Letter from Burma:

Holiday (2)
Bagan Hotel (Riverview) truly does provide a magnificent view of the Irrawaddy
flowing lazily along the western boundary of the lush grounds. Although well into
the monsoon season, there was just one fleeting shower (the merest drizzle,
really) during the four days we spent in Pagan and every evening we enjoyed the
splendid sunsets for which the ancient capital is famous. From the verandah of our
bungalow we would watch the red disc slide down at a regal pace, tinting the sky
with impossible vermilions and oranges and yellows and lighting up fantastic cloud
profiles before sinking behind the mauve and indigo hills that smudged the
opposite bank of the river. It was a travel brochure photograph come to life.
Much has been written by scholars, specialists and casual visitors about the
romance and wonder of Pagan. The scrubby plain is dotted with thousands of
religious structures (the archaeological department lists more than 3,000, including the remains of very small
edifices) of all sizes, each one, from the largest to the smallest, crowned with an apex rising towards the sky, the
architectural expression of a yearning for something higher than mere material achievement. I can only add my
personal impressionist gloss to a picture that has been painted too often to require an accurate reproduction. At
twilight the city of pious intent is removed by deepening shadows to a dim realm that is neither in the past nor
in the present. The great majority of the smaller monuments are in varying stages of ruin and serve as an
illustration of impermanence and decay and the crumbling of illusion, lessons appropriate not only in a Buddhist
land but in any part of the earth where the powerful and the proud have tried to leave an ineradicable print of
their authority and splendor. Pagan is evocative of vanished glory and lost civilizations and the pathetic
arrogance of man so well depicted by the stony sneer of Ozymandias lying in colossal pieces in the endless
desert sands: "Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
How many of the kings and queens and princes and courtiers of Pagan who have left evidence of their apparent
religious fervor in brick and mortar genuinely sought to free themselves from the bondage of samsara? How
many aspired merely to prove their material worth in this world by the construction of costly monuments? How
many viewed such works as an insurance policy that would guarantee their comfort throughout the cycles of
existence because their minds shied away from encompassing the concept of nirvana?
The list of kings who ruled Pagan is long indeed but only one has ever captured my imagination: Kyansittha,
whom the history books of my childhood said was the son of King Anawratha, the monarch credited with the
first unification of Burma. Scholastic research however suggests that the two kings were not related by blood.
Kyansittha was perhaps a commoner but he was uncommonly gifted. A man of courage and daring, he rose to

be a general of the royal troops and became a popular hero. It is very likely he aroused the jealousy of the old
king who seemed to have feared him as a possible usurper. When Anawratha died he was succeeded by a weak
and incompetent son whose reign was very short. It must be assumed that no heirs of Anawratha's line
remained for Kyansittha's subsequent ascension to the throne was unchallenged.
Kyansittha proved to be an intelligent, able and compassionate king and the Ananda temple that he built reflects
an attractive personality. Gracefully proportioned and engineered to provide both light and shade, it is beautiful
in structure as in concept. To visit the Ananda is as much to pay homage to a rare ruler as to contemplate on the
spiritual legacy represented by the unusual images of the Buddha that it houses.
The hotel grounds offered us a wonderful surprise in the form of two more temples, practically unknown, also
attributed to Kyansittha. We were told that one was built at the beginning of his reign in thanksgiving for the
victories he had achieved over his enemies while the other was an offering made towards the end of his life in
atonement for the many acts of violence he had committed as a warrior. The modest sized structures, tucked in
the garden near the dining terrace where traditional harp music is played every evening, have the air of private
chapels and to light candles there in the quiet dusk is a different experience from praying in the big and famous
temples.
My son and I had decided that we were not going to rush around all the old monuments apart from the Ananda
and the little temples of King Kyansittha within the hotel grounds, we only visited two other temples,
That-byin-nyu and Manuha. The latter has a special significance because it is generally held to have been built
by a captive Mon king, Manuha. This long accepted history is now disputed by some scholars but it cannot be
denied that the temple seems deliberately designed to create the heavy atmosphere of freedom deprived. The
images of the Buddha are disproportionately large for the available space and produce in the visitor a sensation
of claustrophobia, of the strained breathing of a soul longing to be free. To worship there is to be aware of two
great needs for our country: the need to weave harmony between the different ethnic nationalities and the need
to achieve the release of all political prisoners. There can be no holiday from such awareness. (By Aung San Suu
Kyi)
(Mainichi Japan) August 22, 2011

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( Letter from Burma: Holiday (2)

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