the members of the Sacred Order are ranged in a doable
line, their faces passionless, or bent in prayer. Before
the relic case, a group of aged men in white muslin,
with the saintly faces that Burmans develop in old age,
sit in an inner circle, their silvery hair and white fillets
conspicuous in the midst of the crowd that fills the
rest of the hall. What a crowd it is! First the men
in white coats and silken tartans and head fillets, never
worn before, and lustrous in their freshness, in colours
of the dawn. 1 hen behind them, filling the wide outer
circles, women with coils of glossy black hair, lit with
fresh flowers; soft silks and velvet thrown over their
shoulders, pyramids of diamonds on their fingers, their
small, bare feet turned up to the light behind.
A low, resonant voice the while repeats the holy
text, and at intervals the whole company, with folded
hands, and fluttering paper pennons, and bowed heads,
joins in the audible devotion.
And outside, across the open court, the small boys
race and laugh, and no one is worried by their laughter.
The old are here to pray, and to ponder on the
sadness, the transitoriness, and* the illusion of life ;
the young to play and laugh in the sunlight. Of them
(as indeed in all their other relations) these people are
tolerant. For every one, it would seem, there is room.
A few paces away, and under the very gleam of the
pagoda, large cauldrons are set over a fire, and rice
for the assembled company of the religious is being
cooked. Overhead the bells tinkle and palm-leaves
rustle in the wind. The pagoda is built upon the
588
summit of the hill, and the world that expands from it
is of rare and great beauty. From where these people
are seated at prayer, there is unfolded between each
of the golden pillars and the carved eaves of the
tazoung a picture
of wide p l a in s , ;
yellow wi t h the
ripening harvest
of green villages
under the shelter
of great trees, of
winding rivers and
straight highways,
of mountains flung
in fantastic forms
on the level spaces.
P' r o m t h e town
below a stream of
worshippers flows
up and down the
steep, wi n d i n g
stairs; old men,
who laugh at each
other for getting
blown ; pretty women
TH E LIMESTONE CAVES AT MOULMEIN
in silks of delicate hues ; and flower-like children
who climb, holding their sandals in their hands out
of reverence for the sacred place.
The view from Moulmein Hill is famous in Burma,
and its praises are for ever on the lips of its people.
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