P.Morning - Vatthupadesa No. (15)

Our village

[1]

In the wet and dry places on the banks of the Hlaing River, there was no sound other than the sound of the wind and the water. The world was wet, but the small villages were dry, so it was called wet and dry. In the fields, the green buffalo pastures were like islands in the vast ocean, and the green islands in the middle of the water, sparkling in the sun, seemed like emeralds. The clouds were like feathers, and the clouds were like the spirits of the season, preparing to give birth to the summer season.

A young man, whose appearance was like a beautiful tree growing in a forest, out of harmony with the landscape of the area, sat on a hillock next to a cowshed behind a forest house, his hands resting on his knees, looking out at the sparkling water and the small island with a small hut and a small group of banana trees swaying in the wind.

The young man's appearance was that of a child who was bound by the bonds of sorrow and grief, and could only be known by a casual glance. For whenever he met or spoke to anyone, he always had such a cheerful appearance that one would think he had never known or experienced anything like sorrow.

It is known that some relatives of the deceased parents are here, and when they arrive at this remote place, they find that their relatives are no longer there. It is a young man who has taken temporary shelter at the house of a new friend, but no one knows why he has come to take refuge. When various things happen, the villagers and villagers are suspicious of the young man and give each other various opinions about him. They know that he came from a town on the railway. No one knows the truth about which town or why. His past events remain a mystery to explore.

At that moment, he heard a pleasant melody not far away. It was as if the sound had blown away the fog of his unsettled mind like a gentle breeze. He raised his head and looked in the direction of the sound. The melody was " Pinchin Nge Seng Inkyin Myaing Ragoon Oksi Yorka Phan Nge Tan Aok Lo, Ko Aung Kyaw Goewee Ke Tha Bwe Soe Taw" (The melody was a melody that was not strange, but it was the sound of a happy heart emerging from a free mind, and it brought freshness to the young man's dull and dry mind.

The young man was surprised to see that the voice was not a man's but a woman's. For he could not find anyone among the ragged people of this fishing village who could match that voice. He continued to listen until the melody ended, wondering what kind of person the owner of that voice was.

``When the song ended, I got up and went away, hearing the same voice continuing to sing other songs. After a while, I came to the edge of a branch where some young women were working, and the song stopped. The young women also stopped working, and some looked at it. Some said, ``It's funny, it's boring.'' Others continued working.

The young man, however, could not distinguish who the singer was. He was wearing a dirty, dirty cloth wrapped around his head, and his face was dark and sallow. He saw only a beautiful, unsightly appearance, and was disappointed. Every good voice has a bad appearance. Healthy villagers have good voices because their lungs are strong, but their appearance is rough. I think there are only unpleasant things to look at. He stood there, looking at the rows of yams, plantains, peppers, watermelons, eggplants, corn, and gourds.

“Here, Ma Hla May, Ma Hla May, if there is nothing in our remote villages, before we go back, let’s go to school with a longing.”

"What's wrong, Ma Ayephon?" a brown-haired man asked in support.

“If it’s a tiger, Ma Shwe Toh?” The young man’s face turned red. When a man entered the group of women, he thought about a wild custom of a wild boar that would tease and tease and tease and tease and tease and tease. . . The young man was about to turn back, not seeing any one to satisfy his beautiful and beautiful gaze. When he heard that, he thought that Ma Hla May was a city girl. "Who are they?" he said in a panic, looking to the north and south, "Do something. " He saw a young woman who had just stood up and thrown a shovel and fallen down. He wondered what would happen. As he looked, his companions gathered around him. He ran to see a beautiful girl with blood dripping from her feet, her hands wet with blood, her face raised and her face frowning. He felt compassion well up in his heart.

“My mother said, ‘If you can’t do it, don’t do it.’ What else do you want to do? Is it in your feet? The axe is very sharp. How can you make it hit your feet?” said one.

"I accidentally threw my baby out of the pot and it went too far," the patient said with a trembling voice and white lips.

"Oh my... there's a lot of blood, I must have pressed the button," someone said.

"Now, if only there were someone who could stop the bleeding," one said. The other looked at the young man and said...

"Don't you know how to stop bleeding?"

When asked, the young man still thought that he would be the one to marry, so he was surprised. - The young women also gave up their seats...

"Don't be afraid, I'll be quiet now, I've already drawn more blood than this."

He looked at the young woman's face with a smile and sat down with an encouraging face. He began to recite the mantra and just recite the mantra, the blood flowed noticeably slower and slower. The young woman's pale face also turned red. Soon the blood stopped flowing, and the young man couldn't help but wonder if it was because of the mantra or because of his smiling face.

Because the blood rushing to his face was so intense that there was no blood left on his severed foot. His white lips were red, and when he washed the wound with river water, it turned white.

Then he took some charcoal from the nearby bushfires, crushed it between two stones, and not only did he give it to her, but he also took out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, tore it, and gave it to her. The young woman, who was so embarrassed, gradually gathered her courage and said thank you words. Her whole body, from her limbs to her hands,