By Dr. Hla Khine

The Decision –

         Although the National University of Malaysia had already sent a job offer to me. I was simply ‘hamstrung’ with the Education Clearance form still hanging in the air. Although I did not know her personally, I went to see the eldest daughter of the highest official in the hierarchy of our country, at her ward in Dagone Military Hospital 2, as a last resort,. She had attended a few of my NeuroAnatomy lectures at  MC 1, LeikGone while preparing for the MRCOG exam. I told her of my difficulty and asked her for her assistance in getting a passport for me. She just stood there with a ‘far-away’ look in her eyes, and after some time and promised nothing and did nothing. It was then that with the hope of ever getting a valid travel document fading, I decided to take the overland route tagging along with the smugglers who walk across Dawnar Mountain Ranges to Thailand. But being domiciled in Maymyo, some 600 miles north of Rangoon, I did no know how to get in touch with the smugglers.

           I scouted the exit route towards Morey across the Chin Hills towards India. I was overjoyed to meet my old Professor of Surgery working in that hospital at the border between India and Naga hills. The route was impractical without valid travel documents. They offered me a forged Bangladeshi passport and although I can talk in Bengali language, I am fair like a Sino and have slit eyes of a Mongolian. The Bangladeshi passport does not just fit in with me. So  I tried Northern route. The smugglers there took me over the jungle route and within 2 nights we were kilometers inside Red China. Although my facial features was OK but the biggest obstacle was that I hardly spoke a word of Chinese. The Burmese Khawtaws (from Buthitaung, Maungdaw) who work and stay there inside China could talk in Chinese much to my disbelief and jealousy. It was there that I saw local Chinese on bicycles, with white short sleeve shirts roaming around the region. They were informers and spied on movements of the intruders or illegal immigrants. These ubiquitous ‘informers’ made me feel very uncomfortable and I retreated ‘successfully’ (in military parlance – AungMyinZwaSokeHkwaGetThee) back to my motherland. On enquiry about the Dawnar Range smugglers, they have either left and the 2nd batch would be going in 6 weeks time, now waiting to replenish their merchandise, etc. They are still ‘preparing’ to go or they have already gone. Hence much time was wasted in this way being uncertain of when to catch the smuggler Shoulder-pole Caravan. The journey over the Dawnar Ranges took 3 days and nights. I’ve only seen hills that I thought were mountains.

                But these were real mountains where the gust of wind is cold and strong. Each day we broke our journey when the sun sets and used the huts built for the sake of convenience of the smugglers to rest. But during the nights as we huddled together to exchange stories under the orange glow of the kerosene-oil lamps, I noticed that the mosquitoes made a bee-line for me and hovered around my ears only. I wondered why. Later it dawned upon me that the Mandalay MyetParYat HtoeMon (Solid Burmese Halwa made from rice and KaukHnyin and coconut) was sweet and which I brought along as a convenient and non-fermentable dry ration, was the culprit. It raised the sugar content of my blood and made my sweat ?  sweet also. But adequate dose and correct regimen of the prophylatic drugs Fansidar and Mepacrine for Malaria which I’ve taken before my journey gave me some cause to be a bit complacent.

       The desire was to enter Thailand immediately after the river was crossed without having to trudge through ‘Kawthooley’, the Karen Rebel territory. The plan was to get as near as possible to the point where the further bank of the demarcating Salween river touched Thailand. That brought me into Kayah territory and beyond Nammehek about 45-50 kilometers south of it I saw the Salween with much joy and elation. That was as we descended into the more level territory. The smugglers told me that further east about 50 kilometers was Mon Serang or Mae Serang, I’m not certain as I’ve noted the itinerary down in my diary but I cannot at this moment locate it. Elation turned to anguish as there was a military Check Point on our side of the river and manned by the soldiers of the Burma Army Light Infantry. Although the smugglers with their blackmarket merchandise slung on their shoulder poles paid for their passage through the check point, to the soldier sentinels, my attire with taikpone, pasoe, golf hat and velvet slippers would obviously indicate my status as a ‘possibly-absconding’ government official and be locked up in the frontier cantonment guardhouse.

           So I skirted the Checkpoint at a distance and went further down the river at a place I thought the soldiers would find it difficult to take pot-shots at me with their automatic NATO-issue rifles. I decided to swim across to the opposite bank but the river appeared swollen with the Monsoon rains. Although the water appeared somewhat muddy with some deadwood and branches adrift, it looked quite possible at first sight. Having no plastic bag large enough to put my clothes in, I decided to swim fully clothed. It was a wise decision as the water cascading down the mountains and hills was unexpectedly ‘very’ cold. On retrospect, I’m lucky I didn’t get cardiac arrest in that cold water. Swimming breast stroke or the usual crawl was impossible as the water flowed in eddying whirls and I got just swept in circles like I was sitting in a ‘jungle Salween jaccuzzi’. For this reason also, it took interminably long time to get to the other bank, in the process I got carried ‘unwillingly and helplessly’ about 3 kilometers downstream. When eventually I touched bank and crept up in a panting and giddy exhaustion, I couldn’t move for more than 40 minutes as I had taken light breakfast only that morning. The task now was to retrace my steps back towards the Checkpoint so as to enable me to link up with the smugglers. But progress in that direction was heavily hindered by exuberant growth of vines, creepers and thorny bushes and a length of bamboo pole was not of much help. As the sun got high overhead, the hunger pains started to manifest itself and there was much borborygmy as my empty stomach churned on itself.

              But mother luck was on my side as I saw the plants of sweet white potato (PareSeinSarU) which my father had shown to us brothers when we were young and on a week-end jungle trek. He taught us many of a Scout’s Survival Methods. Excitedly, but also with a thought of possible frustration, I followed the creeper vine to its root and used a sharp bamboo spike to dig up the white PareSeinSarU. It was more than double the size of our variety and the skin was a tad thicker also. But otherwise it was the ‘spittin image‘ of our PareSeinSarU. After digging up about half a dozen of these tubers I went down the stream to wash and ravenously crunched on the white potato. As night came on, the place went instantly and suddenly dark, just as if the light had been switched off – bling !!!! I leant against the trunk of a large tree and fell asleep immediately. The sounds of roaring, growling and trumpeting of wild animals had no effect whatsoever on my sleep-deprived body. Morning found me eating a couple of SeinSarU potatoes more and started to trek up through the thick jungle making very slow progress as I was stopping to dig up tubers as I saw them. Then with much joy in my heart I spied a small grove of banana trees and dashed towards it. There were two bunches stacked with invitingly yellow-ripe fruits. I feverishly tugged at the trunk of the tree and as it bowed lower grabbed at the fruits. Nervously I peeled the skin and sank my teeth into it and was much chagrinned. The flesh was not so thick and formed a quarter of an inch thick rind around the long core of ‘seeds’ that were crunchy and astringent. The flesh of the fruit was also disappointingly ‘mildly’ sweet perhaps indicating that the content of fruit sugar was low. Sorry to say I had to return to my ‘first love’ the PareSeinSar U ‘whom’ I had too hastily but temporarily ‘divorced’ when I saw the banana.

    I leant against the trunk of a large tree again when night fell and as usual because of exhaustion fell asleep immediately. Not long afterwards, I was, so to say, jolted out of my sleep when an extremely ‘heavy’  ? anaconda ‘ZabagyiMyay’ crept ‘gratingly’ across the ankles of both of my extended legs. When suddenly it dawned on me that it was a snake, I was shaking with fear and praying ‘ardently’ for the whole length of it to pass quickly over. I nearly ‘shit’ in my sarong with fright.

          On the third morning around 10 a.m. I saw smoke rising in a graceful whirl on the right side. Smoke meant the presence of human beings. Quickly I inserted two fingers in my mouth and taking a deep breath blew a loud whistle (TeyLeyJaBoe style). No response. Gave another whistle. Again no response. My heart was down in my boots, I mean, slippers. In a while after uttering a short prayer, I whistled again. This time, hesitatingly, I got a whistle back. That was it. I ran towards the direction from which the sound of the whistle came. Did I say ‘ran’. It was actually much-hindered walk towards the sound of the whistle as the bushes were thick and the thorns sharp. I kept up the intermittent whistles just to let the person know that I was walking towards him. Later, I came to know he was also curiously walking towards the sounds of my whistles. Even then, it took me more than half an hour to eventually break clear of the thick bushes.

The Miracle of the Century

            The man who was walking curiously towards me had a pate smooth as a billiard ball. But when I saw his exopthalmic bulging brown eyes as he got nearer, my heart skipped a beat…

‘Hamza… Tin Myint laaa?’ I asked in excitement.

‘Heik, Hla Khine moke laa?…(Aren’t you Hla Khine ?)

          He was my neighbour who lived behind our house in Maymyo. He joined the Burma Army Signals Corps which has its Base in that town. After that I lost track of him as I went through college and my postgraduate training in London University.

          So we met again in a most ‘unlikely’ place after a separation of some 17-18 years. After his discharge from the army he was doing a sort of cross-border trading as the place was not so far from Chiang Mai (ZinMare) and got married to a Thai national. A God-intended miracle!!!  Has ’this miracle’ got to do anything with ‘filial piety’?