နိုင်၀င်းဆွေ- မသိန်းရှင်ဆီပို့ပေးပါ

1964...

In the dark, snowy mornings, the train trembled with fear as it pulled out of the station. It couldn't be helped. It blew out the smoke and started to pull away, groaning. It turned on the headlights, which were only visible in the distance. As it gained speed, its blood boiled and it became increasingly afraid. As it passed the platform lights of Taungdwingyi Station, it let out a long, encouraging whistle.

Immediately, he mistakenly thought that the sound of his siren was the sound of applause from the surroundings, and he regained his strength. He cut through the increasingly dark darkness with a furious rush.

I was riding in the dark corner of a carriage, like a piece of machinery on this train. I happened to glance at the town of Taungdwingyi, which I couldn't see clearly.

The lights of the station were receding and becoming smaller. The colors of the street lamps from the city were flickering on the train. The city was quiet, the mass of the Rakhine Buddha looming in the shadows like a black mass, as the train slowly moved along the long curve. From the side of the small village of Thaphangone, the dim lights of the kerosene lamps were flickering. In the darkness, the small lights were indescribable.

This light and darkness, this dark light, is not only passing through the chariot, it is not only falling on all the living and non-living beings on the chariot, it is not only falling on my body, it is also falling on my heart.

The train will not feel anything. It is a machine. It does not know cold or heat, it does not know darkness or light, it has no brain, no life, no feelings, no heart, no purpose.

Am I a machine too, I ask myself, a silent question. Is my heart a machine that has begun to lose all feeling? Is my brain a brain that is silent in the darkness, not daring to move, not daring to fight, not daring to kick, not daring to move?

On this train, there were smugglers who had come from Kyaukpandaung to load smuggled palm trees, and I couldn't resist them. I was looking for a reason why I hadn't arrested them. I thought that if they came, I would lose my job. I wouldn't be able to go to prison without a day of release.

My mind no longer felt like it was driving a train. It felt like smugglers, palm fronds, oil, salt, onions, tea, chilies, turmeric powder, contraband goods, the gatti, the engine driver, the smell of smoke, the hunters, the wild deer, the disgusting things, the students, the monks, the people, the destruction, the bad smells, all the inanimate objects were all mixed up and floating in a vast current with no direction to go.

I was also thinking about the vast darkness, the endless, deep sea.

After a while, the rays of dawn began to shine beautifully in the darkness covered with snow. I imagined Ko Shwe Yor and his three eldest sons, Ko Shwe Yor's group, arriving at Saddon Creek.

When we arrived in front of Saddonchaung Station, the train came to a quiet stop in the darkness. I jumped off the train as it slowed down.

I stood at a broken spot on the platform and shouted, "Come here, get your tickets... here... here," as I used to do every day.

At this station without a station, without a station owner, without a contract, passengers were running towards me, as if they were waiting for me on the platform. “I have something to load, sir,” a passenger shouted from a distance. Gard Bo Ko Aung

Kyaw walked over to me, cowboy-style, holding a mirror. He was showing me what I was working on with the mirror light.

"Yin Maung, do it quickly," he said, urging.

As I hurriedly worked on the ticket sales and the equipment, I watched Ko Shwe Yeok's team. Ko Shwe Yeok and his men rushed to the carriages without taking tickets. Ko Shwe Yeok had his three sons board the train, while he himself stood in the shadows at the edge of the platform, watching me. He had no shoes on his feet, and a rag was tied around his neck. His long, unoiled, theatrical hair hung in a messy mess over his face.

After work, the guard blew his whistle as if giving a military order and flashed the green light. As the train pulled away, I climbed onto a passenger car. Ko Shwe Yeok jumped up behind me to catch me.

Ko Shwe Yeok and I were standing side by side. As the train picked up speed, Ko Shwe Yeok handed me the kyats and coins he had been clutching in his hand. His hands were trembling, partly from the cold, partly from fear.

"There are eight of us, sir..."

"A whole group?"

“Ko Po Kyaw stayed behind because his wife passed away.”

I looked at his face in the darkness before I put the money he gave me in my trouser pocket. The money he gave me was about thirteen or fourteen kyats. The money he gave me to allow the eight of them to ride without tickets as far as Kyaukpadaung. They didn't make a fortune on their smuggling rackets until they could buy tickets at the exact fare. From the profits they made, they paid me, the gatekeeper, the railway police, and the search. I remembered again that his wife was sick.

"Are you okay, woman?"

I asked.

"Same, sir..."

"Aren't you going to get the injection?"

"Well..."

"What's wrong?"

"We don't have money to go to the city for injections, and the people who come to us for medicine are running out of medicine."

"Health officer?"

"No.. He's a horse-drawn carriage driver, you can trust him. He's a very good doctor. He doesn't charge much money. He's not a big-time guy like doctors."

I am at peace again. Ko Shwe Yeok has more than one child to support. His wife is always sick. He has three young children who are forced to work as smugglers. He has to support himself, the guards, the railway police, and the search and rescue workers.

He seemed to be deep in thought about something, and then he spoke again, without any basis or meaning, "That's it, sir..."

I put half the money in my pocket and gave the other half back to his wife for her treatment. He refused to take it back. He was afraid that I would hurt him by not taking all his money. I was getting frustrated as I tried to get him to take it back.

When I finally reached for the money I had returned, I noticed that his hands were shaking. I knew without seeing it that his eyes were filled with heartfelt tears.

“People here are not satisfied with how much they give. Some girls are not satisfied with just the money and give it to me. They keep asking me because they don’t have enough money. Look at Mya Khin, she’s not even thirteen years old, she doesn’t even have a hairpiece, and she’s still giving me that much money, and I feel sick to my stomach,” he said in his mind, and I could hear him talking in my mind. .

"Okay... That's it, let's see how it goes," I said.

"Don't worry, teacher, I won't hurt you. We, the father and son, will never touch each other."

"I trust you. I trust you will never harm me, but I will be responsible for anything that comes up during the search."

"Yes, sir."

"You could lose your job, you could go to jail"

I couldn't hear him continue because of the noise of the train driving. No one would ever catch his palms. I don't know his secret. In fact, at the Kyaukpadaung-Taungdwingyi crossing, where two trains interchange, there was a hole in the roof of one of the trains in the toilet. They were secretly carrying their belongings through that hole.

My heart feels heavy thinking that there are no less than twenty smugglers on this train. Pinchaung Aung Naing Myint, Sons Than, Myo Thit Ko Than, Kyauk Pan

Taung Soe Myint, whoever arrests me will not be exempt from responsibility.

I am a TBC (Train Station Clerk) and I have to check tickets, seize illegal goods, and seize contraband on the entire train. If someone comes to check me out out of spite, I have no choice but to turn a blind eye. I am also a person who is close to the smugglers and loves them as one.

As I held the red pencil, I thought to myself, "I am a king on this train, with all the power I can capture." I wondered if it was a joy to have the privilege of manipulating this red pencil as I wished.

Is this a chaotic situation? The dawn is getting brighter. Darkness and light are mixing. When we reach the city, we can clearly see the snowdrops falling in the soft light. When the train stops at the station, objects are mixed between light and darkness.

Thein Lwin, a young station clerk from the city, staggers to the station early in the morning, drunk. His uniform is dirty. Passengers are milling around in front of his rickety station. On the other side,