The Golden Land (5 page)

The following day just after sunrise, Andrew headed to the ridge where the sprawling pagoda was reflected in the early morning light. It was surrounded by bell-shaped stupas the size of small cottages, built to house Buddhist relics. But Andrew was dismayed to find that the great temple was very dilapidated and seemed to be deserted.

He walked through it, negotiating piles of forest debris and animal droppings, recoiling from the stench of the bat colony that had taken up residence. He groped his way into a narrow corridor as best he could and tried to find his way to the central sanctum. In a pale beam of light, a row of large carved Buddha figures sat along the inner wall and stared silently into the shadows. Andrew quickly counted twenty-eight of them.

He paused. He could hear a faint tapping sound. He turned a corner and entered a room that had more light and saw that the walls and ceiling of the temple were covered in carvings. He was astounded by the intricacy and detail of these small sculptures that depicted animals, goddesses and scenes from the spirit world and from Buddha's life. Looking closely he saw that some of them had been painted. They were faded now, but Andrew could imagine how brilliant and vibrant this gallery must have been when it was first completed.

The tapping had grown louder. Turning another corner into a long stone passageway, he saw a small light at the far end and several figures moving about. He realised that this must be Ferguson and his team. He called out.

‘Who's there?' demanded Ferguson.

‘It's me, Hancock. Andrew Hancock,' called Andrew, waving his torch. ‘We met once, years ago.'

‘Good lord! What are you doing here? Wait there, and I'll come and show you the way.' Ferguson hurried down the corridor. ‘This way, this way.'

As he walked into the bright sunlight, Andrew saw that age had faded Ferguson's sandy hair and he had grown more rotund, but his air of confidence remained, as did the old-fashioned pince-nez, which was still firmly planted on his nose.

‘Remind me where we've met. I can't quite place you,' said Ferguson, squinting.

‘I'm not surprised,' replied Andrew. ‘It was before the war, on a paddle-steamer to Mandalay. I had just arrived in Burma and you were explaining that you were an authority on Burmese art and architecture.'

Ferguson sat down on a broken pillar and lit a small cheroot. ‘Can't say that I remember, but never mind. Bit of an out-of-the-way place to run into you, again,' he commented as he took a puff of the small cigar.

‘Amazing place. Shame it's so dilapidated,' said Andrew. ‘Where's the central sanctum?'

‘Oh, down there. Can you see that small alcove? Follow me.'

Andrew did as he was told and at the end of the narrow corridor he stepped into the small chamber. Even in the dim light he could make out the huge statue of the Buddha sitting cross-legged on an ornamental stone platform, gazing calmly, staring into the gloom of centuries. Andrew found it awe inspiring.

‘Incredible. I see why you're so fascinated with all this. What are you planning to do?' asked Andrew as Ferguson led the way outside.

‘Looking at what can be restored and what should be removed for safekeeping.'

‘How fascinating,' said Andrew cheerfully. He peered around the temple. ‘Well, I'm on the hunt for stories. I've been travelling all over the country and I've come across a few decent ones. The
Illustrated London News
has taken some. Anyway, I was in Sittwe and I heard you were here and I thought I might find a good story for the magazines back home. And I was told that the ruins at Mrauk-U are fascinating.' While this was all true, Andrew hoped above all that Ferguson would still have the princess's kammavaca and that he would be able to persuade the art dealer to sell it to him.

‘Jolly good. What do you want from me?' Ferguson seemed eager to help.

‘I've just got a few questions,' said Andrew. ‘How long have you been working in Mrauk-U? Who do you work for, who are the people you sell to and what sorts of things do they buy? What do you think would be of interest to people back in England?'

Ferguson studied the younger man for a moment. ‘I don't want you to think that I sell everything I come across. A lot is being transported for safekeeping. I mean, look at this place.' He waved his arms towards the row of small stupas. Many were smashed, now looking like defeated, broken bells. ‘Weather, time, treasure hunters and looters. So many relics have gone.'

‘What was inside those small stupas?'

‘Could have been gold figurines, gems, bronzes or religious texts, just waiting there for me to show them to the world. Such a shame they've all gone. You must remember, art belongs to everyone, laddie. Many of those beautiful things should be in the British Museum, for example. Not lying around in the jungle for thieves to pilfer, or rotting away in abandoned shrines for a few local villagers to notice, if indeed they do.'

‘But,' said Andrew, looking at the hundreds of ruins in front of him, ‘surely there is too much here for museums. They couldn't take it all.'

‘You're right, laddie. But there are a lot of collectors in Europe and especially in America who are pleased to pay for a Burmese artefact. And I'm happy to sell them. Allows me to continue my work out here.'

‘Have you been in Mrauk-U long enough to excavate anything of major importance, Mr Ferguson?'

‘Nothing really spectacular yet, but it's early days. Would you like to see what I've found?'

Ferguson walked over to where a large cart was piled with bulky objects covered by a blanket. Two local men were lifting a stone Buddha the size of a large boulder into the last space in the ox cart. Ferguson pulled back the blanket. Andrew could see that the cart was full of stone Buddhas.

‘What will you do with these?' he asked.

‘They aren't particularly exceptional pieces, so I'll put them on the open market. I send them to agents, runners. Occasionally I go over to Ceylon and Siam with items, trading with serious collectors and such.'

‘I wouldn't mind a memento of Burma. It's a pity these are so big. Have you got anything that doesn't need porters to carry?'

‘What, gems or gold, or a small statue?'

‘Goodness, no. I probably couldn't afford anything like that.'

‘I have got something small that might interest you. It won't be cheap because it has an interesting history. But I'll show it to you and you can see what you think.'

Ferguson led the way to his small tent, which had a table and chair outside it. He reached in under the fly netting for his satchel and took out a small, narrow box, covered in gold engraving.

‘The kammavaca in this box belonged to the last king of Burma,' he told Andrew.

Andrew couldn't believe his luck, but he knew that he would have to be very careful so Ferguson did not suspect his real reason for wanting to buy this particular artefact.

‘How on earth did you come by it?' he asked innocently.

‘It belonged to his half sister. She's had an eventful life and now lives quietly. Told me that this was the last thing of value that she had, but I'm sure she has a few other treasures, a few last jewels tucked away. You never know with these people. I've seen others like her. They all complain that they're down on their luck. Blame the British administration. But funnily enough they always manage to find something to sell.'

Andrew bit his tongue. ‘Can you explain this piece to me? I'm certainly no expert, like you.'

‘This is a particularly fine and unusual kammavaca because of the exquisite illustrations. It's a bit like the illuminated manuscripts that were produced in Europe before the advent of printing. And it's not made on palm leaf, either, as they usually are, but specially treated cloth. And that it was made for the king gives it an impressive provenance,' said Ferguson knowledgeably.

‘So it's kind of a family heirloom,' said Andrew.

Ferguson unfolded the little sections and carefully handed the kammavaca to Andrew, who turned it over and studied it.

‘What does it say?'

Ferguson peered at it. ‘I haven't looked at it much. But usually these sorts of things are just prayers and sacred texts from the Pali canon. Not worthwhile bothering to translate them, really. I thought I had a buyer in Mandalay so I carried it with me up there, rather than leaving it in Rangoon, but the chap had gone back to England before I could contact him. Bit of good fortune for you, young man.'

‘It is delightful. This is just the sort of thing I had in mind,' said Andrew. He carefully refolded the sections of the long, banner-like kammavaca and placed it in its box. ‘It rather intrigues me. I'd like to take home one souvenir of Burma and this is easy to carry if it's not too expensive.'

‘I couldn't let it go cheaply. It's definitely a collector's piece,' said Ferguson, getting down to business.

‘But if it belonged to the former king, it's not very old, is it?' said Andrew. ‘You're very knowledgeable and lead such a fascinating life, I'm sure that any article I wrote about you would be very well received in England. People outside the world of archaeology would certainly learn all about you.'

Ferguson considered this. ‘You'd have to be careful what you wrote. Can't have every Johnny racing out to Burma and clearing out the tombs and temples, eh?' began Ferguson, but Andrew could see he was flattered by the idea of appearing in a publication as prestigious as the
Illustrated London News
.

They bartered back and forth and in a short while had agreed on a price for the kammavaca, on the condition that Andrew should write an article about Ferguson and his work in Burma.

Andrew extracted some English pounds from his wallet. While the price for the kammavaca was not a huge sum, it left a bit of a hole in his savings. But for Andrew it was a matter of principle. The meeting with Princess Tipi Si had affected him deeply and had brought to the surface his own embarrassment at the greedy and unscrupulous behaviour of his countrymen in Burma. If he could show the princess that not all of them behaved so badly by returning the king's kammavaca, then he would feel better. It would be his moral victory.

Andrew took some photographs of Ferguson working at the Shitthaung Pagoda and other locations in Mrauk-U, and of three red-robed monks making their way down the green hillside from their monastery to the village with their alms bowls. He then packed away his camera, settled the small teak box with the kammavaca inside his luggage, and began the arduous journey back to Rangoon to see the princess and return her family heirloom.

Gold Coast, Queensland, 2006

N
ATALIE GRASPED MARK'S ARM
, closed her eyes and held her breath.

‘Going once . . . Going twice . . .' The auctioneer paused, holding his gavel aloft, and glanced around at the small crowd standing on the footpath.

‘Last chance for what could be the best waterfront living on the hottest part of the Gold Coast.'

‘Oh no, that couple are going to get it. Mark, bid again!' whispered Natalie urgently.

‘We've already gone past our limit.'

‘Please try another five thousand dollars, quick.' She pushed his elbow and Mark's arm shot up.

‘Thank you, sir. Now, going once, twice, going three times . . . Sold!' The agent banged the hammer onto the lectern in front of him and pointed to Natalie and Mark.

‘Congratulations to the young couple with the stroller! If you could just come this way, we'll sort out all the details.'

Mark and Natalie walked back through the house, now seeing it through different eyes. They were about to be its new owners.

‘Scary but wonderful, isn't it?' said Natalie, already visualising the changes she wanted to make to their purchase.

That was six months ago. How excited they'd been to buy the house of their dreams. Natalie and Mark Cutler had been married for five years. But with the arrival of their children, Charlotte, who was now three, and eighteen-month-old Adam, they'd outgrown their house in Brisbane. They'd decided to move to the Gold Coast, mainly for the lifestyle it offered, but also because they'd be a bit closer, but not too close, to Natalie's mother who lived over the border in northern New South Wales now less than two hours away. Mark, who was an electrician, had mates who assured him there was plenty of work available for good tradesmen on the Gold Coast. So they'd sold their nicely renovated house in Brisbane for a better price than they'd expected and spent the following weekends looking at homes on the Gold Coast.

Being a holiday and a tourist destination, highrises dominated the skyline and hugged the beachfronts. But with a growing family, an apartment was not for them. Slowly they began to explore the suburbs away from the beach strip and discovered that they liked many of them, although a lot of the houses were way out of their price range.

One day as they drove from one house inspection to the next, Mark said, ‘I don't want to move out into the hinterland. Too rural. Too isolated. Let's stay fairly close to the coast.'

Natalie looked at her fit and handsome husband, who at thirty-eight was still sports mad even though he didn't play competitive football anymore. His hair was sun bleached and he had a year-round tan. Both of them liked swimming and surfing, so finding a home close to water had been high on their wish list.

‘Oh, I agree,' said Natalie. ‘I want to be close to shopping. With Charlotte and Adam we need to be near a park, perhaps a play group and a doctor. All that sort of thing. But I don't want to get caught in an area that's full of holidaymakers, either, so that I can never park the car, and where there could be a lot of party noise.'

‘I really don't want to be in a part of town surrounded by stuffy retirees,' said Mark. ‘It would be great to have families our own age nearby so the kids have someone to play with.'

Eventually they found what they thought was the perfect place. It was a rather run-down seventies house that they knew would need a lot of work, but they loved the area, which was full of well-kept houses and mature gardens. There was a handy corner shop and a park at the end of the street. Most of all, they loved the position of the house. It sat on one of the wide canal developments so that from the back of the house the view was of a broad expanse of sparkling blue water.

‘I think this place has fantastic potential,' Natalie whispered to Mark the first time they inspected it. ‘The bones of the house are terrific, and how about that outlook? Can't you see us fishing off our own little wharf? We might even be able to buy a boat and tie it up at the bottom of our garden.'

‘This place is really run-down,' Mark cautioned.

‘I know. But we'd never be able to afford a place in such a fabulous position if it wasn't. If we can do up a place in Brissie, we can do this one up. You're handy, and all your mates are tradies. Surely we can get things done for mates' rates, and we can paint and do a lot of the renovations ourselves!' exclaimed Natalie.

Mark smiled. ‘You really want this place, don't you?'

Natalie steered him onto the deck that overlooked the patchy lawn running to the water's edge. Beside it was a swimming pool that desperately needed cleaning. ‘I didn't want to seem too keen, but I know that we could fix this place up and make it a really wonderful house to live in.'

‘It's big enough with five bedrooms, but there's only one bathroom and a dinky ensuite. And there's no big work area for me,' said Mark.

Natalie gave a dismissive wave. ‘I can see it! I can just see how we can fix this place up.'

‘I don't know. It's going to be a big job and it's not going to be cheap.' Mark looked out at the canal and the houses opposite with their fancy swimming pools and thatched Balinese-style cabanas. Many of them had boats moored to their own private landing or pontoon.

‘Mark, we've got the experience. I'll draw up some of my ideas for you tonight,' said Natalie with confidence.

Mark stared at her. ‘The renovations we did at our place were cosmetic. Paint, carpets, a deck, garden. This would be structural, you'd need an architect or at least a builder who knows what he's doing.'

‘Let me show you. I can see it,' insisted Natalie.

Later, they talked into the night, discussing their budget and working out a rough costing of Natalie's ideas. With the knowledge that they could eventually renovate the house into something very special, they went to the auction with enthusiasm and enough money from the bank to buy their dream home.

After they'd bought the house and moved in, they spent the first few days settling, getting to know all aspects, good and bad, of their new home. It was soon apparent that the massive renovation job together with their bigger mortgage and the expenses of the move meant they had to re-evaluate their financial position.

‘Finding the money for the renovations is going to be more difficult than I thought,' said Mark. ‘And are you still thinking of another baby?'

‘Of course I am! I adore being a mother. But, well, it isn't really the right time, is it?' Natalie said with a sigh. ‘And I'm disappointed about the renovations. You're right. I don't think we can find enough time and money to do them quickly. How are we ever going to save enough to do the really big jobs, like the bathrooms and the kitchen, let alone fixing up the pool? Maybe I should go back to work.'

‘I'm not sure about that. By the time we pay for daycare, babysitting and another car, I don't know that your teacher's salary is going to cover what we'll need. And we've always agreed that being at home to look after the kids while they are little is the best thing for them. I think we should stick to our plan of you having these years off and only going back to paid work when they're older and in school,' said Mark.

‘I know,' said Natalie. ‘Perhaps we should do as much work on the house as we can ourselves, and then when we've saved up a bit, we'll do the more expensive bits. We'll get there.'

Over the next few weekends they began to renovate the house. They ripped up the carpets and painted the walls in one of the spare rooms.

After dinner one night when the children had gone to bed, Mark poured them both a glass of wine. ‘Sit down, I want to talk to you, Nat.'

‘Hmm. Sounds serious. Or have we won the lottery and you haven't told me?' she asked lightly, not liking the look on her husband's face.

‘Look, this renovating the house bit by bit isn't going to work, is it?'

Natalie was about to disagree with him, but in the end she quietly nodded her head. ‘You're right. We're spending every weekend working on the house, but it's so hard with the kids around. They just get into everything and you have to watch them all the time. You know what Adam did with that paintbrush. I mean, it only took a couple of hours to fix up the mess he made, but it wasn't helpful. We are living in chaos. We can't have our friends around because there's nowhere nice to entertain them. At least we didn't get carried away and rip out the kitchen, but it's so awful to cook there because the stove barely works and the oven takes an age to heat up. If it weren't for the barbeque, we'd never have a meal at a reasonable hour. I don't regret taking on this place, but I wish we could speed up the renovations.'

‘I've worked out a way we can fix this place up much faster than we're doing, and without you having to go back to work.'

‘Really? How?' Natalie looked puzzled.

‘I'm going to apply for a new job.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Still a sparky, of course. But away from here . . .'

‘Move? Oh no! Do you want us to move? Do you want to rent this place out?'

‘Calm down, Nat. No, of course not. Anyway,' he smiled at her, ‘who'd rent the place in the state it's in? No, what I meant was that I'll be away, but you and the kids will stay here. I won't be away all the time. But I can make a lot more money working out at a mine site. It'll be long hours but great money. And they tell me the conditions aren't bad.'

‘You mean you're going to be a fly in – fly out worker?' said Natalie quietly. ‘How long would you be away for?'

‘It's four weeks on, one week off. Twelve working days a fortnight.'

‘That's ridiculous! Crazy.'

‘I know it's not perfect for us, Nat, but it's great takehome pay, much more than what I earn now.'

‘Where would you be?' asked Natalie, trying to settle her jumbled feelings and emotions. The money sounded terrific but the hours were horrendous for Mark, she would miss him and how would she manage on her own for such long stretches at a time?

‘Central Queensland. There's a lot of work for good electricians: keeping machinery operating, wiring work sites and building living quarters and facilities for the workers.'

‘It's such a long time away . . .' began Natalie, feeling close to tears.

‘It's the only way we can save enough money to get the renovations done quickly. Just for a year or two, say. And after each shift, when I come back, I'll have seven days just to be here with you and the kids. That will give you a break. You can have lunch with your girlfriends, and I'll spend quality time with the kids.'

Natalie stared at Mark. ‘You'll need time-out after working those hideous hours. It's your break, too.'

‘I've talked to other people who have done it. Jason's working as a plumber over in the west. Saving up for a house. Says he's whacking nearly a grand into the bank every pay.'

‘I have to think about this.' Natalie got up. She was too tired for another glass of wine and she wanted to think about the whole idea before discussing it further.

‘I need to get to bed. Adam is waking so early these mornings. Let's talk about this some more before we make a decision.'

Slowly Natalie got used to the idea and the lure of the extra money seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

But when Mark started his new job the adjustment for them all was much greater than they had imagined. The children became clingy and needy while he was away. When Mark came home he was exhausted and slept for hours at a stretch. It took at least two days for him to reset his body clock, regain his good temper and enjoy playing with them, and then it was time for him to go again.

‘It's not like you've flown in from Alaska,' complained Natalie. ‘I don't understand why the job has had such an impact on you.'

Mark sighed. ‘I don't stay up late boozing, watching DVDs or anything like that,' he said defensively. ‘Anyway, we get tested for alcohol and drugs and you can't work if they're in your system.'

‘Drugs! You get drug tested?' exclaimed Natalie.

‘People are driving expensive equipment, working with explosives. It's a safety thing. Jeez, I don't want to work with someone who's not all there.'

‘What are you doing that makes you so tired?'

‘I'm working. But it's hard physical work, even my job. There's a lot of noise, speed, shouting, whistles, machinery, trucks, trains hauling coal. It's full-on madness. And people are working round the clock, working under lights, twenty-four seven. There's constant pressure. When I have time off I stick to my room to get a bit of peace and quiet.'

‘It sounds awful.'

‘It's better than it used to be, I hear. The first workers on the site lived really rough. Now there are sealed roads, a rec centre with a pool and a club social room and a big dining hall with really good meals. Even landscaped gardens! It's a plush camp in the middle of nowhere.'