THE CHIN PEOPLE
A Selective History and
Anthropology of the Chin People
Chester U. Strait ThD
Copyright 2014 by Paul S. Strait
Library of Congress Control Number: | 2014900691 |
ISBN: | Hardcover | 978-1-4931-6308-3 |
Softcover | 978-1-4931-6307-6 |
eBook | 978-1-4931-6309-0 |
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Rev. date: 04/07/2014
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
Xlibris LLC
1-888-795-4274
www.Xlibris.com
Orders@Xlibris.com
542125
CONTENTS
Editorial Committee
Roger Strait
Betty Strait
Elizabeth Righter
Peggy Strait
Paul Strait
Jonathan Strait
Jonathan Steen
THE CHIN HILLS
AND THE INHABITANTS
Journey into the Hills
Moving upstream on the Irrawaddy broad tide, the ocean liner approaches the city of Rangoon, and the gold-leafed pinnacle of the celebrated Shwe Dagon pagoda welcomes it as it rises magnificently in the morning sunlight. The traveler is intrigued with the claim that this ancient shrine has been standing for three thousand years. This injects an anachronism, since Buddhism was founded not more than twenty-five centuries ago and something less than that for its lodgment in Burma. But no one seems to be embarrassed nor stultified by what, for them, is merely a slight chronological inaccuracy, which derives from the time-clocked occidental measurements, for theirs is that timeless eternity of the East.
Rangoon
This arresting scene soon fades with the usual bustle of leaving the shipbaggage inspections, visas, customs, along with the sights, sounds, and smells of another existence. These, being so strange and foreign, quickly dissipate all romantic lore. One suddenly finds oneself thrust into the glamour and confusion of a unique East Asian metropolis. It appears modern in many respects, yet the tempo and methods are of a yesteryear complete with the surroundings of mass poverty.
Although Rangoon is some fifteen degrees north of Singapore, the former is much hotter than the latter and receives both east and west ocean breezes. Rangoon, which is frequently referred to as being on the Bay of Bengal, actually lies fifty miles inland on the Rangoon River. It is one of the several branches of the delta of the giant Irrawaddy River. Being approximately a thousand miles north of Singapore robs Rangoon of being a main port of call, since the larger vessels leaving Singapore make Colombo, Sri Lanka, their next stop.
Rangoon is the capital of Burma, but with its heavy Indian population it creates the feeling of being as much Indian as Burmese. The Indians, along with the many Chinese, have given Rangoon its thriving commerce. For an Eastern city it may be classed as tolerably clean. It is reasonably well planned with efficient electric trolley and bus lines. One witnesses a number of large Western-type buildings in the central area of the city, which has water and sewage facilities. The whole of the city is equipped with electricity. In more recent years, automobiles, trucks, and motor buses have assumed the main burden of commercial transportation. These are, however, supplemented by huge-two wheeled, coolie-drawn hand trucks, jinrikishas, and bicycles. This whole assemblagealong with passenger buses, horse-drawn vehicles, and tramcarstransforms the business section of this vibrant metropolis into an astonishing bedlam of excitement and moving chaos.
At evening, leaving Burmas cosmopolitan city for the journey north to the Chin country, one boards a train that operates on schedule and provides reasonably good accommodations. Eight oclock dinner is served at one of the stations along the line, after which, if one has provided himself with bedding and has made sure to lock the doors and windows of his compartment against dacoits, one will be carried more than three hundred miles north through Burmas alluvial paddy country to a major railway station. There, one may have a snack similar to the French petit dejeuner (which consists simply of toast and tea), which nevertheless must suffice until a regular meal is served.
One eventually arrives at Mandalay, truly a Burman city, with far fewer Indians than Rangoon and with little of the latters suavity and modernity. This huge rural village is the hot dusty city of Burmas dry zone. It is also one of the centers of the whole of southern or Hinayana Buddhism, as well as the center of Buddhism for all Burma. The number of priests and pagodas within the city and its environs evidences this. To a stranger, the many yellow-robed priests encountered, especially during the early part of the day, leads him to believe that surely every fourth or fifth person is a Buddhist monk.
Before boarding the train for the next stage of the journey, one is breakfasted at Mandalay railway station at noon. The threeor four-course meal more than supplies the lack of the mornings meager fare. Since the Monywa run is only a branch line, no tea will be served along the way. It is well, therefore, to provide a little refreshment by way of food and drink, especially drinking water.
A few miles after leaving the Mandalay railway station, one is somewhat unceremoniously dumped on the bank of the Irrawaddy and ferried across the river. On the other side, after fussing with coolies to transport ones luggage up the hot and steep sandy bank to the railway station, and after waiting an hour or so, one boards another train. Progress later made things different. A few years before the Second World War, a modern steel railway bridge was built to span the river, whereupon, departing Mandalay about one oclock in the afternoon, the train crosses the river and enters upon its branch run.
This part of the ride ends the rail journey that is made with less than comfort, as it always proves to be a hot, tedious, and dusty afternoons trip through the dry belt of Burma. There is little of interest after crossing the bridge. The frequent stops at the many small rural villages, and each with the same old-style English lampposts, the same Burmese writing giving the name of the village, and the same tiny green wooden building serving as the railway station, only add to the tedium of the journey.
Monywa
About six oclock in the evening the train arrives at a small, thriving native city called Monywa. After the usual bartering and bickering, bullock carts are arranged for the transportation of ones baggage to the riverboat. The traveler may be spared this sort of conveyance by engaging a single-horse-drawn vehicle, which type one saw first in Rangoon, resembling somewhat the rural free delivery mail wagons used in rural America before the advent of automobiles. This neat little rig is called a gharry, which adds another name to mans long list of transport contrivances. In a few minutes one arrives at the bank of the Chindwin River to find a broad-bottomed, stern-wheel river steamer moored, awaiting its passengers.
River Journey
This steamer, with two sister ships, adequately serves the countryside with triweekly transportation. It is a double-decked boat with four small two-bed cabins for the first class and two cabins on each sidewall toward the prow of the top deck. The space between the cabins on each side is the first-class passengers deck and dining salon, which, excluding the space for the cabins, takes in the whole upper-deck floor space of the prow. This area is roofed over with the entire front open, affording an excellent vantage point for the superb scenery that the trip offers. The secondand third-class spaces are in the hold of the ship, allowing only a limited view of the riverbank on each side.
