Leik-p'ya! Immortal Butterflies

By Nell Murry

Let us first share the beauty and mystery of this most delicately titled novel, 'Leik-p'ya', for it is here that our story begins. The Burmese word 'Leik-p'ya' is a homonym; it is the word for the beautifully-winged insect; it also means the soul. And since a majority of t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blackheath Publishing
• Release date: Jan 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9783950517071

Book preview

Leik-p’ya! Immortal Butterflies

The Tale of a Shan Family during Burma's Era of  the

British Raj.

Copyright © Nell K. Murry

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 978-3-9505170-8-8

Cover Artist: Original painting on gold leaf by Hiroko Nakamura Thomson. Cover layout and design by Najdan Mancic.

Published by Blackheath Publishing, an imprint of Lakeside Partners GmbH.

Disclaimer

This book is largely a work of biographical fiction, with a few notable exceptions whose names are honored below.

Dr. Dietrich Brandis is a renowned German-British botanist, forestry academic, and administrator. British General Charles Cornwallis was the Earl of Cornwallis, and was succeeded by Lord Wellesley. The East India Company is also named in the book, central is it was to the colonialization and domination of India and Burma.

The real names of my beloved ancestors also appear as the main protagonists of this story. These constitute my grandparents Daw Mair and Oo Aung Hpoo, my parents Nu Nu and George Turner, my elder aunt and uncle Htay and Robert Campbell Paton, my younger aunt Hsaa, aka Daw Aye, my elder uncle Oo Jee Nwair, my younger uncle Oo Lay Shin and the itinerant Anglican priest Padre Caldicott.

Acknowledgements

I am eternally indebted to Dr. Alfred Gerteiny, for his discernment, his recognition of my writing ability, his unshakable belief in my work, his encouragement, his urgings, his advice, his help, his love, and his constancy, and to:

Charles W. Cushman, for reading my manuscript, and for shooting me innumerable questions, requests for clarification, and suggestions. Without his mentoring, friendship and interest, my work would be less than it is.

Hiroko Nakamura Thomson, for enthusiastically embracing my work, bolstering my self-confidence, and for happily painting the beautiful cover of my book, a depiction of the fabled Pagan, Myanmar’s 9th to 13th century capital, now a vast plain of 2000 ruined temples and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Chandra Niles Folsom, for her love, friendship, and moral support, for her generosity in sharing her knowledge of the publishing world with me, and for tirelessly assisting me as I sought to have my book published.

Marceline Thomson, for her thoughtfulness and the sparing of her invaluable time to advise me, both on the steps towards publication of a book, and the pitfalls one should be aware of.

J. Marsh Thomson for nudging me into the writing world when I was unaware of my own writing ability, and for persuading me to take up the pen.

The Nakamura Thomson Clan: Julia Fontana, Joshua Thomson, and Akiko Guevara for their certitude that my book was of good worth. For their conviction of my storytelling prowess, for their bottomless well of appreciation in the goodness of others, for their willingness to help everyone, and not least, for their abiding affection.

I especially wish to single out Akiko Thomson Guevara for her inspired insight in linking me to my publisher Blackheath Publishing, a company that specializes in ground-breaking fiction, science, and educational books.

My four sons and their families for their unfailing moral support, love, and encouragement.

I have saved my final kudos, admiration, and everlasting gratitude for Dr. Elesa Zehndorfer, an academic, multi-award-winning writer, editor, publisher, and light-hearted spirit for her keen insight in politics, finance, leadership and in the role of sports in children’s learning development. For her perceptive recognition of my work as worthy of publication, for giving it her personal attention, for eliminating its many flaws and giving it a place in the wonderful world of books!

Thankyou all.

A m’yaa  jee  chay  zoo  tin  ba  thee

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant.

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,

that you may become sacred bread for God's

sacred feast.

On Love, Kahlil Gibran

For my sons

Raymond Earl Jr., Paul Marsden,

Neil Michael and Timothy Paton

Chapter One

My grandmother was named Black.  Not that Mair cared one way or the other.  In her Buddhist world, the astrologer commissioned to prepare the newborn's horoscope usually exercised his privilege of naming the child. He did so by choosing a name in keeping with the infant's character, as delineated by the horoscope.  This particular holy man had a singular lack of imagination. Black was all he could think of, so Black she became, for she was Monday-born, and her traits were those of her ruling sign, the tiger. It was quick to anger and its moods black, but its spirit was strong and free, and it was fierce and unafraid.  This was Mair. How the holy man divined her character when she was but a few days old is arcane information, suffice to say he couldn't have been more accurate.

Mair was attractive; her light brown skin glowed with health and her long, black hair—gleaming with a touch of coconut oil—was coiffed in the manner of royalty.  Pulled to the top of her head, it was knotted firmly, then the remaining fall of hair was twisted, carefully wound around and around flat on her head, and finally secured with hairpins.  A tiny comb, a crescent of ivory, was tucked just in front of the coiffure.  With her back erect and her head held high, the whole effect, though severe, was definitely regal. 

Mair cared little for such vanities as good looks; it never occurred to her—or to anyone else for that matter—to think of herself as pretty.  As for feminine wiles, she had none. So, it came as a surprise when the slender, scholarly Aung Hpoo came to pay court.  Why he chose her, she never knew, but pragmatically refused to fathom his reasons.  It was enough that she liked him, this agreeable young man who turned her black moods around with subtle persuasion and gentle good humor. 

Besides, Aung Hpoo’s family ties were impeccable, his father having been the Hsen-we Saw-bwa’s cousin, which in the eyes of the Kune Tai or Shans, was no less than being the prince’s brother.

Of course, she knew he was not rich, for Hpoo had revealed that he had received only a small inheritance from his father, just enough seed money; but since Mair’s parents had promised to buy them a couple of small paddy fields wherever they should choose to settle, Mair decided that would be a fair start. No young couple could ask for more.

So Mair and Aung Hpoo were married, and drawn to the adjoining Kachin State, Mair left her Nam-khan home with its royal links.   She and Hpoo crossed some 60 miles of mountainous terrain and settled by the Great Elephant River, the Irrawaddy.

Mair was proud of her husband.  He was everything she was not.  She lacked gentleness and went about life with such a will, that she often wondered why she had not incarnated a man.  This life must certainly be a lesson for my soul, she told herself, and so dutifully fulfilled her role as wife and mother. In so doing, she found herself loving this good man, and he became the center of her life. 

Hardly demonstrative, Mair smiled little but generally abided by her husband’s decisions.  He had a way with him. He discussed all matters with her, answered her sharp questions and gently steered her to his views; and at night, theirs was a bed inflamed with passion…as well as a time for stories…he told Mair about his beginnings, his ancestry, and oh, how avidly she listened!

Chapter Two

Hpoo was deeply attached to his father, Khun Hsing Thaik. He had been a well-known healer in Chieng Rai, Siam. A spiritual man, he had been given to long days of hermitic sequestration, meditation, prayer, and writing. It was said that he was proficient in the magic arts, both white and black; that his herbal concoctions and incantations could heal the sick; that his poultices could cure sores and wounds, and his gentle manipulations restore broken bones; that his love-potions could secure the love of a desired one, and that his spells could drive a person insane. All this knowledge he painstakingly wrote down on sheets of hand-made paper and carefully bound them into a book.

Khun Hsing Thaik had ten sons and a daughter. Aware of his mortality, he observed each of his children and daily asked himself which one he should groom to be the heir of his work. His deep concern was that his learning be used only for good, for he knew that the black arts with their tantalizing potential for riches, could, not only cause harm, but also corrupt the person administering it. That was not the heritage he had in mind for his children. So, he studied them one by one, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, their good and bad traits. In time, he focused on his seventh son, the studious Aung Hpoo.

His selection made, he unobtrusively began to train the boy, asking him to perform this or that chore, inviting him to accompany him to the forest to collect mushrooms, bark, and wild berries. Hpoo was always willing. Khun Hsing Thaik would invite his other sons too, but cannily knew they would balk; the boys preferred the sunny town to the dark, dank, insect-infested jungle; they reveled in boisterous games with neighborhood boys and the older ones, the company of dimpled, flirtatious girls. Sometimes, they would even slip surreptitiously away to avoid being called upon by their father. Soon it was only Hpoo who would accompany him on his forays. They would camp in the jungles, gather what they would and then smoke and dry their harvest. Sometimes the two of them would lie quietly in the bushes, watch animals, and Khun Hsing Thaik would point out the ones whose horns or hooves could provide medicine for rashes, sores, and wounds. And there, in the peace of the jungle, sitting under a large banyan tree, Hpoo learned to meditate.

Father and seventh son bonded deeply, and one night while warming themselves by the dancing flames of a comforting fire, Khun Hsing Thaik told Hpoo about his book.

My son, I love my children equally, he began, and when I die, I want my family to remain united, so this is what I’m going to do: to Mother and your little sister, I will leave my house, the property on which it stands and all their personal jewelry. My money, gold, silver, and jewelry will be divided equally among Mother and my eleven children; but my agricultural lands will be shared only by Mother and my ten children.

Hpoo raised a quizzical eyebrow but remained silent. His father continued, You will not receive any land Hpoo, because I am giving you a far greater treasure, my knowledge. Because of this, you must move far, far away, back to where our family originated. You must give me your word on this.

You’ll give me your book? exclaimed Hpoo. Oo-how, Father ours, that is indeed a great inheritance! But why will I have to leave our family and home? Even our country!

"Because, my son, the results of my work can cause both good and evil. Unfortunately, that which can bring about evil commands the higher price and will promise riches. The temptation to use it will be very great. Therefore, my work must not fall into the wrong hands, nor must it be shared with anyone.

"You see Hpoo, when your brothers realize the power and riches this arcane knowledge can generate, they will insist on sharing the book. When you refuse them, dissension will ensue, and our family will be splintered. I cannot allow this, nor will I have any of my children corrupted. No one must see or copy any page of my book, except you, and you alone.

To ensure this, you will have to leave Chieng Rai as soon as I am under the sod.

"I know, I know, you have many questions. You’re wondering why in the first place; I did not do away with the spells that can so easily be exploited for evil.

"They were chance discoveries my son. As I experimented trying to find ways to bring about good, these developed, and as any good scientist, I tested and recorded everything, so that I would not repeat the formulae.

When death approaches, I will give you, my book. Use it wisely and never charge for any cures you may affect.

Hpoo protested, How then will I earn if I cannot charge for my doctoring!

Don’t worry, his father replied, for life will compensate you.

Nonplussed, Hpoo remained silent. His father then requested him to promise that he would depart Siam immediately after his death.

Bid Mother and your kin farewell, leave Chieng Rai while in harmony with everyone and travel to the place of my people, the Tai Yai or Greater Thai, Khun Hsing Thaik advised his son. "Go to Hsen-we in Shan-pyi. My

second cousin is the Saw-bwa there. Our ties are strong, and he will welcome you. That country is where you are destined to serve."

A Tay, if you are Tai Yai, why has our family lived in Yo-da-ya and not in Ba-mar P’yi?

It is a long story my son and goes all the way back to 1763, replied his father.

"At that time, the Burmese King Alaung-Hpa-Ya, being warlike, dispatched two of his renowned generals to take Siam. One of them, Naimyo Thi-ha-pati, recruited a group of highland Shan chieftains to assist him in the endeavor. My great, great grandfather was one of those chieftains, and accompanying him was his second son, Hsang Hsam Thaik, my great grandfather, then twenty years old.

"First, the city of Chieng Mai fell, and then Lanna, the ancient kingdom now known as Northern Siam. Time passed, Lanna changed hands again, the Burmese and Shans returned home, and peace reigned.

"Many years later, in 1780, beguiled by the memory of beautiful Lanna, my great grandfather Hsang Hsam Thaik and his friend Shway Liu, son of another highborn family, immigrated to Siam with their families. They settled in Chieng Rai and prospered.

"Hsang Hsam Thaik’s son, my grandfather, was seventeen years old at the time. When he was twenty-two, he married Shway Liu’s daughter, my

grandmother. Their son, my father, was sent home to Hsen-we at eighteen to renew family ties.

"Two years later, he wed my mother, the sister of the Maha Devi of Hsen-we. The sisters’ great grandfather had been none other than one of the Shan chieftains who had participated in the conquest of Lanna.

I was born in Hsen-we and brought to Chieng Rai strapped to my nurse’s back when I was but a babe.

What’s a Maha Devi? asked Hpoo.

That’s the title given to the wife of a saw-bwa or Shan chieftain.

So, we are closely related to saw-bwas?

Indeed Hpoo, responded his father stoking up the fire and sending myriad sparks into the dark night.

And mother? queried the boy.

Ours was an arranged marriage, replied his father. Mother is the Yawng-whe Saw-bwa’s niece. She was a shy sixteen when I was invited to pay court and as you can see, it was a good match.

Did you return to Shan-pyi for the wedding?

"Actually, I did not. Her uncle, the Saw-bwa, was on a diplomatic visit to the Siamese Court, and he brought her with him. Since our wedding plans were complete, we were married within a couple of weeks of their arrival. Her uncle left immediately after. Your mother was stricken and terrified at being left among strangers; so, I was gentle and extra kind to her, and soon she clung to me and settled down nicely.

But I digress, said Khun Hsing Thaik. I want you to promise me that you will leave Chieng Rai upon my death; that you will go to Shan-pyi, the land of our ancestors. Hpoo promised.

When the day came a few years later, Hpoo could not bring himself to leave Chieng Rai. His six older brothers were married with children and had homes of their own, his three younger brothers were still boys, and his beloved sister, a mere child. He considered it his duty to care for his bereaved mother and siblings. Father will understand, he told himself, but it wasn’t long before he regretted his procrastination.

It began innocently enough. His oldest brother and wife came to visit one evening, and as the family sat drinking tea, his brother queried their mother, Mare-how, didn’t Oo-how write a book about his work? About healing and the other arts? He then suggested that she might let him have the book so that he and his brothers could put it to use.

When his mother denied having the book, or even knowing its whereabouts, suspicion immediately pointed to Hpoo. He was, after all, the brother who spent the most time with their father learning about healing herbs and the scriptures; also, wasn’t it curious that Father had not left him a share of his agricultural lands?

Hpoo feigned innocence. He explained that their father knew of his wish to explore Ba-mar-pyi, of his intention to emigrate from Chieng Rai, and for that reason had not left him a land inheritance; that should he later return, he was to inherit his mother’s rice fields. His brother would not accept the explanation.

Later, the matter of the book was discussed by the brothers, they were convinced Hpoo had it and took to visiting almost every day. Inevitably, the subject of the book would arise, arguments would escalate, and Hpoo realized their father’s prediction was coming true.

Regretting his procrastination, he spent evenings feverishly studying his father’s book. He tore out the pages that dealt with mind control, with spells that aroused the passions and the recipes for love and hate potions; and then painstakingly copied the good parts that were lost with the torn-out pages.

Late one night, after a convivial visit from one of his brothers had deteriorated into a particularly contentious quarrel, Hpoo took decisive action. He retrieved the book from its hiding place and stole away into the deep woods. There, in the depths of darkness, witnessed only by curious nocturnal creatures, he built a fire, undid the silk wrappings from around the precious book, removed the torn-out pages, and before he could change his mind, quickly burned that part of his father’s legacy. He listened to the pages hiss and crackle; he watched them blacken at the edges, curl and flame and sighed only when soft, white ashes remained. He scattered them with a leafy branch obliterating all traces of the fire, and then went home overwhelmed by a great sadness.

Several mornings later, Hpoo packed a small hpah, rolled his bedroll, made obeisance to his mother, and joined a group of traders leaving for Ba-mar P’yi. Remembering his father’s words, Go to Hsen-we my Son, for you will be welcome there, Hpoo set his internal compass for the Shan States of Burma.

The journey was arduous. Traveling sometimes by bullock cart, sometimes by pony and at other times by covered sampan, the group wound its way into Ba-mar P’yi with many stops at border villages for rest, trading, and supplies. It was several weeks before a sun-burned and insect-bitten Hpoo arrived in Ba-mar P’yi. To say that he was well-received by the Hsen-we Saw-bwa was no exaggeration; he enjoyed his cousin’s hospitality for several months.

Once well rested, Hpoo thought to see more of this beautiful land of his ancestors and left Hsen-we for the Northern Shan States. There in the State of Nam-khan, he met his destiny, Mair.

His wife sighed when Hpoo came to the end of his story. She had longed to know, and now that she did, silently vowed she would always keep her husband’s rice-bowl full. She would thus provide him with the freedom to practice his spirituality and his doctoring.

By the first anniversary of their marriage, Mair had given Hpoo his firstborn, a son. He was named Shay Toe, ‘the one who forges ahead’. In time, a tiny girl followed; the astrologer predicted she would be rich in money and wisdom, so he named her Htay, meaning ‘rich.’ Two years later came another little girl, the wide-nosed and creamy-complexioned Hsaah, the salt of the earth; and when a second boy was born, he was, prophetically, called Nwair, the entwining one. 

Hpoo loved his family; he loved them with a deep and abiding love, and everything he did was spurred by that love. He built their house, one of bamboo and thatch, but one strong and secure enough to withstand the elements; it was a haven, an oasis of joy. He built a large byre for their oxen, and he constructed their granaries; first a small, two-room one; then added another room; and another; and another; and yet another; and then he erected a final structure, one as long and low as the existing structures, but with a difference; it had but one room, a room that seemed to stretch on forever.

Time flew, and Hpoo began to tire of the constant construction. He wondered Was this all there was to life?

His wife amazed him. She buzzed around all day, every day, speaking to her laborers, instructing them, running to her fields, inspecting them, organizing irrigation canals, organizing the planting, the transplanting, the harvests, the celebrations; experimenting with crop rotation; planting potatoes, and on and on, forever busy! Did she never think of anything else? Of scripture, prayers, and meditation? He longed to discuss these things with her, but she had little time for them. His spirit was unsettled and could find no surcease.

Chapter Three

Hpoo’s restlessness grew.  After spending years caring for the sick of his community, and doing nothing much else but construction work, he was bored. He wondered at his wife.  Did nothing ever take her mind off her rice fields?  Did she never experience the emptiness which so often left him yearning and seeking? But for what, he really did not know.

He awakened every morning at four. Today, as usual, he roused his daughters as soon as he opened his eyes; there were chores to be done.  They would start by going to the well some distance away, help their maid carry water for the day's needs, and then they would attend the monastery school.

It pained him to see his slim, dainty girls flex their knees, pick up a narrow yoke of pliant bamboo, a two-gallon tin suspended at each end and place it across their shoulders; he’d take in their arms automatically stretching out to steady the yoke; he’d watch them bounce rhythmically as they returned from the well, their tins full, their hips swaying, and their slender bodies bent under the heavy load.  He would note how the water sloshed out of the tins and caused their lone-jees to cling wetly to their strong, shapely legs.

By now, the two girls, Htay and Hsaah were well adjusted to the chore.  Hpoo had begun their training when they were tiny, placing miniature bamboo yokes—with toy buckets hanging from each end—across their shoulders.  It had been a game, and the children enjoyed accompanying their maid to the well.  Now their shoulders had toughened and could support the four-gallon weight.  He was proud of their achievement and pleased that their shoulders were still smooth, neither bruised nor callused. 

Hpoo reflected that he would stop his girls from carrying water as soon as they became young adults.  He would open a dry goods shop for them as befitted young ladies of good family.  Gainfully employed at a respectable trade, they would attract desirable marriages.  But now, in their adolescence, they needed the discipline of daily chores.  It would inculcate in them a life-long respect for laborers and hard labor.  His wife had a special rapport with her workers; she had earned their respect through hers for their dignity.  He admired her ability and knew he must instill this virtue into his children.  Sighing, he led the girls into the living room.  Prayers always began the day.

Hpoo knelt before the altar, rested on his heels, and brought his hands prayerfully together at his forehead.  Votives flickered in the gloom, throwing light and shadow onto his solemn face as he prayed.  Behind him, with prayer stoles over their shoulders, his daughters also fell into a prayerful position and began their supplications. Their murmured prayers fell as sibilant whispers about Hpoo’s ears like gently rustling leaves. Quickly done, the girls rose and silently slipped away to begin the day's work. Only Hpoo remained, alone with his god, his spiritual yearnings, and his emptiness.

The early morning darkness cupped Hpoo's loneliness like a cocoon, and bore into itself, the melodic chant of his prayers:

Life is impermanent; egoistic desire leads only to suffering and woe, to blind striving, he chanted.  I will follow the Eightfold Path, entertaining only right knowledge, right aspirations, right behavior, right mindfulness, and right absorption; I will perform only right actions, make right efforts, do right work, and meditate daily. I will not destroy life, will not take what isn't given, I will refrain from illicit sexual relationships, from false speech and from intoxicants that cause heedlessness....

The days flew, and fast upon their heels came the rains; falling in a steady downpour, they obliterated the sun for days at a time.  The newly ploughed paddy-fields were inundated ankle-deep, and when a weak sun emerged, its sharp, pointed beams turned them into flat, unmoving sheets of slate-gray glass.  The sunshine never lasted longer than three consecutive days before ominous skies would empty their contents once more onto an already saturated earth. It was good for Mair’s paddy fields.

Sitting down to breakfast, Hpoo looked out at the steadily falling rain and mused that soon, there would be many people ill with shivering fevers and alternating sweats.  It was that time of the year.

Breakfast was a meal the whole family enjoyed.  Today, it was bowls of flat, home-made rice noodles in scalding fish soup garnished with chopped spring onions and cilantro.  No one ever dawdled over a meal, and conversation was kept at a minimum, for it was a time for eating, not talking.  The great, Ali Baba water jars may have been filled but other chores waited.

Shay ah, call on the transplanters today to remind them of their commitment to help us this season, Mair instructed her son as she put down her emptied bowl and chopsticks.

Aw aw Mare-how, yes Mother-ours, he obliged, and listened carefully as she enumerated the names of the laborers to be contacted. 

Remember my son, be polite; specifically say 'Mother asked me to come by to see that you are well and that you will come on Monday to help us with the transplanting.'  Don't baldly say, 'Don't forget to appear for work on Monday morning.' Instead, remind them politely that we would appreciate their help, and that we will, of course, provide lunch, tea, and snacks.

By village tradition, people did not job-seek.  They were approached by prospective employers and courteously asked to come and help.  True, the villagers were poor, but their lifestyle was simple, their needs few.

Generally speaking, each villager had his cozy, thatched hut on a small fenced-in plot.  Here, he grew vegetables and the ubiquitous dun-de-lun and hsu-boke trees, whose leaves, combined with fish broth, cooked up into nourishing soups.  A few chickens scratching around the yard translated into meat and eggs, and fishing in the not-too-distant river was good.  True, most of the fish caught were small, and not really good for eating, but smoke-dried over the hearth, they boiled up into delicious broth that formed the base of most soups.

Still, there were other things to buy, rice, the occasional viss of pork, cooking oil and kerosene for lamps, also blankets for the cold season and new clothes for the festivals. So, everyone gladly worked. Nevertheless, the people were meticulous where dignity and courtesy were concerned.  Few broke tradition and all waited to be asked.

So, the day began, Shay setting off to visit the laborers, and Hpoo to see one of the sick villagers.

Mair opened the door, looked out at the rain, and quickly shut it again as some drops splashed by her.  Noting a nearby leak, she kicked a bucket under it, while also addressing her husband. Must you go out this morning? You have just recovered from your cold and it’s pouring rain; the next thing you know, you'll become the patient and not the doctor.

Hson has the bird fever, and perhaps I can be of help, Hpoo replied, reaching for a large, bamboo-ribbed, brown-lacquered parasol. Also, his uncle is home from Mo-nyin, and I would like to get some news.

Mair wasn't pleased.  Mo-nyin was jadeite country.  She had no wish for her husband to be caught in the vortex of gem-fever.  Too many men had already left and had been swallowed up by this land so distant and alien.  But she said nothing.  It wasn't of any use to give Ko Hpoo ideas.

Hpoo unfurled the parasol, and rolling up his wide-legged trousers, set out to visit his patient.

Hson's wife was anxiously awaiting Hpoo.  She led him up the stairs of their little hut built on stilts, and into the dark interior where Hson lay shivering with fever. There was nothing between him and the smooth, split-

bamboo floor, but a thin pallet covered with a patchwork sheet.  A mountain of blankets and a patchwork quilt atop the ill man seemed not to warm him. Hpoo sat on his haunches beside the patient and touched his face and forehead.  His skin felt abnormally hot and dry. He asked, Does Hson sweat after his bout of shivering?

Oh yes, he does! was the reply.

It's the bird fever all right, Hpoo told the anxious woman.  It's that time of the year.  Sponge him with warm, guava-leaf broth, exposing only the body-part that you are sponging; then give him hot broccoli-rabe tea to sip.  Let him drink as much as he can, and when his fever subsides, feed him some rice and chicken gruel; and remember, he must not eat any sour-bird plantains this season.  There is no medicine for the bird fever, but we can keep the fever down, and nourish and hydrate his body so he can fight the fevers; and please keep him in his mosquito net all the time.

Hson's wife protested.  In the daytime? There aren't any mosquitoes.

Your house is dark, Hpoo soothed.  There may be a stray mosquito or two and Hson mustn't be bitten....

Why Saya Hpoo?

When the rainy season arrives, the mosquitoes arrive too, people start to fall ill in large numbers and always with bird fever.  Does it not strike you that there may be a connection?  Whatever, bird fever brings enough suffering in itself, so the patient needs as much rest as possible.  His sleep shouldn't be disturbed by biting insects.

The woman nodded her agreement and thought how wise Saya Hpoo was.

Clean up your yard, Hpoo continued.  Be sure there is no water in discarded pots, in broken fictile vessels, in drinking troughs, or pooling in trashed banana leaves. Mosquitoes breed in stagnant water, and the less of them we have, the better. 

Then just before dusk, fill an open terracotta bowl with dried tobacco leaves, light them, and smoke your house to rid it of the pests.  But be sure you do it before dusk.  Mosquitoes arrive to feed at dusk, and once they have settled down, they won't budge for any reason!  On the other hand, if they find the atmosphere noxious upon their arrival, they will not alight but will detour elsewhere.  We have to outwit the mosquito!

The woman laughed and thought she would try anything to keep those pests away.  Their bites itched so fiercely.

Hpoo left his patient and joined Hson's uncle, who was sitting beneath the house on a low stool.  He was sipping green tea and eating an appetizer of pickled tea leaves.

Come, come, sit down, Oo Hpo Aung welcomed, gesturing toward another low stool facing him.  He poured Hpoo a cup of tea, and offered him the hors d'oeuvre, fresh, oil-preserved tea leaves mixed with crisp, toasted dried peas, lima beans, and peanuts; golden circlets of French-fried garlic; toasted sesame seeds; cooked peanut oil; salt and a squeeze of lime.  Hpoo took a pinch with his fingers and tasted it.  It was good!  He took another pinch, then slurped his hot tea, savoring its pungent flavor.  Excellent! he thought.

So, Uncle, what has brought you home? he queried.

The family, what else?  Oo Hpo Aung answered.  "I wanted to see them and bring them some money.  After all, what am I in Mo-nyin for, so far

away from my family?  Just for our prosperity...so my family may enjoy life a little."

Aw aw, Hpoo agreed, helping himself to another pinch of the la-hpet, the tea-leaf appetizer. Tell me about Mo-nyin, he begged.

"Well, it's a small town, and primitive at the mine site; but it is full of promise for the man unafraid of hard labor. Certainly, a claimholder will undergo severe deprivation, but there is plenty of land and a mother lode of jadeite there, so what else can I say? One could make a fortune or break his back trying!  One way or the other, you should come try your luck.

I tell you Hpoo, the jadeite is beautiful!  Rubies and sapphires, everyone and his brother are mining those in Mo-goke, but jadeite? The Mo-nyin areas are relatively untapped!  I have a small claim; I could mine more, but I have all the work I can do, and I'm not greedy.  Besides, I'm an old man, he shrugged his shoulders gesturing with his gnarled hands.  I want to take Hson with me, but he is too attached to his wife, and she isn't a pioneer.  So, I share my largess with them, and we are content.

Hpoo’s spirit stirred.  Perhaps a new venture was what he needed.  He loved his wife and children, but he needed some income-producing work of his own.  Mair worked the rice fields and prospered.  He really had no part of that.  He had been too busy supervising the building of their home, their granaries, helping people in their illnesses, collecting medicinal plants, growing herbs, and studying the scriptures.

People looked up to him, and called him Saya-jee, teacher/doctor, but his activities earned nothing.  So, the more Hpoo thought about the idea, the more he liked it.

Oo Hpo Aung was scheduled to return to Mo-nyin within a month, and he, Hpoo, would leave with him.  He would have to tell Mair at once.

Chapter Four

Mair was angry.  Lunacy, she exploded.  "You, a respected leader of the community, a family man with children, traipsing off into the jungles far from civilization, for what?  For what!

It’s not as if we need the money!  We have enough.  What will I do?  Who will help me if we have to build more granaries?  You know those carpenters need close supervision.  Do you care so little for us that you would leave us unprotected to go adventuring?  God knows what you’ll find in Mo-nyin!  You’ll die there!  She slammed down some dishes on the table, sending several chopsticks clattering to the floor.

There was no appeasing Mair.  She ranted daily.  There was a wound deep in her heart, and her fury helped mask its awful pain.  She could not understand what had got into Hpoo, and she told herself again and again that his family couldn’t mean very much to him if he could pick up so easily and leave for who-knows-how-long.

Hpoo ignored Mair’s anger.  He went about his preparations methodically as if all were normal.  The children were like wraiths, speaking little and disappearing silently when their parents came together.

Mair could not eat and on the fourth day, exhausted by her futile arguments, sat staring at the walls, doing nothing, tears slowly streaming down her smooth cheeks.

Hpoo felt her anguish and was touched.  He stood close beside her, caressing her with his aura.  Mair’s skin tingled