Sanctuary of Grace, Tranquility and Spirituality:A Journey Through Bagan

Text & Photographs by Debbie Jefkin-Elnekave

Sprinkled with magical powderI have often dreamed of escaping to someplace far away from the ever-quickeningtreadmill of contemporary life. Someplace where the serenity of the past can be quietlysavored in the present. In George Orwell’s words, “a world of harmony between thesenses and the spirit.” A romantic at heart, I had built up rather extravagant expectations,nurturing dreams of a journey into a place that existed only in my imagination. Myexploration finally led me to this astonishing real life world: a soulful and authenticculture to delight those who would truly know, understand , and enjoy the people andtheir land.

This gracious world full ofmystery and beauty is theancient city of Bagan incentral Myanmar, formerlyknown as Burma. It is soenchanting, so utterlyentrancing, that it seems asthough the entire city and itsinhabitants have beensprinkled with magicalpowder. With its gentlepeople and ever-presentBuddhist spirituality, Bagantouches the heart, lifts thespirit and evokes a peaceful serenity that exceeds even the most extravagant dreams.

Living history and spiritualityBagan is a paragon of living history and spirituality. Since the 11th century, TheravadaBuddhist pilgrims have come here to erect pagodas in hopes of achieving nirvana. Todaythousands of these shrines glorify the landscape, pushing their way gracefully toward thesky as if joined in one majestic prayer. They stand as a monument to Buddhist devotion,their grandeur undiminished even after a thousand years.

I first visit Shwezigon Pagoda, where visitors are issued an admonishment beforeentering. “It is not allowed the foot wearing, short pants, shameless dresses and not goodlooking dresses.” Built in 1069, Shwezigon is Bagan’s most sacred pagoda, shelteringreplicas of Lord Buddha’s tooth and chest bone. Shwezigon boasts many inexplicablewonders that endow this consecrated site with a sense of mystery. The shadows of theprecinct wall never change position. Papers that hold gold foil are dropped after gilding

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the stupas, but never fall outside the precinct. A drum beaten on one side of the pagodacannot be heard on the other side.

Close by, Ananda Temple is a spectacular exampleof 11th century Mon architecture, but it is the fourmassive Buddha statues and a monk’s pious chantingthat inspire awe. I stand under a great goldenBuddha whose hand is extended in the “no fear”position. One cannot help but feel serene here. Iturn and whisper this to my friend, but neither of uscan hear my words. They disappear into the soaringvaulted ceiling, along with the monk’s intercessions.

Bagan’s most poignant temple was built by KingManuha in 1059, after he was captured from Thatonand confined here by his enemies. Four massive,rigidly enclosed Buddha statues in crampedpositions are a stunning narration of theclaustrophobia of his innocent imprisonment.

By day’s end I discover another magnificentphenomenon within the landscape besides the pagodas, and that’s the vibrant sunset. Asday draws to a close, the sky is dressed in colors that captivate and mesmerize. Alavender veil gives way to dusty rose, then to deep amethyst and flaming crimson…andthe sun sets to cast a rich dusk over Bagan.

Threshold of discoveryEarly morning brings new light, exploration and aleisurely drive to the surrounding villages. Thereis no need to rush here, for everything movesslowly, in open wooden carts drawn by pairs ofoxen. This balmy morning, small caravans ofvillagers begin their dusty lumber to fetch water,replenish their food supply, or find buyers for theirwares. The countryside is dotted with toddy palmplantations, peanut farms and clusters of tinywoven bamboo huts. There is an untouched purityand simplicity here, and the scenes would havebeen the same hundreds of years ago.

Bagan’s people are among the most beautiful Ihave seen. Both men and women wear longyis, orsarongs, and they always wear sandals, nevershoes. Women paint their faces with a straw-colored paste called thanakka, to call out theirbeauty and protect it from the

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harshness of the sun. But what, I worry, will protect their charming villages and gentlepeople from the harshness of a newer world?

Yoke Soun Monastery in Salay is atwo-hour drive from Bagan. Thefaçade’s exquisite teak carvingsdepict scenes from Buddha’s lifeand from the 550 lives ofSiddharta. Secular art is rare inMyanmar and most sculpture andpainting is confined to a Buddhistcontext. Museums are few, buttemples and monasteries like thisone serve as repositories forreligious treasures, artifacts, booksand carvings.

Exploring the monastery, I feel like I am a million miles from life, as I know it. Then agroup of novices tiptoe to the door of the monastery and stop to ponder me, on thethreshold of their own discovery. Our mutual curiosity makes the space between us comealive with questions. As they draw closer, I am fascinated by the mysterious life of anovice. Entry into the monastic order is the most important event in the life of a Buddhistboy. For only by abandoning the material world can he fulfill Buddhist law and hope tofind deliverance from ever-occurring existences.

Minutes later I am amused and delighted as discipline,meditation and the search for enlightenment give way toa moment of mischief. Unexpectedly, the novicesscurry up the stucco wall and pose like baby Buddhas. Iwonder which of these novices will stay on the path andbecome a monk at age 20, and which will follow otherfootsteps? As I reluctantly wave goodbye to my newfriends and head away from Salay, what must I look liketo them, with my longyi, thanakka and Nikon camera?

Deep into the soul of BaganIn my attempt to capture Bagan’s magic on film, Irealize that it is not pagodas rising majestically on thehorizon; nor the approach of ox carts looming out of thedusty dawn; nor the bewitching glow of sunset, that Iwill remember as most characteristic of Bagan. It is aquality beyond mere scenic splendor that overtakes me.For it is through the women that I have seen deep intothe soul of Bagan.

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My exploration of Mya Thein’s village brings me toher tidy bamboo hut. At first I am concerned aboutintrusion into her privacy. But she is hospitable andwarmly receptive. Welcomed immediately into herhome and heart, I am delighted at her friendliness.She offers me peanuts she has gathered and a plateof delicious pumpkin soup, rice and vegetables fromher garden. She is abundantly generous, willing togive food and water to any passerby, for this is oneway that a Buddhist gains merit. In religion,however, her place is secondary. While a man canaspire to attain enlightenment and become Buddhain his next life, the best Mya Thein can hope for isto be reincarnated as a man. In this life, however,she is gentle, spiritual, self-assured. A study inquiet grace. The very essence of Bagan.

Quiet reflectionNearing the end of my journey, I visit Shwezigon

Pagoda one last time, slip past throngs of lunchtime worshippers, and find a privateshrine to sit in quiet reflection. As I trace mymemories of Bagan and contemplate my too-fast-approaching departure, I realize that leaving is not aneasy affair. No matter how long you stay, there is stillsomething to see, something to learn, something toexperience. Bagan is not a monolith, but rather aneloquent tapestry of historic treasures, religious icons,gracious people and time-honored traditions.Thousands of golden Buddhas, timeless villages,beautiful faces painted with thanakka are but a few ofthe images that stand out in memory. Little threadsthat make up the tapestry of what it’s like to travel inBagan.

As I reflect on these images in the scorching middaysun, I take comfort in this fortress of tradition, wherethe people are infinitely friendly and open, yetthankfully, resistant to modern world intrusions. Mythoughts are now accompanied by a monk’s prayerfulchanting. In his mantra I am sure I can hear the echoes of Bagan’s ancient pilgrims, whohave bequeathed us this sanctuary of grace, tranquility and spirituality.

This travel essay was published in the December 2004 issue of theJournal of the Photographic Society of America