Once in a Lifetime Experience (non-fiction)
It was like standing on burning coal. My watch showed me it was 1:30pm, and the midday sun was powerfully radiating all its energy on the earth. The white tiles on the pagoda reflected the sunlight so we felt like blindness seized our eyes for a while. My only companion, Thinzar, and I quickly put on sunglasses. The sound of a monk steadily reading religious sermons prevailed in the atmosphere. We also heard complaints of the intense heat from the group of pilgrims who trotted past us. It was definitely not the favorable time for a majority of Myanmar citizens to visit the sacred Shwedagon pagoda. Neither did we want to come. However, now was a special time when the fifteen day long religious ceremony was greatly held to celebrate the 2600th annual of the existence of Buddha and his teachings (thar-tha-nar) and that of Shwedagon pagoda. The fact that such a sacred occasion occurring only once in a hundred year’s time beckoned almost 60million people nationwide to come to Shwedagon day and night to pay offer to the pagoda. The fifteen day long ceremony began from 22nd of February until 7th of March. In the evenings, monks renowned all over Myanmar read sermons in the vast enclosure at the Eastern entrance to the pagoda. There was also a big festival with vendors selling traditional Myanmar snacks, pictures of Shwedagon, cold drinks, clothes and books, held in the East, West, South and North entrances(moke) towards the pagoda, making them blocked and packed with visitors every evening starting from 4 to 5pm until midnight.
We finally found out that the hot afternoon hours were relatively the best time to visit the pagoda without the bustle of huge crowds of pilgrims. “Are you sure you’re ok? Actually we won’t stay here for long, just about an hour,” I said. “I’m fine. Told you I wanna come, too. Don’t worry. I took some medicine for it,” she said. Thinzar had had some bouts of loose motion since that morning, probably because of the vegetable salad she had eaten the previous night, she said. She, nevertheless, had actively volunteered to join me in visiting the pagoda despite the frequent bouts.
Buddhists believe that a new Buddha becomes enlightened in every 5,000years. His teachings (thar-tha-nar) to people on earth to attain nirvana after their death are also believed to persist for 5,000 years until the next new Buddha comes into being. Now we are under the reign of Lord Gautama, the fourth Buddha in the history of Buddhism. Lord Gautama is documented to have prophesied that after five Buddhas have appeared and gone, the world will see its end and a new world with a new Buddha will come.
According to ancient documents, when the fourth Buddha, Lord Gautama, had become enlightened under the Bodhi tree in northern India around 600BC, and had reached the end of his 49 days of meditation, two merchant brothers, citizens from the kingdom of King Okkalapa of Myanmar, first found the new Buddha under the tree during their business trip to India. They immediately knew that he was the fourth Buddha, so offered him snack which was the first food he ate after 49 days of his meditation. He blessed them with eight strands of hair from his head. They considered the hairs relics from the new alive Buddha and took them back to King Okkalapa. The relics of all the former three Buddhas had already been enshrined within Singuttara Hill, thus making it an important holy spot in Myanmar long before Lord Gautama. The king built a new shrine on Singuttara Hill to enshrine all four relics of the four Buddhas that had enlightened, and then an enormous pagoda was created atop the hill to house the shrine. That pagoda ( Shwedagon) was documented to have been built of 8 separate stupas layered one upon another. The eight stupas were said to be made of 8 different materials as gold, silver, brass, marble, iron, bronze, stone and brick. The uppermost brick stupa was coated in genuine gold. It was originally named Ti-gong-ba in Pali language, and was the earliest pagoda to be built with relics in all Buddhist countries around the world since the fourth Buddha became enlightened. Since then 32 kings and queens took part in renovating it in the centuries following to make it grander and bigger. Legends stated that even angels (Nats) were involved in building Shwedagon pagoda when human workers retired to bed at night. It’s now been 2600 years since the most famous pagoda in Myanmar was first built, and Lord Gautama and his teachings (thar-tha-nar) were in existence.
We had gone up to the pagoda through the northern entrance (moke), so we had direct access to Aung Myay, the sacred ground on the pagoda. The passageway towards Aung Myay was between the monument containing Chan Thar Gyi Buddha image and the building where a wonderful collection of documents and photographs regarding the history of Shwedagon is available. Among numerous wonders concentrated on the pagoda through centuries, no pilgrim ever misses to visit the famous spot named Aung Myay situated in front of the planetary post of Rahu. It is believed that if you sit on that ground and make a wish, your wish is fulfilled with nearly 90% certainty. Famous monks and powerful cult leaders from all over Myanmar were recorded to have created nine Buddha images of strong magical power in nine different spots around the Shwedagon stupa. Those Buddha images are well known for bestowing mystical power on devotees who steadfastly worship them. One of those nine images called Su- Taung-Pyay Buddha image, sits on Aung Myay to which pilgrims are easily accessible.
Aung Myay was temporarily roofed with large sheets of waterproof fabric propped up on thin wooden pillars. We scurried under the roof to take shelter from the sun. Once inside, the first thing we noticed was a formally robed monk sitting on a red carpet in front of something like an altar, reading Buddhist sermons in Pali language into the microphone placed before him. A golden statue of Buddha sat on the altar and vases of fresh flowers surrounded the statue. We joined some devotees sitting behind the monk, and worshipped the Buddha and the monk with clutched hands like our neighbours did. Then, we turned to our left to face and worship the majestic Shwedagon pagoda but the upper part of the stupa was not visible from under the roof. Glass boxes into which pilgrims could put money, were aligned in front of where we were sitting.
“Look, there’s the spot where we can get the holy water,” said Thinzar. She pointed to a corner fenced with low white iron bars some distance behind us. Our intention to visit the pagoda during the ceremony in less crowded hours included two reasons; offering donations to the special ceremony and drinking the holy water blessed with the sermons the monks were reading round the clock throughout the fifteen day celebration. We also brought one liter bottle each to take the water home. “I think we’d better walk around first, and then come back here for the water before going home. Don’t wanna wander around carrying these bottles,” I reasoned. We agreed and ventured out into the blazing sun.
We began walking around the stupa in clockwise direction (lat-yar-yit). Were it not for the sunglasses, we would not enable to pay attention to our surrounding. The stupa stood spectacularly with its diamond bud almost penetrating into the clouds, and its gold coating was gleaming in the sunshine. Surprisingly no shadow of the majestic stupa appeared on the tiles under the glaring sun. An elderly man aged around 70 was limping with the aid of two young men supporting his arms on both sides. A woman following closely put a huge red umbrella over the three men’s heads from behind. “We should have brought an umbrella. The heat burns me from above and beneath,” I fussed. “Come on, we don’t need that. Even kids love the sun. See?” replied Thinzar. A bunch of small kids were joyfully running around and laughing as if under the moonlight. Though a lot of people kept groaning about the heat and some hopping on the hot tiles, the pleasant smile they bore on their faces was obviously noticeable. This holy place was still as busy with pilgrims as on an ordinary Sunday morning (which is usually pagoda going day in Myanmar) even in the heat of the day. The sounds of the continuous reading of sermons and the occasional jingle of bells at the blow of the strong wind were peaceful to the mind. All those sightings braced me for a million more steps to take on the tiles with pleasure and pride.
Thinzar is a Friday born, so we stopped at the planetary post marked for people born on Friday. There are totally eight planetary posts surrounding the stupa and eight different animals represent them; Tiger for Monday, Lion for Tuesday, Elephant with tusk for those born on Wednesday morning and elephant without tusk for those on Wednesday evening (Rahu), Mouse for Thursday, Guinea pig for Friday, Dragon for Saturday and a Burmese mythical creature called Galon stands for Sunday. A marble statue of Buddha sits on the altar and that of a guardian angel stands behind the Buddha. A big silver bowl of water is placed before the Buddha. Beneath the altar is the statue of the animal representing the day. “It’s much cooler standing here,” we blurted out the words in unison. Cool and clear water flowing down from the structures above covered the tiles at the base of the post, and the touch was welcoming to our feet. Thinzar fetched water from the bowl and poured it on the Buddha statue, saying a prayer. Buddhists customarily offer water to Buddha at the post, believing it to be a great way of making merit. “Smile,” I said to Thinzar, and made some shots with my camera.
There were small counters opened here and there to receive donations from pilgrims, especially during the ceremony. One can give money to donate flowers, oil lamps, incense, food for monks and the general expenses for the 2600th annual celebration, and also gold plates to decorate the stupa and the constant renovation of Shwedagon pagoda and its stairways.
While we were giving donations at the counter opened for the general expenses for the ceremony, I overheard a conversation between two families. Under the shade of a banyan tree near the counter were two families with kids having lunch from tin lunchboxes on a large piece of cloth spread on the tiles.
“Have you booked tickets?” said the wife to her husband. “Yeah, we’ll catch the train at 7 tomorrow morning. Everything’s ready,” replied the husband.
“You’re going home tomorrow, aren’t you? How long have you been staying here?” asked the husband from the other family.
“A week. We are from Nyaung Shwe. Where are you from?” asked the first man.
“ Sagaing. We just arrived yesterday. And where are you staying?” said the second man.
The first man mentioned the name of a monastery, which I knew was from Latha Township.
“We’re also staying at a monastery in Hledan. Not a big one though. But the abbot is kind enough to give us shelter for a few nights. My wife’s excellent cooking skills are good enough to return his kindness,” said the second man. “You’ve come a long way from Shan state. How did you manage to leave your business there?”
“So so. I had to entrust my farm work with the neighbours. But it’s worth it. This ceremony’s once in a life time experience,” replied the first man.
During the fifteen days’ time, Yangon is crammed with people from different states of the country who want to participate in the splendid religious ceremony of the historical Shwedagon. For those pilgrims who cannot afford to pay for accommodation in the city, monasteries give them shelter on the house. The devotees cook meals and run for errands for monks at the monastery as an act of returning the gratitude of the abbot.
At the counter selling souvenirs, a young couple was paying cash to the staff for the T shirts and pictures of Shwedagon they bought. There were white cotton T shirts with pictures of Shwedagon printed on the front and framed portraits of the pagoda painted on semiprecious stones. Slowly we made our way to the planetary post of Rahu and I paid offer to the pagoda. “I seriously wanna go to the toilet. I’m sorry,” she burst out suddenly as I was saying prayers in front of my planetary post. “Right now?” I was startled.
“Yes,”
“This is so not happening,”
“You know where the toilet is?”
“I do but one. Near the parking lot,”
“At the north entrance?”
“Sure”
“But it’s a long way,”
“I know but we have no choice. Come on,” I pulled her up to her feet. She put a hand on her belly. I could see her sweating and her teeth biting her lips. I put an arm around her shoulders to drag her along with my hurried paces. We almost ran along the long corridor towards the elevator at the north entrance. “Lwin, I can feel it’s coming,” she whimpered.
“Hang on. We’re almost there. You can’t do it here, you know?” I panted.
We fortunately and successfully made our destination to the toilet near the parking lot before my friend messed things up. She rushed into the toilet. When she finished, I asked, “Now you’re satisfied?”
“Totally,” she said and we broke into mad laughter.
On our second visit to the pagoda, we decided to head towards the corner near Aung Myay where a big crowd of volunteers were dispensing the holy water to the pilgrims. A man standing near the fence was asking enthusiastic pilgrims to queue up. The heat was intolerable as the afternoon continued to 2:30pm.
“We are wise to come here in the afternoon. It’ll be far more crowded in this corner in the mornings and evenings. People crave for this water,” said Thinzar.
“Sure. But you screwed up. Lucky that you didn’t make a mess on the tiles. Otherwise we would be clearing up your mess now,” I teased her. She yanked my hair.
Two narrow, long tables were placed side by side in the center of the confined place. Twenty four large earthen pots containing clear water were placed on each table. One Pali phrase was written in red ink on each pot. Pilgrims were asked to stay in two separate lines on each side of the two tables. Volunteers standing at the beginning of the tables gave each pilgrim two steel cups. We were asked to fetch small amount of water from every single pot with one cup and transfer it into the other while moving along with the line to the end of the table. Then after filling the cup with water from the last 24th pot, we drank the full cup. Thinzar and I were not the only ones who joined the queue for a second time to fill our bottles with the holy water specially made for the occasion. Many pilgrims had bought different sizes of bottles to take the sacred water home.
In Buddhism, incantations in Pali are widely and devotedly worshipped. There is one famous incantation which one in three Burmese people knows and was taught to recite since childhood. It is made up of 24 short Pali phrases stringed together, and strongly believed to be protective against danger and dark magic. The 24 pots stood for the complete incantation.
We worshipped the stupa for the last time and went to the elevator once again. The minute the elevators’ doors were opened to let new pilgrims out, chatters and the refreshing scent of flowers some were carrying in their hands overwhelmed the long corridor. As we steadily descended to the ground level in the lift, the mesmerizing panorama of the city below and the sight of the overcrowded parking lot awed me.
We stopped at the stall within the pagoda compound where a woman was selling fresh coconuts, and we ordered for two. The potassium rich fresh coconut juice taken in one draft cooled off my heated body as the sweet liquid passed through my throat down to the stomach. The small chunks of the delicate coconut tissue also felt tender on the tongue. The sun was getting weak as the evening drew in and three times the number of visitors we had seen during the afternoon flooded into the compound. The exuberance of the crowds highly lifted the spirit of the upcoming evening festival. The vendors in the streets leading to all four entrances were busy making themselves ready for the festival which would last until stars filled the night sky.
