We Laugh, We Laugh

In Rangoon many years ago, according to a Burmese anecdote, a newly arrived and impeccably dressed visitor from Britain presented himself at the house of a Burmese dignitary. He was met by a bevy of lovely Burmese girls carrying bowls of water, who said a few words in their native tongue. Anxious to be agreeable, the Briton nodded, whereupon the maidens deluged him, from topper to spats, with cold water. The master of the house laughed & laughed.

The wet and furious Briton presently learned that the girls had formally asked his permission to douse him, and that this was part of a hallowed Burmese spring custom. Last week, Burma was still locked in civil war with the fierce Karens and other insurgents, but the Burmese found time to devote themselves to their own ancient rites. Happy as New Orleans folk at Mardi Gras, they went about laughing and dousing each other with water. It was the Thingyan or Water Festival, the Burmese New Year celebration occasioned by the annual visit of the great god Thi-gya-min (King of Good Spirits) to earth.

Hothead. The Burmese streamed out of doors to pour pots of water over the ground and offer up prayers to Thi-gya-min. Early next morning, clad in bright blue, red or green skirt-like longyis and rubber bathing caps, they set out with more water for the pagodas, to wash the sacred images. Cold drinks, tea and Burman spaghetti were served at marquees at almost every street corner and gay music sounded everywhere. Pious oldsters listened to the discourse of holy men, and everywhere the Burmese splashed one another with a will. "Yee-da-paw, yee-da-paw" (we laugh, we laugh), they cried through chattering teeth every time the chilling water hit them.

Nobody can be quite sure how all the great splashing began, but the Burmese have an explanation which seems to satisfy them. At the beginning of time, they say, Thi-gya-min made a bet with a rival god--who was so angry that he literally sizzled. The loser was to have his head chopped off. Thi-gya-min won, but his rival's severed head might not be defiled by touching the ground, so seven divine maidens took turns passing it from one to the other. Every time the head reached another daughter, a New Year began. Since the angry god's head was red-hot, it had to be cooled by water. Now, while the Burmese symbolically repeat the old ceremony, the victorious god is believed to come to earth to look things over.

Ominous Buffalo. Nobody but the professional astrologers ever know just when Thi-gya-min is coming or with what^ omens. If he carries a water jar, rains will be abundant during the coming year; if he bears a lantern and wears shoes, there will be a hot summer. This year, according to the astrologers, he arrived wearing a green dress, carrying a flower in one hand, a flower pot in the other and riding on a buffalo. That meant, of course, that cattle and crops would be badly damaged.

At the end of three days, the celestial visitor departed, leaving the Burmese to hang up their clothes to dry.

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