LITMIR.BIZ

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or no importance; so long as notes be written and despatched at intervals of ten minutes or so during the day, that is sufficient. What finally becomes of these "chits" I cannot pretend to say; whether they are merely taken away and burnt, or whether they have some place in the scheme of creation, I never discovered.

      Nor do I know whether the male population suffers from the same malady. Does the Indian Civilian, seated in his luxurious chamber in that awe-inspiring building of his, does he too spend his life in writing "chits"? Does the "Bombay Burman," in some far off jungle, "alone with nature undisturbed," does he too sit down 'neath the shade of the feathery bamboo, or the all embracing Peepul tree, and write and despatch "chits" to imaginary people, in imaginary houses, in an imaginary town?

      I know not, it is futile to speculate further upon the matter. The mystery of "chit" writing is too deep for me.

      I would gladly have remained longer in Rangoon, but it might not be. Mine was no mere visit of pleasure; I had travelled to Burmah in search of adventure, such as is scarcely to be met with in the garden party, dinner party, and dance life of Rangoon. And so, one hot afternoon, with anxious beating heart, I said "Good bye" to security and civilisation, and set forth on my journey to Mandalay!

      Chapter III

      –

      THE ROAD TO MANDALAY

      –

      "I travelled among unknown men,

      In lands beyond the Sea." – (Wordsworth).

      "Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,

      In colour tho' varied, in beauty may vie." – (Byron).

—

      The distance by rail from Rangoon to Mandalay is 386 miles, and it takes twenty-two hours to accomplish the journey. Trains, like everything else in this leisurely country, are not given to hurrying themselves. "Hasti, hasti, always go hasti" is the motto for Burmah. As an example of the unintelligible nature of the language I may explain that "Hasti" means "slow!"

      It is a pleasant journey however, for the carriages are most comfortable, and the scenery through which the rail passes affords plenty of interest to a new comer.

      I enjoyed my journey, therefore, immensely. I left Rangoon about five o'clock in the afternoon, well provided with books, fruit and chocolates for the journey, and under the protection of a hideous Madrassee Ayah.

      I believe she was in reality a worthy old creature, but she was so exceedingly ugly, so very unintelligible (though most persistent in her efforts at conversation) and so intolerably stupid, that I could not feel much affection for her, and I only consented to put up with her company as a protection against the thieves who haunt the various halting places along the line, ready to steal into carriages and carry away all the portable property of the traveller. I had heard such blood curdling stories of these train thieves that I should have felt quite nervous about undertaking the journey, had I not fortunately disbelieved them.

      I do not for an instant believe my ayah would have been any real protection, for whenever we stopped she was seized with an overpowering hunger, and spent all her time bargaining with the vendors of bananas, huge red prawns, decayed fish, dried fruits, cakes, and other horrible articles, who swarmed upon the stations.

      These delicacies, and others which she prevailed upon my tender heart to buy for her, she wrapped up in a large red pocket handkerchief, and hid under the seat; what was their final fate I cannot pretend to say, but for her sake I trust she didn't eat them.

      She was a much travelled lady and had visited many of the towns along the route, and persisted in waking me up at all odd hours of the night, to point out the houses where her various Mem-Sahibs had lived, or the bungalows inhabited by the commissioners, matters in which I was not at all interested.

      She kept me awake with long rambling stories about her many relations, stories which, as they were told in the most vague and unintelligible "pigeon English" I found it very difficult to understand, but the gist of all was that she was very old and very poor, and she was sure I was a very kind and generous "Missie," and would not fail to reward her handsomely for her services.

      I failed to discover what these same services might be, for beyond fanning me vigorously when I did not require it, and at three o'clock in the morning procuring me from somewhere an unpleasant mixture she called coffee, and which I was obliged to throw secretly out of the window, she did nothing except talk. I suppose she was really no worse than the rest of her tribe, and cannot be blamed for getting as much as she could out of her exceedingly innocent and easily humbugged "missie."

      At the first station at which we stopped, I was much astonished to see all the natives on the platform come and kneel down in the humblest manner round the door of my carriage, and remain there "shekkohing" and pouring forth polite speeches in Burmese, until our train left the station.

      I have never been backward in my high opinion of my own importance, but I hardly expected the fame of my presence to have spread to this distant land, and felt considerably embarrassed, though, of course, highly gratified, by such unexpected tokens of respect.

      I received these attentions at every station with the most royal bows and smiles, until at last, on dismounting from the train at the dining station, I discovered that the carriage next to mine was occupied by a noble Shan Chief and his retinue, and it was to him, not to my insignificant person, that all this homage was paid. I felt quite annoyed at the discovery. He was really such a hideous, yellow, dirty old man, and he sat at the window, surrounded by his wives and attendants, smoking grumpily, and paying not the least attention to the flattering speech of his admirers, who must have been far more gratified by my gracious condescension.

      The chief stared at me a great deal when I passed his window to re-enter my carriage, and shortly after the train was again set in motion he sent one of his wives to inspect me, possibly with a view to offering me a position among the number of his dusky spouses. She opened the door, and stared at me for some time, taking not the slightest notice of my requests that she would withdraw, until she had sufficiently examined me, when she retired as abruptly as she had appeared, and I lost no time in securing the door behind her.

      Evidently her report was not satisfactory, for I have heard no more of the episode. Possibly, she reported that I looked bad tempered; I certainly felt so!

      What a fascinating journey that was. During the first part of the route the country is less interesting, consisting merely of flat stretches of Paddy fields and low jungle scrub. But all this I passed through by night, when the soft moonlight lent a witching beauty to the scene.

      There is something so inexplicably beautiful about night in the east, so comparatively cool, so clear, so quiet, and yet so full of mysterious sound,

      "A little noiseless noise among the leaves,

      Born of the very sigh that silence heaves."

      The cloudless heavens sparkle with a myriad stars, the moonlight seems brighter and more golden than elsewhere, and the noisy, weary, worn old earth hides away her tinsel shams and gaudiness, which the cruel sunlight so pitilessly exposes, and appears grander and nobler under night's kindly sway.

      The scenery in Upper Burmah is exceedingly fine. The great rocky hills, each crowned with its pagoda, rise on all sides, stretching away into the distance till they become only blue shadows. Everywhere are groves of bananas and palm trees, forests of teak and bamboo, and vast tracks of jungle, attired in the gayest colours.

      The pagodas, mostly in a half-ruined condition, are far more numerous here than in Lower Burmah, and raise their white and golden heads from every towering cleft of rock, and every mossy grove. As we neared Mandalay we passed many groups of half-ruined shrines, images and pagodas, covered with moss and creeper, deserted by the human beings who erected them, and visited now only by the birds and other jungle folk, who build their nests and make their homes in the shade of the once gorgeous buildings. They look very picturesque, rising above the tangled undergrowth that surrounds them, but pitifully lonely.

      We stopped at a great number of stations en route. The platforms were always crowded with natives of every description, at all hours of

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