I am sorry to bring this picture to you again. But when I ran this sad, sad picture several days ago accompanying articles on the uprising by Buddhist monks and nuns against the illicit Than Schwe regime in Burma, I thought it was a picture of one of the holy people who had been murdered, and I thought it ought be run with dignity.
But, something has been bothering me about the image. Today I realized that I’d been puzzled by something about the colors in the photo ever since I first saw it. Thus today, I was seized with the idea to scan this same photograph into my Imedia software and I blew the image up to nearly full screen size.
I slumped in my chair for a moment then, for suddenly I could see that what had appeared to be this holy man’s dark garment in the middle of his back… is instead a long and broad bone and muscle bruise rising from the base of his cranium and not ending until it reaches near his tailbone, the kind of deep bleeding bruise that comes from being repeatedly crushed with full force by a rifle stock. The skin on each shoulder is blackened, indicating he may have been struck from above while in a supplicating position to his captor.
With the image enlarged, I could see this murdered holy man is wearing no shirt, no pants; all the yellow and gray and black you see is this dear soul’s naked body, the remnant of his red robe is around his neck, his loin cloth twisted at his waist. He may have been on his knees in the mud when he was first tortured, and then fallen prone. It appears one leg is broken.
Then I saw his ears. Dead black, both ears. The only time I have seen ears this color is in the ER when a person’s face has been savagely beaten to a literal pulp. This monk was bludgeoned to unconsciousness and then his body pushed into the river’s shallows where he was either already dead from bleeding through the brain, internal organ lacerations, or else was drowned without ever regaining consciousness. There’s more that points toward, that infers, but this is likely more than enough for now.
Whomsoever murdered him was in a rage, a white-eyed, all-molars glowing, screaming sustained rage. Injuries like these don’t come from falling or from being shot at random or from being struck once. They come from literally being beaten over and over until the victim is dead.
Also, as I pan back from the picture, and deepen the shadow saturation, I get a sense that could we see a panoramic image of this place, this moment, there may have been at least one more body in the water to the right of the frame.
It is a seeming overcast day; there are white dots on either the lens of the camera or in the water; the water is still; it is not raining at that moment; the light is coming from the right and moderately low in the sky. The water looks rich in green algae but swamp like. The shadow of the photographer cannot be seen in the water.
I think of these details and I am there, and it sickens. A man with a pot metal begging bowl up against well-fed soldiers with automatic assault rifles. A young monk who has recently and carefully shaved his head in the tradition of the ablutions of holy men. A very young monk whom you can see is small in stature when compared to the circumference of the river twigs sticking out of the water where he lies.
I have heard regarding the monks, nuns and civilians dragged to the jungle, that Than Schwe, the illicit ruler of Burma, has ordered all dead bodies be burnt to hide the evidence. Where have we heard that before, burning murdered humans to ashes to try to hide the evidence of one’s egregious crimes?
But even ashes can and will speak, Than Schwe. The ashes of the dead are speaking now, through every journalist, every reporter, every photographer, every blogger worldwide who reports on the murders and hideous assaults of men, women and children in Burma. Throughout the rest of your life Than Schwe, the ashes will speak. Louder and louder the ashes will speak…
…and this poor murdered monk who you thought to silence? He will be mourned and buried gently million of times by millions of people worldwide, by whomsoever hears of him or sees this image… You thought you would silence this monk for good. Instead of him carrying the one voice he was born with, his life will now have millions of voices, through us. The best laid plans, Than Schwe, of mice and… mice.
CODA
The prayer chant for peace for a martyred soul such as this young monk, might, a requia, ask for eternal rest, but there is another version, more germane, I think, that might go something like this… and I am hoping Buddhists worldwide might know this heart when I say in my tradition, we pray as the old believers prayed, calling out in an ancient language we were taught as children, one written into our bones since that time… you have to imagine the incensario smoking with sweet coal and the sound of tiny clusters of brass bells being rung, and then not trained voices, but just plain, rough, ordinary but devout voices, start to chant:
Agnus Dei,
qui tollis peccata mundi,
miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei,
qui tollis peccata mundi,
dona nobis pacem….
These words literally mean:
Little Lamb of God,
you who takest away the sins of the world,
have mercy upon us.
Little Lamb of God,
you who takest away the sins of the world,
grant us Peace…
That last, for you, little monk, especially.
That before you, behind you, beside you,
beneath you and over you, all Perfect peace.
____________________
for other stories on Burma by other TMV cobloggers and Dr. Estés: http://themoderatevoice.com/author/clarissa