Part 24

At last, three Lāmas came towards us and asked us to enter in a line one after another. Walking very gently, we proceeded to the middle of the audience hall—a spacious apartment supported by three rows of four wooden pillars. The walls had paintings of the exploits of Buddha, of Chanrassig[150], Tsong Khapa, and other celebrated saints, besides images of the successive incarnations of the Dalai Lāma.

As soon as we had entered the official scarf-collectors received the presentation-scarves from our hands. We seated ourselves on rugs, spread in about eight rows, my seat being in the third row, at a distance of about ten feet from the Grand Lāma’s throne, and a little to his left. When all were seated, perfect silence reigned in the grand hall. The state officials walked from left to right with serene gravity, as became their exalted rank, in the presence of the Supreme Vice-Regent of Buddha on earth. At their head walked the Kuchar Khanpo, who carried in his hand the bowl of benediction, containing the sacred Thui (that is, consecrated water stained yellow with saffron) for sprinkling over the audience. The bearer of the incense-pot, suspended by three golden chains, the carrier of the royal golden tea-pot, and other domestic officials, now came up, and stood motionless as pictures, without looking on either side, but fixing their eyes and their attention, as it were, on the tips of their respective noses. Two large golden lamp-burners, resembling flower-vases, flickered on two sides of the throne. The great altar—resembling an oriental throne, and supported by lions[151] carved in wood—on which sat his Holiness, a child of eight, was covered with silk scarves of great value. It was about four feet high, six long, and four broad. A yellow mitre-hat[152] covered the Grand Lāma’s head, the pendant portions veiling his ears, and a yellow mantle enveloped his person. He sat cross-legged, with the palms of his hands joined together to bless us. When it came to my turn I received his Holiness’ benediction, and was able to look upon his divine face. Other Lāmas approached him with downcast looks, and resumed their respective seats, not presuming to look up. I longed to linger a few seconds, but other candidates for benediction displaced me by pushing me gently forward. I noticed that the princely child possessed a really bright and fair complexion, with rosy cheeks. His eyes were large and penetrating. The contour of his face was remarkably Āryan, though somewhat marred by the obliquity of his eyes. The thinness of his person was probably owing to the fatigues of the court-ceremonies, religious duties, and ascetic observances, to which he had been subjected since taking the vows of monkhood. Remembering the stories about the freaks of fortune, which had lately brought him to this proud position, and had compelled his predecessors to undergo untimely transmigrations, I pitied his exalted rank: for who knows whether he will not be forced to undergo another transmigration before reaching his twentieth year?

When all were again seated after receiving the Dalai Lāma’s benediction, the Sol-pon Chhenpo poured tea in his Holiness’ golden cup from a golden tea-pot, while four assistant Sol-pons poured tea in the cups of the audience, consisting of the head Lāmas of Meru monastery and ourselves. Before the Grand Lāma lifted his cup to his lips, a grace was solemnly said, beginning with ‘Om āh Hūm’ thrice chanted, and followed by a prayer to the following effect:—‘Never even for a moment losing sight of the three Holies, always offer reverence to the Tri-ratnas; let the blessings of the three be upon us.’ Without even stirring the air by the movements of our limbs, we slowly lifted our cups to our lips, and drank the tea—which was delicious—taking care to make no sound with our lips. Three times was tea served, and three times we emptied our cups, after which we put them back in our breast-pockets. Then the Sol-pon placed a golden dish full of consecrated rice in front of his Holiness, which he only touched. The remainder was distributed among those present. I obtained a handful, which I carefully tied in one corner of my handkerchief. The following grace was then uttered by the assembled monks, with much gravity:—‘The most precious _Buddha_ is the most perfect and matchless teacher; the most unerring guide is the _Saṅgha_; the most infallible protection is in the sacred _Dharma_. We offer these offerings to these three objects of refuge. Reverence be to each of them!’

Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās also witnessed at the same time the performance of a remarkable ceremony for the translation of the soul of a chief Lāma or Khanpo to one of the heavenly mansions.

It appears that a certain well-known Khanpo had died of small-pox. He was one of the most distinguished scholars of Tibet, and held the highest position in the Court of Potala. The day on which the ceremony was performed was the twenty-seventh day of this chief Lāma’s _Bardo_ (p. 371); that is, of the interval of forty-nine days between his death and his translation to another world. (According to Jäschke the interval of the intermediate state only lasts for forty days.)

The Dalai Lāma, seated on his throne, chanted a hymn in a low indistinct voice. Afterwards the assembled monks in grave tones repeated what the Grand Lāma had uttered. Then a venerable personage rose from the middle of the first row of seats, and addressing the Grand Lāma as the incarnate Lord Chenressig (Avalokiteṡvara), recited all the many acts of mercy performed by him, as the patron-saint of Tibet, for the benefit of its people. Next, he made offerings of certain precious things (including an imaginary presentation of the seven mythical treasures[153]) for the benefit of the soul of the late Khanpo, saying:—‘I pray that you may graciously accept these presents for the good of all living beings.’

Finally, he prostrated himself three times before the Grand Lāma’s throne. A solemn pause followed; after which the audience rose, and the Grand Lāma retired. Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās goes on to relate that at the end of the ceremony one of the assistant Lāmas gave him two packets of pills, and another tied a scrap of red silk round his neck. The pills, he was told, were chinlab or blessings, consecrated by the Buddha and other saints; and the consecrated scrap of silk, called sungdū, ‘knot of blessing,’ was the Grand Lāma’s usual return for presents made to him by pilgrims and devotees.

We may note here that in 1866 the Indian explorer Nain Singh saw the then Dalai Lāma. He was a handsome boy about thirteen years old, and was seated on a throne six feet high. He had the Regent on his right hand. He was said to be in his thirteenth transmigration[154].

Dr. Schlagintweit (p. 239) describes a ceremony in which consecrated water (thui) is poured from a teapot-like vessel over a metallic mirror (pp. 458, 463 of these Lectures), which is held so as to reflect the image of Gautama Buddha seated on the altar. This water falls down into a flat vessel containing a bag filled with rice, and is then suitable for ceremonial ablutions.

Another ceremony (called Nyungne? by Schlagintweit), involving long abstinence, lasts for four days.

The first and second days are passed in preparations. Those who are to take part in the ceremony rise at sunrise, bathe and prostrate themselves several times before the image of Avalokiteṡvara. The head Lāma then bids them confess their faults, and meditate on the evils resulting from demerit. He next, with his attendants, recites extracts from certain books of confession. This goes on till ten o’clock, when tea is taken. After this the recitations and prayer-recitals continue till two o’clock, when a meal of vegetables is eaten. Then comes a pause, but the prayers and readings are afterwards carried on till late at night, tea being handed round at intervals. Before retiring to rest, the head Lāma specifies the various duties to be performed by the devotees on the following day, and orders them, as a penance, to sleep in ‘the lion-posture,’ viz. to lie on the right side, to stretch out the feet and to support the head with the right hand[155].

The third day is the most important, and is passed in rigorous abstinence from all food. No one is even allowed to swallow his saliva, which must be ejected into a vessel placed before him. Not a word must be spoken. Each man prays and confesses his sins, but does so in absolute silence. This continues till sunrise on the fourth day.

It was at first the rule that repetitions of the Law, confessions of sin (especially the Pātimokkha), and some of the chief religious ceremonies (including fasting) should take place, more particularly on the days of new and full moon (called Uposatha, p. 84).

Thus we read that ‘on the day of full moon Ānanda purified himself, and went up to the upper story of his house to keep the sacred day’ (Mahāsudassana-sutra, 1-10). This was in conformity with the ancient Brāhmanical rule that every new-moon day (Darṡa) and every full-moon day (Paurṇamāsa) should be set apart for special religious observances[156].

In later times the intermediate quarter-moon days were also held sacred, and so the number of Uposatha days (see p. 84) was increased to four in every month, or once a week. Very strict Buddhists in Tibet eat nothing on these days between sunrise and sunset except farinaceous food with tea (p. 346).

The laity are invited to join in keeping the Uposatha days, but take no real part in the detail of the services. The same rule applies to all religious ceremonies. Laymen may be present at any rite, but without co-operating in carrying out the ritual. Still, laymen have their own part to perform. They look on—listen, tell their rosaries, and repeat short prayers—such as the ‘three-refuge’ and ‘jewel-lotus’ formula (pp. 78, 370)—and make declarations to avoid the five great sins (p. 126). Or they walk up to the image-altar and place offerings on it, or bow before it and receive the Lāma’s benediction. Theoretically, the laity only exist to honour and support the monkhood, and to be blessed by them in return. At all events a layman’s religion is usually restricted to a very limited range of duty.

One common way of showing piety is by walking round temples, monasteries, Stūpas, and sacred walls (see pp. 380, 505), from east to west, keeping the right shoulder towards them, and even occasionally measuring the ground with the extended body.

This last task is by no means a light or easy one. According to M. Huc (i. 202), a whole day scarcely suffices to perform the circumambulation when the monastic buildings and temples occupy an extensive area. People begin at daybreak, and the feat must be accomplished all at one time, without any break, or even a few moments’ pause for taking nourishment. Moreover, the measuring-process must be perfect; ‘the body must be extended to its whole length, and the forehead must touch the earth while the arms are stretched out in front and the hands joined.’ At each prostration a circle must be drawn on the ground with two rams’ horns held in the hands. ‘It is a sorrowful spectacle, and the unfortunate people often have their faces and clothes covered with dust and mud. The utmost severity of the weather does not present any obstacle to their courageous devotion. They continue their prostrations through rain, snow, and cold. Sometimes they go through the additional penance of carrying an enormous weight of books on their backs. You meet with men, women, and even children sinking under these excessive burdens. When they have finished their circumambulation, they are considered to have acquired the same merit as if they had recited all the prayers contained in the books they have carried.’ In point of fact they are generally far too ignorant to be able to read the books, and the carrying of them on their backs is taken as an adequate equivalent.

The acquisition of merit by circumambulation is not an exclusively Hindū or Buddhist idea. The Holy House at Loretto near Ancona—believed to have been transported there from Bethlehem by angels—is circumambulated by pilgrims on their knees, but keeping the sacred object to the left. Indeed, we may fitly conclude the present Lecture by a comparison between the ritual of Tibetan Buddhism and that of Roman Catholicism—a comparison, too, drawn by the Roman Catholic Missionaries themselves:

‘The cross, the mitre, the dalmatica, the cope, which Grand Lāmas wear on their journeys, or when they are performing some ceremony out of the temple; the service with double choirs, the psalmody, the exorcisms, the censer for incense, suspended from five chains, and opened or closed at pleasure; the benedictions pronounced by the Lāmas by extending the right hand over the heads of the faithful; the chaplet, ecclesiastical celibacy, spiritual retirement, the worship of the saints, the fasts, the processions, the litanies, the holy water, all these are analogies between the Buddhists and ourselves’ (Huc, ii. 50). To these may be added sacred images, sacred pictures, sacred symbols, relics, lamps, and illuminations[157].

This is doubtless a true comparison. But it does not follow that the opinion which the missionaries express—‘that these analogies are of Christian origin’—is equally deserving of our assent. No doubt one chief feature of Buddhism, as of Hindūism[158], is its receptivity, but may it not be the case that human nature and human tendencies will be found to assert themselves independently in every part of the world, wherever surrounding circumstances are favourable to their development?

LECTURE XIII. _Festivals, Domestic Rites, and Formularies of Prayer._

We must now turn to the consideration of some of the chief festivals, domestic rites, and prayer-formularies of Buddhism—a subject which follows as a natural sequel to the last Lecture.

It is well known that the Hindūs have certain festivals and holy days, celebrated at the junction of the seasons which in India are properly six in number—namely, spring, summer, the rains (Varsha), autumn, winter, and the season of dew and mist (see ‘Indian Wisdom,’ p. 450; ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 428).

Buddhism has adopted the old Hindū ideas on this subject, and has added others of its own, but generally only reckons three seasons—summer, the rains (Vassa = Varsha) and winter.

The festival of the New Year is, of course, universal. It is supposed to celebrate the victory of light over darkness, and, in Buddhist countries, of Buddhism over ignorance. The corresponding Hindū festival is called Makara-saṅkrānti. In India this marks the termination of the inauspicious month Pausha and the beginning of the sun’s northern course (uttarāyaṇa) in the heavens. It is a season of general rejoicing.

In Burma, where a good type of Southern Buddhism is still to be found, the New Year’s festival might suitably be called a ‘water-festival.’ It has there so little connexion with the increase of the New Year’s light, that it often takes place as late as the early half of April (see Mr. Scott’s ‘Burman,’ ii. 48). It is, however, a movable feast, the date of which is regularly fixed by the astrologers of Mandalay, ‘who make intricate calculations based on the position of various constellations.’ The object is to determine on what precise day the king of the Naths (see p. 217 of this volume) will descend upon the earth and inaugurate the new year. When the day arrives all are on the watch, and just at the right moment—which invariably occurs at midnight—a cannon is fired off, announcing the descent of the Nath-king upon earth. Forthwith (according to Mr. Scott) men and women sally out of their houses, carrying pots full of water consecrated by fresh leaves and twigs of a sacred tree (p. 514 of this volume), repeat a formal prayer, and pour out the water on the ground. At the same time all who have guns of any kind discharge them, so as to greet the new year with as much noise as possible.

Then, ‘with the first glimmer of light,’ all take jars full of fresh water and carry them off to the nearest monastery. First they present them to the monks, and then proceed to bathe the images. This work is usually done by the women of the party, ‘who reverently clamber up’ and empty their goblets of water over the placid features of the Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas. Then begin the Saturnalia. All along the road are urchins with squirts and syringes, with which they have been furtively practising for the last few days. The skill thus acquired is exhibited by the accuracy of their aim. Cold streams of water catch the ears of the passers by. Young men and girls salute one another with the contents of jars and goblets. Shouts of merriment are heard in every quarter. Before breakfast every one is soaked, but no one thinks of changing his garments, for the weather is warm, and ‘water is everywhere.’ The girls are the most enthusiastic, and as they generally go in bands and carry copious reservoirs along with them, ‘unprotected males’ are soon routed. Then a number of ‘zealous people’ go down to the river, wade into the water knee-deep, splash about and drench one another till they are tired. No one escapes. For three days no one likes to be seen with dry clothes. The wetting is a compliment. A clerk comes up to his master, bows, and ‘gravely pours the contents of a silver cup down the back of his neck,’ saying, ‘let me do homage to you with water.’

It appears from Mr. Scott’s amusing narrative that, when there was a king in Burma, an important feature of the festival was the formal washing of his Majesty’s head.

The New Year’s rejoicings in Ceylon require no special notice.

In Tibet the New Year’s festival properly begins at new moon, and may be delayed till some time in February. The festival lasts fifteen days, and, as usual, is a season of general festivity, gifts, congratulations, mummery, dancing, and acting. It is the Lāmistic carnival.

According to M. Huc (ii. 216) the rejoicings commence (as in Burma) at midnight. At Lhāssa all the inhabitants sit up, awaiting the solemn moment which is to close the old year and open the new. The usages differ so curiously from those customary in Southern Buddhist countries, that I here give an abbreviated version of the two French travellers’ experiences.

Not being at all eager to watch for the moment of separation between the two Tibetan years, we went to bed at our usual hour, and were wrapped in profound slumber, when we were suddenly awakened by cries of joy issuing from all quarters of the town. Bells, cymbals, conchs, tambourines, and all the instruments of Tibetan music, were set to work together and produced the most frightful uproar imaginable. We had a good mind to get up to witness the happiness of the inhabitants of Lhāssa, but the cold was so cutting that, after reflection, we decided to remain under our woollen coverlets, and to unite ourselves in heart only with the public felicity. Unhappily for our comfort, violent knocks on our door, threatening to smash it into splinters, warned us that we must renounce our project. We therefore donned our clothes, and the door being opened, some friendly Tibetans rushed into our room, inviting us to the New Year’s banquet. They all bore in their hands a small vessel made of baked earth, in which balls of honey and flour floated on boiling water. One visitor offered us a long silver needle, terminating in a hook, and invited us to fish in his basin. At first we sought to excuse ourselves, objecting that we were not in the habit of taking food during the night, but they entreated us so warmly, and put out their tongues at us with so friendly a grace, that we were obliged to comply, and resign ourselves to a participation in the New Year’s festivities. Each of us, therefore, hooked a ball, which we then crushed between our teeth to ascertain its flavour. For politeness sake we had to swallow the dose, but not without making some grimaces. Nor could we get off with this first act of devotion. The New Year was inexorable. Our numerous friends at Lhāssa succeeded each other almost without interruption, and we had perforce to munch Tibetan sweetmeats till daybreak.

It is said that other peculiar customs follow, one of which the Tibetans call the Lhāssa-Moru. This takes place on the third day, and leads to the invasion of the town and its environs by innumerable bands of Lāmas. Immense numbers of Lāmas, some on foot, some on horseback, some on asses or oxen, and all carrying cooking-utensils and prayer-books, crowd into Lhāssa from all points. The town is completely over-run. Those who cannot get lodgings encamp in the streets and squares, or pitch their tents in the suburbs. The tribunals are closed, and the course of justice is suspended. The Lāmas parade the streets in disorderly bands, uttering discordant cries, pushing one another about, quarrelling, fighting, and yet, in the midst of all, chanting their prayers (Huc, ii. 218).

In Tibet there is a ‘water-festival’ in the seventh or eighth month (about our August and September). At this festival the Lāmas go in procession to rivers and lakes, and consecrate the waters by benediction or by throwing in offerings. Huts and tents are erected on the banks, and people bathe and drink to wash away their sins. It concludes with dancing, buffoonery, and masquerading.

The festival of Gautama Buddha’s conception, or of the Buddha’s _last_ birth—for it must be borne in mind that, before Buddhahood, he went through innumerable previous births—is a most important anniversary in all Buddhist countries, but the right date has been the occasion of much controversy. The event is generally celebrated at the end of April, or beginning of May, or on a day corresponding to the 15th day of the Hindū month Vaiṡākha, which is also sometimes given as the date of the Buddha’s attainment of Buddhahood, and of his death. Everywhere throughout the modern Buddhist world the Buddha’s birthday is kept by the worship of his images, followed by processions.

As to the day of his death, Sarat Chandra Dās was at Lhāssa on June 1, 1882, and wrote thus:—‘To-day being the holiest day of the year—the anniversary of Buddha’s Nirvāṇa—the burning of incense in every shrine, chapel, monastery, and house, darkened the atmosphere with smoke. Men hastened to the great temple to do homage to the Buddha and to obtain his blessing.’

The ‘festival of lamps’ is an important anniversary with all Buddhists. The Hindūs have their Dīvālī or feast of illuminations (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 432) when the cold season begins. The early Buddhists marked the end of the rainy season (Vassa = Varsha), which terminated their period of retirement, by a day of rejoicing (see p. 84). In process of time they connected the celebration of Gautama’s descent from heaven (p. 417) with the termination of Vassa.

In Tibet the orthodox followers of the Dalai Lāma have a festival of their own, with illuminations, on the 25th day of the 10th month (Nov.—Dec.), to celebrate the ascension of Tsong Khapa to heaven (p. 280). Sarat Chandra Dās was at Tashi Lunpo on this day in 1881, when ‘hundreds of lamp-burners were tastefully placed in rows on the roof of every building.’ The illuminations of the temples, tombs, and grand monastery ‘presented a magnificent appearance.’