Return to Mandalay (47 page)

His dream was to expand his family business, while keeping all its values intact. His dream was to travel, especially to the land of his father, and maybe even set up a business there in the UK. But dreams, well, they were just dreams, weren’t they? You couldn’t pin them down.

‘But surely you must stay here and look after your grandmother,’ Eva said. ‘Won’t she need you?’ She knew that she was fishing.

He just turned to her. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

Eva stared into the reddening sky. In a few weeks everything she had seen – every golden temple and saffron robed monk, every teak monastery, the
nat pwe
, even Myanmar itself, this river, this bridge, this man … Would those too all feel like a distant dream?

For Eva’s last supper, a feast of traditional Burmese food was served up by Cho Suu Kyi and Maya.

Ramon was quiet. Perhaps he, like Eva, was imagining Klaus, at dinner with Khan Li and his associates, maybe even at this precise moment performing the swap. He hadn’t told them precisely how he intended to carry out the plan, but he had seemed quite confident.

‘Leave it to the professionals,’ he’d said as he’d left their clandestine meeting at the backstreet café. ‘I assure you that I will do my very best.’

Under the table, Eva crossed her fingers. It was possible that tonight the two chinthes would be reunited and back with Maya where they belonged. If all went well …

‘When you visit Bagan,’ Maya was saying, as she forked more rice and fish curry with tomatoes on to Eva’s plate. ‘You must visit the Ananda Temple. It is a masterpiece of Mon architecture. There are four teak Buddhas there, each one facing a different direction. Two are originals.’ She smiled, but Eva thought she was looking tired. ‘It is my favourite temple in Bagan,’ she added wistfully.

‘And you must do a tour of the temples by horse and cart,’ Cho Suu Kyi added. ‘It is the only way.’

Eva looked across at Ramon. His eyes were sad. Was he remembering their visit to Inwa when they had taken a horse and cart together and visited the wooden monastery and the ruined temples? Or was he thinking of their imminent parting?

After dessert of fresh melon, papaya and a kind of sweet rice pudding, tea was poured according to the custom and they sat around chatting.

The knock at the door made Eva jump. Ramon glanced across at her, swiftly got to his feet and went to answer it. He returned with a package in a small box. ‘For you, Grandmother.’ He handed it to her, exchanged a complicit glance with Eva.

She wondered, could it be?

Eva watched Maya’s face as she eased open the box.

‘What is this?’ she breathed. Slowly and carefully, she took it out. It was the other chinthe, the lost chinthe, the chinthe that was an exact twin of the one Eva had brought to Myanmar.

Eva beamed across at Ramon. ‘He did it,’ she whispered. ‘Who did it?’ Maya looked from one to the other of them. ‘How can this be?’

‘Never mind, Grandmother.’ Ramon bent closer and murmured something softly to her in Burmese. ‘Let us celebrate. A glass of our very best wine.’

‘I will get it.’ Cho Suu Kyi got to her feet. Eva knew that
although the women of the family kept to the Buddhist rule of no alcohol, they still kept wine in their house for Ramon and for visitors.

‘I truly do not know what to say.’ Maya was still staring at the chinthe. Her face was old and lined, but her eyes, in that moment, looked like a girl’s. ‘Can this really be him?’ With her finger she stroked the carved mane, smoothed a fingertip over each of the magnificent ruby eyes. Even from where she sat, Eva could see their unmistakeable lustre and shine.

‘It certainly can.’ Ramon went to fetch the other chinthe from the shrine where he stood, now that the family had returned to Mandalay. He placed them side by side on the table.

‘They are restored.’ Maya’s eyes filled with tears.

Eva and Ramon accepted a glass of sparkling white wine from Cho Suu Kyi and all four of them spent some time admiring the two rather extraordinary and special chinthes who, against the odds, had been reunited at last. Her grandfather would be so happy, thought Eva. If only he could be here now. It hadn’t been easy and she’d needed a lot of help from Klaus and Ramon to succeed in her task. But they’d done it. She admired the rubies. They were quite breathtaking.

‘Each ruby is perhaps twenty carat,’ Ramon said casually.

‘And they’re from Mogok?’ Eva asked. ‘Pigeon-blood rubies?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘They are from the Royal Jewel Box after all.’ And his eyes gleamed.

‘My grandmother told me that Queen Supayalat had an unrivalled collection of gems,’ Maya added. ‘As did the King.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Ramon laughed. ‘Have you heard of the Nga Mauk ruby, Eva? It was named after the man who discovered it.’

She shook her head. ‘No. What happened to it?’

‘The story goes that at eighty carats, it was King Thibaw’s prized jewel,’ Ramon said. ‘But it disappeared soon after the King and Queen’s exile.’

‘Who took it?’ And Eva found herself wondering, first the chinthes and now this. How many other precious jewels had been looted from the palace or even lost and never returned?

‘Opinion differs,’ Ramon shrugged. ‘Some say it was one of the Queen’s maid-servants.’ He smiled at his grandmother. ‘Some say it was looted by one of the guards. And some …’ He looked at Eva. ‘Some say that it was stolen by the British colonel in charge of the exile and that it later turned up in Britain, in Queen Victoria’s royal crown, no less.’

‘Really?’ Nothing would surprise Eva. Everyone seemed to have wanted something from the last Burmese King and Queen.

‘The Nga Mauk is worth a small fortune,’ said Ramon. ‘And even these two little chinthes are—’

‘Far too valuable for me to keep,’ Maya said.

They all looked at her in surprise.

She nodded. ‘They have not brought happiness, only bitterness and jealousy and parting.’

‘Perhaps because of the manner in which they were first given,’ suggested Ramon. ‘It was a time of greed and betrayal.’

‘You are right, Ramon.’ She smiled. ‘Through no fault of their own, they have caused pain. As it was in the original story. And so I have decided to give them on permanent loan to the National Museum,’ she said. ‘All the treasures of the Royal Palace – at least those that have been restored – are there. They will be safe and protected in its custody. And people may go to see them. They are an important part of our Burmese culture and heritage. It is where they belong.’

Ramon nodded. ‘That is a good idea, Grandmother,’ he said. And to Eva: ‘Would your grandfather approve?’

‘I think he would.’ Eva smiled. ‘But I also think you should write down the story of Suu Kyi and Queen Supayalat and the Chinthes with the Ruby Eyes. And I’ll do an English version as well, if you like, before I leave. And then,’ she said, ‘everyone who sees them will know what really happened.’

Maya bowed her head. ‘An excellent idea, Eva,’ she said.

*

When the time came for Eva to leave, Ramon slipped out of the room for a moment, while she said goodnight and goodbye to Maya. It was surprisingly hard to leave this serene looking woman who had meant so much to her grandfather and still did. But she knew that Maya was tired and must rest. There had been a lot of excitement for one evening.

‘I understand now,’ Maya said, ‘what was troubling Ramon. And I also understand how you have helped him.’

Eva blushed. ‘Not really,’ she said.

‘And if there is ever anything you wish for …’ She let the words hang.

‘There is one more thing I’d like to know,’ Eva admitted.

‘Yes, Eva?’

‘Why didn’t you tell my grandfather about Cho Suu Kyi?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell him that you – and he – had a child?’

Why didn’t she tell him that she had their child
 …? It was a good question. Maya knew that both Eva and Lawrence deserved to hear the truth.

Upper Burma, 1944

Somehow – she hardly knew how – Maya remained with Annie at the hospital and they continued to nurse the sick, through the Japanese occupation and then the rest of the war. Maya could only hope that her aunt was safe, though she heard nothing. But she grew more and more worried over the whereabouts and health of her father. She had heard that some refugees were living in ramshackle huts made of palm leaves and bamboo in a small village near Maymyo, surviving from what they could forage, snare and grow, and she prayed that he was one of them and that he was safe. There was little freedom of movement, she could not go to him with a child to look after and she did not want to leave Annie. Together, they had managed to guard and protect Cho Suu Kyi from further Japanese curiosity and, in truth, Annie had been right: not all the soldiers were callous and cruel, others held them in some respect and it was this that kept them safe.

But one day she was given the chance to try and find him. There was a Japanese journalist with whom she and Annie had formed a good relationship after Annie had nursed him through a bout of malaria. He spoke fluent English, having been educated at mission schools in Japan and Canada and, more importantly, he was not one of those who believed in the Japanese conquest of the Far East. He was sympathetic and he was kind, even procuring rations of food for them when they were short. As a journalist, he enjoyed considerable freedom of movement. And he was on his way back to the headquarters for war correspondents, which was not far from Maymyo.

Before she left, there was something that Maya had to do. She returned to her aunt’s old house and she dug up the little chinthe that she had buried there for safe-keeping near the red flowering
sein pan
tree. It took a while, she kept thinking that perhaps she was in the wrong place, but eventually she found it, still wrapped in the piece of fabric torn from her own dress in which she had buried it. The fabric was rotting and the dirt had got in but with a little polish from a rag, the chinthe’s eyes gleamed as bright as they ever had. She could not leave without it. Who knew how long it would be before she could return? For now, she would take her chance and the chinthe would travel with her.

It took some persuading for Annie to join her. But everyone said it was becoming increasingly dangerous for a white woman to remain here in the village and since most of her patients no longer needed her and a Japanese hospital had
been set up nearby, she finally agreed. Their Japanese friend provided them with the white armbands worn by reporters and settled them and Cho Suu Kyi on cushions in the back of the truck.

It was a long and uncomfortable journey along cratered and bumpy roads, but worst of all was the sight of so many refugees, some of them barely able to drag one foot after another, often diseased, all emaciated. And what were they heading for? Almost certain death, sooner or later. It nearly broke her heart.

It was July and unbearably hot in the truck. Maya’s head was pounding, she felt dizzy and her eyes kept losing their focus. But every time she felt that she must surely pass out from the heat and the discomfort, Annie squeezed her hand and seemed to give her the strength to stay alert. And she must stay alert. Who knew when they might be stopped by the Japanese military or attacked by one of the gangs roaming the area? And she had her daughter to care for. At least they had some water, though Annie rationed it with care, ensuring that they all had enough to ease their sore throats and cracked lips.

The sight of Mandalay, when it came, almost finished her. The beautiful city was in ruins, almost totally devastated by bombings and explosions. The Palace of the Kings was full of Japanese soldiers. First British and then Japanese, she found herself thinking. Not since the time of her daughter’s namesake had the palace belonged to Burma. The streets which had once been filled with noise and laughter, thronged
with her people, with bullock carts, street sellers, craftsmen and monks in saffron robes begging for food and alms, were almost empty. There was an air of bleak desolation hanging over the city she had loved.

Maya was tempted to ask if they could drive to her old home, but she didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see it, because she knew what she would find. And they must press on to their destination. ‘One day,’ she breathed as they drove out of the city. ‘One day I will return.’

After fourteen hours, they arrived at the village near Maymyo where they had decided to start their search. The refugees were living in ramshackle conditions, crowded, several families to a house, each of which had obviously been built from anything they could lay their hands that could provide shelter. And they were clearly starving. There was a sense of hopelessness in their dark eyes. They didn’t know what to do and they didn’t know where to go.

‘Have you seen or heard of my father? His name is Sai Htee Saing.’ Maya lost count of how many times she said these words.

Finally, a woman nodded. ‘He was here,’ she said. ‘He moved on, to the next village, I think.’

Maya’s heart soared. He was alive then! And off they went to the next village where conditions were only slightly better. More of the houses here had survived, but they had been abandoned, looted and were now housing families of refugees. ‘Have you seen or heard of my father? His name is Sai Htee Saing.’ The search went on.

‘Does he play the piano?’ an old woman asked her.

‘Well, yes, but …’ Maya was at a loss.

The woman pointed. ‘The white bungalow at the end,’ she said.

It was perhaps incongruous, considering his anti-British sympathies, that her father should be living in a colonial bungalow left by a British family who had simply locked the doors one day and left. But there he was.

Maya ran to him and at last in his arms she let herself weep. For he was thin and gaunt, but he was alive and she had found him.

‘But who is this?’ He was looking curiously at Annie, who was holding Cho Suu Kyi in her arms.

‘This is my friend, Matron Annie,’ said Maya.

‘And her child?’ her father added. ‘How sweet she is.’

Cho Suu Kyi looked up at him and she beamed. It was clearly love at first sight.