VI BURMA'S OUTCASTS

Admirers of Buddhism assert its superiority over Hinduism in that Buddhism has no caste system. In all ages and in all lands there has been, in real life, a sharp social distinction between the rich and the poor. This is inevitable, so long as unsanctified human nature holds sway. Burma furnishes no exception to the rule. But while Buddhist Burma has no caste system, involving contamination to one caste by contact with another; or social degradation by departing from caste-rules,—Burma has her outcasts.

There are five classes of outcasts, namely:—former pagoda-slaves and their descendants; the grave-diggers; the lepers; the beggars; and the deformed or maimed. Apostates from the Ancestral religion might be added as a sixth class. Slavery existed in Burma before the introduction of Buddhism. When the pagoda spires of the new religion began to multiply throughout the land somebody must be found to take care of the pagoda-grounds. Existing slaves were not available for that purpose, for they had been apportioned to the service of the king, and others in high life. Prisoners taken in war; life-convicts; and others who had incurred the displeasure of the king were drawn upon to meet the fresh and ever-increasing demand. Princely captives and their followers are said to have been condemned to lifelong drudgery as pagoda slaves, with all of their descendants forever, while the world should last. As Pagan was the first great centre of Buddhism in Upper Burma, there it was that this form of slavery originated.

Buddhism of the southern type was taken to Pagan in the eleventh century. The pagodas of Thatone were duplicated. One after another was built, until an area eight miles long by two miles wide along the river was literally covered with pagodas, far surpassing any city in the world in the extent of its religious structures.

Pagan ceased to be a capital in the fourteenth century, and its wonderful pagodas and temples were left to go to ruin. But the king's decree was perpetuated in all other important centres, until the British Indian Government annexed the country, and put an end to compulsory slavery. Besides the descendants of the original pagoda-slaves, others were added by successive kings, whether as punishment for crime, or by arbitrary selection of obnoxious villages or families. Once a slave always a slave. Posterity was doomed before it was born. Not only was there no possible release from this inexorable law, but the common people came to regard the pagoda-slaves as a class under a curse. Terrible sins of a former existence must have brought this great calamity upon them. Their touch was contaminating. Shunned and spurned at every point they became a community of outcasts, living by themselves, and existing on such offerings to the idols as could be rescued from the dogs and crows. Under British rule this form of slavery has nominally ceased to exist. But no law of a civilized government could restore the pagoda-slave or his descendants to equal social standing with their neighbours. They are outcasts still, and outcasts they will remain, until Buddhism is no more.

Climb the long covered stairway leading to the Shwe Dagon pagoda, or other of the more sacred shrines, you will find your path lined with sellers of offerings, paper "prayers," candles, and other things used at pagoda-worship. These sellers, with rare exceptions, are descendants of former pagoda-slaves, free in the eye of the law, but in slavery still to the unchangeable customs of Burman Buddhists. Other Burmans will not employ them, even to perform the tasks of the common Indian coolie.

Do they go to some distant place where they are not known, and there attain wealth and social position, the first intimation that they are of the old pagoda-slave stock mercilessly consigns them again to their former condition as shunned outcasts.

Companions in social degradation are the "Thu-bah-yah-zahs" or grave-diggers. Every Burman burial ground has its little community of thu-bah-yah-zahs, living apart from their fellow-men. Each community has its head-man, who makes the bargain when a grave is to be dug.

There is usually a fixed price for this work. But when a grave is to be dug for one who has met a violent death the price is gauged by the age of the individual. Violent deaths are windfalls to the grave-diggers.

The grave is filled in the presence of the friends, who consider it a mark of respect to tarry until the work is done. But it is well-known that the grave-diggers do not hesitate to exhume a body the following night if the clothing in which it was buried, or other objects placed in the coffin makes it worth the trouble. The coin in the mouth of the corpse, for the ferry-fare over the mystic river, is abstracted with callous indifference to the future state of the deceased.

As in the case of pagoda-slaves, the grave-diggers were devoted to this degrading service by a decree of the king. Some say that descendants of pagoda-slaves have swelled their numbers. Beggars and lepers are permitted to live in their villages. Misery loves company. Birds of a feather flock together. A rich thu-bah-yah-zah in Mandalay had an attractive daughter. Anxious to emancipate her from the doom of her class he offered three thousand rupees ($1,000) to any respectable man who would marry her, and take her away where she would not be known. Ten times the amount of his generous offer would have been no temptation. There is also a distinct beggar-class, of practically the same origin as the pagoda-slave and grave-diggers,—condemned by the king to a life of beggary. Forbidden to engage in any self-supporting work, they could be drawn upon at any time to fill a lack in either of the other classes. This was sometimes for suspected disloyalty. Few had need to become lifelong beggars because of abject poverty, for a respectable Burman, though poor, is able to exist in this fruitful land without leaving his own village. Neither the aged nor the orphaned are driven out to beg or starve. These unfortunates did not become beggars because they were outcasts, but became outcasts because they were made beggars, not of choice, but by royal decree.

True to his creed, the Burman then heaped upon the victim all the blame for his calamity. He is only reaping in this life what he sowed in some former existence. Therefore, he and his descendants forever are to be despised, and compelled to remain beggars, whatever their actual condition. Some of this beggar class are known to have become wealthy, but wealth secures to them no social standing. Outcasts they are, and outcasts they must remain.

It has become a deeply-rooted suspicion among these people themselves that unless they go out and beg at least once a year, some disaster will befall them. The children of none of these outcast classes are permitted to enter the monastic or other schools.

The admission of one child of outcast parentage, however bright and respectable he may be, would stampede any school. This superstitious contempt of outcasts is so deep-rooted and universal that managers of non-Buddhist schools do not find it wise to ignore it.

Strange to say, the deformed and the maimed are held in abhorrence, and blamed for their misfortune. The disciples asked—"Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he should be born blind?" One day while my train was waiting at a station, a poor woman, armless from her birth, came by the open window of my compartment, and stopped for alms. When she had passed out of hearing, I said to a heathen Burman standing by, "How pitiful!" Without any show of compassion he unknowingly repeated the old-time question—"Because of whose sin was she born in that condition?" That she was under a curse he had no doubt. No pity is wasted on a person who is born blind, deformed, or heir to loathsome disease. He is only getting what he deserves, in this life, and nothing can he hope for but ages in one of the lowest hells hereafter.

With such a belief, is it any wonder that Buddhists never found asylums or hospitals, or attempt any organized system of relief for the unfortunate. It is of no use to fight against Fate,—let Fate claim her own. It is said that census enumerators in some sections did not consider old men and women worth counting, because they were past work; priests and nuns, because they had renounced the world; lunatics and cripples, because they were below the level of human beings.

So great is the dread of becoming a cripple that a Burman would sooner die than have a limb amputated. Better to die respectably than be a living disgrace to himself and his family. This feeling extends even to post-mortem examinations, as dooming one to some lower condition in the next existence.

Leprosy, in whatever age or country, seems the most pitiable of all calamities. "And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothing shall be rent, and the hair of his head shall go loose, and he shall cover his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean. All the days wherein the plague is in him he shall be unclean: he is unclean: he shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his dwelling be" (Lev. 13: 45, 46).

Such was the brand put upon the leper and his awful affliction, under the Mosaic law. The brand never has been removed, nor the awfulness of the disease abated. In Europe this scourge, introduced by warlike campaigns, and reintroduced by subsequent crusades, through isolation, segregation of sexes, and improved sanitary methods, has been nearly exterminated. In America its spread is prevented by the same means.

In barbarian or semi-civilized countries no attempt is made to control the disease. Such was the case in Burma, under Burman rule, and still is the case throughout the land, outside of a few municipalities under English control. Even in the larger towns the rule that lepers shall go to the asylums, or dwell "without the camp" is not rigidly enforced. The leper is an outcast, so treated by his own race even more than by Europeans, but this does not prevent him from wandering at will through the crowded streets and bazars. Rags that have covered his repulsive sores may be cast away where men traffic and children play. They are permitted to marry among themselves, thereby perpetuating and multiplying the terrible disease. The latest census gives a total of 4,190 lepers in Burma alone. Of this number 2,940 are males, 1,250 females. This does not include the large number of untainted children of leprous parents, doomed to become lepers later in life. On the streets one may observe leprosy in all stages. One shows no other sign than swollen feet, and may not even know that he has become a leper. Another shows unmistakable signs of the disease by white, red, or violet patches on his skin.

Another is in the last stage of the disease. Where once were feet and hands are only stumps. Some have what is left of feet and hands bandaged with foul rags. Others, whether from lack of wherewith to bandage, or in order to excite sympathy and almsgiving, expose their repulsive sores. Passing Buddhists may now and then toss a copper into the tin-cup, to get merit for themselves, but of compassion they have little or none. The leper's own fate or ill-luck, the outcome of evil committed in past existences, has overtaken him. There is no help for it. Why trouble about it? "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," is a tenet of Buddhism, as well as of Christianity, but with no place for repentance or forgiveness. Fortunately leprosy is not infectious. There is not the slightest danger from near approach. It is generally believed that it is not even contagious, like smallpox or scarlet fever. No doubt there is danger of contracting the disease by inoculation. Some claim that the use of imperfectly cured, or putrid fish as an article of diet, is the cause of leprosy. This seems reasonable, but there is ample evidence that it is not the only cause. Both cause and cure still furnish fields for investigation by medical science. Of the 4,190 lepers in Burma only about 560 are in Leper Homes.

This work is conducted by the Wesleyan and Roman Catholic missions in Mandalay, the Rangoon municipality, and the Baptist mission in Maulmein.

Never yet have the Buddhists of Burma lifted a finger to alleviate the sufferings of their outcasts. Whatever desultory and trifling almsgiving as has been indulged in has been prompted not by compassion but by selfishness, to add to the giver's own store of merit. This is Buddhism, in both theory and practice. Buddhism has been extolled as a religion of love and peace. Its love is self-love; its peace self-conceit, and indifference to the sufferings of others. But Christian missionaries are teaching a striking object lesson. While proclaiming the love of God in Christ, they are exemplifying their teaching by putting forth a mighty effort to relieve these unfortunates who have been cast off by their own people. English officials give this work their sympathy and assistance. The number to share the benefits of the asylums will steadily increase. Hundreds of lepers, homeless, friendless, and hopeless, waiting and longing for the end, wander about in all the towns and villages of the land. This wandering habit is the chief obstacle to work among them. So long as subsistence can be gained by begging, many prefer change of scene to the more certain comforts of the Leper Home. But the time is not far distant when, in the larger towns at least, they will not be allowed to roam at will.

Work for the lepers appeals to the hearts of all races, in all Christian lands. Until effective means are devised to check the propagation of this terrible disease, the need will be ever-increasing.