13. Into the Golden Presence
Chapter 13
Into the Golden Presence
Six weeks later, in mid-September 1818, two young missionary men and their wives disembarked in Rangoon. Adoniram rushed to the dock to meet them. At first he was shocked at how young they were: Edward Wheelock was twenty-two, his wife, Eliza, was twenty, and James and Lucy Colman were both twenty-three. But then he realized he had been only twenty-four himself when he set out from New England to be a missionary. And like him, what they lacked in age they made up for in enthusiasm. They were adaptable, too. Back at the mission house, no one complained about the overcrowding or the new diet, which consisted of strange foods like curry and tropical vegetables that had never made their way to New England. Within days, the four new missionaries were hard at work learning the Burmese language. They were helped greatly in this by the grammar book and dictionary Adoniram had written.
But the new missionaries’ industrious start quickly came to a halt when James Colman and Edward Wheelock both became ill on the same day. The men coughed up blood and complained of chest pain. Adoniram was not a doctor, but he didn’t have to be to know what was wrong. Both men had the classic signs of tuberculosis.
After many weeks of constant nursing, James Colman began to make a slow recovery, but Edward Wheelock continued to grow thinner and weaker. At the same time, something just as bad was happening to his wife. As Edward’s body got sicker and sicker, so did Eliza’s mind. Unable to accept that her husband was dying from tuberculosis, Eliza began imagining that the people in the mission house were using some secret means to slowly kill him. Eventually she decided that if her husband was to survive, they both needed to “escape” from Rangoon. Adoniram and Ann begged Eliza to change her mind, but she insisted on setting sail for India with her gravely ill husband. A week out to sea, in a raging storm, Edward Wheelock used his last ounce of strength to clamber up on deck, where he threw himself overboard and drowned. Adoniram never heard from Eliza again. James Colman did not meet the same fate. After hovering at death’s door for many months, he made a full recovery.
As the mission house got back to “normal,” Adoniram decided it was time to make a bold move. He and Ann had spent six years learning the Burmese language, telling Bible stories and translating Scripture, but they had not managed to find a place where the people felt comfortable enough to sit and talk one-on-one with them. Few Burmese people came to the mission house now that there was a new viceroy in Rangoon. The Judsons needed to find some sort of “neutral ground” where they could meet with the Burmese.
This neutral ground came in the form of a tract of land at the rear of the mission house that came up for sale. The front boundary of the land was on Pagoda Road, the main walking street in Rangoon. Adoniram purchased the land, and he and James Colman set about building a zayat, an open building with a roof but no sides, where Burmese people—especially people who were on pilgrimages—liked to gather to talk. Since there was always some pilgrimage or another to the Shwe Dagon pagoda at the end of Pagoda Road, thousands of people would pass the zayat each day.
By the beginning of April 1819, the building was finished. It wasn’t the biggest or the grandest zayat by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a start, a place where the missionaries could discuss religion and answer questions freely with the Burmese people.
Day after day, Adoniram would sit on the steps of the zayat and yell his invitation to passersby. “Ho! Everyone who thirsts for knowledge enter here.” And people did come in. Some came to jeer and insult Adoniram, some to drink tea and rest. A few came to listen to the words of this new religion Christianity.
One of the very first men Adoniram noticed paying close attention to what he said was Maung Nau, a single man, about thirty-five years old. Maung Nau was poor and went from job to job. The first day he visited was a Friday. Since he sat quietly and never asked a question, Adoniram was surprised to see him return on Saturday, and then for a church service on Sunday, and again on Monday. Indeed, by Wednesday, May 5, Adoniram was able to make an entry in his journal that he had waited many years to write: “I am beginning to think that the Grace of God has reached his [Maung Nau’s] heart.… It seems almost too much to believe that God has begun to manifest his grace on the Burmans; but this day I could not resist the delightful conviction that this is really the case.”
Adoniram was not mistaken. Maung Nau wanted to learn more about Christianity, and by the following Sunday, he had made his decision to become a Christian. Much to Adoniram’s delight, he showed his determination by standing up and announcing his conversion to his fellow countrymen at the zayat.
Not wanting to lose this wonderful opportunity, Adoniram invited Maung Nau to live at the mission house. In that way, the new convert could learn more about his new faith, as well as help to distribute Christian literature. The day Maung Nau moved in was one of the happiest days of Adoniram’s life. Adoniram had tried to go to Chittagong and bring back a Burmese Christian to help share the gospel, but the attempt had failed miserably. Now he had a Burmese Christian from Rangoon to help him.
It was only a month before Maung Nau asked to be baptized. At first Adoniram was delighted by the request, but slowly a chill began to spread through his heart. It had nothing to do with Maung Nau. Quite the contrary, Maung Nau was a true convert in every sense of the word, daily studying, praying, even preaching. The feeling of dread Adoniram was experiencing had to do with events in Rangoon. Adoniram couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew something was wrong. Minor officials, who only a month before would have bowed to him in the street now harassed him. Almost every day, an official would appear at the door of the mission house demanding money in the form of a bribe or a tax. This was not normal, and Adoniram wondered what could have happened to embolden these minor officials. These changing circumstances made him reluctant to baptize the mission’s very first Burmese convert until he understood what was happening in the country. He felt it was just too risky for all concerned to go ahead with the baptism.
While Adoniram was puzzling over the behavior of the government officials in Rangoon, the viceroy ordered a hundred boats be made ready to transport him upriver to Ava. It was the most lavish display of pomp and ceremony Adoniram and Ann had seen in Burma. It left Adoniram wondering more than ever about what was happening. And he was not the only one. The entire city was now seething with whispers and rumors.
Early on Thursday, the day after the viceroy’s departure, Adoniram visited a number of zayats around Rangoon to see if he could learn the reason for the tension in the air. At about ten in the morning, as he sat in a zayat talking with some Burmese men, a man ran up. “There’s to be a reading at the court,” the man said, panting to a stop in front of the zayat.
Adoniram quickly left the zayat and began walking briskly across town to the court. He hoped he was finally going to get some answers. Soon a throng of people was gathered outside the court. When a royal messenger arrived, the crowd parted for him. The messenger, dressed in red, the color of the royal household, stood on a carved box and opened a scroll. He began to read: “Listen ye: The immortal king, wearied, it would seem, with the fatigues of royalty, has gone up to amuse himself in the celestial regions. His grandson, the heir apparent, is seated on the throne. The young monarch enjoins us all to remain quiet and to wait his imperial orders.”
The messenger rolled up the scroll, and the crowd parted for him once again. As soon as he was out of earshot, the throng erupted with questions. How long had the king been dead? What changes would the new king make in his realm? What had happened to old King Bodawpaya’s two sons, the new king’s uncles?
In the midst of all the noise and confusion, Adoniram slipped through the crowd and made his way home. Ann and James and Lucy Colman would be waiting to hear the news.
As more news from the royal city of Ava slowly drifted into Rangoon, Adoniram began to understand why the local officials had been acting the way they had. It turned out that King Bodawpaya had died two weeks before the decree was read in Rangoon. The new king, Bagyidaw, following the tradition of countless Burmese rulers before him, had eliminated anyone who might have the slightest reason to be disloyal to him. All of the previous king’s servants, as well as most of his army, were killed. The king also had his uncles, along with many provincial leaders, tortured and strangled. He even ordered that his brothers, nieces, and nephews be sewn into red sacks and thrown into the river to drown. (He used red sacks on account of their royal standing.)
The reign of terror lasted for ten days, and at the end of it, the dead were counted. Fourteen hundred members of the royal household and other officials, along with twelve thousand commoners, had been killed. After the killing was over, King Bagyidaw felt confident enough to send out messengers to the provinces to announce that he was now king. That was why the local officials had been so greedy lately, seeking out bribes and illegal taxes. These officials had been trying to gather as much wealth as possible for themselves while their superiors were busy trying to save their heads.
The new king sounded particularly harsh to Adoniram, who hoped it would be a long time before he ever had to meet him. However, circumstances soon made it necessary for him to visit the man who had just ordered the deaths of thousands of his subjects.
By November 1819, there were two more Burmese converts, Maung Thahlah and Maung Byaay (Maung is a title meaning “young man”). Both men asked to be baptized just as Maung Nau had done. On the one hand, the Judsons and the Colmans were excited to have three new Christians, who together brought the total number of Protestants in Burma to seven. (Some Burmese people with Portuguese parents or grandparents were Roman Catholics, though most of the people were active participants in Buddhist rituals.) On the other hand, the new Christian converts had created a lot of suspicion among people in Rangoon. Up until then, the missionaries had been looked upon with pity by the locals. Indeed, their goal of making converts seemed ridiculous. Everyone knew that a Burmese Buddhist would never renounce his or her faith and become a Christian. Christianity was for white people.
But now three men had converted, and things had changed. Suddenly the missionaries were a threat to the Buddhist way of life. As a result, the work of the mission came to a standstill. No one wanted to be seen within a hundred feet of Adoniram or his coworkers. The zayat remained empty day after day, and the officials found creative and petty ways to harass them. As well, the new king ordered many more Buddhist zayats to be built and staffed with priests. Adoniram and Ann and the Colmans felt as if a noose were being tightened around their necks. Something had to be done.
In a letter sent home to his family, Adoniram explained why he had decided to go to Ava to see the king about the situation: “Our business must be fairly laid before the king. If he frowns upon us, all missionary attempts within his dominion will be out of the question. If he favors us, none of our enemies, during the continuance of his favor, can touch a hair of our heads.”
As Adoniram and James Colman left Rangoon for Ava, they did not know whether they would ever see their wives again. King Bagyidaw was ruthless and had no reason to allow the Christian religion to be preached in his kingdom. Not only that, the three-hundred-fifty-mile trip upriver to Ava was extremely dangerous.
The route to Ava took the men up the Rangoon River until it joined the Irrawaddy. Then the men followed the Irrawaddy River deep into the heart of Burma. Only a handful of Europeans had ever been to the Golden City, as Ava was known. As their boat moved farther upstream, Adoniram marveled at the number of abandoned cities that lay along the banks of the river. This occurred because of an unusual Burmese custom. For thousands of years, each newly crowned king had insisted on having a new capital city built in his honor. These were huge, lavish cities, each one supposedly more impressive than the previous king’s. All royal and government business was transferred to the new city, while the old city was left to rot and be engulfed by the jungle. Indeed, King Bagyidaw had already established Amarapura as the new royal capital. Amarapura was a little south of Ava, the previous king’s capital. However, most people continued to refer to the place as Ava, since Amarapura was actually more of an extension of the old royal city than a completely new city on its own.
A few people still lived among the old abandoned government buildings, temples, and pagodas that lined the river, but they were mostly outcasts or the dreaded “dacoits.” The dacoits were bands of armed pirates who preyed on boats going up and down the river. One band of dacoits tried to swoop in and raid the boat Adoniram and James Colman were traveling on, but the crew fended them off by firing a volley of gunshots over their heads. Since no one knew whether they or other bands of dacoits would try to attack again, the month-long trip to Ava was tense.
Finally, though, on January 25, 1820, as Adoniram looked out over the elaborate dragon-head shaped bow of the boat, he saw the golden steeple of the royal palace come into view. Soon the boat was safely tied up at the river’s edge in Ava.
Adoniram and James Colman spent the next day trying to obtain permission for an audience with the king. This would have turned out to be an impossible task, except for one thing: Mya-day-men, the old viceroy of Rangoon. The viceroy was now the highest-ranking official in King Bagyidaw’s court, and although he had never been great friends with Adoniram, Mya-day-men’s wife, the vicereine, had been a particularly good friend of Ann’s. As a result, the viceroy agreed to help Adoniram get an audience with the king. Later that night, a messenger arrived at the boat with a letter telling Adoniram that he and James Colman could have an audience with the king the following day.
There was no sleep for the two missionaries that night. They both lay on their straw mats on the deck of the boat praying and talking. The future direction of Christianity in Burma hung in the balance. The following day they would know which way the balance would tip.
Both men were up at sunrise. They each had special clothes made for the occasion of entering the Golden Presence, as having an audience with the king was called. It had been difficult to know what to wear, but in the end they had decided on long robes like those the Buddhist monks wore, only theirs were white, not the distinctive saffron color of the monks’ robes. Adoniram hoped the robes would remind the king that they were “priests,” just not Buddhist ones.
Dust from the unpaved streets swirled around Adoniram and James Colman as they made their way to the Golden Palace. Each of them carried three volumes of the Bible. Adoniram had paid a lot of money to have the cover of each Bible overlaid in gold leaf as a suitable gift for the king. When they reached the guardhouse set into the outer wall of the palace, a guard ordered them to remove their shoes. He then ushered them into the outer corridor.
Once the men were in the outer corridor, one of the many officials milling around beckoned them into a large hall. Adoniram gasped as he entered. Every inch of the room, and everything in it—the chair, the pillars, the fans—was made of gold. There were twelve Burmese men standing in the room. Adoniram supposed some were servants and others important dignitaries who had come for an audience with the king as well.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the far end of the room, and a servant ran in. “The golden feet are proceeding this way!” he yelled as he dove onto the carpeted floor. Every Burmese man in the room followed his example, each lying face down, his face flat against the floor.
Adoniram looked at James Colman. “I suppose it would be proper to kneel before a monarch,” he said, sinking to his knees. James Colman followed his example.
A minute later a short, bandy-legged man wearing a white muslin tunic with a scarlet waistband and a turban wound around his head entered the room. Complete silence followed. Not one of the men prostrate on the floor moved a muscle.
The short man, whom Adoniram knew without a doubt was King Bagyidaw, glared at the two white men kneeling in front of him.
“Who are these men?” he demanded.
Adoniram decided it would be best to answer for himself. He bowed his head slightly and replied, “We are the religious teachers you have heard about, O great king.”
King Bagyidaw looked shocked. “You speak like a Burmese man. How can this be? What have you come for?”
The official who had the petition for the king lifted his head off the carpet and spoke quietly. “If it please you, your majesty, the men have a petition they would like to bring before you.”
“Then read it,” commanded the king, settling himself onto his golden throne.
The official slid the petition in front of his eyes and, still lying flat on the floor, began to read. “The American teachers present themselves to receive the favor of the excellent king, the sovereign of land and sea. Hearing that on account of the greatness of the royal power, the royal country was in a quiet and prosperous state….”
As the official read on, Adoniram watched the king’s face for any sign of what he might be thinking. At least the king seemed to be paying attention.
The official read on about how the missionaries had come from Rangoon to Ava to ask for royal permission to tell the Burmese people about their religion free from government harassment. When the official was finished, the king beckoned for the paper. Adoniram watched in amazement as the official crawled on his belly up to the throne and handed the petition to the king.
The king carefully reread the petition. “Do you have any examples of this religion?” he asked Adoniram.
Adoniram rummaged around in the pocket of his robe and pulled out one of his tracts, which he handed to the king. King Bagyidaw read the first line and dropped the leaflet. It fluttered slowly to the floor. A chill went through Adoniram; this was not a good sign.
The king glared at the two missionaries, and Adoniram did not know what to say next. Thankfully, the courtier who had been holding the six Bibles rose to a crawling position, and shuffling the books in front of him, he presented them to the king.
“Take them away,” said King Bagyidaw. “I have no use for foreign religious books in my realm.” With that he stood and walked out of the room.
Once the king was gone, everyone scrambled to his feet and hurried out. No one looked at Adoniram or James Colman, except the official with the petition. “You must leave now, quickly!” the official said, pushing the men through the golden door. “The king is not pleased with your petition. You must go.”