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　　Then, with my money exchanged, I applied for my passport and visas. In the Foreign Affairs Ministry, Nai Prachaa Osathanon, head of the Passport Office, took care of everything for me, including contacting his friends in the Thai embassies in Burma and India. I then applied for my visas at the British Embassy. Everything was now ready for me to go.

　　So in February, 1950, I left Thailand by plane. Nang Praphaa, a follower of mine who worked with Thai Airways, helped me get a ticket at a reduced rate, almost 50 percent off the full fare. The plane left Don Muang Airport at 8 a.m. I was accompanied on this trip by a monk named Phra Samut and a lay man, Nai Thammanun. At about 11 a.m. the plane reached the Rangoon Airport, where I was met by officials from the Thai embassy: M.L. Piikthip Malakun, Nai Supan Sawedmaan and Nai Sanan. They took me to stay in a sanctuary attached to the Schwe Dagon Pagoda. I stayed in Burma about 15 days, going around to see the sights in Rangoon — although there was little to see but bombed-out ruins. The Karen war was flaring up near Mandalay.

　　One day we went to Pegu to pay our respects to a large reclining Buddha image in a township near there. We met Burmese troops keeping a watch over the area. They were very helpful: Wherever we went, a contingent of twelve soldiers went along. When we stopped for the night, they stayed as our bodyguard. We spent the night on Mutao Chedi, whose spire had broken off. All night long we heard nothing but the boom of the big guns, so I asked one of the soldiers with us, "What are they shooting

　　"

　　"They”re shooting to frighten off the Communists," he answered.

　　Early the next morning two Burmese women came to talk with us, and then invited us to eat at their home.

　　After I had finished seeing the sights in Rangoon, I got ready to go on to India.

　　While I was in Rangoon I met a Thai, named Saiyut, who had been ordained as a monk in Burma. He took me to an old palace to meet a Burmese princess, 77 years old, the daughter of King Thibaw of Mandalay. We sat talking for a while. I described Thai customs to the princess, and she described Burmese customs to me. In the course of our conversation, she mentioned to me, "I”m Thai, you know," and then asked me in Thai, "Do you like khanom tom

　　" but didn”t want to say much more than that. From what she said, I gathered that her ancestors had been carried off from Thailand when the Burmese sacked Ayutthaya. Her name was Sudanta Chandadevi.

　　She then asked a favor of me. "At the moment I have no more income," she said. This was because a new government had just come into power and cut the stipends of the old nobility. "Please take pity on me. You and I are both Thai. It would be good if you could put in a word for me at the Thai embassy."

　　"Don”t worry," I told her. "I”ll help."

　　So I took the princess" case to M.L. Piikthip Malakun. Both he and his wife were good-hearted people. M.L. Piikthip took me to see Phra Mahiddha, the Ambassador to Burma at the time. Meeting him was like meeting an old relative. The entire embassy staff was very helpful. Before I left for India I recommended that they help the princess both on an official and on a personal basis.

　　In March, 1950, I left Rangoon by plane, reaching Calcutta Airport at about four in the afternoon. The captain of the flight turned out to be an old friend — he has since died in an airplane crash in Hong Kong. When we took off he boasted that he could fly the plane any way I liked — high, low, reckless. He said that he”d take me up to 10,000 feet. We ran into a lot of turbulence near the Himalayan mountains, and the air got so cold I had to leave the cockpit, return to my seat and wrap myself up in a blanket.

　　When we landed we parted ways because airline personnel had speci…

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