The Golden Land (39 page)

‘Then why didn't he give it to Queen Supayalat? She seemed to be strong, too.'

‘Perhaps he thought she was too strong. She was a very brutal and cruel woman and had made many enemies. Tipi Si was far better liked, so he decided to bequeath it to her. Such a pity she was forced to sell it. I believe she regretted that action for the rest of her life,' said Aye Aye.

‘Is there any way that you can find out if anything important is written in the kammavaca?' asked Natalie.

Aye Aye looked at the steep hills surrounding the old hotel. ‘There is only one way to find out. And that is to take the kammavaca to the old monastery. I am as curious as you!'

‘Where is the monastery?' asked Natalie.

She was unprepared for Aye Aye's answer. ‘It's not far from Mandalay, close to the Irrawaddy River. I recognised it at once from the paintings here in the kammavaca. I went there first as a child, on a steamer up the river, and I have been there on my travels around Myanmar several times since.' She paused briefly before looking intently at Natalie. ‘I think it is only right that you accompany me.'

Natalie didn't hesitate. ‘I'm sure Uncle Andrew would want me to go back to where it all began.'

After Natalie left Aye Aye, she met Soe Soe, who had been waiting patiently for her.

As they drove back to her hotel, Soe Soe asked if she had enjoyed her time with Aye Aye.

‘It was wonderful,' Natalie replied. ‘She knows the monastery where the kammavaca come from. She wants you to drive us there so she can find out what's written in it.'

Mr P surprised her when he met her later that night at her hotel for dinner by arriving in jeans and a neat T-shirt.

‘There are quite a few nice places to eat in Pyin Oo Lwin. Do you have a preference?' he asked.

‘I'll leave it to you.'

‘Then we'll have traditional Shan noodles, vegetables and pickles in rice wine, soup and rice. Followed by fresh local strawberries,' said Mr P.

Soe Soe drove them into town and left them at the restaurant Mr P had chosen. It featured a lot of timber decoration and Natalie thought that it could be mistaken for a small hunting lodge. As they settled at the table, Natalie told Mr P about Aye Aye's reaction to the kam-mavaca, and the fact that she had recognised the old monastery where it had been made.

‘She wants to take the kammavaca back and try to get the script translated. She thinks that there may be something important hidden among the sacred texts. She wants me to go with her. Can Soe Soe take us?'

‘Of course. I will wait here unless you'd like me to accompany you,' said Mr P politely after he ordered them glasses of the local damson wine.

‘I wouldn't go without you! Aren't you curious, too?' exclaimed Natalie incredulously. She smiled.

He returned her smile. ‘I would indeed like to know the fate of the little object you have protected and carried about with us. It's been quite an honour to be part of this.'

‘I couldn't have done all this or had such a wonderful time without your help,' said Natalie, suddenly feeling teary as she realised that their time together was coming to an end. Mr P's gentle manners, warm heart and calm demeanour had been her rock. She felt they had an empathy that had grown through their shared experiences. ‘You really opened my eyes to what Myanmar is all about, and I want you to know how much I value your patience and knowledge. And friendship.'

He nodded modestly. ‘Initially, when Win and Connie asked me if I would travel with you, I thought you were just a friend and a tourist. Then I learned that you wanted to find your friend's family and I thought you had a kind spirit. But when I learned about this kammavaca and your wish to return it, after so many years, to come here alone, well, that is … very meritorious,' he finished.

‘You mean I was very naive?' said Natalie with a quizzical expression.

‘But you wanted to learn. You were interested and enjoyed the places and things we saw. You are respectful and open to knowing how we Burmese think and do things. To understand the people of Myanmar you have to know our history and what people here are suffering while they wait for change to come. Not all visitors are like you,' he added. ‘You are a friend to us now.'

Natalie nodded. ‘It's strange but I feel so strongly about this place. Everyone I've met has been so warm and kind, apart from a couple of exceptions. And isn't Aye Aye amazing,' said Natalie, her eyes shining.

‘Yes. Princess Aye Aye is inspirational. We have some wonderful women in our country. One day maybe people will look up to you in your country.' He lifted his glass of wine in a toast.

‘Oh, I don't know about that,' said Natalie, nevertheless feeling flattered and pleased by his words.

They clinked glasses.

Soe Soe seemed agitated, as though unsure of the best way to get to the old monastery. They seemed to have been travelling for hours. Aye Aye and Natalie sat in the back of the car. It bumped along a sandy track. Feathery stands of bamboo bent lithely in a gentle breeze. They created a pale green light, which was sometimes darkened by a solid grove of trees. To one side they could see the shining coppery surface of the Irrawaddy River. The softness of the track's surface made it difficult for Soe Soe to drive further. Mr P spoke to him and he stopped the car.

Mr P turned to the women in the back seat. ‘We are on a side track. It will be quicker to walk, although Soe Soe can drive the long way around to the river landing if you prefer.'

‘Walking's all right with me,' said Aye Aye.

Mr P opened the car door for her.

They were not isolated on the track. As the car reversed away, they heard the jangle of a cowbell and the crow of a rooster. Ahead of them a wooden cart with a huge dripping cask on top was being drawn by a plodding ox and driven by a young boy.

‘He's delivering water to a village,' said Mr P.

The boy, filled with importance before the strangers, hit the ox with a bamboo pole and it broke into a lumbering trot.

They came to a small village where leaning fences surrounded some small thatched buildings. An old man was bent beneath the weight of a bamboo pole which held buckets at both ends. A woman winnowed rice, throwing up the grain from a large flat basket so that the wind could blow away the lighter husks. Each small dwelling had chickens, a goat or a pig in its yard. A young woman was cooking in a wok over an open fire. Washing was draped in the sun and children played in the dust.

The strangers, strolling along the village lane, were given curious glances. Natalie was fascinated by this panorama of rural life seemingly unchanged for decades. She smiled at a young mother sitting in the shade with two small children.

Mr P called out to the young woman, who lifted the toddler onto her hip, held the shy child by the hand and came over to the fence.

‘How old are her children?' asked Natalie.

Mr P and Aye Aye exchanged a few words with the girl. Natalie saw she must be barely twenty.

‘They are two and four years,' said Mr P as he pulled his backpack off his shoulder and rummaged in a side pocket.

‘I have children almost the same age,' said Natalie, suddenly overwhelmed with longing for Charlotte, Adam and Andrew.

Mr P found a packet of sweets and gave some of them to the children.

‘The mother says she is twenty-two. She thinks you are very beautiful,' Aye Aye told Natalie. ‘She will have more children. She probably didn't have much education but hopefully it will be different for her little ones, but since they don't have running water or even a decent well in the village, a proper school out here seems a remote possibility. But it is places like this where our country needs to make changes if there is to be any progress.'

‘She has such a sweet face,' said Natalie.

The toddler, cheeks full of the chewy sweet from Mr P, reached out to Natalie. Natalie leaned over the low fence as his smiling mother handed the chubby boy, dressed only in cotton pants, to her. Natalie closed her eyes, smelling his sweet hair, feeling the softness of baby skin.

‘Do you want a photo?' Mr P asked.

Natalie nodded. ‘Yes, please. Of all of us.'

After they had waved goodbye and continued through the village to the path that led to the monastery, Natalie asked Aye Aye, ‘Do you think that young mother would know who you were? Your family?'

Aye Aye shook her head. ‘No. That was old Burma. I am not important now. But I'm sure she knows who The Lady is.'

Natalie noticed that as they walked, Aye Aye continually looked around, even occasionally glancing upwards into the trees. Suddenly she stopped and pointed into a thicket. Natalie saw what she had spotted: flashes of white between the green lushness.

‘Come and see these . . . such lovely gingers.' They followed Aye Aye and Natalie recognised the flower she'd seen in the markets, or as offerings at pagodas and in vases in restaurants and shops. The cascade of delicate miniature orchid-like white blooms contained explosions of golden stamens.

‘This was my husband's favourite flower,' said Aye Aye. She showed Natalie the jewelled pin she wore in her hair.

‘It's the same,' said Natalie, seeing the white and gold clusters of drooping blooms recreated in glittering gemstones.

Aye Aye plucked sprays of the ginger blooms and put them into Natalie's hair. ‘These often grow near monasteries,' said Aye Aye.

Soon the spire of the monastery appeared and the path widened into a clearing. At the sight of the monastery, Natalie caught her breath. While it was not the magnificent, glittering gold of the Shwedagon, or the stylised symmetry of the ancient Ananda Temple, Natalie thought this monastery was one of the loveliest places she'd seen in Myanmar. Not only that, but she had looked at the little kammavaca so often and knew it so well that she had little trouble recognising the monastery.

Its intricately carved and weathered teak had a soft warmth. The moss-covered tiles on the roof, and the columns of faded gilt and vermilion spoke of venerable age but there was no ostentation. Here, for years, the lives of the monks had been played out in simple rituals upholding the traditions and beliefs of the Buddha, and this practice would continue.

A flight of stone steps flanked by elephants carved in stone led to the main building.

‘They're like the ones on the kammavaca,' said Natalie.

‘They guard each of the four entrances to the monastery,' said Aye Aye. ‘As a little girl I loved them.'

They all paused to admire the monastery buildings. A novice monk appeared with a broom that was twice his height and began brushing and smoothing the white sand at the base of the steps. Mr P stepped forward and asked if it would be possible for them to speak with the abbot.

‘He says the abbot is sleeping off his meal,' said Mr P. ‘But we can speak with him when he is awake.'

As they walked, they continued to admire the monastery and its mythical carved figures, the elephants and strange bird-like creatures upon whose backs the monastery buildings rested. Several sleepy dogs lay in the shade beneath the buildings.

‘It's deserted,' said Natalie.

‘It is not a well-known monastery,' said Mr P.

‘It's always been a quiet place,' said Aye Aye. ‘We used to stay in one of the rest houses.'

They walked to the rear of the monastery where a village woman was cooking small pancakes in hot oil on a wok over a wood fire. An iron pot of Burmese tea was steeping over the coals beside it.

‘Natalie, one of your favourites, I believe,' said Mr P.

‘I love these pancakes, with just a sprinkle of pickle and sometimes dried shrimp,' she said.

Mr P squatted on his heels, and Natalie and Aye Aye sat on low stools as mugs of tea were passed around.

Natalie was munching her third small pancake when a young monk emerged from the monastery and told Aye Aye that the abbot was ready to receive them.

‘We should all pay our respects,' said Mr P. ‘Then it is up to Aye Aye to ask about the kammavaca.'

The wooden floorboards were worn silky smooth. Natalie sat with the others as the abbot and the senior monks chanted their prayers. She glanced to where the wooden pillars, as solid as tree trunks, soared into the dimness above. The musky incense, the flickering candles and the scent of flowers at the base of the Buddha shrine were calming. Aye Aye had handed the kammavaca to the abbot and it sat on the floor in front of him as he continued his prayers.

Natalie felt at peace. Whatever was to come now was nothing to do with her. Her role in this strange pageant was finished. She was comfortable as if she were in familiar surroundings.

When the abbot finished praying and gathered his robes and rose, gesturing them all to follow, Natalie walked with Aye Aye along the carved wooden corridor followed by Mr P.

They moved into a small space cluttered with two very old chests and a dusty glass-doored cabinet with shallow shelves stacked with palm-leaf manuscripts. On the walls were several hangings and paintings that seemed to Natalie to be very old. A thick red mattress and cushions were stacked around a woven floor mat, which clearly served as a table.

The abbot spread the kammavaca before him and spoke to Aye Aye, pointing to illustrations and then the script. He called for a young monk to fetch something for him. When the young monk returned, he placed a bulky parcel wrapped in an old musty carpet in front of the abbot. When the abbot unwrapped it, Natalie caught her breath. Folded neatly inside was a length of deep rusty-red cloth. Natalie guessed that this was probably the same material that had been used to make the pages of the kammavaca.

After intense conversation between Aye Aye and the abbot, Aye Aye bowed. They watched the young monk rewrap the material. The abbot rose and, carrying the kammavaca, his robe folded over his arm, left the room.

Aye Aye turned to Natalie. ‘He says it will take some time to find the meaning of the kammavaca. He will see us again in the morning.'