A Pagoda of Mystical Charm

By Tibor Krausz

Sanctity begins with the very first step. Literally so: "Foot wearing is prohibited" declares a sign in the quaint Burmese way of instructing you to divest yourself of your footwear and enter the pagoda barefoot. It demarcates the stairway at the inner edge of a Yangon sidewalk leading precipitously up to the pagoda's platform. In climbing those stairs, you do more than merely leg it to a higher elevation: you are, spiritually speaking, ascending to Mount Meru the mythological centerpiece of ancient Buddhist cosmology.

Past a cascade of small shops plying pilgrims and tourists with refreshments and religious memorabilia, you alight on top of a sprawling, tiled platform, which in turn gives rise to a magnificent stupa. It's an octagonal, gold-plated, Christmas decoration-shape zedi towering 150 feet above worshippers: To see the pennants fluttering from its sky-bound tip, you have to lean back and squint.

At ground level, piety engulfs the atmosphere. Here, a bevy of young women is bathing a bejeweled Buddha adorned in regal golden finery, gently dabbing the statue with wet kerchiefs. There, a trinity of older matronly women is sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, hands fingering prayer beads of ivory, buffalo bone and tamarind seeds: they are immersed in deep meditation as they commune with the attentive spirits of holy men and women believed to be permanently in residence at this sanctuary.

Over yonder, a man in a fine silk longyi is just lowering himself into the lotus position of cleansing contemplation before the golden zedi, which dwarfs and shelters him in its shade from a sweltering midday sun. Behind him an elderly monk perches on the edge of a shrine to the Goddess of Mercy, observing worshippers passively with an initiate's inscrutable wisdom. From all the four stairways leading to the platform, more and more of the pious arrive each minute to offer their gratitude to the Enlightened One for his beneficence and implore Him for further favors. . . .

We are at the Shwedagon Pagoda, right?

Wrong.

The Shwedagon Pagoda is to Yangon what the Potala Palace is to Lhasa, or what the Grand Palace to Bangkok: a spiritual landmark that defines not just a city but an entire culture. A majestic man-made mount of a pagoda complex, Shwedagon Paya dominates the Yangon landscape, both in the physical and spiritual sense: it is one of the Orient's most truly inspiring religious sites as well as the focal point of most pious Burmese Buddhists' religious devotion. Yet in Shwedagon's long shadow stands another pagoda of lesser stature yet equal mystique: Sule Paya.

Thanks to its smaller, more manageable size, I found the Sule Pagoda to offer me a perhaps more intimate look into Burmese spiritualism than its grander sibling. Whereas Shwedagon is generally considered to be the Inner Sanctuary of Burmese Buddhism (and as such, a venue generally reserved for exceptional occasions of worship), Sule Paya is closer to the street -- both physically and metaphysically. You can watch commuters drop by briefly on their way to and from work in order to light a joss stick or plop down before a shrine for a few words of prayer. I spent several rewarding afternoons loitering about the pagoda, watching the proceedings with awe, and, well yes, sneaking pictures of worshippers immersed in their meditations.

It's not just any old pagoda, either. Tradition has it that Sule Paya enshrines a hair of the Buddha; so much so that the pagoda's Mon same, Kyaik Athok, translates as "the stupa of the sacred hair relic." Ask Yangonites, and they will assert that the pagoda is at least 2,000 years old, commemorating as it does the Enlightened One's visit to primeval Yangon as He stopped by here during His sojourns around the territory of what is now Burma as He was spreading His new doctrine of spiritual redemption to the land's inhabitants.

As with most Buddhist monuments in Myanmar, Sule Paya's real historical age is shrouded in mystery: the Burmese, a nation of devout Buddhists and refined aesthetes, have always had a penchant for erecting ever grander monuments on the site of older shrines. So it was with the Sule Pagoda. Still, even if the current zedi is only a tenth as old as the sacred site's reputed lifespan of two millennia, the story (based on reliable accounts) of its construction remains a testament to its pivotal place in Burmese history.

Feeling beholden to procure his share of divine protection for Yangon, King Alaungpaya, a great 18th century monarch in a long line of venerated Burmese royals, decided to add his own monument to the already existing magnificent pagodas -- and sanctify a patron spirit for the city, into the bargain. His advisors duly selected a Talaing princeling who was afforded regal pomp and respect before he was ceremoniously sacrificed by being buried alive at the site where Sule Paya was to be constructed. By virtue of his sacrifice, the young prince became a minor divinity and a guardian spirit of Yangon. Today, an effigy of the young prince sits on a golden throne at the pagoda, and he continues to be venerated -- even if by modern standards, the nature of his sacrifice seems rather macabre.

Yet by no means should a visit to the Sula Pagoda be a somber, poignant affair. The locals greet Western visitors with jovial curiosity and traditional Burmese hospitality. If one of them smiles at you, by all means smile back (or better yet, smile at people first), and before you know it you have made a new friend or two for the day.

I did too. A few meters from the spirit-guardian prince's shrine, a young boy decided to hitch a ride astride the plaster statue of a royal white elephant. Thus ensconced on his regal perch, he unpeeled a banana . . . and offered half of it generously to me. In his native Burmese, the boy regaled me with an inspired soliloquy, not a word of which, sadly, I understood. Then munching away, he steered his mount towards the adventures of his boyish imagination.

In this pagoda of mystical charm, I found it easy to follow him.