THE BEAUTIFUL PAGODA
The Shwe-Dagon Paya
Ethel Mannin
It is usual when reporting on a foreign country to deal first with the capital. I have observed this in the best travel books, and have also gone to work in this way myself. The Eastern traveller, visiting London or Paris, would not report first on Westminster Abbey or Notre Dame; he would first study and report upon the cities enshrining these treasures. But then Rangoon does not enshrine the Shwedagon Pagoda, which though it dominates the city is not strictly speaking in it but on the outskirts of it. So that it may be considered as a separate entity. Rangoon enshrines the Sule Pagoda, as positively as London's Piccadilly Circus enshrines the Eros fountain, and the Sule Pagoda is beautiful and of interest, but it is not dramatic like the great Shwedagon. It was not of the Sule Pagoda but of the dramatic, the incomparable Shwedagon that Ralph Fitch, that considerable traveller, declared in the sixteenth century, that it was 'the fairest place, as I suppose, that doe bee in all the worlde.' Fitch had almost certainly seen the Taj Mahal, that 'dream in white marble', before he reached Burma and had his first glimpse of the dream in pure gold as he sailed up the Rangoon river. The present writer, having also seen the turquoise enamelled domes of the Mosque of Shakh-Zinda, the crowning glory of Tamerlaine's Sumarkand, would still place the Shwedagon Pagoda first, without having to think about it.
I do not know why the Shwedagon is so incredibly moving. Perhaps it is because of the sheer purity of its line against the flawless sky. It is dramatic and beautiful from whatever angle it is approached. There are four covered staircases up to it, North, South, East and West. The main entrance is the South, and here at the foot of the steps stand huge guardian beasts, half lion, half dragon, characteristic of the pagodas everywhere. They are white, picked out with red, blue, and gold paint, and have a fabulous fairy-tale quality. At either side of the steps as you mount - barefooted - there are small open-fronted shops or stalls, selling Buddha images of all kinds, small gilt shrines for the home, tinselled pictures of the Buddha and his chief disciples, strings of large rosary beads, tinselled marionette dolls, tiny paper parasols for placing on shrines, wood-carvings of the guardian lions, ivory carvings of all kinds, real tortoise-shell combs, small oblong drums - essential to Burmese music - and near the top of the stairs flower stalls, where also joss-sticks and candles are sold. The flower stalls are of a sweetness unknown to any European flower-stalls, for they are stacked with jasmine, tuber-roses and many other heavily scented flowers native to the East, as well as roses and carnations, and lesser, scentless, flowers such as asters and marigolds. The flowers, singly and in bunches, are tied to thin sticks, so that they may be easily placed in the vases in front of the Buddha images. They will not live, for there is no water in the vases, but they are not intended to, since they are not placed there as a decoration for the shrine, as flowers are arranged on a Christian altar, but solely as an offering; this being so their perfume should not be inhaled by those who offer them, and they should be carried upright, not in any careless, casual fashion.
At the back of some of the stalls, in a kind of half dark hinterland, there are small cafes at which meals are cooked and tea is made, and here are benches where after dark, when there is no more buying or selling, people sleep. A whole world of life goes on in that half concealed hinterland beside the pagoda steps.
The approach to the East steps is through a long bazaar where all manner of things are sold, slippers, clothing, combs, jewellery, religious books and pictures, all the conglomeration that makes up a bazaar, and this bazaar continues on up the steps which seem as a result merely like the continuation of the busy narrow Street. Once on these steps with David Maurice we met with a friend of his, an old hermit in from the country. He wore the dark clothes and carried the staff of his calling. After he and David had warmly greeted each other we all three continued on up the steps. David explained that it would not be correct to say that the old man lived by the begging bowl, for he did not in fact beg, but that if anyone liked to make him a present he would accept not as a favour but as conferring one, for the chief benefit would accrue to the giver, who would acquire merit thereby. Without any desire to acquire merit, however, I nevertheless thought it would be nice to give the old man a few kyats, and asked David to convey this to him. This was done and the offer accepted, with the request that it be done in the proper place, up on the platform of the pagoda - the marble pavemented terrace, that is to say, which encompasses its base.
When we reached the platform we walked round a little past various carved wooden shrines, beautiful with red lacquer, housing Buddha images of marble or gold or brass or alabaster, until we came to a spot where the hermit said it would be right to give and to accept alms. Having given we abased ourselves at the feet of the venerable man, who gave us his blessing. Then seeing what was going on, and that they had a holy man in their midst, other people came and gave gifts of money, so that it was altogether a good day for the hermit that he had encountered his old friend on the steps, and a good day for David and for me and for the others who rallied round. The old man explained to us what a good thing it was for us all, and how it was part of his kamma that he should have been on those particular steps at that particular moment, and we parted in that aura of goodwill which is always a good thing whenever and wherever it is met with.
The West steps are flanked by golden pillars, and the roof is gilded and painted. There are fewer shops and stalls here and in places none at all, so that there are views out over the city, and the walk half way up the pagoda hill is visible. It is beautiful to do this walk at sundown, when the tall palms which spring up here and there at either side of the path lean against the crimson sky and the pagoda takes on an incredible sunset splendour of golden fire. Then as the brief twilight fades the lights come out on the pagoda and the palms blacken against the violet sky. But then, too, by moonlight this walk is most magical; then the palms and the wild plantains at each side of the path, and the little chalet-like wooden houses at various points, are touched with mystery, and the soft silver light seems to drip from the trees and the ornately carved gables of the houses like water. Inside the little houses people squat on floors eating rice, or telling their beads before a Buddha shrine, by the light of a single candle. There is a tremendous commotion of cicadas.
Between the palms and the neem trees at one side of the path there are sudden glimpses of the lights of the city down below. Above, at the other side of the path, poised between the plumes of the strangely leaning palms, there are glimpses of the illuminated pagoda on its hilltop, its gold as burnished by moonlight as by sunlight, and when the moon is young it is like a jewel that has somehow strayed from the spire of the pagoda. There is a desolate, eerie patch before the path crosses the East steps; only weeds and thorns grow here, and the ground suddenly makes the bare feet aware of flints. I had here the strange experience of feeling suddenly cold and afraid, with an unaccountable feeling of horror. I explained to my companion that it was as though 'something awful' had happened here at one time. My companion, however, felt nothing except that the going here was stonier. Crossing the steps and continuing to follow the path at the other side the magic reasserted itself, and I had again the feeling of walking in a fairyland of beauty and strangeness remote from everyday reality. It is a curiously private world, too; on neither of the occasions when I invaded it did I see anyone else walking there for the sake of it, and the people living there stared with the air of people not used to being intruded upon, though only the prowling pariah dogs seemed to resent it. It was not until I got back to London that I learned that during the second war of annexation, in 1852, under Lord Dalhousie, the pagoda had been fortified and there had been bitter fighting at that point, where the Burmese had been taken by surprise, and many soldiers, both British and Burmese had died there.
At the top of the hill, where the pagoda stands surrounded at its base by lesser pagodas, and by shrines innumerable, all encircled by the flat marble-paved terrace, another new world of strangeness and beauty is revealed. The small golden pagodas round the base of the big one all have their little crowns of bells which tinkle most sweetly in the wind. At the base of the pagoda, too, there are carved wooden shrines, red lacquered, and with charming gabled roofs in tiers, terminating in fine spires, and they too have their little bells.
There are shrines, too, large and small, across the terrace from the base of the pagoda, all of them housing Buddha images, reclining Buddhas, standing Buddhas, Buddhas in the conventional lotus position. At the top of each flight of steps there are big shrines, with huge Buddha images, and long altars where flowers are laid and candles and incense-sticks lit. In these major shrines men, women and children are always to be found, kneeling on bamboo mats contemplating the Buddha image, bowing down in the act of worship till their foreheads touch the ground, repeating such formulas from the scriptures, such precepts of their faith, as are suited to the occasion, but always that which reminds them that life is sorrow, impermanence, illusion, from which, as the Lord Buddha taught, only the overcoming of craving can release them.
When someone makes a donation to the pagoda fund the big bell is struck, and its reverberations spread far out over the terrace. In his most beautiful book about Burma, The Soul of a People, the late Fielding Hall, who was an official in Burma during the British Raj, tells how the British took this bell from the pagoda and sought to bring it to England as a war trophy, (it was after the first war of annexation) but as it was being put on board ship it slipped and fell into the river, from which all the efforts of the British engineers failed to raise it. Then the Burmese asked if they might try to recover the bell, their sacred bell, and if they were able to might they be allowed to restore it to the pagoda. 'And they were told, with a laugh, perhaps, that they might; and so they raised it up again, the river giving back to them what it had refused to us, and they took it and hung it where it used to be. There it is now, and you may hear it when you go, giving out a long, deep note, the beat of the pagoda's heart.' The Burmese have not forgotten this story of the bell; I was told it more than once, in Rangoon and in Mandalay, and more than once I read it.
In addition to the lesser pagodas, and the shrines, at the base of the pagoda itself there are little gilded wrought iron trees, very decorative and charming, with the names of their donors set forth in plaques at their feet. There is also strip-lighting, now, in the various shrines, and on the pagoda itself, and the names of the donors are everywhere prominent. There are many who like the present writer deplore the vulgarity of this ostentatious giving as much as the inappropriateness of the strip-lighting. Yet so great is the sum of beauty of the Shwedagon and its surrounding shrines that no vulgarity, no anachronism, can really take from it. It is a pity; it would be better not there, but magnificence is not minimized by minor blemishes.
The gaunt pariah dogs, many of them bitches with litters of skinny little pups running round them, which inhabit the pagodas everywhere -- they too would be better not there. To the Western mind they would be better put out of their misery, but this is not acceptable to the Buddhist mind, and nothing except an outbreak of rabies, when a child or two gets bitten, can provoke any action; then the services of some Moslem will be sought, poison laid, and a minor clean-up carried out. But for the most part the wretched creatures contrive to stay alive on the border-line of starvation, and even to breed and rear their litters on the odd handfuls of rice the kindly-disposed put out for them, and such edible scraps as they can find among the refuse in the gutters. In time one learns to accept them as part of the general picture, even not to notice them very much. Life is struggle and suffering for all creatures, particularly in the East; it always has been, for thousands of years, and no doubt always will be, and whilst there is grave cause to be exercised concerning man's inhumanity to man is it not disproportionate to wax excited over some miserable pariah dog? Fielding Hall thought that at the Shwedagon even the pariah dogs looked in not too bad a condition. Perhaps it is true - or was true when he wrote at the end of the century. I don't know. We see what we want to see, and it is anyhow not important.
What is important is beauty, and human life, and love, and the light men live by, and the faith, and the hearts of men. What is important in Burma is the Buddhist faith which gives meaning to their lives, and the beauty created out of that faith - through, by and for that faith. What is important in Rangoon is not that it is no longer 'the most beautiful city in the East' as was once - extravagantly - claimed for it but that the Shwedagon Pagoda has survived a war which laid low a tragic amount of the man made beauty of the world, and has survived the changes of the after-war, and is still 'the glittering mass of golden stupa standing on the last hill, of the Pegu Yomas.' What is important is what this glittering mass means to the men and women, young and old, who climb its many steps, in the brief coolness of early morning, or the long heat of the day, to lay a few flowers, light a few candles or perhaps merely to sit and contemplate the image of the great teacher by whose precepts they seek to live. And what it means is hardly to be compassed in a few words, for it is a way of life, and ultimate truth. What is important is the impact of all this beauty on the hearts and minds of those who do not wholly - or even in part - accept the faith it symbolizes. Anyone who has ever felt, as opposed to merely observing, the beauty of the Shwedagon Pagoda is as spiritually enriched thereby as from the impact of any other great art; perhaps more so, for here the beauty is not merely aesthetic, but alive with the soul of a people and with a moral force six hundred years older than Christianity.
There are always many people up on the pagoda terrace, in early morning, at mid day, at sundown, and after dark. The atmosphere is not oppressive as in a church, but as lively as a street. Children race about playing games; I have even seen young people fooling about as young people do, and it is not considered irreverent when sitting in front of a Buddha image to smoke a cheroot, and I have seen both men and women doing it in pagodas everywhere, and chatting as they sit. The Buddha is not considered divine. He was a great teacher, the Enlightened One, the Blessed One. The people come to pay his memory homage, and by repeating his precepts remind themselves of the truths he revealed to the world and which they accept as a way of life. It is a conception of worship and of prayer quite different from the Christian and the Moslem conception. It is a conception of religion in which man must look to himself for salvation, not to any divine power.
So the people at the Shwedagon, and at the pagodas everywhere, behave according to their current moods and needs; they do not whisper of tiptoe about. They talk and laugh, or they repeat the precepts, or they merely sit silently gazing, each paying homage in his own way, worshipping in his own way. There are many trees up on the platform of the Shwedagon, and a number of odd corners behind the shrines where there are little courtyards and terraces looking out over the city to the lakes. There are tall palms here, and shady neem trees, and there is a big old sacred tree round whose base the people apply gold-leaf and during the water-festival they bring a great deal of water to this tree - for it was under such a tree that Prince Gautama, who became the Lord Buddha, received his enlightenment. It is very pleasant to sit in the shade of the trees in what might be described as the back streets of the pagoda - taking the broad marbled walk round the base to be the main street - and the people like to sit there, on wooden benches, or perched on the parapet, talking, smoking, eating, admiring the view, or merely watching the coming and going of their fellow men.
People make the pilgrimage to the Shwedagon from all parts of the country; Shans from the Shan States, Kachins from the northern hills, Mons from the villages of the deep south. And there are always pongyis - monks - walking about in their orange coloured robes, and shaven-headed nuns in their pale pink robes; and there are a few beggars, but they are not beggars in the ordinarily accepted sense but beggars as it were for the kingdom of heaven's sake, and mostly they are lay nuns in dark robes.
The pagoda enshrines eight hairs of the Buddha's head brought from India more than 2500 years ago by two Burmese merchants. There was then on this southernmost spur of the Pegu Yoma only the Mon - or Mun - village of Dagon, which eventually became Yangon, from which comes the modern name Rangoon. The shrine now known as the Shwedagon Pagoda, strictly Shwe-Dagon Paya - was the creation of Shinbyushin, King of Ava, in 1774. He raised it to its present height and gilded it with his own weight in gold. But centuries before then, during the years of the Mon Kingdom of Pegu, Shinsawbu, Queen Regnant of Hanthawaddy, had gilded it with her own weight in gold. King Singu, the son of King Shinbyushin, regilded the pagoda in 1778 and had a sixteen ton bronze bell cast, which stands now at the north-east corner of the platform. This is the bell which fell into the river during the Anglo-Burmese war of 1824, and was brought up by the Burmese in 1826 and restored to its place. The great canopy or umbrella - the hti - was the gift of King Mindon, who founded Mandalay. It cost half a million rupees and is hung with some fifteen hundred bells, one hundred of which are gold, the rest silver. This wonderful gift was sent by the king down the Irrawaddy in 1852, when Lower Burma was already in the hands of the British. The king had begged that one of his own representatives be allowed to officiate at the hoisting of the hti but the British considered that this would be in the nature of a political gesture, and taken as such by the people, and the request was refused. Nevertheless a vast crowd attended the event and celebrated it with great festivities.
The hoisting of a new hti for even the smallest of pagodas is always an occasion for festivity, for pwe, as it is called, when open-air performances of dancing and singing go on literally from dusk till dawn. People come in from far and wide for pwe, and innumerable eating booths are set up, and stalls for the sale of fruit-juice, drinks, sweets, fruit, cakes, and all manner of things. The Burmese love festivals, and it unifies their national life that these festival are invariably in connection with their religion. There is more to say about pwe, so important in Burmese life, but the place is not here, where we are considering, "the fairest place that doe bee in all the world."
Aldous Huxley, who found the Taj Mahal 'disappointing', reacted to the Shwedagon as to a 'sacred Fun Fair, a Luna Park dedicated to the greater glory of Gautama - but more fantastic, more wildly amusing than any Bank Holiday invention.* 'That is sad for Mr. Huxley that his eyes and his spirit were denied the vision of beauty, that he missed 'the perfume of the thousand prayers that have been prayed there, of the thousand thousand holy thoughts that have been thought there.' I have seen this pagoda athwart the mango tree beside my bedroom window at sunrise, and have leaned upon its parapet at sundown; I have seen it burnished to golden fire in the mid-day sun, and bewitched into something in a dream by moonlight. I have heard the tauk-te lizard calling its name somewhere out of sight as I wandered barefoot over the warm stones behind the shrines. I have sat and watched the people come and go in their bright clothes, the women with flowers in their hair, and themselves like flowers, and the young men so straight and slim in their longyis and neat light jackets. I have been up and down the many stairs many times, always at the top meeting with a fresh shock of delight the scent of jasmine and tuber-roses. I have seen the fabulous golden cone reflected in the lake at the other side of the city, by sunlight and moonlight. And by sunlight and moonlight rising above the city in sheer golden purity from its surrounding forest of trees.
I do not merely remember it all, how it looked at these different times, from these different angles, but feel again, recalling it, the emotion it evoked. It is as though the heart itself remembers. Words do not seem adequate to convey such shining beauty; paint might serve the purpose better. But then I think that perhaps the words of Fielding Hall, in which he sums it all up - after describing it as like 'a great tongue of flame', and a 'most wonderful sight, so brilliant in the hot sunshine that it seemed to 'shake and tremble in the light like a fire - in a very simple phrase, are after all the most telling, since words will not compass such beauty, and there is nothing for it, therefore, but to fall back as he did upon the simplicity of the statement - 'it is a very beautiful place, this pagoda ........'
* "Jesting Pilate" -- 1926
在丹瑞-達貢帕亞
埃塞爾Mannin
這是通常的報告時，處理外國第一次與資本。 我觀察這個在最好的旅遊書籍，同時也去上班了這樣我自己。東部旅行，訪問倫敦和巴黎，不會報告首次西敏寺或巴黎聖母院，他將首先研究並提出報告後，城市供奉這些珍品。 但後來不仰光大金塔供奉，其中佔主導地位的城市，但它不是嚴格講它，但它的郊區。 因此，它可能被視為一個獨立的實體。 仰光供奉的白塔 ，積極為倫敦的皮卡迪利廣場體現了愛神噴泉，美麗的白塔和利益，但它不是像大Shwedagon戲劇性。 '這是不是白塔，但戲劇性的，無與倫比的Shwedagon拉爾夫惠譽認為，有相當多旅客，宣布在十六世紀，它是'最公平的地方，我想，蜜蜂，能源部在所有worlde。惠譽幾乎肯定見過泰姬陵，這是夢想的白色大理石'，在他到達緬甸，第一次看到了他的夢想在純黃金作為他劃了仰光河。 The present 目前的作家，也看到了綠松石漆包圓頂的清真寺Shakh - Zinda，加冕榮耀 Tamerlaine的Sumarkand，仍會放在大金塔第一，而不必考慮一下。
我不知道為什麼 Shwedagon是如此不可思議動人。 也許這是因為純粹的路線純度對完美的天空。 這是戲劇性的和美麗的不管從哪個角度接近它。有四種蓋樓梯上到這門，北，南，東，西。 The 主入口是南方，在此間舉行的腳站在巨大的監護人的步驟野獸，半獅半龍，有特點的佛塔隨處可見。 他們都是白色的，挑選出紅色，藍色和金色漆，並有精彩的童話故事的質量。 在 任何一方的步驟，你安裝 - 赤腳 - 有小開的商店門前或攤位，出售各種佛像，鎏金小佛龕適用於家庭，tinselled照片，佛陀和他的首席弟子，大串念珠珠，tinselled木偶娃娃， 造紙小陽傘放置在神龕，木雕刻著獅子的監護人，象牙雕刻的各種實際龜殼梳子，小橢圓形鼓 - 必須緬甸音樂 - 並接近頂部的樓梯花檔，哪裡還香，蠟燭，香燭及銷售。 花檔是一個未知的任何歐洲甜花檔，因為他們上擺滿了茉莉，塊莖玫瑰和許多其他重香味的花，原產於東方，以及玫瑰和康乃馨，較小，無臭，花卉等作為紫苑和金盞花。 花，單獨和一叢叢，是綁細棒，讓他們可以很容易地放置在前面的花瓶佛像。他們不會活了，因為沒有水的花瓶，但他們並不打算，因為它們不是擺在那裡作為裝飾的神社，像花朵被安排在一個基督教的祭壇，而只是作為祭，這所以他們的香水應該是不被吸入那些誰給他們，他們要進行正直，不以任何馬虎，休閒時尚。
在後面的一些攤位，在一個種半暗的腹地，有小網吧在這飯菜煮熟，茶是，這裡有凳子天黑後，當沒有更多的買入或賣出，人的睡眠。整個世界的生活下去的一半隱藏在旁邊的腹地塔步驟。
該方法的步驟是向東方市場在經歷了漫長的所有東西都是出售的方式，拖鞋，衣服，梳子，珠寶，宗教書籍和圖片，所有的聚集，使一個集市，這個集市上不斷上台階的看起來就像一個結果只不過像延續了繁忙狹窄的街道。 一旦這些步驟，大衛莫里斯我們會見了他的一個朋友，一個老隱士在該國。之後，他和大衛我們熱烈歡迎所有三個彼此繼續上了台階。大衛解釋說，它不會被正確地說，老人住的乞討碗，其實他並沒有乞求，但如果有人喜歡讓他一個禮物，他願意接受一個不是恩惠，而是為授予一，由行政利益將撥歸送禮，誰獲得好處，從而。 沒有任何希望獲得的好處，但是，我仍認為這將是很好的，讓老人幾緬元，並請轉達大衛這個給他。 這樣做，並接受該要約，並要求將其做適當的位置，在平台上的寶塔 - 大理石pavemented陽台，也就是說，這包括它的基礎。
當我們到達平台，我們繞到一點點過去不同的木雕佛龕，美麗的紅色漆，住房佛像大理石，黃金，銅或雪花，直到我們來到一個地方的隱士說：這將是給予和權利接受施捨。 有鑑於我們自己在腳自卑的可敬的人，誰給了我們他的祝福。接著看到發生了什麼事情，而且他們有一個聖潔的人在他們中間，其他人來了，送禮物的錢，所以這是一個很好的一天完全的隱士，他遇到了他的老朋友在台階上，和一個好的一天，大衛和我和其他人誰一輪反彈。 這位老人向我們解釋什麼是一件好事這對我們所有人，以及它如何被他的業力的一部分，他應該已經在這些特定的步驟，在那個特定的時刻，我們在此分手靈氣，始終是一個善意好事無論何時何地它是會見。
西兩側的步驟是金色柱子，屋頂是鍍金和彩繪。 有較少的商店和攤位，在這裡，所有的地方根本沒有，因此有意見了在城市上空，並步行半路上，寶塔山是可見的。 這是美麗要做到這一點走在日落時分，當高大的棕櫚樹的春天在這裡和那裡的道路兩旁靠在深紅色天空和寶塔發生在一個令人難以置信的金色落日的輝煌火災。 然後以簡短的黃昏消失的燈光出來的寶塔和手掌發黑對紫色的天空。 但是，也走在月光下這是最神奇的，然後，手掌和野生芭蕉每側的路徑，小小木屋式的木結構房屋在不同的點，都染上了神秘的，柔軟的銀色光芒似乎滴的樹木和裝飾華麗的山牆的房子如水。小房子裡的人蹲在地板上吃米飯，或者告訴他們的珠子神龕佛像前，由一個單一的蠟燭光。有一個極大的震動的蟬。
之間的手掌和苦楝樹在一旁的小路，突然瞥見的燈城樓下。最重要的，在另一端的路徑，有望柱之間的奇怪靠在手掌，有瞥見被照寶塔山頂上的，它在月光下發亮的黃金作為由太陽光，當月亮是它像年輕人一種寶石的某種方式偏離了尖頂的寶塔。 有一個荒涼，陰森的路徑穿過補丁前東步驟，只有野草和荊棘生長在這裡，地面突然使赤腳知道火石。 我曾在這裡奇特的經驗突然感覺寒冷和害怕，帶有不負責任的感覺恐怖。 我向我的同伴，它彷彿'可怕的東西'在這裡發生過一次。 我的同伴，但是，覺得沒什麼，只是這裡是斯托尼爾前往。 隧道的步驟，並繼續遵循路徑在對方的魔法重申本身，我不得不再次感覺走在仙境的美麗和奇異遠離日常的現實。這是一個奇怪的私人世界，過;上既不入侵的場合，當我是我沒有看見任何人走在那裡的緣故吧，和人民生活在那裡盯著與空氣的人不習慣被人入侵後，雖然只有潛行無賴狗似乎反感。 直到我回到倫敦，我了解到，在第二次戰爭吞併，於 1852年，在達爾豪西勳爵，寶塔設防和已發生了激烈戰鬥在這一點上，那裡的緬甸已採取了突擊和不少士兵，英國和緬甸已經死在那裡。
在最高的山，這裡的寶塔站包圍在其基地小佛塔，神龕和無數的，由該單位所有包圍大理石鋪成的陽台，另一個新的陌生的世界，美顯示出來。 小黃金寶塔輪基地的一大都有自己的小鈴鐺的叮噹聲冠的最甜蜜在風中。 在基地的佛塔，也有木雕佛龕，紅色漆，並與迷人的山牆屋頂的層次，終止在精細的尖頂，他們也有自己的小鈴鐺。
有聖地，也是大，小，整個陽台從基地的佛塔，其中房屋所有佛像，佛臥，站立佛，蓮花佛在常規的位置。 在每個航班上有大的步驟佛龕，佛像巨大，長期在鮮花放在祭壇和蠟燭和香，棒點燃。 在這些主要神社男人，婦女和孩子們總是被發現，跪在竹蓆注視著佛像，鞠躬崇拜行為在他們的額頭，直到接觸地面，重複這樣的公式，從經文等戒律，他們的信仰作為適合的場合，卻總是提醒他們，這裡面的生活是悲傷，無常，幻想，從這裡，為佛陀教導，只有克服渴望能釋放他們。
當有人讓一個寶塔基金捐贈給大鐘被敲擊，其反響遠遠地散佈在露台。 在他最美麗的書關於緬甸， 一個民族的靈魂，已故菲爾丁堂，誰是緬甸官員在英國的統治，講述了如何在英國這鐘聲是從寶塔，並要求將其帶到英格蘭一戰獎杯，（這是第一次戰爭後吞併），但因為它是被放在船上它腳下一滑，掉進了河裡，使所有的努力，英國工程師們沒有提出。 然後，緬甸問他們是否可能嘗試恢復鐘，他們的神聖的鐘聲，如果他們能夠被允許他們可能恢復到寶塔。 他們被告知，有笑，也許，他們可能，所以他們再次提高了，河水回饋他們如何拒絕我們，他們把它和它掛在那裡曾經是。在那裡，它是現在，你可以聽到它時，你走了，給了長期，深說明，擊敗了寶塔的心。緬甸沒有忘記這個故事鐘，我被告知這一次以上，在仰光和曼德勒，不止一次我讀了它。
除了小寶塔和寺廟，在基地的小寶塔本身有鍍金熟鐵樹木，裝飾非常迷人，與他們的捐助者的姓名列於斑塊在他們腳邊。 還有帶照明，現在，在各個聖地，並在寶塔本身，對捐贈者的名字到處都是突出。 有很多誰喜歡現在的作家譴責這種粗俗炫耀給盡可能多的不適當的條狀照明。然而，如此之大，是美的Shwedagon及其周圍寺廟，沒有超凡脫俗，不落伍，才能真正從它。 這是一個遺憾，那將是最好不要存在，但沒有最小化的輝煌是由小瑕疵。
在蕭瑟的棄兒狗，其中許多與胎皮包骨頭的母狗小小狗跑過來他們，是居住在寶塔無處不在 - 他們也會得到更好的不存在。在西方人腦子裡，他們會更好撲滅了他們的苦難，但是這是不能接受的佛教思想，並沒有什麼，除了一個爆發狂犬病，當一個孩子或兩個得到咬傷，卻可能產生的任何行動;那麼一些服務穆斯林將尋求，毒奠定，未成年人清理進行。但對於大部分的可憐的生物能設法生存的邊界線飢餓，甚至滋生和後方的擔架上多一把米好心的，為他們提出處理，廢料等，因為他們可以食用在垃圾中找到的水槽。在一次接受他們學習的一部分，一般的圖片，甚至沒注意到他們很擔心。生命是鬥爭和苦難的眾生，特別是在東部，它一直是，為千百年來，無疑將永遠是，並且同時有嚴重的原因是行使關於人的不人道行為的人是不相稱蠟在一些悲慘的棄兒興奮的狗？ 菲爾丁認為，霍爾在Shwedagon賤民狗，甚至在不太惡劣的條件。 也許這是真的 - 或者是真實的，當他寫道，在本世紀的結束。 I don't know.我不知道。 我們看到我們所希望看到的，這是無論如何並不重要。
重要的是美麗，人的生命，愛，光男人活著，和信念，人的心。什麼是重要的緬甸是佛教信仰給了他們生活的意義，以及美中產生出來的那個信念 - 通過，通過和信仰。 什麼是重要的仰光並不在於它不再是'最美麗的城市在東作為曾經 - 奢華 - 聲稱它的大金塔，但已存活一戰，奠定了一個悲慘的金額低的人造美女世界上，並倖存下來的變遷後的戰爭，仍然是'閃閃發光的金色佛塔質量站在山坡上，在勃固Yomas。最重要的是這金光閃閃的質量手段的男人和婦女，青年和老人，誰爬上它的許多步驟，在短暫涼爽的清晨，或長熱的天，奠定了一些花，光數蠟燭或者僅僅是坐在那裡沉思的形象，其偉大的老師，他們追求的生活戒律。 而它的意思是很難被圍困在了幾句話，因為這是一個生活方式，和終極真理。 最重要的是這一切的影響美容的心靈和頭腦中那些誰不完全 - 甚至在部分 - 接受信仰它象徵。誰過任何感覺，而不是僅僅觀察，美麗的大金塔是從精神上豐富從而影響其他任何偉大的藝術，也許越是這樣，因為這裡的美不只是美觀，而且還活著的一個民族的靈魂和道德力量六百年以上的基督教。
總是有很多人陽台上的寶塔，在清晨，在中日，在日落時分，天黑後。 沒有壓迫的氣氛，如在教堂，但熱鬧的街道。關於種族的兒童玩遊戲，我什至看到年輕人自欺欺人關於為年輕人，這是不敬時，不考慮坐在前面的一尊佛像來，抽了cheroot，我已經看到男性和女性在做寶塔無處不在，他們坐下來聊天的。 他是一位偉大的教師，開明之一，世尊。 人們到這裡來支付他的記憶敬意，並通過重複他的戒律提醒自己的真理，他透露，向世界和他們接受的一種方式生活。這是一個觀念的崇拜和祈禱的完全不同的基督教和穆斯林的概念。 這是一個宗教觀念中，男人必須尋找自己的救贖，而不是任何神聖的權力。
因此，市民在Shwedagon，並在佛塔隨處可見，根據他們目前的表現情緒和需要，他們不約耳語的腳尖。他們談笑，或重複的戒律，或者他們只是默默地注視著她坐著，每個參拜自己的方式，以自己的方式崇拜。 有許多樹木上的平台Shwedagon，和一個數字背後的偏僻的角落裡供奉在那裡有小庭院和露台眺望整個城市的湖泊。 這裡有高大的棕櫚樹和印楝樹成蔭，並有一個巨大的老神樹輪，其相應的人申請金箔和在水節，他們帶來了大量的水，這樹 - 因為它是在這種一株樹，王子喬達摩，誰成為主佛，收到了他啟示。 這是非常愉快的坐在樹蔭下的樹木在什麼可說的窮街陋巷的寶塔 - 以廣泛的大理石走走，基地將主要街道 - 以及人喜歡坐在那裡，木製長椅，或停在欄杆，聊天，吸煙，飲食，欣賞的觀點，或者僅僅是看著來來往往的男同胞。
人們經常朝拜Shwedagon來自全國各地的國家，從撣邦撣族，克欽人從北部山地，蒙斯從農村的深南部。 以及有pongyis - 僧侶 - 四處流浪，他們的桔黃色長袍，剃光頭的尼姑在粉紅色的長袍，並有一些乞丐，但他們並不是乞丐的乞丐，但通常接受的意義，因為它是作，天國的緣故，大多是他們在黑暗奠定修女長袍。
寶塔供奉八毛的佛頭從印度超過 2500年前由兩個緬甸商人。 有那麼在這個南部勃固山脈的刺激只有週一 - 或門 - 村大袞，最終成為仰光，由此而來的現代名稱仰光。 靖國神社現在被稱為大金塔，嚴格丹瑞-達貢帕亞-是創造Shinbyushin，王阿瓦，於1774年。他將其提升到目前的高度和鍍金它與自己的重量的黃金。 但在此之前幾個世紀，在多年的孟王國勃固，Shinsawbu，女王君臨的Hanthawaddy，有鍍金的她用自己的重量的黃金。 國王Singu，兒子王Shinbyushin，regilded寶塔於1778年，有一個十六噸青銅鑄鐘，現在矗立在東北角的平台。 這是鈴掉進了河裡，在英，1824年緬甸的戰爭，並提出由緬甸在1826年，恢復到它的位置。 偉大的簷篷或傘-的燈泡：HTI -是敏東國王的禮物，誰創立曼德勒。 它花費五十萬盧比上掛著一些一千五百鐘，一百其中有金，其餘的銀牌。 這美妙的禮物被送到了由國王在1852年的伊洛瓦底江，下緬甸的時候已經在手中的英國人。 .國王曾請求把他的一個自己的代表被允許主持懸掛的燈泡：HTI但英國認為，這將是在自然界中的一種政治姿態，並採取了制定，發布的人，請求被拒絕。然而有一個龐大的人群參加了慶祝活動，它與偉大的節日。
一個新的提升，即使是最小的燈泡：HTI寶塔始終是一個機會，喜氣，為的PWE，因為它是所謂的，當露天演出，跳舞，唱歌去從黃昏到黎明字面上。 從遙遠的人來和寬的PWE，以及數不清的飲食攤位的設置和攤位出售的果汁，飲料，糖果，水果，蛋糕，和所有事物的方式。緬甸愛的節日，它結合本國的生活，這些節日總是與他們的宗教有聯繫。 "還有更多的談論的PWE，在緬甸的生活如此重要，但這個地方不是這裡，我們正在考慮，“最公平的地方，能源部在世界上所有的蜜蜂。”
'奧爾德 斯赫胥黎，誰發現的泰姬陵'失望'，作出反應的Shwedagon以一個'神聖的嘉年華，一個月亮公園奉獻給更多的榮耀喬達摩 - 但更精彩，更有趣的瘋狂比任何銀行假日發明 .*'這是可悲的赫胥黎先生，他的眼睛，他的精神被剝奪了視覺美感，使他錯過了'的香水千祈禱祈禱已經在那裡，千千萬萬神聖的想法，一直被認為有。看這寶塔橫過芒果樹旁邊我的臥室的窗戶太陽升起時，有伏在欄杆的日落，我已經看到了光明至金火在中午的太陽，蠱惑成東西在月光下一個夢想。我聽到tauk德蜥蜴某處呼喚它的名字，因為我的視線赤腳漫步在溫暖的石頭後面的聖地。 我再次坐下，看著人們來來去去在他們的衣著鮮豔，婦女在他們的頭髮用鮮花，和自己喜歡花，而年輕的人這樣直，苗條的longyis整潔薄外套。 我一直在上下樓梯很多很多次，總是在一個新的高層會議與喜悅的衝擊和塊莖的茉莉香味，玫瑰花。我看到了神話般的黃金帶反映在湖另一邊的城市，陽光和月光。陽光和月光和城市上空的上升在純粹的黃金純度及其周圍森林樹木。
只是我不記得這一切，看著它如何在這些不同的時間，從這些不同的角度，但再有感覺，回想起來，它引起的情緒。這是因為雖然心臟本身回憶道。 似乎沒有足夠的詞彙來傳達這樣閃亮的美麗;塗料可能會更好地達到目的。但後來我想，也許詞菲爾丁大廳，他總結說起來 - 像在描述它作為'一個偉大的舌頭火焰'，和'最美妙的景象，因此在炎熱的陽光燦爛，好像'在搖晃，顫抖的光像火 - 在一個非常簡單的句子，畢竟最有說服力的，因為這樣的話會不會羅盤之美，並沒有什麼的話，因此，而是像他那樣回落後，簡潔的語句 - '這是一個非常美麗的地方，這座塔........'
* "Jesting Pilate" -- 1926 *“滑稽彼拉多” - 1926
