legends. Bangkok: Tamarind. ‘Shway Yoe’ (J.G.Scott) 1882. The Burman: his life and notions. London: Macmillan. Trager, H.G. 1969. We the Burmese: voices from Burma.New York: F.A. Praeger.

ERB

16. A Burman girl.

370

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

©

CHIN

These hill people, who call themselves Zomi, straddle the borders with Bangladesh and India, where they have much in common with the peoples of Mizoram and Manipur. The great mountain ranges they inhabit are not highly populated, but it is thought that about a million and a half live within Burma. We have included tales only from the Asho, Mindat and Po Nwan sub-groups, but there are dozens more. According to their own folklore, the tattooing of their womenfolk’s faces was in order to prevent them from being carried off to be concubines in the Burman court. Traditionally they are slash-and-burn hill farmers and expert hunters. Some families still retain their old animist beliefs, though many have become Christianised. Further reading Head, W.R. 1966. Handbook on the Haka Chin Customs. Rangoon: Government Printing. Lehman, F.K. 1963. The Structure of Chin Society: a tribal people ofBurma adapted to a non-western civilization. Urbana, Illinois: University of Illinois Press.

Stevenson, H.N. 1943. Economics of the Central Chin Tribes. Bombay: Times of India Press.

INTHA

The Intha population clusters around Inle Lake, and selves say that their name means ‘children of the also claim that they originated in the south, around linguistic features seem to support this theory. They around

they themlake’. They Tavoy, and live on and

the lake and use it for travel, both for commercial

pur-

poses and for making social calls. By cultivating floating gardens and fishing with hand-held bamboo traps, they also obtain much of their food from it. They are celebrated for their unique method of rowing, in which they ply a single large oar at the bow of a long boat by using one hand and one leg, thus keeping one hand free for wielding the fish-trap. They are also well-known in Burma as expert weavers. Almost all are Buddhists, and on land they are virtually indistinguishable from Burmans except for their distinctive Burmese dialect.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

371

Further reading Courtauld, C. 1984. In Search ofBurma (pp.97-101). London: Frederick Muller.

KACHIN

This cluster of groups in Burma’s mountainous north have traditionally called themselves Wunpawng, and the name Kachin seems to have been applied to them by the lowland Burmans. Of the various sub-groups (one, the Rawang, being treated separately below) it was the Jinghpaw [lit. ‘man’ or ‘human’] whose dialect became the common language. Like many another group, they migrated southwards long ago down the headwaters of the Irrawaddy, practising the shifting hill-cultivation known as ‘taungyo’. A system of five clans transcending ethnic and religious loyalties continues to maintain the ethnic cohesion of these sub-groups. Of the works suggested below, Leach (1954) is perhaps the most highly regarded. Further reading Carrapiett, W.J. 1929. Kachin Tribes ofBurma. Rangoon: Government Printing. Enriquez, C.M. 1923. A Burmese Arcady. London: Seely, Service. Gilhodes, C. 1922. The Kachins: religion and customs. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner. Hanson, O. 1913. The Kachins: their customs and traditions. Rangoon: American Baptist Mission Press. Leach, E.R. 1954. Political Systems of Highland Burma: a study of Kachin social structure. London: G. Bell. [See also Hertz (1944) in bibliog.|

KAREN

This widely-distributed group seems to have no one term that covers all its major sub-groups—the Sgaw, the Pwo and the Bwe. The Kayah and Pa-o are linguistically related to these, but the groups themselves recognise no relationship, and we deal with them separately in this book. About half of Burma’s Karen (mainly Pwo) now live in the Irrawaddy delta region, but the eastern populations spread into Thailand, where they are called Kariang. While those in the delta are mainly Buddhists, the hill groups

S12

‘

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

Se]

Wy. AK aren girl.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

373

are largely either animists or (usually Baptist) Christians. Their myths include an account of the creation of the world by the god Ywa, the origin of humankind and an expulsion from a garden.

It was the existence of such indigenous beliefs that made Christianity readily acceptable to many a Karen. (Some have even postulated a connection between Ywa and Yahweh.) With regard to background, probably Falla (1991) is most valuable for its first-hand up-to-date account of life and folklore in one hill community. Marshall (1922) deals with the Sgaw Karen only; his 1945 booklet is brief but correspondingly lacking in depth. The chapter by Lewis and Lewis is especially strong on textiles and dress. Further reading Falla, J. 1991. True Love and Bartholomew: rebels on the Burmese border. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Keyes, C.F.(ed) 1979. Ethnic Adaptation and Identity: the Karen on the Thai frontier with Burma. Philadelphia: Institute for the Study of Human Issues. Lewis, P. and Lewis, E. 1984. Peoples of the Golden Triangle: six tribes in Thailand. (Ch.3) London: Thames and Hudson. Marshall, H.I. 1922. The Karen People of Burma: a study in anthropology and ethnology. Columbus, Ohio: Ohio State University Press. 1945. The Karens of Burma. (Burma Pamphlets No.8) London: Longmans. McMahon, A.R. 1876. The Karens of the Golden Chersonese. London: Harrison.

KAYAH

This is the name [meaning ‘man’, or ‘human’] that the people themselves use, though others have labelled them Karen-ni or Red Karen because of the traditional colour of their shawls and head-cloths.As with their Karen cousins, while many have adopted Christianity others retain their animism and some practice both. Traditionally slash-and-burn farmers, hunters and traders, many are nowadays town-dwellers—mostly in Kayah State, within which they are the majority group. About two centuries before the compilation of this book, an Italian Barnabite missionary noted that the Karen [Carian] were ‘totally dependent upon the despotic government of the Burmese [i.e. Burmans].’

‘But,’ he continued,

‘it is not so with the other

Carian who inhabit the neighbourhood of Taunt (Toungoo) and

374

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

are called Red Carian (Karenni).... These, retired in the mountains and inaccessible forests, have very often defied the Burmese, to whose yoke they have never submitted.’ (Sangermano,

1833:44) While there are scattered references to the Kayah/ Karen-ni/ Red Karen in various of the later works already cited, the only modern publications specialising in this group are in French (see the first item below). Further reading Bulletin du Cédok. Lausanne, Switzerland: Centre d’Etude et de Documentation sur

le Karenni. [The Centre publishes a journal annually and monographs, bibliographies, etc. from time to time. Address: Case Postale 27, CH 1000 Lausanne 22, Switzerland. |] Sangermano, Father V. 1833. A Description of the Burmese Empire, compiled chiefly from Burmese documents. (5th ed.,1969) London: Susil Gupta.

LAHU

The Lahu claim that long ago they were driven south from central China, some reaching Burma as late as the nineteenth century. Today they cluster around the Kengtung area and fall into several groups. Many have become Buddhist or Christian, but in the more remote communities a belief in ‘Ghusha’ (see tale no.3) persists. ‘Their various clans sprawl into Yunnan, Laos and Thailand, and for purposes of trade many other groups use the Lahu tongue as a lingua franca. Of the 70,000 or so Lahu in Burma, possibly half have become Christianised. The first item below contains useful cultural information. The second, though based on data from

Thailand,

contains

information

relevant

to Bur-

ma’s Lahu communities; and the third, though a massive work, is the only recent publication that contains descriptions of the people as well as their language and offers a substantial bibliography. Further reading Bradley, D. 1979. Lahu Dialects. (Oriental Monographs 23) Canberra: Australian National University Press. Lewis, P. and Lewis, E. 1984. Peoples of the Golden Triangle: six tribes in Thailand.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

375

London: Thames & Hudson. Matisoff, J.A. 1988. The Dictionary ofLahu. Berkeley, California and London: University of California Press. Scott, Sir J.G. 1932. Burma and Beyond. (Ch.21) London: Grayson & Grayson.

| byeng

The Lisu claim that they came originally from eastern Tibet, and they believe (but so do other groups) that they alone survived the Great Inundation. They inhabit the deeply-ravined territory of north-west Yunnan, which is probably their main habitat, and the adjacent borderlands in Burma and Thailand, where they have traditionally chosen the crests of ridges and mountain-tops as sites for their villages. They are mainly cultivators, and some grow opium. Their animism has acquired a tinge of Taoism, but Christianity has not taken strong root among them. Intermarriage with the Chinese, mostly of Lisu women to the men of Yunnan, has been quite frequent. Further reading Dessaint, A.Y. 1971. ‘Lisu annotated bibliography’ Behavior Science News 6:71-94. Durrenberger, P. 1978. ‘An interpretation of a Lisu tale’. Folklore 89,1:94-103. 1989. Lisu Religion. DeKalb, Ulinois: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Northern Illinois University. Lewis, P. and Lewis, E. 1984. Peoples of the Golden Triangle: six tribes in Thailand. London: Thames & Hudson. Metford,B. 1935. Where Burma Meets China. London & Glasgow: Blackie. Morse, E. 1975. Exodus to a Hidden Valley. London: Collins.

MARU

A sub-group of the Kachin, the Maru cluster along the BurmaChina border and have usually been grouped with the less numerous Lashi and Azi. Lowis (1910:32-33) suggests that their original settlements in Burma were in the Nmai Hka valley, from where they subsequently spread both northwards and southwards. He quotes an unnamed authority who claimed in the Archaeological Report of 1916 that the Maru and Burmese languages are substantially the same, a fact which ‘confirms the opinion already advanced that the Maru may be a remnant left by the Burmese in their migration to Burma.’

376

‘ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

Further reading Enriquez,C.M. 1916. A Burmese Enchantment (pp.164-168). Calcutta: Thacker, Spink. Yabu, S. 1988. ‘A preliminary report on the study of the Maru, Lashi and Atsi languages of Burma.’ In: Yoshiaki Ishizawa (ed) Historical and Cultural Studies in Burma. Tokyo: Institute of Asian Studies, Sophia University.

Mon

Apart from any extinct aboriginals, the Mon were the earliest extant group to settle in the country, establishing themselves well before the southward migration of the Tibeto-Burman groups, from which they were ethnically and linguistically very different. Literate, cultured and artistic, they held sway in Lower Burma until Pegu fell to the Burmans in 1757. It was they who first introduced Buddhism to Burma, the Arakanese being isolated as a separate kingdom behind its mountain ramparts, and who imparted their literacy and other skills to the court of Anawratha in Pagan. Despite historical persecution and more recent oppression, their language and culture survive in the rural south-east. (See Coates’ sympathetic account of their position in Burma in the years after World War II.) For a long time their numbers have been distributed on both sides of the Thai border, but in

recent years emigration has tradition they are Buddhist, Halliday) still survive. As a distant culturally as well as Wa and Palaung.

swelled the numbers in Thailand. but some pre-Buddhist practices lowland agricultural group, they physically from their hill cousins

By (see are the

Further reading Bauer, C. 1984. A Guide to Mon Studies.(Working Paper no.32, Centre of Southeast Asian Studies) Clayton, Australia: Monash University. Coates, A. 1953. Invitation to an Eastern Feast (Ch.5). London: Hutchinson. Halliday, R. 1917. The Talaings. Rangoon: Government Printing.

NAGA

Various Naga groups straddle the India-Burma border. Most live in India, the Burmese groups mainly inhabiting the Patkai range.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

377

Head-hunting was once a common practice, and Enriquez (1933:17) reported that in the hills between Hukawng and Assam authentic cases of human sacrifice had recently come to light, the victims usually being children bought for the purpose. On at least one occasion Naga warriors acquired Japanese heads for British soldiers during World War I, but such practices have died out over more

recent decades. Warrior

dress, dances and ceremonies

are

maintained, however. According to Ludu U Hla (1966e:Introduction), while the difficult broken terrain has given rise to dozens of clans within Burma, they fall into four main groups: Tanhkun, Somra,

San and Hai-myé,

the last of which consists of so

many clans that they use Kachin as a lingua franca. They practice hill cultivation and enjoy hunting for sport as well as for meat, and these two activities often provide the settings for their tales. Those we have selected come only from the first of Ludu U Hla’s four groups Further reading von Fiihrer-Haimendorf, C. 1939. The Naked Nagas. London: Methuen. Shakespear, L.W. 1914. History of Upper Assam, Upper Burmah and the North-Eastern Frontier. (Chs 12-14) London: Macmillan. Whitehead,J. 1989. Far Frontiers: people and events in North-Eastern India, 1857-1947. London: British Association for Cemeteries in South Asia (BACSA). PADAUNG

Of all the names of Burma’s ethnic groups, this is (or at least, used to be) the best-known outside the country simply because of the practice of casing a young girl’s neck with a brass ring annually until, when she is of marriageable age, she appears to have a greatly elongated neck. (Actually, the pressure of the heavy rings forces the collar-bones down rather than stretching the neck.) The practice is dying out, but at the turn of the century there are still Padaung refugees in Thailand whose womenfolk are used as bait for tourists wanting to see and photograph these strange ‘siraffe-women’. The Padaung call themselves Keh-kawng-du according to Scott (1932), or Ka-Kaung according to Diran (1997). Some authorities have suggested that they are of Mén-Khmer origin, but they are far more likely to be cousins to the Karen. Certainly their language belongs to the latter family.

378

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

NS

:io al \ \

\ 2N

A AG

N

18. Padaung women

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

379

Further reading de Golish, V. 1958. Au Pays des Femmes de Girafe. Grenoble: Arthaud. Scott, Sir J.G. 1932. Burma and Beyond. (Ch.8) London: Grayson & Grayson.

PALAUNG

This is the Burman name for a people calling themselves Taang. They are of Mon-Khmer origin. Having no written language of their own, they recorded their oral history in Shan. Two Palaung chronicles claim that their people were driven out of the town of Se-lan by the Chinese (see tale no.7). Well-known as tea-cultivators, they have traditionally lived in hilltop villages, mainly in the north of Shan State. Nowadays they are predominantly Buddhist. Further reading Lowis, C.C. 1906. A Note on the Palaungs of Hsipaw and Tawngpeng. [Ethnographical Survey of India: Burma, no.1] Rangoon: Government Printing. Milne, L.1924. The Home of an Eastern Clan. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. (Anon.) 1960. Palaungs of Burma. Rangoon: Ministry of Culture.

Pa-o

While most of the Pa-o (known to the Burmans as ‘Taungthu) are found in Shan State, they are also scattered southwards towards and around Toungoo. They are a branch of the Karen group, and according to Ludu U Hla (1977: Introduction) they arrived in Burma from the north along with other Tibeto-Burman groups in the sixth century be or thereabouts. Having crossed the Shan plateau and found fertile ground at “Thwet-twun’ (Thaton) they settled and, along with the Mon living there, came under the cultural influence of southern India. The beginnings of a Pa-o dynasty merged with that of the Mon court, but legend has it that the people loaded up their carts and (taking with them their frog-drum and great gong) moved northwards to the Shan plateau when Thaton was sacked by the Burmans and the Mon king Manuha was taken away to Pagan. They established a ‘LittleThaton’, now called Hsi-hseng, south-east of Inle Lake. Today

380

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

most Pa-o are Buddhists and grow a variety of crops such as coffee, wheat and potatoes; but probably their main cash crop is the leaves of a tree, a variety of Cordia, which are used as the outer wrapping of cheroots. Like the Shan, the Pa-o man wears not a longyt but a loose trouser-like garment which, along with his jacket and headcloth, is typically black. (See the In-tha tale about Aung Pon and the Pa-o vendor.) Further reading Hackett, W.D. 1953. The Pa-O People of the Shan State, Union ofBurma. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation, Cornell University.

RAWANG

This little-studied group lives in the northernmost tip of Burma just south of the Chinese border, near the town of Putao. It is a remote

and mountainous

area where,

it is said, a few Tibetan

villages still remain in contact. Tigers and elephants still roam in the extensive forests, and the group’s traditional weapons are the crossbow and a sort of machete. Lowis (1910) does not mention them at all, but Enriquez (1933) reports them as being a subgroup of ‘the Nung of Putao’ and as having migrated westward from the Salween river area at some stage. Today the Rawang are regarded by scholars as part of the Nung-Rawang subgroup of the Kachin. References to the Rawang are brief and scattered, but the commentary around the four Rawang tales in Dorson (1975:277-286) is informative and comparatively recent. Further reading Dorson, R.M. 1975. Folktales Told around the World. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.

SHAN

Along with the Karen, the Shan lay claim to being the secondlargest ethnic group in Burma. Like most of Burma’s other groups, they came southwards at some distant point in the past, while

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

SEES =

RIGA

”

IID LL

Zig

19. A Shan girl

381

382

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

others of their kind moved into present-day Assam and Laos or settled in what is now Thailand. Indeed, the Shan call themselves Tai; and the fact that the words Assam, Siam and Shan have

the same root indicates the widespread and influential nature of this group historically. They are not a hill people, and are largely engaged in wet-rice cultivation and trading. Almost all are Buddhists, though some old animist practices still survive. Thorp (1945), an account of life in the Shan States set largely in the inter-war years, includes brief descriptions of not only the Shan but also the Palaung, Karen, Taungthu, Intha, Bre and Padaung groups. Though none is described in depth, the book gives a vivid picture of the multicultural scene in and around Taunggyi. Further reading Chao Tzang Yawnghwe. 1987. The Shan of Burma: memoirs of an exile. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Enriquez, C.M. 1918. A Burmese Loneliness. Calcutta: Thacker, Spink. Milne, L. and Cochrane,W. 1910. The Shans at Home. London: John Murray. (Reprinted 1970, New York: Paragon.) Thorp, E. 1945. Quiet Skies on Salween. London: Jonathan Cape.

TAUNGYO

Very little has been written about this Tibeto-Burman group, which lives mainly in the hills above Inle Lake. While claiming to be quite distinct from other groups around them such as the Taungthu, they have nevertheless adopted some of the cultural habits of more numerous groups such as the Shan and Pa-O. Although the men have long dressed like the neighbouring Shan, the womenfolk traditionally wore a deep red V-necked smock fringed at the hem, and still wear heavy rings below the knee. Scott (1932:31) suggested that their language was simply a blend of Karen and Burmese; but the fact that their dialect shows some

similarities to that of the Arakanese further suggests that, like the Pa-O, they migrated northwards from Tavoy as refugees from Anawratha’s conquering forces.

ETHNOLOGICAL

NOTES

383

Further reading Scott, Sir J.G. 1932. Burma and Beyond (Ch.2) London: Grayson & Grayson.

YAW

As this is the only one of our groups to have faded out of Burma’s ethnic tapestry, we have tried to trace its demise. Mason (1860:67) reported Yule as saying, a few years earlier, that the Yaw were great traders, ‘the chief pedlars and carriers of northern Burmah’, but to Mason himself they were just ‘a small Burmese tribe dwelling in the valley of the Yau river, which falls into the Irrawaddy on the west side, a few miles south of Pugan’. According to Lowis half a century later (Lowis,1910:30) this tribe had all but disappeared as a distinct group by the beginning of the twentieth century: ‘Only eighteen persons returned themselves as Yaws in (the Census year of) 1901’. By 1912 the Burma Gazetteer (Lower Chindwin District) was noting: Locally, everything to the west of the Pagyi hills in the Yinmabin subdivision is spoken of as the Yaw country by the Burmans of the plains, while west of the Pagyi hills the villagers disclaim the title and apply it, and properly, to the inhabitants of the Yaw valley still further west. No one in the district admits that he is a Yaw, and there is no trace of

a peculiar dialect or peculiar modes of life in the western glens. However,

some residual dialectal forms must have carried on for

a while: Enriquez (1933:19), who considered the Yaw ‘possibly of Shan origin’ found them ‘now indistinguishable from Burmans, except for their pators’. Although the people have fused with the Burmans, we have treated the tales collected in Yaw-ne by Ludu U Hla as Yaw, on the assumption that they predated this fusion. We can offer no further reading, other than Lowis (1910), Enriquez (1933) and the gazetteer for 1912 mentioned above (Rangoon: Government Printing, Burma.)

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INDEX A: AUTHORS

CITED

Eberhard, W. 1965: 24, 91, 132, 220. Edmonson, M.S. 1971: 10, 219. Enriquez, C.M. 1916: 376; 1918: 362;

Aarne, A.: 11. — and Thompson,

S. 1961:

11, 14.

Abbott, G. 1997: 368;1998: 369. Aesop: 10, 29. Allott, A.J. 1997: 22 Apuleius: 128-129. Ashliman, D.L.1987: 9, 10, 11, 218. Aryasura: 316. Bartlett, F.C. 1920: Bascom, W.R. 1954: Bauer, C. 1984: 376. Bettelheim, B. 1976: Boccaccio, Giovanni:

7. 12.

LOZ3 NOLEN S Sa oOS MOVES SOR Esche, A-M. 1976: 132.

Falla, J: 1991: 349, 373. Fielding-Hall, H. 1900: 26. Fine, G.A. 1988: 18. Forbes, C.J. 1878: 368. Fowles, John: 129. Francis, H.T. and Thomas, E,J. 1916:

21-28. Fraser-Lu, S. 1987: 368.

Bradley, Dr 1979: 374: Briggs, K.M. 1962: 26.

Erazere|-Galo 222 s10; Freud, Sigmund: 7. von Fihrer-Haimendorf, C. 1939: 377. Fytche, A. 1878: 133.

Campbell,J. 1976, 1988: 9.

Georges, R.A. 1970: 6.

Cardinaud, M-H.

Gilhodes, C. 1922: 371. Glassie, H. 1985: 127. Grimm: Brothers ~ : 4, 6, 14, 18, 133 ;

7, 132. 5.

1998: 16.

CarrapietisayWVa|al 929 x3. Chao Tzang Yawnghwe,1987: Chaucer, Geoffrey: 5, 28. Chomsky, Noam: 6.

382.

Jexcoe = 3100).

Coates, A. 1953: 376.

Hackett, W.D.

Colby, B.N. 1989: 6, 18. Collis, M. 1953: 368. Conrad, Joseph: 5.

Hansons Om LOS

Courtauld, C. 1984: 371. Cowell ,1895-1907: 335. Cox, M.R. 1893: 132. David, A. and David,E. 1964: 6. Davidson, H.R. 1975: 5. Daw Amar: 21-22 de Golish, V. 1958: 379. Dessaint, A.Y. 1971: 375. Dickens, Charles: 18, 267. Diran, RK. 1997; 368, 377. Dorson, R.M. 1968: 4, 5, 6, 21; 1975: 14, 15, 41, 42, 380.

1953: 380. Halliday, M.A.K. 1985: 6. Halliday, R. 1917: 53, 376. asaIe

Haring, L. 1982: 219. Tanveys GES 25e9300: Head, W.R. 1966: 370. Henderson,E,J. 1997: 14. Herbert, P. and Miller, A.C. 1989: 368. Hertz, H.F. 1944: 87, 371. liste, LOE IGS WA). ISK), ipl, ibuveln (Wie Vile Iva Zul. Bowe

Douglas, A. 1992: 128.

T966ENS7H/G LO 39: Htin Aung, M. 1948: 22-23, 56; 1962: 26, 279.0369; 19662 265.2793 0Me Hunt, R. 1865: 127. Hutton, J.H. 1931: 128. Huxley, A. 1996: 298.

Dundes, A. 1965: ?; 1980: 18; 1982: 132.

Ishgnotesy, ID), IR We ae

Durrenberger, P. 1989: 375. Jaini, P.S. 1966: 132.

386

INDEX

Perey, T.. 176524; Phayre, A.P. 1883: 368. Propp, V. 1950: 11,12, 1%.

Jason, H. 1986: 12. Johansen, 'T. 1993: 7. Johnson, Doctor Samuel:

267.

Jung, Carl: 7., Jung, E. 1980: 52. Keyes, C.F. 1979: 373. Khin Myo Chit,

King, W.L.

1984:

129, 150, 369.

Richards, A. 1963: 128. Rubin, D.C. 1995: 7. Russell, W.M. 1982: 5. Rutter, O: 1929: 88.

1964: 315.

Kipling, Rudyard: 5. Kotzin, M.C.

1980: 5.

Sangermano, Fr. V. 1833: 373-374. Sao Saimong, 1960: 23, 337.

Krappe, A.H.

1930:

Scott, J.G. (Shway Yoe’) 1882: 55, 369;

10, 14.

La Fontaine, Jean de: 28. Lang, A. 1885:130;

Leach, E.R.

1954:

1907: 5.

12, 371.

Leach, M. and Fried,J. 1984: 4. LeBar, F. et al. 1964: 368. Lehman, F.K. 1963: 370. Lévi-Strauss, CG. 1978: 9. Lewis, P. and Lewis, E. 1984: 373, 374,

1932: 375, 3772379) 382383: Scott, Walter: 5. Seki, K. 1963: 24. Senn, H.A..1982: 129. Shakespear, L.W. 1914: 377.

Shakespeare, William: 51, 267. Shway Yoe : (see J.G. Scott) Sokolov, Y.M. 1950: 11. Stevenson, H.N. 1943: 370.

Stewart, J.A. 1913a: 218.

$75: Lowie, R.H.

1942: 7.

Straparola,

Lowis, C.C. 1906: 379; 1910: 368, 375,

G.

1550-1555:

4.

Swales, J.M. 1990: 12, 44.

383.

Liitha, M.[982:

bly 16) 17,

Mackenzie, D.A. 1929: 335. Malinowski, B. 1926: 8 ; 1960:

12.

Mandler, J.M. 1984: 44. Marshall, H.I. 1922, Mason,

1945: 373.

F. 1860: 368, 383.

Matisoff, J.A. 1988: 375. Maugham, W. Somerset: 3. McMahon, A.R. 1876: 373. Metford, B. 1935: 375. Miller,H. 1869: 127. Milne, L. 1924: 379. Milne, L. and Cochrane, W. 1910: 5voaAee)«nN Milloy,J. 1999: 46. Morse, E. 1975: 375. Miller, M. 1856: 4, 10, 20.

Tallantyre, R. 1939: 9. Taylor, A. 1948: 5. ‘Tedlock, D. 1972: 43. Temple, R.C. 1886, 1884-1900: 20. Thoms, W. (“Ambrose Merton”) 1846: 4. Thompson, S. 1929: 127; 1955- 58: 13, 15; 128, 298 1S ee. Thorp, E. 1945: 382. Trager, H.G. 1969: 369, Tylor, B.B. 1871: 4553: Vogel,J. 1926: 89.

von Fithrer-Haimendorf, C. 1939: 377. Waley, A. 1947: 132. Warner, M. 1994: 15, 18.

Whitehead,J. 1989: 377. Wilde, Oscar:

Nicolaisen, W.F. Olrik, A. 1909:

1990:

12.

130.

Willis, R. 1993: 53, 56, 89. Wordsworth, William: 5. Wray, E. et al. 1972: 332.

17.

Opie, I. & Opie, P. 1974: 8, 128, 130,

132, 220. Oring, E. 1976: 8. Ortutay, G. 1959: 7;1962: 43.

Orwell, George: 5.

Yabu,

11, 41, 42,

S. 1988:

376.

Zan, Y. 1989: 6, 17-18,

19.

INDEX B: CULTURAL

COMPARISONS

387

[Listed by region / state / ethnic group.]

The Americas North:

South:

Africa North:

cross-sex transformation motif, 129 Mohawk and Inuit tales, 46 Labrador Inuit ‘fox wife’ tale, 127 Brer Rabbit, 21

Central and Caribbean: Anansi the spider, 219 Hopi and Mayan belief in succession of worlds, 53 Mayan deluge myth, 45 Mayan sun/moon myth, 89 Chile: Pedro Urdemales Cheats Two Horsemen, 14 Peru: The Lake of Langu, 15 Venezuela: Yanomami cosmology, 88

East:

Egypt: sun/moon myth (Horus, Seth, Ra-Harakhty), Kalulu the hare, 219, 220 Sudan: Nuer belief concerning death, 56

West:

Anansi the spider, Cameroon:

219

‘killer lake’ tales,

90

Zaire: Rainbow King ( Luba belief), Southern: Rainbow Serpent, 89 Madagascar: trickster tale, 219

Australia North Australian deluge myths, Tiwi ‘man in the moon’ belief,

89

53 90

Rainbow Serpent, 89 How Eaglehawk burned Crow black, 90 Borneo

Murut cosmology,

88

Iban ‘tree of life’,

88

were-tiger as ‘animal spouse’,

128

China Folktales of the World: China, 24-25. Yao deluge myth, 45 sun/moon myth, 89 legends of discovery of tea and salt, 91 proto-Cinderella story, 131-2 mirror-joke, 220 Europe

Britain:

Reliques of English Poetry, 4 Beowulf, King Arthur, Robin Hood, 9 Canterbury Tales, 27 Pardoner’s Tale, 28 ‘formula tales’, 46 Little Poucet (Tom Thumb), 130

89

388

;

INDEX

The King of Colchester’s Daughters, 131 jokes, 218; mirror-joke, 220-221 Jack and the Beanstalk, 220 » mermaid tales ( Scotland and Cornwall), 127 France:

Fables of La Fontaine,

28

cheval mallet, 128

Germany:

Des Knaben Wunderhorn, 4 Kinder- und Haus-mdarchen, 4

The Poor Cobbler, 14, 133 128

Greece:

Centaurs,

Cupid and Psyche, 128 Odysseus, 133, 221 Narration of tales, 42, 43. ‘seal-woman’ tale, 127

Hungary: Ireland:

Italy:

Le Piacevolt Notti, 4 Decameron,

27

Romania: were-pig (trcolic), 129 Scandinavia:Ygedrasil in Norse mythology,

88

India Panchatantra,

Katha Sarit Sagara,

8

Legends of the Panjab,The Indian Antiquary,

20

Jataka, 27

Vedic naga worship, 55 anthill as ‘abode of snakes’,

89, 316

Angami Naga lycanthropy belief, 128 Hindu deluge myth of Manu, 45, 297 village of were-tigers, 128 reincarnation as horse’s head, 128 cross-sex transformation motif, 129

painting-contest tale,

221

Japan Folktales of the World: Fapan, 24 Shinto creation myth, 45

Middle East The Thousand and One Nights, 27 Sumerian deluge myth/ Epic of Gilgamesh, 45, 54 Appointment in Samarra, 267 Pacific flood myths, 45 Trobriand Islands: kukwanebu, libwogwo and liliu, 8 Russia anecdotic

tales,

42.

INDEX

389

C: SELECTED TALE ELEMENTS [Bold numbers indicate the tales in which the elements appear, not pages. |

(i) Trees and plants

(ii) Place names

acacia splinter of ~ wood, 92. A-eik-pa (orchids) 28.

Amarapura Ava 85.

algae

Bengal

Benares

1.

bamboo 1, 15, 30, 38; ~ trays, 2; ~ poles, 14; upside down ~, 22; ~

paddy-basket, 48; ~ water-carriers,

38.

91, 92.

98.

Bilu-Kyun 51. Chikai 96.

33 bitter~ vine, 71. 98. leaves hset-kadu, 123 hsun-hka, nwe-cho, 30; tea ~, 39; palm ~, 81. lime 45.

China (Ganda-layit) 7, 66. Chindwin 8. Dagon (Rangoon) 36. Danyawadi 45. Daw-hsaw-bi 96. Dwantan 22. Dwantan-ei-din 22. Henzada 85. Himalayas 2, 41, 48, 90. Homalin 8. Htindaw 98. Hton-kyauk Khin 63. In-daw-gyi (Naung-lut) 22. In-dein 55.

liquorice 14. lotus 15, 43, 46, 48, 100; brown ~, 44.

India 90, 92. In-gyin-kon 47. Inle Lake 47, 55.

mango 78, 95. moss 1; ~- like plants, 14. opium 52, 56.

Irrawaddy 35, 98. Jetavana 90. Kanazo & Myinka 98.

palms toddy ~, 1; coconut ~, 1, 76; coconut, 373; betel-nut, 38, 61. plants ~of healing, 3; life-restoring ~,

Kasi 90. Kei-la-tha 45.

20. plantains

Kengtawng 100. Khaung-daing 55.

50; ~ shoots, 63; monastery of ~,

86; ~ raft, 98. banana 24, 37, 45, 48. banyan (fig) 3, 14, 30, 34, 37, 42, 47, 81, 94; magic ~, 43; figs, 57. flower ganda ~, 13 nat kathit ~s,46;~s on bed, 48; trumpet ~ fruit, 50; letpan ~s, 60.

gourd laphet

rice beans

99. 63.

Kosala

(Madana

Pawgit-hsa-gir1)

91, 92.

roselles 99. sugar cane 89.

Kyauk Taing Linkin” 47.

55.

tamarind 38, 40, 83. taro 50. trees thingan ~,1; jack-fruit ~, 1, 71; edible fruit ~s, 14; gigantic ~ (~ of Life ?) 21; letpan ~, 48; Bo~, 58; mango ~, 78; plum ~, cotton ~, 83; rose apple ~, ( zabuthabye); lamu ~s, 98. water-hyacinth 22.

Lonton 22. Lonton Gaw-yi-mada Mandalay 38, 88. Martaban 40. Minmo / Kyauk Pan

22.

5.

Mo-gaung 63. Mong King 100. Mong Pan 43. Méng Pyo 55. Méng Thauk 47, 55. Mong-yai 97. Mot-tama (Mutmawt) 45.

390

INDEX

Myangmya 35. Myinmo 98. Nam Tein 43. Namhkam 7. Nam-we 8. Nant-ban 55. Nyaungshwe 47, 55. Pagan 66, 98. Paunglaung 98. Pazungaung 98. Peeu 87. Potali 90. Putao 31. Rajagaha 93. Salwe(e)n & Mekong 3. Se-lan 7. Syriam 36. Takkasila 91. Taung-do 55. Teng 100. Tha-le-oo 47. Thandaung 50. (Toungoo) Than-daung (Inle) 55. Thaton 45. Thet Kaw 51. Toungoo 40, 50. Wa-lawdei 68. Wa-ta Il. Yi Bake 22: Zimmé (Chieng-mai) 40. Zin-gyaik 73.

(iii) Other locations abode of nats

1.

48, 65. cemetery 80. earth, the 2, 4, 13, 21, 49, 70, 94, cave

99. grave

65; ~yard, 33, 44, 97; watery ~, 100. heaven 3. hell 2. 16 27a horizon,

the 18, 21. monastery 44, 63, 64, 75, 86. moon, the I, 3, 14, 18, 19, 20, 95, 97. Mt. Meru 1, 58. Myinmo

98.

Na Hsaung Soe

65.

47. naga-pwet-in Napu Pahka 3. Nawng Sheng 3. Nawng Maw

ogre land 44. pagodas 84. park 90. planets, the 1, 83. rest house 31. salt mines

4.

seashore, the 77. Silver Hill, The 49.

sky, the -155,215:99. stars, the 4,.99. sun, the 1, 3, 4, 13, 14, 17, 19. tea garden 39. underground city 42. university 81. water-hole 32. world, the 2, 3, 64, 94, 98; underwater ~,

Kabudipa zeyat

44,

47.

98. 101.

(iv) Creatures : natural world birds 22, 25, 30, 58, 67; chickens, 1, 22, 26; rooster, 2,173 nya-nisez, nya-shanka, 23 sparrows (ka ky tha), 83 Ayong-s the sparrow, 58; vulture, 13, 47; peacock, 14, 67, 97; night heron, 14; heron, 563 owl, 17, 26; house crow (kyi-kan), 253; crow, 35, 46, 58; parakeets, 27, 47, 48; stork, 343 hintha, 463 eagle, 47, 49; doves, 36, 63; mynahs, 60; hornbill, purple sun bird, 673 koel, 100. cattle 533 bull, cow, 1, 9, 153 calf, 2, 15; buffalo, 9, 24; banteng, 9. chameleon 65. crocodiles 16, 35, 36, 57. deer/stag 9, 38, 66, 93. dogs 1, 2, 19, 20, 28, 33. elephants 1, 3, 23, 41, 49, 60, 62, 82, 84, 87, 89, 92, 96, 98; white ASE RE fish 5, 8, 22, 31, 95, 100. foxes 59, 70. frogs /toads 17, 65, 94. soats_ Ley, 9,200.02 hermits 42, 45, 46, 69, 94.

391

INDEX

horses 1, 9, 33, 49, 54, 96, 100. humans fst ls Chaw 1, Vausr,

3 hunters 30, 48, 69, 93, 94. insects 1, 65, 67, 95; cockroach (kumhtam), 8; wasp, butterfly, 14; white fly (tha-pi-la), 233 termite, 27; bluebottles, 523; grasshopper, 65, 67; fireflies, 98.

jackals

79, 95.

monkeys 1, 13, 42, 45, 57, 95. mice Il, 14, 84. mules 3, 9. otter 95, 100. pigs 15, 20, 22, 38, 73, 98, 99.

porcupine

28.

rabbits /hares lay2. sambhur 66.

1, 59, 60, 95; hiaw-

skinke #27; snakes/serpents 1, 8, 193 viper, 2, 27; grass~, cobra, 27; python, 3, 34. squirrel 7, 13. tigers 1, 15, 38, 60, 70, 79, 86, 98. WALGCaAtSun 2 sili 720% witch 33, 43. worms 66; dung ~, 90.

(v) Creatures : otherworld annelid

Ain, 98.

Brahma bird

2.

iron ~, 44.

crocodile great ~ (lord of the waters), 16. deer golden ~, 48. dragon 3. elephant Manaw-thila, 1. fairy ~ princess, 49. fish gigantic anada ~, 98. galon 58, 94. ghost 11, 12, 40, 51, 56, 975 Jleikpya, 38, 653 pe-et, 39. lobster Pazun, 98. Lord of Death 27, 52, 77. mermaid 31. naga 1, 22, 48, 58, 94. nats 1, 2, 10, 15, 16, 46, 48, 62, 76, 98; guardian ~ 8, 22; Ghusha, Adaw, Aga, 33 Nindahkun-wa-magun

(Great Lord Spirit), 4,10; mzwei-nat naga-gyt (Great Dragon Nat), 6; sun king, 1; Great Sun Spirit, 13; Lord Sun, 17; moon king, 1; moon nat, 20; Lady Guardian Spirit (nat-thamigyt), 213 spirit maiden, 21, 46; Guardian Spirit of the Earth, 27; banyan tree spirit, 37; spirits of earth, water, wind, 98; Sakya ( King ofthe spirits of the air, King of the gods,

Thagyamin, Lord of the Nats, King of all Nats), 16, 24, 45, 63, 76, 95, 98. ogre ( bilu) ogress 44, 56, 58, 65, 80, 81. pig flying ~ , 42. snake ~ prince, 34. tiger giant ~ , 18. turtle golden ~ , 43. wetk-zado 48. were-horse 33.

were-tiger

32.

(vi) Magic objects / substances ball ~ of mercury, 42. bow /arrows 77. cane 42. charm/spell 94. comb 46, 99. evil ~, 47. drug/substance drums 42, 45. fan 94. harps crying ~, laughing ~, dancing

jewel/gem lime fruit

94. 45.

mirror ~ of polished brass, 46. pestle 19. remedy 44. ring ruby ~, 47. rope 42. shawl 46. taro 50. tooth wand water

boar’s ~, 99.

35. ki-~, 32; nat ~, 47.

592

INDEX

(vii) Transformations

a) Restoration to health/ youth/ life blind

>

old dead

= >

sighted: 44. young: 99. living: human, animal, 19, 20; trees, 2, 45.

b) Metamorphosis in death nat:

human human human human human

ghost:

1, 6, 22.

12, 40, 97.

bird: 97, 100. stars: 100. bamboos: 49. turtle: 43.

woman turtle animals animals

tree: 43. stars: 100. bamboos: 15.

bamboo

boy:

15.

NANCIE Vi NVIcalf: bamboo ANY,

15.

c) Metamorphosis in life woman

>

woman

>

elephant: 23. man: 37.

spirit (male)

>

human