Maung Tun Thu - Peter Cummings

1.

The beginning is like a myth. Just as God once sent his messages through the minds of Hindus, Greeks, and Teutonics, so now he continues to express his love every day through the hearts of children.

At that time in my life, I did not even know the names of the lakes, mountains, and rivers of my native land. Yet, I saw the blue-green waters sparkling with specks of light falling in the sunlight. I saw the steep mountains and the snow-capped peaks of their ravines, the many waterfalls, the lush grasslands at the foot of the mountains, and the people living with their orchards, herds of buffalo, and cattle.

At that time, my heart was not only delicate and calm like a vacuum, but also filled with hope, and the life-giving beauty and tranquility of the lakes and mountains were engraved in my mind. The steep cliffs and steep mountains not only made them afraid, but also showed signs of resistance. Moreover, they told my heart the historical events of their past.

Once upon a time, this earth was in a sudden, intense pain, groaning and struggling. The violent eruptions tore the earth apart into pieces. Then, the peaks of the rising mountains were pulled and squeezed, forming peaks, peaks, and peaks.

The great walls of rock cracked and creaked, making a loud noise like thunder, and rose aimlessly and rapidly upward. At that moment, the two peaks, known as the Twins, fought frantically for their place.

Finally, a mountain peak won and sent his brother Maung Taung Htut to a lower place. Then, here and there, cracks, sharp peaks, steep cliffs, and large protruding rocks appeared. Through them, the great walls of rock broke apart, one by one. Then, when the great glaciers melted with heat, streams of water flowed through the rocks and formed streams. These waters flowed with great speed and created vast grasslands at the foot of the mountains.

The mountains, so jagged and steep, always tell the same story. When one sees the great walls covered in layers and layers of broken rock, one can see the scars on the walls and understand their condition. “We have suffered unspeakable horrors,” they will say. “We are still suffering,” they will say. But their voices are proud and stern. They speak in the voice of ancient warriors who never give up.

They are truly great warriors. I have seen them fighting against the water and the storm in the early spring nights. New currents of water were emerging from around the swaying rocks, flowing with great speed. These currents were rushing against their sides, rushing away. On those nights, they did not follow the current, but stubbornly stood firm and endured.

When the storms come, they face the storm head-on. Their cliffs, their walls, and their mountain peaks gather all their strength and fight back. Their terrible cries can be heard from all their wounds. Even from a great distance away, the sounds of landslides and the sounds of huge boulders falling can be heard. These sounds are like loud groans of pain. They are also like loud cries of anger and rage.

I saw vast grasslands, high slopes, mountain slopes, and crevices. Above the ground, grasses, wild flowers, ferns, and green mosses cling. I heard strange names given to these places by the ancient tribes of the region. The children and grandchildren of the mountains stood calmly, as if everything that had happened had nothing to do with them.

I touched them. I examined them. I smelled their scents. I learned their names. The landscape of the trees gave me a deeper sense of wonder. I carefully studied the independent lives of each tree. The unique characteristics of each tree, its size, shape, etc., were the things I saw.

Here, in this region, people came and built houses and settled, and ancient warriors appeared. They were the ones who had the closest contact with the mountains. Especially the peaks that stood tall at the highest part of the mountains were believed to have had contact with them. Each peak struggled silently and hard for its survival. It had to withstand the wind, the sun, and the rain according to the weather.

Each one had a great task to resist. He held fast to that task. In the course of carrying out that task, he had acquired his own appearance. He had acquired his own distinct scars. Among the trees, the Scotch firs bent their branches in one direction only. The trees with their red trunks twisted and twisted like snakes, clinging to the protruding rocks. They were enduring the sun, the wind, and the rain in their own way, in their own way. They were looking at me. Their gaze was like that of brave heroes, and I felt a sense of reverence and respect for them in my heart.

We men and women are like them. They are people who have worked hard together and struggled together, and we are like each other. That is why I look at people as I look at trees and rocks. When I think of them, I think only of praising them, honoring them, and loving them as I love the quiet pine trees.

Our small village, Nemikon, is located on a hillside by a lake. The village is surrounded by two rocky peaks on either side. One footpath leads to a nearby monastery, while the other takes about four and a half hours on foot to the nearest village. The other villages are separated by a lake and can only be reached by boat.

Our houses are old, made of solid wood. We don’t know how old they are. There are hardly any new houses being built. Old houses are repaired and patched up as needed. This year the floors are repaired and the roof is repaired the next year. When the timbers, beams, and beams are replaced, the wood that is no longer usable becomes firewood. Some of it is used to repair horse stables, barns, and warehouses. Some of the wood ends up as door jambs.

The people who live in those houses also suffer the same fate as the trees. Each person performs his duties as long as he can. Then he retreats into the "useless" category. Eventually, interest in them wanes and they fade away.

A man returns after many years in a remote area to find a village where nothing has changed. There is nothing new to see except the old roofs that have been replaced by new ones, and the old people who have grown old and become new people. Nothing new. The old people he had lived with in his youth have disappeared from view. But other old people continue to live in the houses where the old people lived. They have even taken on the names of the old people. They look at the children with dark hair, just like the children who were there before. The faces of the children are indistinguishable from the faces of the children who were there before. Their faces have even taken on the faces of people who are now dead.

What our group needs is fresh life and new blood from outside. The people living in Sha are a rough, rugged, and strong tribe. Most of them are blood relatives. About a third of them bear the name Kaminzin. The name also takes up many pages in the local priest’s register. It is also found inscribed on tombstones. You can see it painted and carved on the front of the house.

The name is also written unevenly and untidily on carts, horse-drawn carriages, carts, and boats. Above the door of my father’s house, you can see the inscription “House built by Dos and Francesca Carmens.” The inscription does not refer to my father. It refers to one of his ancestors. It means my great misfortune. If I die without children, another Carmen will live in this place and this house. This is a tradition that has been practiced for generations.

Although there are similarities in appearance, there is a difference between good and bad people among the people of the world. There is also a difference between those of high status and those of low status. There is also a difference between outstanding individuals and ordinary individuals like him or her. Among the intelligent majority, there is a minority of stupid people who cannot be called crazy. It exists as a small world, just as it exists in other places, so the mature and strong-minded people found in other places are mixed with the weak-minded, the cunning and the foolish. Sons and daughters are born from the association of people of different types. Thus, under the same roof, we see the self-important, the arrogant, the arrogant, and the ignorant, the frivolous.

It is not uncommon to see and experience such things. They are common in every society where people gather. Therefore, our lives have a wide scope for human seriousness and lightness, a field of vision and ambition. However, the ever-present lack of understanding and hidden unhappiness always cling to people.

Dependence on the natural resources of the environment, combined with the unbearable suffering of a life, has led to a gradual decline in age as the years pass. Then old age brings only despair. It is no longer possible to achieve anything productive. At least not something that is acceptable to the majority.

Therefore, we understand and accept the presence of a large number of crazy, stupid, and naive people who come here like witches. They are also an outlet for laughter and joy for the majority. Whenever an incident or activity occurs that is worthy of gossip about one of their people, the expressions of joy and joy on the faces of the Nemecon villagers are clearly visible.

My father was a member of the majority group in the village. The majority were people who stood somewhere between righteousness and wickedness, and they were ready to accept whatever either group did. Every evil that arose made my father's devout heart uncomfortable, but it was a way of treating the wrongdoer with respect.