Lifting the veil of The Glass Palace

An excerpt from The River Of Lost Footsteps by Thant Myint-U:

“When the telegram reached the palace saying that the English had sailed past Pagan, the king had begun to assume the worst… He ordered his minister for war, the Lord of Taingdar, to ready fifty elephants, fitted out with the king’s howdahs. Everyone was told to be prepared to leave: government officials of all ranks, the ladies of the court, his elite Natshin-yway bodyguard… the hundreds of servants and retainers, royal sword bearers and umbrella carriers, as well as his two little daughters… and his wife and queen, Supayalat… But others told him that running away would do no good…

“Edward Sladen climbed up the whitewashed stone steps and into the dark and thickly carpeted inner rooms of the palace. Escorted by the Kinwun, he walked quickly to where the king was sitting…Thibaw received him and at first spoke nervously, asking the Englishman if he remembered their earlier meetings. And then, mustering as much courage as possible, he looked at the Englishman and said, in a very formal and impressive manner: ‘I surrender myself and my country to you.’”

Thus did the last King of Ava precipitate almost a century of humiliation for the country now known as Myanmar.

This slice of history gripped my mind as we rose majestically over the horizon at the crack of dawn. As the rising sun’s rays gently crept over the countryside, we slowly made out the endless plain where thousands of temples of all sizes and architectural styles were spread out before us like a string of pearls carelessly strewn about by a profligate spouse. I was in Bagan, capital of the first kingdom to mould the regions around it into a state which eventually became Myanmar. Here from the 9th to the 13th centuries the antecedents of the hapless Thibaw, the Mranma, migrated from the southern Chinese kingdom of Nanzhao and rose in power and wealth until their state, along with the Khmer, became one of two Southeast Asian empires — the empire of Bagan. The culture of Bagan was dominated by religion and, as proof of their piety, the rulers and wealthy citizens of Bagan built approximately 1,000 stupas, 10,000 temples and 3,000 monasteries dedicated to the Buddha. Two thousand two hundred of these have survived and are still in use and, in this cold misty morning, lay beneath us as we floated serenely over them in our balloons.

Like a leaf tossed about in a raging river, Myanmar has been caught in the historic tides and currents of the twentieth century. After it reached its apogee with its conquest of Ayutthaya, the kingdom of Ava slumped into a slow decline which culminated in its conquest by the British and then humiliatingly becoming an appendage to the British Raj in India. It was when the country was overrun by the Japanese during the Second World War that the seeds of an indigenous independence movement came to full flower under the leadership of the charismatic general Aung San, father of Nobel Prize winner Suu Kyi. The country finally gained its independence after the war and, for a brief period of 14 years, Burma was a fledgling democracy whose considerable natural resources made it a candidate for First World status. But it collapsed under the weight of political and ethnic infighting, worsened by a Communist insurgency snipping at its heels. Then the army took over and an isolationist, Socialist gloom descended upon the country.

When the Socialist edifice finally broke wide open with the Suu Kyi’s release from prison and the transfer from military to civilian rule, the time had come for a visit and I organized a tour to the four main tourist attractions of Myanmar; the capital Yangon, Mandalay, Bagan and Inle Lake.

Yangon, despite the flurry of economic activity and a large influx of foreigners over the last few years, is still a city frozen in time. The city’s dusty and decrepit center with its beautiful but shabby and woefully maintained colonial era buildings, its leafy rutted roadways, its flickering electricity, its ancient automobiles, its stately mansions fronted by open sewers are a throwback to the 1950s. Nevertheless, the seeds of a renaissance are there and ready to germinate. Yangon, with proper planning and a healthy respect for its past, could become a gleaming retro capital in sharp contrast to the generic modern cities of today. Certainly this renaissance will be anchored by the sublime and fantastic Shwedagon Pagoda which dominates the city skyline.

Legend has it that two merchant brothers came upon the Buddha meditating under a tree and begged for relics. The Buddha stroked his head and gave the brothers eight hairs which they brought back to Myanmar. The relics were enshrined in a golden pagoda which has been enlarged and embellished by a succession of monarchs and ordinary citizens over the past 2,500 years. In its current incarnation, Shwedagon is 105 meters tall and is sheathed in one-square-foot sheets of gold from top to bottom. The amount of gold on the spire alone is estimated to be over three tons. The gold banner atop the spire is embedded with 83,850 precious gems while the orb atop the banner is covered with 4,351 diamonds weighing 1,800 carats. Set on top of the orb is a 76-carat solitaire diamond. The entire pagoda is surrounded by innumerable pavilions and shrines with one prevailing color scheme: gold. All told, Shwedagon alone is reason enough to visit Myanmar.

Inle Lake is the second largest fresh water lake in Myanmar with a surface area of 45 square miles. Here fishermen go about their business standing on one leg at the stern of their boats while rowing with the other leg tied to an oar. Others tend to floating gardens of vegetables and fruit, created by gathering seaweed from the deeper parts of the lake which are then converted into floating beds anchored by bamboo poles. Small villages, temples, pagodas and stores selling gems and other local products, all of them on stilts, are sprinkled on the lake’s periphery. Traveling to Inle, whose inhabitants live a way of life unchanged for centuries, is like piercing a hole through the wall of time.

For me though, the Myanmar destination with the most resonance is Mandalay, once the capital of the Kingdom of Ava. Amidst the pagodas and monasteries and the stores teeming with the arts and crafts of the region stands a 413-hectare citadel surrounded by a 64-meter-wide moat and surrounding walls totaling 2,000 meters punctuated by turrets with gold tipped spires. The palace with its exotic buildings (one of whose walls features mirror mosaics, hence the name The Glass Palace) and multi-tiered roofs burned to the ground during the Second World War. The only reminder of the palace’s splendor is the intricately carved Shwenandaw Monastery which was once a royal apartment. It was in this palace in Mandalay that Thibaw surrendered his country to the British and from where he was spirited away to a long exile in India. Thibaw died in genteel poverty, unable to fend for himself after having squandered away the treasure that he brought with him into exile. One of his daughters ran away with their Indian driver and their daughter, illiterate and penniless, lives in the slums of India. His queen Supayalat, who in her early days was rumoured to have assassinated up to 100 potential claimants to the throne, managed to return to Myanmar and is now buried at the foot of the Shwedagon Pagoda.

Peering at the citadel from afar, one can almost blow away the mists and vapors of time and go back to that half-imagined kingdom ruled by a lonely wisp of a  man, a spectre whose crown and country were seized from him and  who has then thrown into the dustbin of history. It was here that this country’s heart was ripped out, still beating, from its breast. The country has been trying to fill the void ever since.