Ma Thida

2013

Nyi Pu Lay inquired one day, "How did you feel when your prison memoir was not chosen for the National Literature award, though it was widely praised?" 
"I felt free," My voice resonated with unwavering determination.

"Freed from what?" he wondered with care. 
"A burden," I answered firmly, "A choice that threatened to accept or refuse the award." 
A rich, warm laughter burst beneath the sunset. 

During those twenty-three dark years of fear’s reign, the Myanmar National Literature Award bore a tarnished name. Though iron chains of censorship loosened in 2012, the weight of the past remained, and people were still wary of ties to power.

His smile reflected his understanding of my stance. Although the sun set, the lotus and the water hyacinth flowers continued to bloom.

....................

2016

Three years passed, and Nyi Pu Lay stood still, though faced with the grip of a laurel wreath, the National Literature Award.  A fictional account of a doctor on a hilly hinterland had crowned his pen with the best novel feat.  This time, under the quasi-civilian government, the juries were newly appointed and their hands were untainted.

Yet when the stage bore an ex-General official's appearance, others stood to display their homage, and Nyi Pu Lay sat firmly to portray his defiance.  The moment was captured; it swept the air. The lotus petals glared boldly with a quiet rebellion.  

To taste true freedom, one must dare.  Sometimes, it’s enough to be simple with strong but free expression. No act too loud, no motion to spot.  Just sit as Nyi Pu Lay did.

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2019

Three more years had quietly flown, and Nyi Pu Lay and I were together on the stage of Assam’s grand literature festival, where words danced freely. 

The crowd admired his refined manner. Fellow writers and students also allied their hearts.  But when the talk turned to Myanmar's wounds - civil-military relationship, I spoke with deliberate grace, "Reconciliation’s vital, though a hard embrace."  I strongly believed it could be achieved if all parties were sincere and committed.

Yet Nyi Pu Lay, with a stern, unyielding gaze, declared, "I’ll never forgive these tyrants." 

In India’s land of vast freedom and Myanmar’s winds of a bit of change, he cast aside the chains of "reconciliation." Unbound by the need for a graceful show, he stood fearlessly or fiercely honest about his unforgiveness toward the military tyrants.

..........................

2009

Ten years ago, Nyi Pu Lay embarked on a boat journey along the Ayerwaddy River. In "The River, Our Ayeyarwaddy,"¹ he recited his long epic poem about this river, the country's bloodline.

"Those inhumane ones have greedily excavated
The precious resources that are like
The heart in your bosom
Ruthlessly exploiting you
Out of sheer greed that creeps up their spine"

Nyi Pu Lay boldly identified the culprit behind the nation’s destruction through his words.

"Those people put the bait where there is fish
And wash their hands off when there's none
They don't give others the catch
Nor show them the knack
They wouldn't hesitate to exploit anyone
I hope they won't wince
When it is their turn to suffer"

This poem also highlighted why, a decade later, he openly proclaimed his unwillingness to forgive the inhumane individuals on India’s literary stage.

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2022

Three years ago, I spoke to Nyi Pu Lay with quiet empathy. 
"I understand your hesitance to leave the country," I murmured, my words flowing like a gentle stream. "Though I cannot return now, my departure was never meant to be permanent." 

Nyi Pu Lay let his words unfold like lotus petals in the dim light. 

"Yes, I see your perspective as well," his tone laced with a thoughtful weight. "For me, freedom feels like a distant memory. I also do not want to face unknown restrictions abroad. Here, amidst this 'new normal,' of course, not because of COVID-19, I remain connected with my family and loved ones from afar.  Living in a real virtual world"
The faint glow of a battery-powered light softened his face.

"Sure, for me, it feels like walking two distinct realms, one rooted in reality, the other alive in a virtual presence.  The time difference between these two worlds demands wakefulness in one, and alertness in the other. 
I shared my experience of adjusting to my 'new normal.'.  

"The true challenge lies in sharing space with those hiding alongside me.  This hiding experience draws me back to my prison days." 
He wore a faded blue jersey.  His dimly lit figure on Zoom bore the aura of a political prisoner.  The shadows of resilience were engraved into his sincere gaze. 

"Beneath the open sky, I remain unchained. But, without a place to call my own, I drift like a water hyacinth. I am foreign, alien, adrift because I am in a state of statelessness." 
My white woolen sweater caught the glare of the bright yellow table lamp, its light too stark. My words hung heavy in the shared silence. 

Via messenger, he sent a beautiful sketch of a European building adorned with flowers on its walls. I remembered that he received my gift through someone and used those brushes and pens to create the drawing. He also requested that I send some street photos from Europe. Although his flowers in the sketch are colorful, his hideout room lacks a vase.

However, the Lotus rises unblemished from muddy waters, and the Water Hyacinth thrives naturally in fluctuating environments.

......................

2023

"Are you cheating them? I know you need to trick the military junta for your safety in your recovery period. Right? Please reply to me."
With extreme anxiety and full of confusion, I sent this message to him after I got a message from our mutual friend saying that Nyi Pu Lay passed away an hour ago.

Of course, he did not reply to me. A sudden heart attack took his last breath.

"The grimmest issue arises when health problems strike. I can’t go to a clinic or hospital without risking exposure—being charged with defamation against the military means I must keep my hideout a secret. There are moments when the pain is unbearable, and I fear I might not make it through. Those are the darkest times."  After a secret - but not life-threatening - surgery, he frankly told me.

"To cope, I keep myself busy: following the news, sketching, writing short stories, staying connected with friends on social media, and, of course, attending our PEN group Zoom meetings with you all. These activities fill my days." This became his 'new normal.' However, after the surgery, he required proper care for a full recovery. He was relocated to a different hideout. While he maintained some of his 'new normal' rituals, he could no longer send flower sketches. Instead, he sent video clips and greeting messages to everyone he knew every morning, including the message, "The Revolution should prevail."

A couple of hours before he passed, he sent Charlie Chaplin's iconic final speech in his 1940 film, The Great Dictator, to many people and our PEN Myanmar group messenger. In this speech, Charlie Chaplin said, "We think too much and feel too little." Nyi Pu Lay showed deep emotions and helped those around him feel the same. Not only his family but friends, kin, and peers voiced how his words had softened their fears.  His bright and gentle glow messages left people with a feeling of heavy loss.  Some were unaware of his silent despair but saw only his loving-kindness. He showed no wince, no sign of fear, but just love and care for many people.

The Lotus rises unblemished from muddy waters.

How fortunate you are in your final breath to be held by those you love in the shadow of death? 
But here, in exile’s solitude embrace, I think people might find my decomposed body in a forgotten space.

Peaceful and powerful farewell to your liberation, Saya Nyi Pu Lay!  
I winced to whisper this soft goodbye. 
I will try to live this very life until I die. 

Ma Thida
11.1. 2025

¹ The director of this documentary, Pe Maung Sein was arrested in 2022 and tortured badly. As his health condition was severely devastated at the prison hospital, he was granted medical parole in August 2024. Three days after his release, he passed away.