The Buddha-Makers of Burma

Down a side street, behind the famous golden Mahamuni Temple in Mandalay, you will be greeted by a sight unseen anywhere else on earth. Amidst the dozens of spark-spitting grinders and the sharp rat-tat-tat of chisels, hundreds of artisans dedicate themselves to the making of Buddha images of ever size and shape.

Whether it is a house-sized hand-chiselled white-marble reclining Buddha, or a thumb-sized ruby-speckled golden Buddha in a lotus position, the aim is the same - to make the 'most perfect' Buddha image.

The task is made harder because there is no known record of what Buddha looked like when he changed this part of the world with his teachings some 2,500 years ago, but that is no longer important. Over many centuries, the imagined image of what Gautama Buddha must have looked like has been stylised thoughout the Buddhist world.

Here in Burma, it is every artisans' aim to inch closer to enlightenment by coming as near as possible to perfecting that 'true' image of The Enlightened One. Some have likened it to a layman's alternative to joining a monastery: it is seen as a more expedient track towards their goal of Enlightenment.

(Cynics might say that the only enlightened ones here are the shrewd workshop owners who make a fortune selling these well-crafted hand-made statues to all of Asia, indeed the world, while paying their dedicated workers with nothing more than a measly wage and the rich promise of eventual Enlightenment).

As you walk through the various workshops scattered beside - and onto - the road, you notice several things: None of the armies of young, dedicated men and women artists wears any safety protection. Sandals move alongside tractors dropping off tonnes of raw marble, jade, iron, copper, gold, and timber. These are then hewn, melted, jackhammered, ground and polished into these beautiful, ubiquitous smiling statues. Statues that fuel the calm reconciliation between the spirit and the depressing daily drudgery of life in Burma.

Also, no one uses goggles or masks to protect themselves from the dagger-like shards of marble and the choking dust. Sadly, many workers have bloodshot eyes from this; some have tattered patches over damaged eyes.

No matter: poor health apparently doesn't slow down the industrial fervor in this dilapidated dusty corner of beautiful, serene Mandalay.

I meet a dust-covered 14 year-old girl named Lu Zaw. Her dust-gray hair and her bloodshot eyes make her seem much older. Only her pearly, shy smile gives her youthfulness away. She is taking a short break in the shade of a huge, nearly finished marble Buddha. Seeing my interest, she offers me a cheroot, and starts telling me a bit about her life here. I plop down on a pile of sharp rocks in the shade next to her, and listen.