🏳️🌈“Translation WorkShop” (Week-38)
ပြီးခဲ့သော WorkShop (Week-37)၊ ရဲ့ Winner နဲ့ Nominees တွေကို မကြေညာခင်၊ ယခုပေးထားသော အင်္ဂလိပ် စာပိုဒ်ကို မြန်မာဘာသာ သို့ပြန်ဆိုပြီး FB Messenger (or) Telegram @DLY09 သို့ Friday, 21st February, 2025 ထက် နောက်မကျစေဘဲ ပေးပို့ရပါမည်။ Winner
နှင့် စကာတင် Nominees များကို Mobile-bill top-up များ ချီးမြှင့်မည်။
“A Somewhat Town of Burma”
Flory was a man of about thirty-five, of middle height, not ill made. He had very black, stiff hair growing low on his head, and a cropped black moustache, and his skin, naturally sallow, was discoloured by the sun.
Not having grown fat or bald he did not look older than his age, but his face was very haggard in spite of the sunburn, with lank cheeks and a sunken, withered look round the eyes.
He had obviously not shaved this morning. He was dressed in the usual white shirt, khaki drill shorts and stockings, but instead of a topi he wore a battered Terai hat, cocked over one eye.
He carried a bamboo stick with a wrist-thong, and a black cocker spaniel named Flo was ambling after him.
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Flory's house was at the top of the maidan, close to the edge of the jungle. From the gate the maidan sloped sharply down, scorched and khaki-coloured,
with half a dozen dazzling white bungalows scattered round it.
All quaked, shivered in the hot air. There was an English cemetery within a white wall half-way down the hill, and near by a tiny tin-roofed church.
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The native town, and the courts and the jail, were over to the right, mostly hidden in green groves of peepul trees. The spire of the pagoda rose from the trees like a slender spear tipped with gold.
Kyauktada was a fairly typical Upper Burma town, that had not changed greatly between the days of Marco Polo and 1910, and might have slept in the Middle Ages for a century more if it had not proved a convenient spot for a railway terminus.
In 1910 the Government made it the headquarters of a district and a seat of Progress — interpretable as a block of law courts, with their army of fat but ravenous pleaders, a hospital, a school and one of those huge, durable jails which the English have built everywhere between Gibraltar and Hong Kong.
The population was about four thousand, including a couple of hundred Indians, a few score Chinese and seven Europeans. There were also two Eurasians named Mr Francis and Mr Samuel, the sons of an American Baptist missionary and a Roman Catholic missionary respectively.
The town contained no curiosities of any kind, except an Indian fakir who had lived for twenty years in a tree near the bazaar, drawing his food up in a basket every morning.
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