 What a painful way to find a friend. But the bright-faced city boy was a friend. For not only did he claim distant kinsmen in that far-off valley which the country boy had left, but he offered shelter for the night. A home, if the country boy wished it. And a warmth of such an easy smile as he might have expected on the faces of his neighbors in the valley. Next morning, a silk laundry and a haircut made a wonderful difference in the country boy. They went to a cafe in town. As much for conversation said the city boy as for breakfast. At once the country boy was caught up in the swift moving stream of a new kind of life. He watched them all. Were these his brothers? These brash young men with their keen eyes and their casual waves? The city boy was full of talk of his new job. For his job was part of the new world he wanted for Burma. A world where swift wheels would turn and bring the vastly altered life of an industrial civilization. We have long been people of hands. The city boy was full of talk of his new job. For his job was part of the new world he wanted for Burma. A world where swift wheels would turn and bring people of handcrafts he said. But there are machines which strengthen our hands, lengthen our arms, increase our powers. He foresaw a future full of factories where the products of Burma labor would emerge to make Burma life easier, less burdensome, fuller. If we can make this great step he said we can truly grow out of our isolation and our subjection and our lifelessness. For all of that has been our lot in the past. We can take our place with the nations of the outside world, less mighty in size, but no less mighty in the amount or quality of the work we can do. It is just that we need tools better than our hands. Better than our own hands can make. Better than the good plow which turns the paddy fields in spring, ask the country boy. We are country people, farming people. We have always been. And what could be a better life? But even a cultivator can have a better life and still work his soil, said the city boy. We would not change the basis of this life even if we could, but if we open our eyes and our minds to new ways, new methods, our hard laboring cultivators can have more to show at harvest time for all their heavy work. More than two-thirds of the people of Burma make their living from the soil. Their life can be far more profitable than it is. We are one of the great rice growers of the world, and the world will always need good Burma rice. Better seed will make better rice. Better tools will make a greater harvest in less time. And our people themselves can have more freedom and more leisure to grow into a better life. The country boy listened and said nothing. Hard work was all he knew. It was all the cultivators had ever known. An easier way to till the soil might come someday, but he is a natural skeptic doubted it. If the earth stayed good and in this he had faith, the old ways of making it yield its grain would be good enough. But the city boy went on. It would not be enough, he said, to increase the rice harvest. Once reaped, it must be stored, marketed, finally put aboard the big ships for the foreign lands. For this, we need to strengthen our harbor facilities. Rangoon was one of the world's great ports once. She is slowly coming back, but it will take much planning, much work, much money for the restoration. For this, we need help, and we will use the help wisely. Feeding into our harbors are the inland waterways whose full use will speed our better world. For generations, we Bermans have used our waterways to bring our teeth down the river from the forest to the mills. We will still do this, and more wisely and efficiently than ever before. Food needs the products of our fields and our forests. It is up to us to get those products out into the markets and to use our new skills and our machines well. The country boy chuckled. Up country, we have better machines than this to work in the sore mills. And so do we, cried the city boy. We are not so blind that we would forget that the friends of our jungle days are our friends and our servants. We will treat them well and they will serve us well, as always. We must rebuild with tools no elephant can match, at a speed no elephant could approach. The world is waiting for us to show our strength and seriousness in the fulfillment of our aims. For we have set ourselves to the creation of a self-sufficient democracy, and the extent of our rebuilding will be the mark of our success. We must rebuild communications too. They were hard hit by the war and have been long in sorry shape. We will put our railroads back into a better condition than they ever enjoyed. Encourage our people to move around, to know their own country. The city boy became pensive. I know, he said, we must build more than buildings. We must build people. Here in Rangoon, the Burma Translation Society has set itself to the task of giving back to Burma a lost heritage, which should be the birthright of all Burmans, learning in their own language.