Maung Nay Win - Than Phalan

Chapter [1]

My eagle

The summer breeze plays in the trees, and the wild stream ripples with sweet sounds on the moss-covered rocks. Butterflies flutter in the sunlight, and the lazy sound of bees is heard everywhere. It is very quiet. Sitting here, I am lost in thought. The silence makes my mind restless. To be honest, I think it is not true. The whole world must be silent. Even though I foresee the coming storm, I am listening with all my senses.

Oh... don't be premature, no wonder I'm so tired. I'm thinking. I can't stop thinking. I've been stuck in a deep, complicated life for too long, where peace and quiet are oppressed.

I can no longer bear the madness of death and destruction. I can clearly hear the cries of those in distress. I can also see the souls of those who have gone from their glorious bodies in the past to the eternal God. Thus, we poor people who have been struggling with the destruction of our lives to achieve eternal peace and happiness on this great planet are achieving their goals.

 

I am alone. While I think about what lies ahead, I think about my eagle, who is soaring tirelessly, flapping its wings, aiming for the eternal flame of human freedom. Although he can no longer see it, I cannot sit by and watch the real work he is doing. For this he gave his whole life. For this he gave his life. This is his work.

 

So, in this hour of anxious waiting, I must write about my husband. I alone of all living beings can describe his appearance. His spirit is a great one. As my love grows stronger, what grieves me most is that he is not here tonight to see the dawn of tomorrow.

 

In fact, we will not be defeated. We have built a very strong and reliable foundation to prevent this defeat. But woe to the Iron Heel. The descendants of human history will strike back at the Iron Heel. The workers of the whole world will awaken. Such an event has never happened in the history of the world. The solidarity of the workers will be strengthened, and for the first time an international revolution will emerge, as wide as the world is wide.

I am fully aware of what will happen in the future. I think about this day and night. It has been on my mind for a long time, and therefore I cannot think of my husband without thinking about it. It is his soul. How can I think about these two separately?

As I have said before, I am the only one who can describe his character. We know very well that he worked hard for freedom and suffered a lot. I know very well how hard he worked because I was with him during these twenty long years. I know very well how much he suffered. I know very well how patiently he endured, how tirelessly he worked, how much he sacrificed himself for the cause for which he gave his life two months ago.

 

I will try to write simply. How Ernet Everhard came into my life. How I first met him, how he brought me into his life. What great changes he brought into my life, etc. I will tell you. In this way, you will see through my eyes the part of him that I have kept so secret, the part that I have so much to tell.

You should learn from him, just as I learned from him.

I first met him at a dinner party in February 1912, as a guest of my father. He had come to our house in Berkeley. He was not at first impressive. He had come in a stately manner, waiting for the arrival of his guests. It was true that there was no place for the religious among the religious on this occasion, which my father used to call the Dhamma Lecture Night.

 

First of all, the clothes didn't suit him, the black suit he was wearing didn't suit his body. In fact, no suit would suit him, his coat was tight between his broad shoulders. His neck was the neck of a great wrestler, and it was very strong. I thought that the social commentator who worked as a farrier and a horse shoemaker that my father had met was Pekoe. Looking at him with his bulging muscles and the neck of a big bull, I thought he was a strange man among the working class.

 

Then he shook my hand. His hand was strong. He looked at me with his big dark eyes, very brave. I thought, very brave. I was a creature of the environment. At that time, I had a strong class instinct. I would not forgive such boldness from a person of my class. I lowered my eyes. I felt relieved when I asked him to greet Archbishop Moe Haok. The Archbishop was my favorite person. Austere, serious, medieval man, with a Christ-like appearance and a researcher.

 

Then he shook my hand. His hand was strong. He looked at me with his big dark eyes, very brave. I thought, very brave. I was a creature of the environment. At that time, I had a strong class instinct. I would not forgive such boldness from a person of my class. I lowered my eyes. I felt relieved when I asked him to greet Archbishop Moe Haok. The Archbishop was my favorite person. Austere, serious, medieval man, with a Christ-like appearance and a researcher.

 

While the religious leaders were talking non-stop about the working class, the relationship between the church and the working class, what the church had done for them, what it was doing, etc., he didn't open his mouth. I noticed that my father was annoyed by my silence. At one point, taking advantage of a moment of silence, my father asked him to say something, but my father shrugged his shoulders and said, "I have nothing to say."

But my father is not the kind of person who can refuse. When Dak Than was young, my father...

"We have a working class man with us. I think he can bring a new perspective and interesting and refreshing perspective to the subject. I mean Mr. Everhard."

The other people showed a good-natured interest and encouraged Ahn to express his opinion. This attitude towards him was very broad. Ahn seemed to be taking note carefully and I thought he was happy. I saw a light of laughter in his eyes,

“I am not very familiar with the worldly customs related to the heavenly controversy,” he began, and then he continued with sincerity and indisputable principles.

They urged, “Keep talking.” Dr. Hall added, “We don’t deny the truth in everyone. If they’re honest, that’s fine.”

"That's how honesty is distinguished from truth," he said, laughing.

Dr. Hammerfield sighed and continued his answer.

"We may be wrong, my boy... We may be..." Arnett's attitude suddenly changed. He became like a different person.

"So, okay, let me start by saying that you are all wrong. You know nothing. You know nothing about the working class. Your social science does not explain your way of thinking. It is of no value."

His voice woke me up. His voice was as bold as his eyes. It was like a war cry that made me shiver. The four pairs of lazy people around the table also started to stir.

“What is so terribly unclear and worthless about our way of thinking, my child?” Dr. Summerfield demanded. His voice and demeanor were filled with disbelief.

"You are theorists. You can rationalize everything by the method of theology. So every theorist rationalizes until he is satisfied that other theorists are wrong. In the realm of thought, you are anarchists. You are the creators of a crazy universe. You all live in a universe of your own making, created according to your own imagination and desires. You do not know the real world in which you live. Your ideas have no place in the real world except in a dismal environment...

You know what I remember as I sit at the table listening to you talk? I'm reminded of the world of medieval scholars who struggled with the fascinating problem of how many fairies could dance on the head of a needle.

"My dear gentlemen... Why are you so far removed from the intellectual life of the twentieth century, like the Indian Vindhyas chanting mantras in the darkness of the jungle ten thousand years ago?"