Koyin Ngabein, The Scrawny Novice

Chaw Ei Mahn (Mandalay)

Koyin Ngabein, The Scrawny Novice" is a 'consensus translation' by Xiomara Chel, Briony Lau, Nu Htet Htet Lwin, Olivia Ma, Eain Kyi Phy and Akar Soe, who took part in 'Link the Worlds/Words Translation Workshop" from July 2022 to October 2022. ko ko thett, the workshop leader, and the translation team thank National Centre for Writing, UK, and PEN Myanmar for their support.

The weather is dull, the sky gloomy, the sun nowhere to be seen. It’ll surely get colder, I reckon. There are sheets and blankets in the cupboard. I better take them out! I shouldn’t just go to bed like I did before. I forgot to bundle up the other day and woke up with my whole arm frozen stiff. Thinking of it, I must remember to take out the big cotton shawl that Maedawgyi, my mother, donated to the monastery last year.

‘Sayadaw, Sayadaw.’

‘So breathless, Kodaw. What’s the matter?’

‘That…that novice, Koyin Nga Bein, he has disregarded our words again, venerable sir!’

‘Huh. What’s he done this time?’

‘We caught him watching TV not too long ago. . . and now we found him sneaking and hiding alms of rice, venerable sir.’

‘Truly! How did you find out?’

‘Oh, he had hidden the rice wrapped in layers of plastic bags and stuffed it in the pile of bamboo poles under the monastery floor. I saw him acting a bit strange and followed him and then—there! I found the hidden rice. If not for you, he wouldn’t be afraid of anyone, venerable sir.’

‘Aye. This Koyin Nga Bein! He is always a difficult boy.’

‘If this goes on, then I’m afraid the other novices will follow in his footsteps and misbehave.’

‘Hmm…it’s true. Aye. Kodaw, send Nga Bein to me saying that I called on him to come.’

‘I will, Sayadaw. Please allow me to take my leave now.’

‘Aye, aye.’

Nga Bein…Nga Bein. This very nickname was given to him by the other novices and is used all the time here—now even I find myself calling him so. Surely, he had mentioned his real name, but my memory fails! Instead, my mind flashes back to when he first came to the monastery. Wearing a ragged, ripped undershirt, with his dirty, skinny arms sticking out like sunburned stems of reed. His longyi was too big on him too. The waist knot, which should have been a neat oval, with the ends twisted and tucked in, was instead huge and round. Speaking of his longyi, it fell off—what a boy! He was too young at the time, around seven years old. Dry mud stuck among the strands of his already messy hair. He tended buffaloes in his village, they said. He must have wallowed together with them. He was so skinny, and his complexion was dark and dry. That’s how he got his nickname: ‘Nga Bein’, the skinny boy.

Back in the village, his father was a real drunkard. A true alcoholic. A hundred percent! He was always passed out, drunk. Since his mother remarried and went away, there was no one left to look after this poor boy. Eh… there was this elderly woman, Gyidaw Mya, she brought him here.

Naturally, all the children who are sent to the monastery need to put on yellow robes and to be ordained as novices. They also must study basic literacy and Buddha’s teachings. Of course, little Nga Bein didn’t want to! But this is the only place where he can fill his empty belly. Thus, he entered the monkhood for he realised that ‘to eat is to become a novice.’ At first, he was timid and meek, though he has started stirring up all sorts of trouble recently. Well, he has been here for more than three years and has become… how shall I say it…become insolent? Indeed, he has become insolent over the course of his life at the monastery. He fears no one—except me. Dare he mistake my sympathy for something cheap? You give someone an inch and he takes a yard!

‘Sayadaw, I am in your presence.’

‘You know what you did, right?’

‘I do, venerable sir.’

‘Tomorrow morning you will have to say this out loud before all the novices. And then you will do sit-ups fifty times, hands holding ears criss-cross. Hear me?’

‘Yes, I do, venerable sir.’

‘Memorise this!’

‘Yes, venerable sir.’

‘“I, Koyin Nga Bein, stole alms and hid them under the monastery. Thus, I will have to do fifty sit-ups, hands holding my ears.” Remember it? Repeat it!’

‘Yes, venerable sir.’

‘Now, this time is the last time I’ll be this lenient with you. You may go.’

Once Nga Bein has left, I take out the big shawl and memories come flooding back. Actually such things are not unusual. They bear no age nor rank! I speak not of Koyin Nga Bein. But of me, at seventeen. I was already a dhamma recitation instructor in the monastery and always hungry even then. And when I was hungry, there was nothing I could do. At the monastery, there were four junior monks, all of us Kodaw. The same age as me. We were so afraid of the abbot, though, we trembled before the Sayadaw. If we erred, just like now, we would have to prostrate ourselves in front of the other novices and get struck by a cane. No need to say that our dignity was shattered to bits before the younger novices! I try not to think about it. If that wasn’t enough, we had to split firewood, draw water, and do more work than the others.

In our time, we usually bought little packs of fried beans and concealed them within the twists of our robes. We would sneak the beans, one at a time, into our mouths and soften them slowly, not making any noise nor being seen. At lunch, we took extra rice and then saved some in a plastic bag. Later we’d take the bag and bury it in the backyard of the monastery, placing three planks on top to secure our stolen alms. Still, we dreaded that a rat would snatch it. When dusk fell and the Sayadaw was occupied with other things, one of us would slip through a hole in the fence at the back of the monastery to Ma Pya’s house, which wasn’t too far away, to buy one kyat of fish sauce and chilli powder. Sometimes, if there was no fish sauce, we had to eat the rice with salt. The Kodaw who was bringing back the things hidden in his robe would signal to the rest of us. That was the sign for two of us to fetch the package we’d buried that afternoon. In fact, the hiding place wasn’t far from the latrine. But what choice did we have? In the dark, we’d pour the fish sauce and the chilli powder onto the rice, mix it in, and gobble it up.

It wasn’t that we did this every day, but we did so whenever we could. The Sayadaw hadn’t a clue. Had he known, it wouldn’t have been easy for us. He was a strict disciplinarian and he wanted all of his disciples to be well educated. Terrified of him, we tried to avoid being found out, until one day…

It was my turn to buy the fish sauce and chilli powder. I snuck out through the fence to go to Ma Pya’s house with a single kyat grasped tightly in my hand. She was overgenerous and put a bit of dried shrimp powder in the fish sauce. You mustn’t tell the Sayadaw about us—he can’t find out, I said to her. Because if he does, my calves will be getting reacquainted with his cane. But, what a coincidence! As I returned from Ma Pya’s, I ran into the Sayadaw himself coming directly towards me on the road. Oh dukkha! Soaked in a cold sweat, I quickly hung the package of fish sauce that I’d been holding on the fence. What luck! Only when I’d finished did he see me. At once, he asked why I was there. As he spoke, I trembled and hoped he didn’t see. I often come here for a walk, I replied. The Sayadaw didn’t say anything but he didn’t seem satisfied with my answer. Bowing my head, I skulked away. The other Kodaw were waiting for me, waiting with the rice and hungry. I told them what had happened. As I recounted to them what had happened, they sighed and groaned: ‘What are we going to do?’ In a little while, we saw the Sayadaw come back and go into the monastery.

Since I didn’t want to go out again, I sent a younger novice to go get the fish sauce packet from where I had hung it on the bamboo fence. He vanished into the dim light of the darkening day. We were keeping an eye out for our Sayadaw. After a while, the Kodaw ran towards us holding the packet. As usual, he poured the fish sauce onto the rice that we’d taken out from the hole. We didn’t even have time to wash our hands. One scoop, two scoops…

 ‘Hey, Kodaw, your fish sauce smells weird.’

‘I agree…Is that because you sprinkled some dried shrimp powder in it?’

‘No…It doesn’t even smell like fish sauce.’

‘Huh. This…this…sort of smells like betel quid.’

‘Yes! Where did you find this packet, Kodaw?’

‘From the north fence.’

‘What? I hung it on the south fence! Oh no. This isn’t fish sauce. Since it smells like betel quid, it must be betel quid spit!’

‘Ugh…ughh!’

‘That’s why it felt slimy in my mouth!’

‘Quit it! Ugh…gross!’

No need to mention how nauseous I felt; my hunger was gone in a split second. For a long time after that incident, we refrained from stealing rice to eat with fish sauce.

At that time, we were sixteen or seventeen, already becoming novice tutors. Since I knew all those old ways of breaking the rules like the back of my hand, what Nga Bein did was nothing new. It’s a good thing that our Sayadaw didn’t catch us. Had he caught us, we would have been punished just like Nga Bein—so that we dare not violate the rules again.

Whenever I think of how we mistakenly ate rice with betel quid spit, I still lose my appetite. My fellow Kodaw are now abbots in their own monasteries. In our time, we excelled at our studies since we were very passionate and enthusiastic about learning. But now there are so many children like Nga Bein at school. I want those children with no guardians to be educated in my monastery, at least just enough to stand on their own feet in life. The children, they know nothing. Some may be intelligent; some may not be. But a child like Nga Bein is difficult to discipline. He always does what he wants. I often receive many complaints about him as well. He isn’t really interested in his studies. A while ago, he placed a toad in the basket of the female teacher who came to provide secular education to the children. I punished him with three strikes of the cane. Nevertheless, he didn’t care. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions.

This time will be different. I thought of a way to punish him that is bound to shame him: I’m making him do sit-ups in front of all the other younger novices.

— — 

‘I, Koyin Nga Bein, stole alms and hid them under the monastery. Thus, I will have to do fifty sit-ups, hands holding my ears.’

‘One!’

Nga Bein’s voice is coming from upstairs in the study hall. The other koyin are counting out loud: ‘One, two, three…’ I'm glad it worked out well. Let this be a lesson to him! I hear them giggling. Yesterday I called and instructed Sar-cha Kodaw to supervise him. From the upper floor of my monastery, I can see and hear what’s happening. At first, Nga Bein’s voice is strong with enthusiasm. Later, it fades and finally falls flat.

‘Come on, come on! Louder!’ The Sar-cha Kodaw standing by him is shouting.

‘Forty, forty-one, forty-two….’

I step back from the window to prepare for tomorrow's trip. I’m going to Shan State for three or four days. I decided to go because I hadn’t been there for ages, and my fellow monk, who was part of our secret rice-stealing missions, invited me to come and visit his monastery. I have requested two Kodaw to take care of the monastery and to keep an eye on mischievous Koyin Nga Bein: I worry something could happen when I’m away.

— — 

It was very enjoyable going to Shan State. The rain hadn’t fully bloomed in Pyin Oo Lwin Township. I had thought by the time I would reach Shan State, I might face heavy rain. But fortunately, it didn't rain, which made the trip even better. The express bus stopped at Aung Chanthar at the entrance of Kutkai Township. A devotee I just met on the bus donated Shan-style steamed rice. Warm and mouth-watering! With this delicious rice in hand, I couldn’t help but think about Koyin Nga Bein. I really wanted to feed Nga Bein this appealing Shan-style rice. After the meal, I wandered around looking at the varieties of vegetables and fruits for sale, all displayed naked on the bare ground. All along the way, the weather was lovely!

Shortly afterwards, I arrived at my friend’s monastery in Kutkai Township. As I had never been there, there were a million things to look at and learn about in this new place. Kodaw’s monastery was prospering, with many disciples and devotees. The following day, he took me to the Holy Relic Kyaiktiyo Pagoda in Manloi village. It is a natural phenomenon—perching on the land by itself, the pagoda was so impressive! The names of villages nearby, like Namhpakka, Namhpaklun, Hkomone and Swan Lon, were so cute and catchy. There were many eye-pleasing terraces and hills to admire along the road. I felt grateful to my friend who persisted in his efforts to bring me here despite my reluctance. At night, before we went to bed, we had a chat over a kettle of tea: what a pleasure! Kodaw even recounted our misadventures of sneaking alms rice and we laughed our heads off.

So true it is that we will never, can never, forget such things no matter how old we are nor how many years we serve in the monkhood.

Then I experienced another unforgettable event.

The day when I got back to the monastery, a Kodaw immediately came to tell me that Koyin Nga Bein had been hospitalised.

My eyes bugged out, and my jaws dropped. They had just sent him to the hospital yesterday. They said Koyin Nga Bein had been missing since the night I left for Shan State. But he couldn’t be found anywhere. Raining cats and dogs that night! Then they found him unconscious lying down by the creek. Soaked wet and frozen stiff! They rushed to hospitalise him, the Kodaw explained.

O Buddha! Buddha! What happened to him? With this train of thought, I went straight away to the hospital with two Kodaw.

I saw Nga Bein lying in the hospital bed, on a drip. He looked peaky. I tenderly put his little hand in mine. It wasn’t warm, but ice-cold. I wondered how long he’d been in the rain. He was still unconscious.

The doctor said the cold severely affected his lungs. And Nga Bein also showed symptoms of malaria. This sad news made me feel wretched. Why did Nga Bein stay in the rain instead of coming back to the monastery? Was my punishment too harsh on him? Was I wrong to assume Koyin Nga Bein had no sense of shame? Had he felt overwhelmed with shame? Had he been angry with me? Oh…these thoughts suffocated my soul!

I prayed that Nga Bein would get better and regain consciousness soon. But my prayers were not answered. On the following day, instead of waking up, he passed away before my very eyes. I informed the people in the village where he was from of his death, yet no one came to his funeral. As I am also a putuzin, an ordinary person, my heart was filled with pity for him. I thought of him and missed him. I did my best to make proper arrangements for his funeral. 

— — 

Whenever I pray and share my merits with others before the Buddha, I ask for Koyin Nga Bein’s forgiveness if my punishment hurt his feelings.

Then, one day, an eight-year-old novice, who is younger than Nga Bein, comes to me. He is trembling.

‘Koyin Lay…’

As he is the youngest here, I call him Koyin Lay—little novice.

‘Koyin Lay, what happened? Why are you trembling? Are you feeling unwell?’

‘No, I am not, venerable sir. I’m just very hungry.’

‘Huh. Well, there are bananas in the cupboard, Koyin Lay. Help yourself. You can have rice too if you want some.’

I feel sorry for Koyin Lay. I let him eat some food. There would be trouble if he had stomach problems. Children will be children.

Koyin Lay breaks three bananas off the bunch and eats them one after the other. He says he doesn’t want any rice, though.

He has never sought me out like this before.

‘Koyin Lay, this has never happened before. How come you aren't able to hold your hunger now?’

‘No, venerable sir. Before all of this, Koyin Nga Bein used to steal rice and feed it to me in the evenings. Now that he’s gone, I can’t bear being so hungry, venerable sir.’

‘Huh, Nga Bein was feeding you stolen rice…’

‘He was stealing rice for me, which he was punished for before his death. He never ate that stolen rice. He pitied me and saved some rice from his bowl and packed it in a plastic bag and placed it under the monastery for me to eat at night. That’s what he was doing when he was accused of stealing rice, venerable sir.’

‘Aw, is that so? Then, if you know something about his death, tell me, Koyin Lay.’

‘I think he felt very ashamed when he was punished, venerable sir. He’d told me to behave well and take care of myself. Then I didn’t see him again after that evening. He stole the rice for me, venerable sir.’

His words sink in.

‘From now on, when you’re hungry, say so… don’t steal, okay?’

‘Yes, venerable sir. May I go now?’

‘Aye, aye.’

As the little novice goes downstairs and disappears from my sight, my mind goes blank for a long time. My heart aches and tears are streaming down my face.

The rain is falling in sheets outside.

I miss Nga Bein even more on days when it rains like this.

When my friends and I stole rice, it was a funny story, but for Nga Bein, it turned into a tragedy.

With the rain pouring down outside, I’m lost in thought. In my mind’s eye and in my ears, I see and hear Nga Bein in front of the recitation hall again.

‘I, Koyin Nga Bein, stole alms and hid them under the monastery. Thus, I will have to do fifty sit-ups, hands holding my ears.’