"Sir," the Man replied sadly, ''I want to work you as the others are doing, I want to gain merit, and I want to join in the feast. But to my utter regret, I cannot do so. Who can work on an empty stomach?" On hearing this explanation, the Villager rushed into his kitchen, brought out a bowl of rice, a basin of vegetable soup, and a dish of fried chicken, and offered them to the Man from the Hills.
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The Hungry Man from the Hills
(from Burmese Monk's Tales,
collected and translated by Maung Htin Aung,
New York: Columbia U. Press, 1966)
This is one of many tales created at a flashpoint in Burmese history: when the British conquered the lower part of the country, circa 1876, and put the divided country in extreme fear that its national religion (Buddhism, since the 11th century) and its very way of life would be extinguished. Politicized and thrown into confusion, the Buddhist clergy splintered, even in its relationship with King Mindon, but the great monk Thingazar Sayadaw--beginning as a child in the traditional way--sought to heal rifts and keep Buddha's truths alive through a literary genre he invented: the Monk's Tale. Quite distinct from Buddha's Jatakas, they are similar to traditional Burmese folk tales but deal rather directly with the immediate stresses and strains of his contemporary society. They are full of wisdom, though playfully presented, and presage the inevitable absorption of Burma into the British empire. For all these reasons, I tell the circumstances under which this and a few other food tales were told, as well as the tales themselves.
Prologue: One of the most devoted patrons of the Thingazar Sayadaw was an extra assistant commissioner of Rangoon. He had been educated in an English school in Calcutta, and therefore he was not well versed in the scriptures as were his counterparts in Upper Burma. However, he was a devout Buddhist and built a monastery and invited the great monk to reside in it during the latter's many visits to Rangoon. Often he was exhorted by the venerable monk to give more attention to the actual practice of the religion, such as keeping the sabbath on religious days. But the commissioner pleaded that under the British government those days were not holidays. The monk then suggested that he should treat Sundays as Buddhist sabbath days, but then the official pleaded that be- cause of his multifarious duties even Sundays were working days for him. Some years passed. The commissioner reached the age limit, and retired from the service of the British government on a pension. So, when the monk came again to Rangoon, he said, "Great layman, now you can keep the sabbath regularly." "Alas, my lord," replied the layman, ''I find that I cannot concentrate on religion, because my mind is never at rest, worrying about the welfare of my family." The learned monk smiled and remarked, "Great layman, you are like the Hungry Man from the Hills."
Once a Villager was making preparations to give a great feast and he invited, according to custom, all and sundry to take a share of his merit by helping in the building of a temporary hall of bamboo and thatch, in which alms would be offered to the monks. In response to the invitation, people from the neighboring villages came and took part, with skill and enthusiasm, in the building of the alms hall. Amidst the bustle and excitement, the Villager noticed a man from the hills who stood all alone watching the others doing the work, and with a sad expression on his face. So he went to him and asked kindly, "Man from the Hills, what ails you? Are sick, are you ill?" "Sir," the Man replied sadly, ''I want to work you as the others are doing, I want to gain merit, and I want to join in the feast. But to my utter regret, I cannot do so. Who can work on an empty stomach?" On hearing this explanation, the Villager rushed into his kitchen, brought out a bowl of rice, a basin of vegetable soup, and a dish of fried chicken, and offered them to the Man from the Hills. Then he resumed his work together with the others. After a brief interval of time he looked towards the Man from the Hills, and he was surprised to see that the Man was again standing and watching the happy throng of workers with the same sad expression on his face. Greatly concerned, the Villager rushed to the Man and inquired what was the matter now. "Sir," the Man replied sadly, ''I want to work as the others are doing, I want to gain merit, and I want to join in the feast. But to my utter regret, I cannot do so. Who can work on a full stomach?"
Other tales include: