When the massive Sagaing earthquake struck on March 28, I was on the Yangon-Mandalay train. Just as the train was leaving Kywe Pwe Station in Bago’s Oktwin Township, not far from Taungoo, it suddenly swayed violently, almost tipping over.
As I had read about the clashes between the regime and People’s Defense Force groups in the area, the first thought that came into my mind was that the train might have been hit by artillery, or struck a landmine.
It was only after listening to conversations between passengers and train staff that I realized it was an earthquake. I saw overhead power lines shaking, and a motorcycle parked beside the tracks topple over. At the time, I didn’t know it was a powerful earthquake that would claim over 3,600 lives in Mandalay, Naypyitaw, Sagaing and parts of eastern Shan State.
Most phone and internet connections were down, with only Myanmar military-operated Mytel’s SIM cards working. Travelers with Mytel SIM cards shared unconfirmed reports that Mandalay had been hit hard, with tremors also felt in Yangon and even in Thailand.
The railway tracks had buckled near Taungoo, preventing the train from proceeding.
After being stranded at the station for nearly eight hours from 1 p.m., I finally left for Mandalay at 9 p.m. on a military-arranged bus. Unaware of the situation in Mandalay and with no transport available back to Yangon, I decided to proceed to Mandalay and figure things out from there.
The Yangon-Mandalay highway was badly damaged by the earthquake, and we were taken along the old road. As dawn broke on March 29, it unveiled scenes of destruction along the route in Myitnge, Kume and Kyaukse. Everywhere we looked we saw collapsed buildings, tilted structures, fallen pagoda spires, wrecked banks, broken bridges and rows of collapsed walls.
All of the passengers on board were overwhelmed, and could not help exclaiming in disbelief and sadness.
The earthquake that struck near Sagaing was the strongest and the most devastating in Myanmar’s modern history, since the colonial-era quake in Pyin Oo Lwin in 1912, which measured 8 on the Richter scale. Not even elders in their 90s or centenarians have witnessed such devastation before.
After I arrived in Mandalay, afraid to stay at an earthquake-damaged guesthouse, I sought permission to stay in the spacious premises of a nunnery. The senior nuns kindly allowed us to stay.
The nunnery itself sustained damage in the earthquake, with huge cracks in its walls. In its compound, some Mandalay residents had parked their vehicles. Some were lying on mats spread next to their cars, while others appeared dazed. A senior nun, visibly distressed, recounted how monks who were sitting a religious exam in Mandalay had been buried in a collapsed building, and how her nunnery trembled during the quake.
Later, I headed to Tada-U and Innwa, neighborhoods renowned for historical sites including the 19th-century Me Nu Brick Monastery. Stepping out of the nunnery, I was disheartened to see inclining and collapsed buildings along the way.
Both residents of fine houses and those from simple homes had set up their bedding along the roadside. Due to frequent aftershocks, people were afraid to stay inside their homes and were living outdoors.
I vividly recalled the senior nun’s words: “The day the earthquake struck, wealthy and ordinary people became equal in Mandalay. Everyone has been forced to stay on the streets.”
In the wake of the massive earthquake, Mandalay should have been busy with junta soldiers and civilian rescue teams joining forces to clear the wreckage and rescue those trapped beneath the rubble. However, nearly 24 hours after the quake, all I saw were rescue workers clad in orange outfit scattered here and there, but found no junta soldiers in uniforms. Their noticeable absence left me wondering if the death toll, which has soared past 3,600, could have been mitigated with more timely and coordinated rescue efforts.
The journey from Mandalay to the historic towns of Tada-U and Innwa, typically a half-hour drive, took hours due to twisted roads and collapsed bridges. Along the way, the devastation was stark—ruins of buildings lined the streets, and destruction was evident in every direction. Private clinics overflowed with injured patients. In one particularly harrowing moment, I saw a coffin outside a collapsed building as the relatives grieved.
Along the old brick road leading to historic Me Nu Brick Monastery, on my left and right all I saw were scenes of destruction left by the earthquake.
It was around dusk when I arrived at the monastery, which I had visited nearly three years previously. The once-majestic 200-year-old structure, which had stood proudly on the banks of the Irrawaddy River with the Sagaing Bridge as its backdrop, had been reduced to a pile of crumbled brick and shattered history. The northern section of the monastery was the most severely affected, rendered almost unrecognizable.
Constructed in 1822 by Queen Me Nu during the reign of King Bagyidaw, the monastery was a testament to Myanmar’s rich cultural and historical heritage. It was even older than the Mandalay royal capital built by King Mindon.
The Me Nu Brick Monastery had endured the 1838 earthquake and remained a significant historical site, visited by both locals and tourists for generations. Sadly, the March 28 earthquake damaged the structure so badly that restoration now seems impossible.
At the time of its collapse, no visitors were inside the monastery, so no casualties were reported there, local people told me. However, near the Nan Myint Viewing Tower, six visitors were present when the quake hit, and tragically, three lost their lives, said a local.
When I asked some residents for their feelings about the quake, they lamented that the loss of the monastery would devastate their livelihoods. Not only the Me Nu Monastery, but nearly all the historical stupas and temples in Innwa—a tourist town—have been severely damaged, they said.
While modern buildings designed to withstand earthquakes may be rebuilt, the ancient temples and heritage sites of the late Bagan era in Sagaing, Innwa and Mandalay are irreplaceable.
On our return to Mandalay, the driver sped through the damaged roads, citing security concerns. “The road we have been on is not safe. They [junta soldiers] often abduct people [for conscription] there. But I’m not seeing them now, perhaps because of the earthquake,” he said.
Back in Mandalay, like many other residents, I had to lay a mat on the ground to prepare for sleep. Rumors of possible aftershocks left everyone uneasy, prompting all the people from the four-story guesthouse opposite the nunnery to sleep by the road.
The next morning, I headed out to visit the Mahamuni Buddha Temple, but entry was no longer allowed. Security personnel pointed at the collapsed sections of the pagoda and stairways, explaining that many people were still trapped inside. One of them said no one had been rescued from there though some family members were crying out and pleading for help.
From the street, I paid homage to the temple, a cultural landmark of Mandalay treasured by many and regarded as Myanmar’s second most famous pagoda after the Shwedagon Pagoda.
As I left the area, I passed a damaged building. Outside it was a coffin, a heartbreaking reminder of the destruction caused by the disaster.
