Part 26

According to Koeppen and Huc the art of medicine in Northern Buddhist countries is practised exclusively by the Lāmas. The theory is that there are 140 different maladies, and that most of these are caused by devils. The monk-priests are the sole doctors, and a sick person can only be cured by them. One process is simple. It begins by the Lāma doctor writing the name of a remedy upon a morsel of paper, moistening it with saliva, and rolling it into a pill. The patient takes the paper pellet with as much faith as if he were swallowing the veritable drug. Many Mongols believe that ‘it is precisely the same, whether you swallow a drug or its written appellation.’ Then, ‘if the patient be poor, the devil is a little one, and may be dislodged by a few prayers; but, if he be rich, the case is different; fine clothes, handsome boots, or even a good horse must be presented, or he will not consent to turn out.’

A very effective medicine may be composed of the bones of some pious Lāma ground into a powder. This may be given alone or in combination with other substances.

It appears to be essential that the prayers recited on these occasions should be accompanied by terrific noises. M. Huc relates a story of an old woman—the aunt of a certain chief—who was one day attacked by intermittent fever. The Lāma, of course, announced that a devil had possession of her body; and so in the evening he and eight other Lāmas began operations for its expulsion. First they made a little figure or manikin of dried herbs, which they called the devil of intermittent fevers. This they stuck upright in the tent of the sick woman. Then at eleven o’clock at night the Lāmas ranged themselves at the back of the tent, armed with bells, tambourines, conch-shells, and other noisy instruments. Nine members of the family closed the circle in front, crouching on the ground, while the old woman remained seated on her heels in front of the manikin. Next, ‘at a given signal, the orchestra performed an overture capable of scaring away the most imperturbable and obstinate devil, while all the secular assistants beat time with their hands to the hubbub of the instruments and the howling of the prayers. When this demoniacal music was over, the chief Lāma began his exorcisms, scattering millet seeds around as he proceeded; sometimes speaking low, sometimes in stentorian tones. Then, appearing to throw himself into a passion, he addressed animated appeals, with violent gesticulation, to the manikin.’ Finally, after further incantations, he gave a signal; the Lāmas thundered out a noisy chorus, the instruments added to the din, and the members of the family rushing out in file, made the circuit of the tent, striking it frantically with stakes, and uttering terrific cries. Finally, the chief Lāma and his assistants, after joining in the yells, set fire to the manikin. This ended the ceremony; the demon being compelled to beat a retreat.

Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās has given an account of a somewhat similar ceremony in Tibet performed by some Lāmas to cure him of a sickness. An image representing the patient, and supposed to resemble him, was constructed, and a suit of his clothes placed in front of it, together with portions of his usual food and drink. Two Lāmas then muttered mystic sentences, ringing a bell, waving a Dorje (see p. 323 of these Lectures), and twisting their fingers and hands into the mysterious shapes called Mudrā (p. 241). Next they broke out into alternate exhortations and threats, and at the conclusion of the ceremony the officiating priests supplicated the lord of death (Yama) to accept the image in place of the moribund man.

On another occasion, when Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās was seriously ill in Tibet, an effective method of curing his disease was proposed to him, and, with his consent, actually carried out. This mainly consisted in the ransoming of fish-life. A certain Lāma started off for a fisherman’s village, and in a short time returned in a high state of satisfaction. He had saved the lives of five hundred fishes for the benefit of the sick man. The merit of this deed was credited to the patient on his repeating the following prayer:—

‘By virtue of my having ransomed the lives of these animals, let health, longevity, prosperity, and happiness perpetually accrue to me.’

In the same way in Burma, in times of great heat and drought, when the ponds and tanks appear to be on the point of drying up, it is held to be a work of enormous merit to rescue fish, put them in jars, and transport them alive to the rivers. (See Scott’s ‘Burman,’ ii. 43.)

Similarly a bird-catcher will sell live birds to pious persons, that they may gain merit by releasing them.

We pass on, in the next place, to the usages and ceremonies common at death.

If a man’s soul is to be separated from his body properly and peacefully, so as not to hurt the survivors, and in a manner likely to cause a happy re-birth for himself, alms must be bestowed on the monk-priests, and their presence must be invited for the repetition of prayers. In Ceylon and Burma monks go to the houses of mourners and repeat portions of the Pirit (see p. 317).

In Tibet the priest not only recites prayers but compresses the skull till it appears to crack, or else the hair is torn off and a little incision is made, to enable the dying man’s soul to escape. The priest then settles what method of burial is to be followed, and the place, day and hour, all of which depend on astrological combinations, known only to him.

The method of disposing of a dead body differs in all Buddhist countries according to station, condition, rank, and wealth.

In Ceylon the bodies of monks are all burnt, and the cremation ceremonies are carried out under decorated arches or canopies, which are never removed, but left to crumble away.

In Burma the cremation of a monk distinguished for sanctity is an affair of great state and ceremonial. The body (see Mr. Scott’s ‘Burman,’ ii. 331) is first embalmed, and next tightly wrapped in white cloth, which is varnished and afterwards covered with gold-leaf. The corpse thus gilded is placed in an unclosed inner coffin, and left exposed to view for a considerable time. When fastened down, the inner coffin is covered with gold-leaf, like the body. An outer sarcophagus is then prepared, and painted to represent scenes from the lives of the Buddha. This is placed in a building erected for the purpose, and there the body lies in state for several months, while a constant line of pilgrim-worshippers pass in and out. In process of time, when enough money for the expenses has been collected, a grand cremation takes place under a lofty canopy, which on special occasions may be fifty or sixty feet high. The calcined bones are then reverentially collected, and either buried near the temple or pounded and made up into a paste, with which an image of the Buddha is constructed for worship in the monastery.

In Tibet the bodies of the Grand Lāmas are generally embalmed and preserved in monuments or Stūpas. Other Lāmas and monks distinguished for sanctity are burnt, and their ashes are either distributed as relics, or preserved in idols or in small Dāgabas. Kings, princes, and great men are also burnt, and of course with much ceremony and repetition of prayers. Then for a long time afterwards prayers continue to be recited by the priests, the object being to propitiate Yama, god of Death, and to deliver the deceased from the possible purgatorial torments of one of the hells. It is said that this repetition of prayers is prolonged, in the case of the rich, for seven weeks, and in the case of princes, for a whole year.

Mr. J. Ware Edgar, C.S.I., in his interesting Report of his visit to Sikkim in 1873, gives a description of the remarkable funeral ceremonies performed on the occasion of the death of the Rājā of Sikkim’s sister (see p. 62), which I here abbreviate:—

The Rājā’s sister had died a few days after his return to Choombi. The body had been buried at Choombi, but her clothes had been sent to Toomlong, and her soul was supposed to accompany them. There a lay-figure meant to represent her, dressed in her costume as a nun, and wearing a gilt mitre and a long white veil, was placed on a kind of throne to the right of the great altar in the principal chapel. Before the figure was a table, on which were different kinds of food. On another table were various things which had belonged to her, while on a third, 108 little brass lamps were arranged in rows. Some days afterwards the lay-figure of the nun was taken to Pemyangchi. There, for three days the figure was seated before the altar, and the monks chanted the litanies for her soul, which had accompanied her clothes from Choombi. On the third day towards evening the tea-cup of the nun was freshly filled with tea, and all the monks solemnly drank tea with her. The monks chanted the litanies, and the Head Lāma went through some elaborate ceremonies. At about nine o’clock the chanting ceased, and the Lāma made a long speech to the soul of the nun, in which he told her that all that could be done to make her journey to another world easy, had been done, and that now she would have to go alone and unassisted to appear before the King and Judge of the dead.

‘You will have to leave your robes, your mitre, and your veil,’ said he, ‘and clad in the black garment of your sins, or in the shining garment of your good deeds, you will be shown the mirror of the just King. Your gold and silver, your rank, your good name will not help you, when your good deeds are weighed against your evil deeds, in the scales of the King. If you have done ill, you will be punished; but if your sins are found to be lighter than your good works, your reward will be great indeed.’

When the Lāma had finished his address, some of the monks took down the lay-figure and undressed it, while others formed a procession and conducted the soul of the nun into the darkness outside the monastery, with a discordant noise of conch-shells, thigh-bone trumpets, Tibetan flutes, gongs, cymbals, tambourines, and drums.

In Japan small portions of the calcined remains (often not larger than peas) are preserved in globular glass shrines, and then duly honoured and worshipped.

The method of disposing of the dead bodies of the laity and of the common people is generally much more simple. In most Buddhist countries laymen are buried, and the priests lead the processions to the grave. In Ceylon, the laity are certainly, as a rule, buried and not burnt.

In Burma rich laymen are also generally buried, and, according to Mr. Scott, the funeral is a grand affair.

The body is swathed in new white cotton cloth, leaving the face uncovered. A piece of gold or silver is placed between the teeth to serve as ferry-money over the Buddhist Styx—the terrible river of death which all deceased persons are compelled to pass. This river is clearly the counterpart of the Vaitaraṇī of the Hindūs (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 297).

If the dead man’s family is poor, a copper coin or even a betel nut will suffice. Next the monks are sent for, their immediate presence being necessary to keep off the evil spirits who always swarm near a corpse. After an interval the body is placed in a coffin, which is sometimes gilded and placed on a bier under a canopy. When the right day arrives for the funeral, a long procession is formed, with a number of priests in proportion to the amount of alms bestowed, and a crowd of relations, friends, and neighbours. Occasionally those who carry the bier stop and go through a sort of solemn dance, while mournful tunes are played by the musicians and funeral dirges are sung. The body is finally buried in a cemetery to the west of the town or village. A funeral must never go to the north or to the east. The ceremony concludes by alms to the priests, who in return intone the commandments and other portions of the Law in Pāli. After the funeral, great festivities go on in the family-abode for the benefit of the crowds who come to offer condolence. Then the presence of the priests is again needed, and has to be paid for by alms to the monastery, or the evil spirits, who are sure to hang about, cannot be got rid of. In some parts of Burma the cremation of rich laymen is not uncommon, and the ashes are either deposited in Dāgabas—that is, in small Stūpas or Pagodas[171]—or are pounded into paste and made into miniature Stūpas (p. 506) or into small images of the Buddha for worship at the domestic altar.

In Tibet and Mongolia the corpses of the laity, especially of the poor, are often exposed in the fields, in deserts, or on mountain tops, or rocks, or in lonely ravines, or sometimes in open places enclosed for the purpose. Occasionally they are covered with a thin layer of earth or loose stones. Usually they are devoured by vultures, dogs, and other animals.

It seems that in Lhāssa certain dogs are kept for that purpose[172]. A class of professional men exist there, whose business it is to cut up dead bodies, and throw the flesh piecemeal to dogs and vultures. Even the bones are sometimes pounded, and the dust, being mixed with flour, is given to be devoured. The strange thing is, that this kind of burial is thought desirable, and even honourable. To be eaten up by sacred dogs after death is productive of great merit, and leads to re-birth in higher forms. Dogs are the mausoleums of Lhāssa.

According to M. Huc, a common funeral ceremony among the Mongols consists in carrying the corpse to the summit of a mountain, or to the bottom of a ravine. The body is walled up in a sort of kiln of a pyramidal form, with a small door at the bottom, and an opening at the top to maintain a current of air, and allow the smoke to escape. During the combustion the Lāmas recite prayers. When the corpse is consumed, the kiln is demolished. Then the bones are collected and carried to the Grand Lāma, who reduces them to a powder, and, after adding an equal quantity of wheaten flour, kneads the whole carefully, and, with his own hands, fashions a number of cakes of various sizes. These are afterwards placed in a pyramidal Stūpa, which has been built beforehand in some auspicious place.

The soil of the famous monastery of the Five Towers in the province of Shan Si, is said to be so holy that those interred there are sure to effect a good transmigration. In the deserts of Tartary, Mongols are frequently seen carrying on their shoulders the bones of their kindred, and journeying to the Five Towers—there to purchase, almost at its weight in gold, a little surface of ground whereon to erect a small Stūpa. Some of them undertake a toilsome journey of a whole year’s duration, to reach this holy spot (see p. 435).

Burial in rivers, which is highly prized by the Hindūs, is not in favour among Buddhists. Only very poor people allow their dead to be thrown into rivers, though this is the only kind of Buddhist burial mentioned by Alberūnī (Sachau, ii. 169). Buddhism, from the first, repudiated the Hindū funeral ceremonies called Ṡrāddhas, which are still a great incubus on the people. The poorest man in India, if he be of high caste, cannot perform a Ṡrāddha for a relation for a less sum than forty rupees, given in fees to the priests. Buddhism did good service in delivering the people from this burden, but in Northern countries it established something similar in the Bardo ceremony (p. 334).

_Formularies of Prayer._

With regard to prayer-formularies, there is in modern times a good deal of difference between Southern and Northern Buddhist countries. We have seen that the three-refuge formulary was the sole prayer of early Buddhists. Certain orthodox men whom I met in Ceylon, maintained to me that this is the only legitimate form of prayer that ought to be used even in the present day. It is certainly a form which is accepted and employed by all Buddhists of whatever nationality.

Tsong Khapa, it is said, established at Lhāssa an annual prayer-congregation called Monlam Ćhenpo (see p. 386). But the most common prayer used in Tibet is a mere formulary, the constant repetition of which is one of the most amazing instances of the tyranny of superstition to be found in any part of the world.

It consists of the six-syllabled sentence, Om maṇi padme Hūm, ‘Om! the Jewel in the Lotus! Hūm!’

This prayer, or rather mystical sentence, is supposed to have been composed by Padma-pāṇi (Avalokiteṡvara), and to have reference to his own manifestation as the Patron-Saint of Tibet[173]. It is sometimes called the Maṇi or ‘Jewel’ prayer, and, if brevity is a valuable quality, its excellence is undeniable, since it consists of merely two Sanskṛit words, between two mystical, untranslatable auspicious ejaculations, Om and Hūm[174].

Doubtless the prayer really owes its origin to the close connexion which sprang up between Northern Buddhism and Ṡaivism. The worshippers of Ṡiva have always used (compare p. 240) similar mystical sentences and syllables called Dhāraṇīs, to which a kind of miraculous efficacy is attributed. In all probability an occult meaning underlies the ‘Jewel-lotus’ formula, and my own belief is that the majority of those who repeat it are ignorantly doing homage to the self-generative power supposed to inhere in the universe—a power pointed at by the popular Sāṅkhya theory of the union of Prakṛiti and Purusha, and by the universal worship of the Liṅga and Yoni throughout India[175]. No thoughtful person can have travelled much in India without being impressed with this.

At all events, whatever be its origin and meaning, no other prayer used by human beings in any quarter of the globe is repeated so often. Every Tibetan believes it to be a panacea for all evil, a compendium of all knowledge, a treasury of all wisdom, a summary of all religion. But if you ask Northern Buddhists to give you the reason for this belief, very few are able to give an intelligible reply. According to the most learned doctors of philosophy who are to be found in Tibetan monasteries, it is certainly addressed to their patron deity Avalokiteṡvara, and the real secret of its efficacy lies in the fact, that each one of its six syllables has a potent influence on some one of the six _Gatis_ or courses of being—that is to say, on some one of the six kinds of transmigration or transformation through which every living individual has to pass (see p. 121)[176].

The oftener, therefore, this mystical formula is repeated the shorter will be an individual’s course (gati) through some of these six forms of existence, every one of which involves misery or evil. Or it may be that by repeating it he will be able to escape some of the six existences altogether.

Strange indeed as it may appear to us, it is impossible to shake the faith of a Lāmistic Buddhist in the absolutely infallible efficacy of his six favourite mystic syllables. He repeats them, not at all as if he were praying in a Christian sense, but as if he were a farmer intent on planting the very best seed in the most productive soil, and watering it incessantly according to the most scientific principles of irrigation. A bountiful harvest is absolutely certain to reward his efforts.

It need not, therefore, surprise us if these six syllables are murmured morning, noon, and night, by every man, woman, and child, wherever the Lāmistic Hierarchy has extended. And, if not repeated by the voice, an incessant stream of repetition—an incessant scattering of the six mystic seeds—is kept going by the hand.

The words are written or printed on roll within roll of paper and inscribed in cylinders, which, when made to revolve either by educated monks or by illiterate laymen, have the same efficacy as if they were actually said or repeated. The revolutions are credited as so much prayer-merit, or, to speak more scientifically, as so much _prayer-force_, accumulated and stored up for the benefit of the person who revolves them.

The cylinder is generally made of metal, the prayer being engraved on the outside, as well as written on paper and inserted inside. It is held in the right hand and whirled round, like a child’s toy, by means of a handle in a particular direction (with the sun). If made to revolve the other way, its rotations will be set down to the debtor rather than the creditor side of the owner’s account. Here is a drawing of one of several hand-cylinders (commonly called prayer-wheels or prayer-mills; Tibetan, Ćhos-kor or Ćhos-kyi or Khor-lo), obtained by me at Dārjīling:—

Then, again, the words of the prayer are written or printed millions and millions of times on rolls or strips of paper, and enclosed in much larger barrel-like cylinders, which are set up in temples, chapels, monasteries, corridors, passages, houses, villages, by the road side, and in every possible corner, for the convenience of the mass of the people who are too ignorant to read, and too indolent to engage in continuous oral repetition[177].

It sometimes happens that quarrels arise from rival claims in regard to the use of such prayer-cylinders. In illustration of this an amusing story is told by the French missionaries:—

One day when they happened to be passing a praying-machine, set up near a monastery, they saw two Lāmas engaged in a violent quarrel; and, as it appeared, all on account of their zeal for their prayers. The fact was that one Lāma had come, and, having set the barrel in motion for his own benefit, was retiring modestly and complacently to his own abode, when happening to turn his head to enjoy the spectacle of the wheel’s pious revolutions, he saw the other Lāma stop it, and set it whirling again for himself. Indignant, of course, at this unwarrantable interference with his own devotions, he ran back, and in his turn put a stop to his rival’s piety, and both of them continued this kind of demonstration for some time, till at last losing patience they proceeded to menaces, and then to blows, when an old Lāma came out of a neighbouring cell, and brought the difficulty to a peaceful termination by himself twirling the prayer-barrel for the benefit of both parties.

On the occasion of my visiting Dārjīling in 1884, I was desirous of judging for myself of the method of using these remarkable instruments of religion. I therefore, soon after my arrival, walked to a Buddhist temple near the town. There I found several large barrel-like cylinders set up close together in a row at the entrance, so that no one might pass in without giving them at least one twirl, or by a rapid sweep of his hand might set them all twirling at once. Inside the entrance-portico a shrivelled and exceptionally hideous old woman was seated on the ground. In her left hand she held a small portable prayer-cylinder, which she kept in perpetual revolution. In her right hand was a cord connected with a huge barrel-like cylinder, which with some exertion she made to rotate on its axis by help of a crank, while she kept muttering _Om maṇi pamme Hūm_ (so she pronounced it) with amazing rapidity. In this way she completed at least sixty oral repetitions every minute, without reckoning the infinite number of rotatory repetitions accomplished simultaneously by her two hands. And all this was done with an appearance of apathy and mental vacuity in her withered face, which was so distressing and melancholy to behold, that the spectacle will never be effaced from my memory. In truth the venerable dame seemed to be sublimely unconscious that any effort of thought or concentration of either mind or heart was needed to make prayer of any value at all.