28.

In the early evening, two days later, Belle and Oliver made their way to Sanguttara Hill and the Shwedagon Pagoda. Hectic market stalls selling fabric, sticky cakes, wooden goods and flowers lined the way, while brightly coloured umbrellas protected the traders from the heat. The whole place teemed with people flocking to buy and, here and there among them, Belle spotted young women sweeping the ground.

‘They volunteer,’ Oliver said. ‘It’s central to their beliefs to gain merit by charitable work and good deeds, thus increasing the chance of a favourable reincarnation.’

‘And the pagodas? Why are there so many in Burma?’

‘Well, the wealthy pay for pagodas to be built to increase merit. Each of those is an Odeiktha zedi. But there are other kinds of pagodas too with holy relics inside.’

Belle nodded. They moved on and soon reached a stall packed with bamboo cages, each with a tiny green sparrow-like bird confined within. ‘Look!’ she said, aghast.

‘Would you like one?’ Oliver asked.

She shrank back. ‘A bird in a cage? No thank you.’

‘It isn’t what you think. Come on.’

Reluctantly, she followed him as he stepped up to the stall.

‘So, how many?’ he asked, twisting round to her.

‘Are you crazy?’

He grinned at her. ‘Trust me.’

As he bartered with the trader Belle stood watching anxiously. After a few moments an agreement seemed to have been reached and the man placed three cages on top of a makeshift table.

‘All yours,’ Oliver said.

She raised her brows but didn’t move.

‘Go on.’

‘But I don’t want them.’

‘Just open the cages. You can let the birds go now. That’s what they’re here for. It will gain you merit.’

She shook her head and laughed. ‘Honestly, Oliver, you let me think …’ Her words trailed off.

‘I couldn’t resist it.’

She opened the cages one by one and watched in delight as each little bird took to the air and flew off, soaring higher and higher.

They carried on up the steps towards the colourful central compound which Oliver called the aran. Until she was actually standing there, staring at the multiple edifices before her, Belle hadn’t realized that the huge central pagoda stood in the midst of a complex of so many smaller pagodas dotted among trees. Nor had she realized how busy it would be or what a social event it was to visit the pagoda. All of Rangoon seemed to be out. First, she concentrated on the families promenading in their smartest clothes while small children slept in little heaps guarded by elderly grandmothers. Then she watched young couples praying on their knees and groups of people sitting together sharing food. Most intriguing of all were the saffron-robed monks she saw scrambling up the lower terraces of the Shwedagon itself.

‘Whatever are they doing?’ she asked Oliver.

‘Checking the surface for problems.’

‘It looks precarious. Surely they don’t climb all the way to the top?’

‘I believe they do, all three hundred and twenty-six feet of it.’

‘Good God!’

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We need to see it properly before the sun sets.’

He linked arms with her and they went on, passing huge bells hanging within stone structures, decorative pavilions protecting shrines and magnificent lion-like statues. She loved the bustle going on around the main concourse, which seemed in complete contrast to the quiet shady corners where monks prayed beneath the trees.

‘It’s covered in jewels,’ she said, gawping at the astonishing scale of the Shwedagon.

‘Yes, though some are glass.’

As the sky turned gold and dense black shadows began to dissolve the light within the pavilions, she gasped in awe at the dazzling brilliance of the Shwedagon illuminated by the dying sun. With light refracting through coloured glass the whole thing glittered and sparkled: a multi-jewelled marvel like no other Belle had ever seen. The arena, now glowing with oil lamps, candles and limited electricity, shimmered in the breeze. The atmosphere had changed too, becoming more enthralling and less excitable, as if a magical mantle had descended with the night, muffling the chatter and intensifying the religious significance of the moment. She shivered slightly, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

‘So,’ he whispered, his head close to hers. ‘You like?’

She nodded, ‘I like very much,’ though whether she was referring to her feelings about him or the sight of the pagoda, she couldn’t say. She leant against him for a few minutes, absorbing the peace. Then, as they began to walk away, he held her hand.

She felt his energy sweep her entire body and longed for him to kiss her again. The first time it had happened on her initiative but now she wanted him to take the lead. She stopped walking, then lifted a hand to touch his cheek. When he took her in his arms and skimmed her lips gently with his own, it electrified her. He teased her, and she teased him back, her lips barely touching his but searching for the moment when it would become more. She felt the power of her own feverish appetite, until she was ready to dissolve. Fluid like water, or molten like mercury. It was a wonder. A joy. Then – and she didn’t know how it turned from one thing to another – when she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, unexpected laughter erupted from her. It was laugh-out-loud happiness and perhaps the only way to deal with the intensity of her heightened senses while surrounded by so many other people. He joined in the laughter.

‘Come,’ he said, when they stopped, and he pulled away a little, holding both her hands. ‘We’d better move on. People here are offended by public displays of affection.’

‘Affection?’ She laughed again. ‘Is that what it is?’ But she looked around and saw a few women were staring at them.

She felt altered by being with him on such an intensely romantic evening but was also curious about what she’d witnessed. Once her emotions had subsided and she had calmed herself she asked him to tell her about the religion.

‘Buddhism,’ he said, ‘blended with nat worship.’

‘Nat worship?’

‘Remember I said before?’

‘Oh yes. Spirits.’

She listened to the sounds of the evening, the noise now more subdued.

‘And the monks? I often see them in the streets.’

‘Yes, they go out usually early each morning with their bowls to collect alms. Food for the day.’

‘And it’s all they have?’

He nodded. ‘The role of Buddhism has changed so much since the British took over. The laws used to be built around Buddhist teaching and the monks were protected. Now, of course, the connection between government and Buddhism has been lost.’

‘What do they believe in?’

He frowned as he thought about it. ‘Very simply, they believe in showing respect for parents and elders. They’re naturally curious and think ignorance is a sin. And they emphasize the need for forgiveness and caring for family and community.’

She glanced up at him. ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’

‘But there’s an odd kind of contradiction because this type of Buddhism is highly individualistic. Each person is responsible for their own salvation, despite the emphasis on community.’

‘It must lead to a peaceful life.’

He laughed. ‘Maybe. Anyway, after all that, I think it’s time to come back down to earth. Ready for a drink?’