In gemology, a field full of exotic locales and intriguing beauties, one place stands above all the rest. The Mogok Stone Tract—aloof, mysterious and steeped in a colorful past—is gem and mineral Nirvana.
All of the varieties of gems found in this 100-square-mile region of Upper Burma are too numerous to name, but the list includes diamonds, moonstones, tourmalines, aquamarines, garnets, peridots, spinels, sapphires and—most importantly—the world's most coveted rubies. The finest Burmese rubies glow with a crimson fluorescence described by connoisseurs as "pigeon's blood red." They can sell for more than $100,000 per carat.
Although such exquisite gems are rare, the lesser ones are so abundant in Mogok that virtually every shoveful of the reddish brown soil holds some kind of treasure. A heavy rain brings more gems to the surface.
"The people of Mogok are not proud, they're very humble," a Burmese official related. "After a rain you can see them walking with their heads bowed."
No one knows when rubies were first discovered in Mogok. Local lore attributes the founding of Mogok Town in AD 579 to a tribe of headhunters from nearby Momeik who, while stalking birds, stumbled upon a valley teeming with glowing red stones. The valley also teemed with snakes, so the headhunters, according to the legend, threw chunks of fresh meat down from the mountain sides and waited for large birds of prey to retrieve them—along with the rubies adhering to them.
In AD 1579, the Burmese king annexed Upper Burma, including the area of Mogok. From then on, all rubies above a certain size were considered the property of the monarch. Failure to turn over such a stone to the king brought dire consequences, as illustrated by the tale of Nga Mauk. This Mogok miner discovered a magnificent stone in 1661, which broke in half along a flaw. Nga Mauk dutifully presented one 81carat piece to the king, but could not resist the temptation of selling the other half privately.
The king discovered the deception shortly afterwards during a party at the palace in Mandalay. When he brought out the Nga Mauk Ruby to proudly show his guests, an Indian merchant in attendance said he possessed a stone of equal beauty. The two pieces matched, enraging the king. He ordered Nga Mauk burned alive at a site near Mandalay now known as Laung Zin, or "fiery platform." His wife, Daw Nann, was forced to watch his burning from a nearby hill known as Daw Nann Kyi Taung, "the hill from where Daw Nann looked down."
The Hga Mauk Ruby disappeared when British troops seized control of the palace in 1886, during King Thibaw's reign. Some theorize that the stone was cut up and is now part of the British Crown Jewels. But it could have just as easily slipped out of the palace gates hidden in the clothing of one of the servant girls, who reportedly looted the royal jewels during the confusion.
The Burma Ruby Mines Company formed around the turn of the century as the British colonialists attempted to capitalize on Mogok. The inhospitality and remoteness of the region took its toll, however. The company never realized a profit and eventually folded.
Mogok remains elusive to foreigners. Since the Burmese military took power in 1962, they have kept a tight lid on the entire country, and most especially areas bearing portable treasures such as the gems of Mogok. The regime opened the door a crack recently when it deemed a scientific party organized by Henry Ho worthy of a government-sponsored trip to the ruby district.
Mr Ho was born in Rangoon to the son of a gem merchant, W K Ho, but his family left the country in 1963 when he was still a small child. The family started over in Thailand, where Henry Ho founded the Asian Institute of Gemological Sciences and is now developing the Jewelry Trade Center.
Others in the party included: Adolf Peretti, the director of Gubelin Laboratory in Switzerland; Kenneth Scarratt and Alan Jobbins, from the Gemmological Association and Gem Testing Laboratory of Great Britain; Tracey Chulavachana of Gemological Sciences; and Eduard Gubelin, founder of the Gubelin Laboratory.
Dr Gubelin is considered by many to be the father of modern gemology. He is also a gentleman adventurer of the type they just don't make anymore. Tall, white-haired and dignified, he wears light-colored linen ensembles that remain immaculate in the punishing tropical heat. Perpetually upbeat, he speaks with an eloquent, Old World charm and excels at flowery compliments and after dinner toasts.
In short, he is the ideal traveling companion and I felt doubly blessed to be sitting next to him during the white-knuckle descent of the Myanmar Airways plane, which brought our party from Rangoon to Mandalay. The plane lurched, dipped and made strange noises that sounded eerily like an animal in distress. The eyes of the other foreign passengers grew wide with fright, but Dr Gubelin remained unruffled.
"People have always asked me why I became a gemologist," he calmly related as the pilot valiantly struggled to maintain control of the plane, "and I will tell you the truth, this is not a fake story, it was because of rubies. Rubies filled my heart to such an extent that I don't consider gemstones my profession but my vocation. Make it your vocation in that you put
"The people of Mogok are not proud. After a rain you can see them walking with their heads bowed."all your energy, all your love, all your heart into promoting the most valuable, beautiful, wonderful gift that Mother Nature has given us—the ruby."
I don’t know if I was suddenly infected with Dr Gubelin's passion for rubies or if it was the sheer joy of being alive, but my heart surged as the plane wheels slammed onto the runway.
Dr Gubelin made several trips to Mogok in years past, the most recent one in 1961. It took him 15 hours from Mandalay by public bus, which in Burma means an ancient, teetering tin can packed so tightly with passengers that many of them are perched on the bumpers or clinging to the roof.
"It wasn't bad," Dr Gubelin remarked, smiling fondly at the memory. One senses that, at 79, he would not hesitate to get on a public bus again for another chance to visit Mogok. Fortunately, that proved unnecessary since our group was provided with military vehicles, headed by a truck full of 15 rifle-toting soldiers. We were guests of the Burmese government, and when you're guests of the Burmese government you never really feel alone.
There was just one interlude from the constant supervision when our Jeep—the last in the six-car convoy—broke down halfway to Mogok. The other vehicles, racing along the curving, thickly jungled mountain track, didn't notice when we stopped following.
Suddenly the roar of engines and the reek of exhaust fumes were replaced with the eerie silence and musky cologne of a vast forest. A gentle rain fell with the faintest whisper, stirring to life the leaves of ancient banyan, eucalyptus and teak trees.
The forests of upper Burma are home to all kinds of exotic peoples, including opium warlord Khun Sa and his Shan tribe and the Karen rebels, who control the illicit jade trade and have waged fierce battle against the government the past 40 years or so.
A Burmese member of our stranded band brought up the subject of dacoits. "Dacoit"—Burmese for "bandit"—is one of those Kipling-esque words that romanticize a thing, while at the same time spiking it with a special terror.
The road to Mogok is a favorite hunting ground for dacoits seeking the cash or gemstones of ruby dealers. Just two weeks before, our Burmese friend related, dacoits attacked a convoy
"The king ordered Nga Mauk burned alive. His wife was forced to watch from a nearby hill."of 15 vehicles along the same stretch of road. They stripped all the passengers of their belongings and set fire to the soldier's truck as a final flourish.
Before an hour had passed we were apparently missed because the armed guards returned. Our vehicle was resuscitated and the silence of the forest was once again dispelled by the grinding of gears, the shriek of axles wrenched unmercifully by tires bumping through deep potholes at high speeds, and the ominous creak of rotting log bridges bearing heavy loads.
On the outskirts of the town of Mogok, a huge sign proclaiming "Welcome to Ruby Land" loomed out of the jungle like some kind of corny, Kiwana's Club greeting. Beyond the sign stretched an endless view of green hills floating in a dense sea of white mist.
More surprises awaited around every curve into town: a green adobe church, topped with a huge cross; gold and white pagodas rising like castle spires through the mist from distant peaks; and, most startling of all, a gilded butterfly, the size of a barn, hovering on the edge of a valley. The butterfly fronted the trading office of a major gem miner. Behind it stretched a profusion of crimson, violet and glowing yellow flowers leading up along drive to the miner's villa, a hilltop retreat, complete with swimming pool.
Situated in one of the world's poorest countries, Mogok is one of the world's wealthiest villages and has something of a resort aura in spite of the ban on tourists. Swimming pools seem de rigueur for successful miners. Although the warm, sunny weather is ideal for swimming, it's hard to imagine any of the conservative local residents foregoing their ankle-length sarongs, or longyis, for swimsuits. The pools are apparently more for decoration than recreation.
We did, however, spot a few duffers on the two golf courses in the town. Rubies were recently discovered on one of the courses so the locals are in the process of ripping up the greens, mining them and then resodding as they go.
Swiss-style chalets rise incongruously form a hilltop in the center of town—a retreat for a gem miner. Another hilltop nearby features a lavish lookout pavilion and swimming pool—a place for this same miner to relax while taking in the extraordinary view of the valley of Mogok.
In every direction from the lookout one sees gem mining activity, with workers employing everything from pick axes to bulldozers. Huge hunks have been carved from the shoulders of the green hills, exposing broad flanks of earth, the color of rare roast beef. The tiny figures of independent prospectors, their longyis gathered above their knees, can be seen wading through the muddy red waters of streams to sift the tailings washed down from the mines.
"The procedure is much more complex than it was when I was here 30 years ago," Dr Gubelin observed. "In the olden days people used to mine only in the valleys but now they attack the sides of mountains, which means cutting away a lot of overburden."
The wife of Mogok's biggest miner served us tea as we admired the view form the pavilion. A pleasant, unassuming woman of 55, her only obvious sign of wealth was a large ruby ring. Her daughter-in-law, who acted as an interpreter, flashed an equally impressive ruby ring. "This is just our everyday casual jewelry," she explained perhaps fearing that we were disappointed.
The miner and his wife come from the Lisu tribe, one of the many colorful ethnic groups, noted for their silver work, textiles and opium poppies, living in the hills of Upper Burma. She and her husband married at 14 and a short time later converted to Christianity. Their animistic village ex-communicated them, according to the wife, and her husband came to Mogok to try his luck at gem trading. Today he controls dozens of mines and employs 1,000 workers.
"He is the reason there are so many Christian Churches here," his wife related. "He built them all."
It is a heartwarming synopsis, but the full story is perhaps a bit more complex. A well-respected Burmese gem trader confirmed that the miner is well loved by the Lisu people whom he rewards with hospitals, bridges and other gifts, godfather fashion. Many others,
"They stripped all the passengers of their belongings and set fire to the soldier's truck as a final flourish."however, fear him.
"Let’s say you find a ruby worth $1 million and he hears about it. This miner will come to your house," the gem trader said. "He will put perhaps $500,000 on the table and next to the money he will place a gun. Then he begins to bargain."
It is an open secret that most of Mogok's gemstones are smuggled out of the country to Thailand, along the same jungle trade route of the world's most active opium smugglers. The military dictatorship, which followed the Burmese kings in claiming all of Mogok's significant gems, has made various attempts to clamp down on the smuggling to no avail.
Until 1990, illicit mining was also the norm, until the government conceded that private enterprise was admissible, and allowed Mogok miners to form joint venture mines with the government. Today there are officially six government mines and 500 private, joint venture mines in the Mogok area. The terms of the joint ventures require the miners to turn over all significant stones for sale at the Emporium in Rangoon, an annual auction of Burma's gemstones, jade boulders and South Sea pearls which attracted many of the world's top buyers in its heyday. A joint venture miner takes 49 percent of the proceeds from the sale of his gems at the auction.
Temptation, however, often lures miners to risk dire consequences, although they are no longer burned alive. The most celebrated recent case concerns the SLORC Ruby. This 500 carat gem, the only one thought to rival the Nga Mauk Ruby, was discovered in 1990 at a joint venture mine in Mogok. The mine owner skipped all government formalities and smuggled the stone to Thailand.
Unfortunately for him, Burmese intelligence officers from the State Law and Order Restoration Committee got wind of it. Somehow, the long arm of Burmese law extended over the border into Thailand and SLORC recovered the ruby, then labeled it with its rather unpoetic acronym. Four Burmese are now serving life prison terms in connection with the case.
"He will put $50,000 on the table and next to the money he will place a gun. Then he begins to bargain."During the night, the mist creeps down from the mountains and envelops the entire town of Mogok. At dawn, ghostly figures move silently through the fog past the barbed wire wrapped camp where government guests are interred. A swatch of saffron drifts through the haze as a monk seeks alms. Two mammoth green forms, which from a distance appear to be trees making their ponderous way up the road, turn out to be peasant women bearing staggering loads of leaves.
The rising sun lights the tip of the golden pagoda as though striking a match and the mist slowly dissolves. Not far from the pagoda, in a large cleared field, the gem market is already underway. Several hundred young women, holding tiny gold trays laden with gems, engage in lively banter. These are the town's lan pwezars, or "street brokers."
The majority of Mogok's 50,000 residents are involved in the gem business one way or another. By the age of ten, every child is fluent in gemological jargon, and by the time they reach adolescence most begin their training in the trade. Few go on to higher education, even if their parents can afford it, since a college degree is not necessary to earn a good living in Mogok.
Boys usually begin their careers as apprentice gem cutters or miners, while the girls become lan pwezars. These young businesswomen are extremely fashion conscious and are often more eye-catching than their wares, dressed in intricately patterned batik sarongs, topped with brightly-colored sweaters to ward off the morning chill. Elaborate sapphire and ruby jewelry completes the lan pwezar uniform, along with a multi-colored umbrella hooked over one arm, and a clutch purse—containing their gems and money—tucked under the other.
The Hindu lan pwezars accent their dark features with a ruby red dot on their foreheads, and, like most Burmese girls, they paint intricate patterns on their cheeks and foreheads with tanakha, an ocher-hued cosmetic derived from tree bark.
The overall affect when a few hundred lan pwezars come together is striking. Judging by their animated chatter and frequent smiles they enjoy their work.
For years after the military takeover such outdoor gem markets stood quiet and empty, since the private trading of even a one carat stone could bring a prison sentence. In 1990, however, the government loosened its regulations and gem trading resumed in the open. It is gemstones to foreigners, however, except through government-owned shops in Rangoon.
The larger, fine gemstones of Mogok are traded indoors, in private homes and offices, During the 1940s and 50s, after the despotic rules of the Burmese kings and British colonialists, and before the military takeover, Mogok enjoyed something of a heyday. Four powerful women dominated the gem trade during this era.
None of these women survive today. I asked the son of one of them why women controlled the trade in Mogok. He did not hesitate to answer: "The women are more intelligent—and more courageous."
Dr Gubelin, one of the few foreigners who personally dealt with these famous women traders, confirms this theory. "I liked all the women I had to deal with," he recalled. "They were charming, but always tough when haggling, and I respected them for it."
Haggling was "compulsory”, Dr Gubelin said. "If you didn't haggle you lost face and they wouldn't show you any more goods. The lower the price you started with, the better, because you could draw out the game."
He remembers a dealer named Daw Than in particular. "One time she led me into the bedroom of one of her children to view a stone in the best light. I couldn't quite judge the color; it had an unusual fluorescence. A baby's crib was under the window and I had to climb inside it to see the stone more clearly."
Daw Than's husband was a miner and, while he might become involved in the negotiations over a stone, it was always his wife who made the final decision, Dr Gubelin said.
"We would slowly come together on a price and, in the end, she nodded, not him. She was the one who decided if I could have it."
During these pre-revolutionary visits to Mogok, Dr Gubelin stayed in the homes of miners and brokers and enjoyed the legendary hospitality of the Burmese. This trip such close exchanges were not permissible, although one elderly couple who used to deal with Dr Gubelin insisted that our party stop by their house on our way back to Mandalay. We stood on the street in front of their home, a charming, wooden
"The women are more intelligent—and more courageous."structure trimmed with gingerbread carvings. We were not allowed inside. The woman—dimunitive, sparkly-eyed and beautifully dressed in a wine-red sarong and an elegant, crocheted shawl—smiled warmly and presented each of us with single, fragrant ginger blossoms.
Her husband, the descendant of a British soldier and his Burmese wife, was as tall and stately as Dr Gubelin and seemed every bit as worldly, although he has lived all his life in Mogok. The two men embraced each other in a hasty farewell and their eyes teared with the poignancy of two old friends who know they will not likely meet again.
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