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Chapter 1
U Po Kyin, Sub-divisional Magistrate of Kyauktada, in Upper Burma,
was sitting in his veranda. It was only half past eight, but the
month was April, and there was a closeness in the air, a threat of
the long, stifling midday hours. Occasional faint breaths of wind,
seeming cool by contrast, stirred the newly drenched orchids that
hung from the eaves. Beyond the orchids one could see the dusty,
curved trunk of a palm tree, and then the blazing ultramarine sky.
Up in the zenith, so high that it dazzled one to look at them, a
few vultures circled without the quiver of a wing.
Unblinking, rather like a great porcelain idol, U Po Kyin gazed out
into the fierce sunlight. He was a man of fifty, so fat that for
years he had not risen from his chair without help, and yet shapely
and even beautiful in his grossness; for the Burmese do not sag and
bulge like white men, but grow fat symmetrically, like fruits
swelling. His face was vast, yellow and quite unwrinkled, and his
eyes were tawny. His feet--squat, high-arched feet with the toes
all the same length--were bare, and so was his cropped head, and he
wore one of those vivid Arakanese longyis with green and magenta
checks which the Burmese wear on informal occasions. He was
chewing betel from a lacquered box on the table, and thinking about
his past life.
It had been a brilliantly successful life. U Po Kyin's earliest
memory, back in the eighties, was of standing, a naked pot-bellied
child, watching the British troops march victorious into Mandalay.
He remembered the terror he had felt of those columns of great
beef-fed men, red-faced and red-coated; and the long rifles over
their shoulders, and the heavy, rhythmic tramp of their boots. He
had taken to his heels after watching them for a few minutes. In
his childish way he had grasped that his own people were no match
for this race of giants. To fight on the side of the British, to
become a parasite upon them, had been his ruling ambition, even as
a child.
At seventeen he had tried for a Government appointment, but he had
failed to get it, being poor and friendless, and for three years
he had worked in the stinking labyrinth of the Mandalay bazaars,
clerking for the rice merchants and sometimes stealing. Then when
he was twenty a lucky stroke of blackmail put him in possession of
four hundred rupees, and he went at once to Rangoon and bought his
way into a Government clerkship. The job was a lucrative one
though the salary was small. At that time a ring of clerks were
making a steady income by misappropriating Government stores, and
Po Kyin (he was plain Po Kyin then: the honorific U came years
later) took naturally to this kind of thing. However, he had too
much talent to spend his life in a clerkship, stealing miserably in
annas and pice. One day he discovered that the Government, being
short of minor officials, were going to make some appointments from
among the clerks. The news would have become public in another
week, but it was one of Po Kyin's qualities that his information
was always a week ahead of everyone else's. He saw his chance and
denounced all his confederates before they could take alarm. Most
of them were sent to prison, and Po Kyin was made an Assistant
Township Officer as the reward of his honesty. Since then he had
risen steadily. Now, at fifty-six, he was a Sub-divisional
Magistrate, and he would probably be promoted still further and
made an acting Deputy Commissioner, with Englishmen as his equals
and even his subordinates.
As a magistrate his methods were simple. Even for the vastest
bribe he would never sell the decision of a case, because he knew
that a magistrate who gives wrong judgments is caught sooner or
later. His practice, a much safer one, was to take bribes from
both sides and then decide the case on strictly legal grounds.
This won him a useful reputation for impartiality. Besides his
revenue from litigants, U Po Kyin levied a ceaseless toll, a sort
of private taxation scheme, from all the villages under his
jurisdiction. If any village failed in its tribute U Po Kyin took
punitive measures--gangs of dacoits attacked the village, leading
villagers were arrested on false charges, and so forth--and it was
never long before the amount was paid up. He also shared the
proceeds of all the larger-sized robberies that took place in the
district. Most of this, of course, was known to everyone except U
Po Kyin's official superiors (no British officer will ever believe
anything against his own men) but the attempts to expose him
invariably failed; his supporters, kept loyal by their share of the
loot, were too numerous. When any accusation was brought against
him, U Po Kyin simply discredited it with strings of suborned
witnesses, following this up by counter-accusations which left him
in a stronger position than ever. He was practically invulnerable,
because he was too fine a judge of men ever to choose a wrong
instrument, and also because he was too absorbed in intrigue ever
to fail through carelessness or ignorance. One could say with
practical certainty that he would never be found out, that he would
go from success to success, and would finally die full of honour,
worth several lakhs of rupees.
And even beyond the grave his success would continue. According to
Buddhist belief, those who have done evil in their lives will spend
the next incarnation in the shape of a rat, a frog or some other
low animal. U Po Kyin was a good Buddhist and intended to provide
against this danger. He would devote his closing years to good
works, which would pile up enough merit to outweigh the rest of his
life. Probably his good works would take the form of building
pagodas. Four pagodas, five, six, seven--the priests would tell
him how many--with carved stonework, gilt umbrellas and little
bells that tinkled in the wind, every tinkle a prayer. And he
would return to the earth in male human shape--for a woman ranks
at about the same level as a rat or a frog--or at best as some
dignified beast such as an elephant.
All these thoughts flowed through U Po Kyin's mind swiftly and for
the most part in pictures. His brain, though cunning, was quite
barbaric, and it never worked except for some definite end; mere
meditation was beyond him. He had now reached the point to which
his thoughts had been tending. Putting his smallish, triangular
hands on the arms of his chair, he turned himself a little way
round and called, rather wheezily:
'Ba Taik! Hey, Ba Taik!'
Ba Taik, U Po Kyin's servant, appeared through the beaded curtain
of the veranda. He was an under-sized, pock-marked man with a
timid and rather hungry expression. U Po Kyin paid him no wages,
for he was a convicted thief whom a word would send to prison. As
Ba Taik advanced he shikoed, so low as to give the impression that
he was stepping backwards.
'Most holy god?' he said.
'Is anyone waiting to see me, Ba Taik?'
Ba Taik enumerated the visitors upon his fingers: 'There is the
headman of Thitpingyi village, your honour, who has brought
presents, and two villagers who have an assault case that is to be
tried by your honour, and they too have brought presents. Ko Ba
Sein, the head clerk of the Deputy Commissioner s office, wishes to
see you, and there is Ali Shah, the police constable, and a dacoit
whose name I do not know. I think they have quarrelled about some
gold bangles they have stolen. And there is also a young village
girl with a baby.'
'What does she want?' said U Po Kyin.
'She says that the baby is yours, most holy one.'
'Ah. And how much has the headman brought?'
Ba Taik thought it was only ten rupees and a basket of mangoes.
'Tell the headman,' said U Po Kyin, 'that it should be twenty
rupees, and there will be trouble for him and his village if the
money is not here tomorrow. I will see the others presently. Ask
Ko Ba Sein to come to me here.'
Ba Sein appeared in a moment. He was an erect, narrow-shouldered
man, very tall for a Burman, with a curiously smooth face that
recalled a coffee blancmange. U Po Kyin found him a useful tool.
Unimaginative and hardworking, he was an excellent clerk, and Mr
Macgregor, the Deputy Commissioner, trusted him with most of his
official secrets. U Po Kyin, put in a good temper by his thoughts,
greeted Ba Sein with a laugh and waved to the betel box.
'Well, Ko Ba Sein, how does our affair progress? I hope that, as
dear Mr Macgregor would say'--U Po Kyin broke into English--'"eet
ees making perceptible progress"?'
Ba Sein did not smile at the small joke. Sitting down stiff and
long-backed in the vacant chair, he answered:
'Excellently, sir. Our copy of the paper arrived this morning.
Kindly observe.'
He produced a copy of a bilingual paper called the Burmese Patriot.
It was a miserable eight-page rag, villainously printed on paper as
bad as blotting paper, and composed partly of news stolen from the
Rangoon Gazette, partly of weak Nationalist heroics. On the last
page the type had slipped and left the entire sheet jet black, as
though in mourning for the smallness of the paper's circulation.
The article to which U Po Kyin turned was of a rather different
stamp from the rest. It ran:
In these happy times, when we poor blacks are being uplifted by the
mighty western civilization, with its manifold blessings such as
the cinematograph, machine-guns, syphilis, etc., what subject
could be more inspiring than the private lives of our European
benefactors? We think therefore that it may interest our readers
to hear something of events in the up-country district of
Kyauktada. And especially of Mr Macgregor, honoured Deputy
Commissioner of said district.
Mr Macgregor is of the type of the Fine Old English Gentleman, such
as, in these happy days, we have so many examples before our eyes.
He is 'a family man' as our dear English cousins say. Very much a
family man is Mr Macgregor. So much so that he has already three
children in the district of Kyauktada, where he has been a year,
and in his last district of Shwemyo he left six young progenies
behind him. Perhaps it is an oversight on Mr Macgregor's part that
he has left these young infants quite unprovided for, and that some
of their mothers are in danger of starvation, etc., etc., etc.
There was a column of similar stuff, and wretched as it was, it was
well above the level of the rest of the paper. U Po Kyin read the
article carefully through, holding it at arm's length--he was long-
sighted--and drawing his lips meditatively back, exposing great
numbers of small, perfect teeth, blood-red from betel juice.
'The editor will get six months' imprisonment for this,' he said
finally.
'He does not mind. He says that the only time when his creditors
leave him alone is when he is in prison.'
'And you say that your little apprentice clerk Hla Pe wrote this
article all by himself? That is a very clever boy--a most
promising boy! Never tell me again that these Government High
Schools are a waste of time. Hla Pe shall certainly have his
clerkship.'
'You think then, sir, that this article will be enough?'
U Po Kyin did not answer immediately. A puffing, labouring noise
began to proceed from him; he was trying to rise from his chair.
Ba Taik was familiar with this sound. He appeared from behind the
beaded curtain, and he and Ba Sein put a hand under each of U Po
Kyin's armpits and hoisted him to his feet. U Po Kyin stood for a
moment balancing the weight of his belly upon his legs, with the
movement of a fish porter adjusting his load. Then he waved Ba
Taik away.
'Not enough,' he said, answering Ba Sein's question, 'not enough by
any means. There is a lot to be done yet. But this is the right
beginning. Listen.'
He went to the rail to spit out a scarlet mouthful of betel, and
then began to quarter the veranda with short steps, his hands
behind his back. The friction of his vast thighs made him waddle
slightly. As he walked he talked, in the base jargon of the
Government offices--a patchwork of Burmese verbs and English
abstract phrases:
'Now, let us go into this affair from the beginning. We are going
to make a concerted attack on Dr Veraswami, who is the Civil
Surgeon and Superintendent of the jail. We are going to slander
him, destroy his reputation and finally ruin him for ever. It will
be rather a delicate operation.'
'Yes, sir.'
'There will be no risk, but we have got to go slowly. We are not
proceeding against a miserable clerk or police constable. We are
proceeding against a high official, and with a high official, even
when he is an Indian, it is not the same as with a clerk. How does
one ruin a clerk? Easy; an accusation, two dozen witnesses,
dismissal and imprisonment. But that will not do here. Softly,
softly, softly is my way. No scandal, and above all no official
inquiry. There must be no accusations that can be answered, and
yet within three months I must fix it in the head of every European
in Kyauktada that the doctor is a villain. What shall I accuse him
of? Bribes will not do, a doctor does not get bribes to any
extent. What then?'
'We could perhaps arrange a mutiny in the jail,' said Ba Sein.
'As superintendent, the doctor would be blamed.'
'No, it is too dangerous. I do not want the jail warders firing
their rifles in all directions. Besides, it would be expensive.
Clearly, then, it must be disloyalty--Nationalism, seditious
propaganda. We must persuade the Europeans that the doctor holds
disloyal, anti-British opinions. That is far worse than bribery;
they expect a native official to take bribes. But let them suspect
his loyalty even for a moment, and he is ruined.'
'It would be a hard thing to prove,' objected Ba Sein. 'The doctor
is very loyal to the Europeans. He grows angry when anything is
said against them. They will know that, do you not think?'
'Nonsense, nonsense,' said U Po Kyin comfortably. 'No European
cares anything about proofs. When a man has a black face,
suspicion IS proof. A few anonymous letters will work wonders. It
is only a question of persisting; accuse, accuse, go on accusing--
that is the way with Europeans. One anonymous letter after
another, to every European in turn. And then, when their
suspicions are thoroughly aroused--' U Po Kyin brought one short
arm from behind his back and clicked his thumb and finger. He
added: 'We begin with this article in the Burmese Patriot. The
Europeans will shout with rage when they see it. Well, the next
move is to persuade them that it was the doctor who wrote it.'
'It will be difficult while he has friends among the Europeans.
All of them go to him when they are ill. He cured Mr Macgregor of
his flatulence this cold weather. They consider him a very clever
doctor, I believe.'
'How little you understand the European mind, Ko Ba Sein! If the
Europeans go to Veraswami it is only because there is no other
doctor in Kyauktada. No European has any faith in a man with a
black face. No, with anonymous letters it is only a question of
sending enough. I shall soon see to it that he has no friends
left.'
'There is Mr Flory, the timber merchant,' said Ba Sein. (He
pronounced it 'Mr Porley'.) 'He is a close friend of the doctor.
I see him go to his house every morning when he is in Kyauktada.
Twice he has even invited the doctor to dinner.'
'Ah, now there you are right. If Flory were a friend of the doctor
it could do us harm. You cannot hurt an Indian when he has a
European friend. It gives him--what is that word they are so fond
of?--prestige. But Flory will desert his friend quickly enough
when the trouble begins. These people have no feeling of loyalty
towards a native. Besides, I happen to know that Flory is a
coward. I can deal with him. Your part, Ko Ba Sein, is to watch
Mr Macgregor's movements. Has he written to the Commissioner
lately--written confidentially, I mean?'
'He wrote two days ago, but when we steamed the letter open we
found it was nothing of importance.'
'Ah well, we will give him something to write about. And as soon
as he suspects the doctor, then is the time for that other affair I
spoke to you of. Thus we shall--what does Mr Macgregor say? Ah
yes, "kill two birds with one stone". A whole flock of birds--ha,
ha!'
U Po Kyin's laugh was a disgusting bubbling sound deep down in his
belly, like the preparation for a cough; yet it was merry, even
childlike. He did not say any more about the 'other affair', which
was too private to be discussed even upon the veranda. Ba Sein,
seeing the interview at an end, stood up and bowed, angular as a
jointed ruler.
'Is there anything else your honour wishes done?' he said.
'Make sure that Mr Macgregor has his copy of the Burmese Patriot.
You had better tell Hla Pe to have an attack of dysentery and stay
away from the office. I shall want him for the writing of the
anonymous letters. That is all for the present.'
'Then I may go, sir?'
'God go with you,' said U Po Kyin rather abstractedly, and at once
shouted again for Ba Taik. He never wasted a moment of his day.
It did not take him long to deal with the other visitors and to
send the village girl away unrewarded, having examined her face and
said that he did not recognize her. It was now his breakfast time.
Violent pangs of hunger, which attacked him punctually at this hour
every morning, began to torment his belly. He shouted urgently:
'Ba Taik! Hey, Ba Taik! Kin Kin! My breakfast! Be quick, I am
starving.'
In the living-room behind the curtain a table was already set out
with a huge bowl of rice and a dozen plates containing curries,
dried prawns and sliced green mangoes. U Po Kyin waddled to the
table, sat down with a grunt and at once threw himself on the food.
Ma Kin, his wife, stood behind him and served him. She was a thin
woman of five and forty, with a kindly, pale brown, simian face.
U Po Kyin took no notice of her while he was eating. With the bowl
close to his nose he stuffed the food into himself with swift,
greasy fingers, breathing fast. All his meals were swift,
passionate and enormous; they were not meals so much as orgies,
debauches of curry and rice. When he had finished he sat back,
belched several times and told Ma Kin to fetch him a green Burmese
cigar. He never smoked English tobacco, which he declared had no
taste in it.
Presently, with Ba Taik's help, U Po Kyin dressed in his office
clothes, and stood for a while admiring himself in the long mirror
in the living-room. It was a wooden-walled room with two pillars,
still recognizable as teak-trunks, supporting the roof-tree, and it
was dark and sluttish as all Burmese rooms are, though U Po Kyin
had furnished it 'Ingaleik fashion' with a veneered sideboard and
chairs, some lithographs of the Royal Family and a fire-
extinguisher. The floor was covered with bamboo mats, much
splashed by lime and betel juice.
Ma Kin was sitting on a mat in the corner, stitching an ingyi.
U Po Kyin turned slowly before the mirror, trying to get a glimpse
of his back view. He was dressed in a gaungbaung of pale pink
silk, an ingyi of starched muslin, and a paso of Mandalay silk,
a gorgeous salmon-pink brocaded with yellow. With an effort he
turned his head round and looked, pleased, at the paso tight and
shining on his enormous buttocks. He was proud of his fatness,
because he saw the accumulated flesh as the symbol of his
greatness. He who had once been obscure and hungry was now fat,
rich and feared. He was swollen with the bodies of his enemies;
a thought from which he extracted something very near poetry.
'My new paso was cheap at twenty-two rupees, hey, Kin Kin?' he
said.
Ma Kin bent her head over her sewing. She was a simple, old-
fashioned woman, who had learned even less of European habits than
U Po Kyin. She could not sit on a chair without discomfort. Every
morning she went to the bazaar with a basket on her head, like a
village woman, and in the evenings she could be seen kneeling in
the garden, praying to the white spire of the pagoda that crowned
the town. She had been the confidante of U Po Kyin's intrigues for
twenty years and more.
'Ko Po Kyin,' she said, 'you have done very much evil in your
life.'
U Po Kyin waved his hand. 'What does it matter? My pagodas will
atone for everything. There is plenty of time.'
Ma Kin bent her head over her sewing again, in an obstinate way she
had when she disapproved of something that U Po Kyin was doing.
'But, Ko Po Kyin, where is the need for all this scheming and
intriguing? I heard you talking with Ko Ba Sein on the veranda.
You are planning some evil against Dr Veraswami. Why do you wish
to harm that Indian doctor? He is a good man.'
'What do you know of these official matters, woman? The doctor
stands in my way. In the first place he refuses to take bribes,
which makes it difficult for the rest of us. And besides--well,
there is something else which you would never have the brains to
understand.'
'Ko Po Kyin, you have grown rich and powerful, and what good has it
ever done you? We were happier when we were poor. Ah, I remember
so well when you were only a Township Officer, the first time we
had a house of our own. How proud we were of our new wicker
furniture, and your fountain-pen with the gold clip! And when the
young English police-officer came to our house and sat in the best
chair and drank a bottle of beer, how honoured we thought
ourselves! Happiness is not in money. What can you want with more
money now?'
'Nonsense, woman, nonsense! Attend to your cooking and sewing and
leave official matters to those who understand them.'
'Well, I do not know. I am your wife and have always obeyed you.
But at least it is never too soon to acquire merit. Strive to
acquire more merit, Ko Po Kyin! Will you not, for instance, buy
some live fish and set them free in the river? One can acquire
much merit in that way. Also, this morning when the priests came
for their rice they told me that there are two new priests at the
monastery, and they are hungry. Will you not give them something,
Ko Po Kyin? I did not give them anything myself, so that you might
acquire the merit of doing it.'
U Po Kyin turned away from the mirror. The appeal touched him a
little. He never, when it could be done without inconvenience,
missed a chance of acquiring merit. In his eyes his pile of merit
was a kind of bank deposit, everlastingly growing. Every fish set
free in the river, every gift to a priest, was a step nearer
Nirvana. It was a reassuring thought. He directed that the basket
of mangoes brought by the village headman should be sent down to
the monastery.
Presently he left the house and started down the road, with Ba Taik
behind him carrying a file of papers. He walked slowly, very
upright to balance his vast belly, and holding a yellow silk
umbrella over his head. His pink paso glittered in the sun like a
satin praline. He was going to the court, to try his day's cases.
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