CHAPTER XXVIII

MONKS AND PILGRIMS

During the period of forty-seven days which the force of circumstances compelled me to spend in Shigatse, I had an opportunity of making numerous visits to the monastery, of drawing and photographing interesting details, of making myself familiar with the daily life and habits of the monks, being present at their studies and recitations, and ever increasing my knowledge of the hierarchical metropolis. I used to ride up to Tashi-lunpo with one or two attendants, and pass the whole day in its dark sepulchral chapels and temples. At twilight some of my men came for me with horses. I will recall a few of the impressions I received on these visits, before we start again on our travels.

On February 14 I sat on the uppermost of the western galleries and drew a sketch of the façade of the eastern tomb (Illustration 124), but the pilgrims who were assembling this day for a religious spectacle proved so inquisitive that I had to stop my work and postpone it till a more favourable occasion. I then ascended to a roof platform in front of the Labrang, protected with a balustrade, and posted sentinels at the foot of the steps to prevent the people from following me. Up there the eye falls on a number of cylindrical frames, a couple of yards high, some covered with black and white materials, others enveloped in folded draperies of different colours and length, very like petticoats (Illustration 109). Between them gilded tridents, flagstaffs, and other holy symbols protrude, which protect the temples from demons. While I was sketching a view of the façades of the middle three mausoleums, the head steward of Tashi-lunpo appeared, who supervises the provisioning, cleaning and lighting, etc., caused rugs and cushions to be laid down, and set out the usual refreshments. He is an old lama who has already served thirty years in Tashi-lunpo, after preparatory studies in the monastery Tösang-ling.

From our point of view we can see several smaller gilded copper roofs in Chinese style, standing in front of the façades of the mausoleums and rising directly from flat roofs without any intervening course. Under each roof is ensconced an idol of importance in a temple hall.

We moved about on the roof and enjoyed the wonderful view over the cloister town and its forest of roof ornaments, and came to a place where groups of clerical tailors were sewing together pieces of coloured materials with a zeal and despatch as if their lives depended on it. Had it not been for the religious environment and the waving emblems, one might have thought that they were busy with dresses for a ballet or masquerade. Oh, no, the idols were to have new silken dresses, and were to be hung round with new draperies and standards in honour of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the birth of the Tashi Lama. The clerical knights of the needle sat in the full sunshine, sewed, chattered together, and seemed quite happy. They boldly asked me for money to buy tea, and I gave them a handful of rupees.

Below the place where we had first seen the Tashi Lama at the performance, lies an open gallery, a colonnade looking on the court; the pillars are of wood, and are wound round with red stuff at the top and white below. This gallery is very picturesque, especially the part where the statues of the four spirit kings are placed. The pillars stand out dark against the light background of the open court, and among them move figures which are far from marring the picture, namely, monks in red garments and pilgrims in motley attire (Illustration 142).

Now, too, a religious ceremony was being held in the court. A kind of throne was erected on the northern, shorter, side, and on both sides of it sat monks in yellow kaftans. Two lamas, also clothed in yellow, advanced bare-headed to the throne and remained there motionless with their bodies bent. Then three lamas in red togas and yellow skull-caps walked slowly over the quadrangle with shrill cries and singular gestures, took off their caps and put them on again with mystical movements. This ceremony was continued so long that we followed the example of most of the pilgrims and left the clergy to their own devices.

Next day another ceremony took place, of which, unfortunately, I could obtain no trustworthy explanation. The Tashi Lama took his seat on the throne of yellow silk, on the short side of the court, in full pontificals, and two monks in red dresses came before him in tall red helmet-shaped head-coverings. After His Holiness had greeted them, one advanced to the eleven steps of the stone staircase and stationed himself on the lowest, whereupon a very curious conversation began. The lama on the step calls out something, probably a quotation from the holy scriptures, or, perhaps, puts a question, claps his hands so that the court rings with the sound, and makes a movement with the right hand as though he were throwing something straight at the head of the other monk. This one replies in the same loud tone and also claps his hands. Occasionally the Tashi Lama puts in a word himself. Lobsang Tsering, who is with me, says that this ceremony is a kind of disputation, and that the two disputing monks will attain a higher degree in the scale of the priesthood if they pass the examination satisfactorily.

Below, to our left, six monks in yellow garments sit on a carpet. Between the pillars the gallery is packed with lamas of lower rank in red dresses, and before them sit superior monks in red kaftans richly worked in gold. Beside the Tashi Lama, on his right, is the seat of Lobsang Tsundo Gyamtso. The dark-red and straw-yellow robes are very effective against the dirty-grey colour of the court.

Now a number of serving brothers come on the scene and set long rows of small tables on the open space in front of the Tashi Lama, which are immediately covered with bowls of dried fruits, confectionery, and mandarin oranges. And now begins a feast in honour of the graduation. When the tables and bowls are emptied, they are removed as quickly as they were brought, and then comes a solemn procession of monks with tea-pots, and a kind of tea ceremony begins, less complicated but quite as imposing as in Japan. Two priests of high rank place themselves in front of the Tashi Lama and remain there, bending a little forwards, and quite as motionless as the priests praying at the altar in our own churches. It is their duty to serve tea to His Holiness. The first monk in the procession bears a pot of solid gold, which one of the monks before the throne takes from him to fill the cup of the Tashi Lama. The other monks in the procession carry silver pots, each of which is valued at £45, and from these tea is poured out for all the other monks who are not re-incarnations. Every monk carries his own wooden cup in the folds of his toga, and holds it out when the monk who pours out the tea comes round with his pot (Illust. 143).

All through the ceremony the two candidates continue to dispute and clap their hands without intermission. After sitting cross-legged for three hours, as motionless as a statue of Buddha, His Holiness leaves the throne, and, supported by two monks, slowly descends the staircase, on which a narrow strip of coloured carpet is laid; for the Tashi Lama may not touch the unclean earth with his holy feet. Behind him walks a monk, holding above his head a huge sunshade of yellow silk with hanging fringes. One can hardly help feeling that the little man in papal robes and the yellow mitre, who disappears in the darkness among the pillars of the gallery, while the deepest silence prevails, is really a saint, and one of the most powerful in the world. He is now going up to his apartments in the Labrang, where he can pass his time in peace till some new ceremony calls him forth to discharge his ecclesiastical duties (Illust. 145).

A gloom seemed to fall over the whole quadrangle after he had withdrawn. The monks, who had but just been so quiet, began to talk and laugh, the younger ones played and wrestled together, and dirty bare-armed novices drove away with sticks two mangy dogs which had found their way into the holy place.

It was, however, not only the absence of the Tashi Lama that relieved the gloom of the quadrangle: clouds of yellow dust were being swept by a westerly storm over Tashi-lunpo. All the streamers, window curtains and awnings, and the long white flags, began to flutter and clap, and the strokes of the thousand temple bells were blended into one clang, which filled the air and seemed to rise like a hymn to the dwellings of the gods; for at all corners, projections, and cornices are hung brazen bells with clappers attached to a spring, so that a very slight breeze is sufficient to produce a sound. It is very pleasant to listen to this great carillon played by the wind as one wanders through the maze of Tashi-lunpo.

A lama from Ladak, who had been studying for five years in Tashi-lunpo, informed me that there are four different grades of learned priests. If there are several sons in one family, one must always be devoted to the monastic life. In order to be received into a monastery he must first take the oath, binding him to live in chastity and abstinence, not to drink, to steal, to kill, etc. He is then admitted as a novice into the fraternity of the yellow monks. After preliminary studies he attains to the first order in the priesthood, which is called the _Getsul_, and it is his duty to study certain holy writings and listen to the instruction imparted by a Kanpo-Lama. He is also bound to perform certain services, present tea to the superior monks, carry wood and water, see after the cleaning of the temples, fill the votive bowls, snuff the butter lamps, etc. The next order, the _Gelong_, has three subdivisions: _Ringding_, _Rikchen_, and _Kachen_, of which the last qualifies a member to act as teacher. Then comes the rank of _Kanpo-Lama_, or abbot, and lastly the _Yungchen_, who stands next to the Panchen Rinpoche.

The Getsul-Lama has to pay a fee of 20 rupees in order to be promoted to the rank of a Ringding-Lama; it is only a question of money, and the rank may be conferred on a monk a month after he enters the convent, but may be postponed for years if he is penniless. A Ringding-Lama must study a great number of scriptures and pay 50 or 60 rupees before he can become a Rikchen-Lama, and other 300 to become a Kachen. According to another informant the Ringding and the Rikchen are attached to the Getsul order, and only the Kachen belongs to the Gelong order. In these orders, however, it is easier to collect the necessary fees, for the monk has now an opportunity of exercising his sacerdotal office among the people. No payment is demanded on promotion to the rank of Kanpo-Lama, but this appointment is in the hands of the Tashi Lama; it is comparatively seldom conferred, and great learning is a necessary condition. On his appointment the lama receives a certificate bearing the seal of the Tashi Lama. A thorough knowledge of the holy books is required for the rank of Yungchen, and a conclave of high priests present recommendations for the conferment of the dignity.

At the present time there are 3800 monks in Tashi-lunpo, but during festivals the number rises to 5000, for then many come in from the neighbouring convents. Of the 3800 there are, it is said, 2600 of the Getsul and 1200 of the Gelong order. The Gelong Lamas are not obliged to meddle with worldly matters, but have only to superintend the temple services and take part in the rites. There are four only of the Kanpo order now in Tashi-lunpo and two of the Yungchen: one from the Chang province, and the other from Kanum in Beshar, the convent where the Hungarian Alexander Csoma Körösi lived as a monk eighty years ago in order to study the records of Lamaism. This Yungchen-Lama, who is named Lotsaba, is abbot of the monastery Kanum and of three others near the Sutlej. He came as a nine-year-old boy to Tashi-lunpo, and has lived here twenty-nine years. He longs to return to his home, but the Tashi Lama will not let him go thither until the Dalai Lama has returned to Lhasa.

Of the 3800 monks, 400 in all come from Ladak and other lands in the western Himalayas; a few are Mongolians and the rest Tibetans; 240 monks provide the church music, and dancing is performed by 60. They dance only twice a year. In the intervals their valuable costumes are deposited in sealed chests in a store-room called Ngakang. As they are little worn they last for centuries.

The disputation just described is connected with promotion to the Kachen order, the graduation taking place only during the New Year festival, when eighteen lamas are annually promoted from the rank of Getsul to that of Gelong. The ceremony lasts three days: on the first day two graduate in the morning and two in the afternoon; on the second day six, and on the third day eight.

On February 16 I again rode up to the monastery to sketch gateways and photograph the Tashi Lama, who had sent me word in the morning that this day would suit him if I had time to spare. The weather was all that could be wished, calm and clear. There was a dense crowd on the uppermost platform, in a broad open space before the eastern mausoleum. It was particularly interesting to see an interminable procession of nuns, who had come in from the neighbouring temples to seek the blessing of the Tashi Lama for the new year. All ages were represented, from wrinkled old women to quite young girls. They were fearfully ugly and dirty, and in the whole collection I could find only two who were fairly good-looking. They had short hair and were dressed like the monks: some I should have taken for men, if I had not known that they were women. But, unlike the monks, they wore small yellow caps with turned-up brims, red on the underside.

Lamas and pilgrims swarmed on the courts, platforms, roofs, and staircases--all come to receive the sacred blessing; the devout and patient assembly, here forming queues, made a deep impression on the spectators. To us they intimated a long wait, and therefore we went to the tomb of the Grand Lama, and I drew the handsome portal. I had scarcely finished when Tsaktserkan appeared to inform me that His Holiness was waiting for me, so we hurried up the staircases, past the usual groups of monks, who were loitering all about and appeared to have little to do. On the great quadrangle preparations were being made for the disputation ceremonies.

This time Muhamed Isa accompanied me, and the Tashi Lama received me in the same half-open roof chamber as on the former occasion. He was as charming as ever, and again turned the conversation to distant countries far remote from this carefully isolated Tibet. This time he spoke chiefly of Agra, Benares, Peshawar, Afghanistan, and the road from Herat to the Khyber Pass.

"What lies to the west of Yarkand?" he asked.

"The Pamir and Turkestan."

"And west of that?"

"The Caspian Sea, which is navigated by large steamers."

"And west of the Caspian Sea?"

"The Caucasus."

"And where do you come to when you continue to travel westwards?"

"To the Black Sea, Turkey, Russia, Austria, Germany, France, and then to England, which lies out in the ocean."

"And what is there to the west of this ocean?"

"America, and beyond another ocean, and then Japan, China, and Tibet again."

"The world is immensely large," he said thoughtfully, and nodded to me with a friendly smile.

I asked him to come to Sweden, where I would be his guide. Then he smiled again: he would like to travel to Sweden and London, but high sacred duties kept him constantly fettered to the convent walls of Tashi-lunpo.

After tea and refreshments he walked about his room like an ordinary man, and asked me to get my camera ready. A yellow carpet was laid in the sunny part of the room, and a chair was placed on it. He did not, alas! wear his refined, charming smile when the three plates were exposed, but had a solemn look--perhaps he was considering whether it might not be dangerous to allow an unbeliever to take his portrait in the midst of his own cloister town (Illustration 146). A tall young lama with a pleasant countenance knew how to take photographs, and took a couple of portraits of me for the Tashi Lama. He had a dark room, where we could develop our plates--Lamaist temples are excellently adapted for dark rooms.

Then we resumed our seats, and the Tashi Lama inquired how I had liked the show of riders on the preceding day. I answered that I had never experienced such amusement. He had never attended these worldly spectacles, for he was always engaged in his religious duties on that day. Then he made a sign, and some monks brought in a gift of honour for me: two bundles of cerise-coloured woollen material, woven in Gyangtse; some pieces of gold-embroidered stuff from China; two copper bowls with silver edges, and a gilded saucer for a porcelain cup, with a cover to match. With his own hands he gave me a gilded image clothed in red and yellow silk, and a large light-yellow _kadakh_. The image he gave me, a seated Buddha with blue hair, a crown, and a bowl in the hands, from which a plant sprouts, he called Tsepagmed. This, according to Grünwedel, is the form of the Amitabha Buddha, called Amitayus, or "he who has an immeasurably long life." It is significant that the Tashi Lama selected this particular image to give me, for he is himself an incarnation of Amitabha, and he is almighty. The figure of the Tsepagmed was therefore intended as a pledge that a long life was before me. This I did not understand at the time; it was only when I looked through Professor Grünwedel's _Mythologie_ that I grasped the significance of the present.

This time the audience lasted two and a half hours, and it was the last time I saw the Tashi Lama face to face; for afterwards all sorts of political complications arose which might have been dangerous to him--not to me--and I considered myself bound not to expose him to any annoyance through my visits, which might excite the suspicion of the Chinese. But it grieved me to stay near him for weeks, knowing that he saw every day my tent from his small cloister window, and yet not be able to visit and converse with him; for he was one of those rare, refined, and noble personalities who make other people feel that their lives are fuller and more precious. Yes, the memory of the Tashi Lama will cleave to me as long as I live. His friendship is sincere, his shield is spotless and bright, he seeks for the truth honestly and humbly, and knows that by a virtuous and conscientious life he renders himself a worthy temple for the soul of the mighty Amitabha.

The Tashi Lama was six years old when destiny called him to be the Pope of Tashi-lunpo, a dignity he has held nineteen years. He is said to have been born in Tagbo, in the Gongbo country. He, like the Pope, is a prisoner in the Tibetan Vatican in spite of his great religious influence, and leads a life prescribed by religious regulations, every day of the year having its particular ecclesiastical functions and occupations. For instance, on February 20, he must bow the knee before the graves of all his predecessors, accompanied by all the superior clergy. When I asked where he himself would be interred when it pleased Amitabha to be re-incarnated in a new Tashi Lama, I was told that a sepulchre would be erected for him as handsome as the others, and that a conclave of the higher priests would select the site. Either the sixth mausoleum will be erected on the west side of the others in a line with them, or a new row will be commenced in front of the former.

One day all my Lamaist followers were admitted to the presence of His Holiness. It was agreed beforehand that they should not pay more as temple offerings than three rupees per man. Of course I paid for them, and they afterwards assured me that the sacred blessing would benefit them during the rest of their lives.

I did not succeed in getting information as to the number of pilgrims who flock annually to Tashi-lunpo. When I made inquiries on the subject I was answered with a laugh, and the statement that they were so numerous it was quite impossible to count them. Pilgrims of rank and fortune make large contributions; others only a small silver coin, or a bag of _tsamba_ or rice; and others again come in companies in the train of some well-to-do chief who pays for them all. If the concourse is too large, the blessing is imparted by the higher monks through laying on of hands; when the numbers are smaller, they receive the blessing from the Tashi Lama himself, not with the hand, but with a staff bound with yellow silk. He only blesses people of position and monks with his hand.

We saw laymen as well as clergy among the pilgrims. We have already seen the nuns forming a queue and waiting for the blessing. Four hundred nuns had come in from the neighbouring convents. During their stay they receive free lodging in the Chini-chikang, a building in Tashi-lunpo, free board, and a small present of money at their departure. They do not appear every year, but this year they arrived on the second day of the festival and departed on February 18.

We also saw novices from other monasteries, who are regaled with tea at stated times; but they must be content to sit on the ground in front of the kitchen, where they fill the narrow lane, so that it is difficult to get past.

There are also wandering lamas among the pilgrims. One day I made a sketch of one who had roamed far and wide. He wore a rosary round his neck, a necklace of shells, and a _gao_ with an idol, which had been given him by the Tashi Lama. Not long before he had performed a prostration pilgrimage round all the monasteries of Lhasa, and had just completed this feat, so acceptable to the gods, round Tashi-lunpo. He moves in the direction of the hands of a watch, and measures the distance round the monastery with the length of his body. He folds his hands over his forehead, sinks on his knees, lays himself full length on the ground, stretches both arms forward, scratches a mark in the soil, stands up, steps up to the mark and falls again on his knees, and repeats this process till he has gone all round the monastery. Such a circuit of Tashi-lunpo demands a whole day, but if he also goes into the lanes and round all the mausoleums and temples, this religious gymnastic feat requires three days. We saw daily whole rows both of clerical and lay pilgrims encompassing Tashi-lunpo and all its gods in this fashion. I asked several of them how many times they prostrated themselves on the ground during a circuit, but they did not know; for, they said, "We pray all the time, Om mani padme hum; there are twenty manis to each prostration, and we cannot therefore count the prostrations as well." Many of them encircle the wall several times.

This wandering lama was one of a brotherhood of nine monks, who often visited us in our garden, sat down in front of the tents, turned their prayer mills, and sang. They had free lodging in a building in Tashi-lunpo, called Hamdung. Another member was the seventeen-year-old Tensin from Amdo, who had taken four months to travel thence to Tashi-lunpo. They had come for the festival, and intended to return home through Lhasa and Nakchu (Illustration 216).

The contributions of the pilgrims are one of Tashi-lunpo's chief sources of revenue. But the monastery also possesses extensive estates and herds, and certain monks, who superintend the agricultural affairs and have the disposal of the produce, also carry on trade with the neighbourhood and with Nepal. The produce of the whole of Chang is devoted to the use of Tashi-lunpo, which is therefore wealthy. Each of the 3800 monks, irrespective of rank, receives 15 rupees annually, and, of course, lives gratis in the convent.

Another large source of income is the sale of amulets, talismans and relics, idols of metal or terra cotta, sacred paintings (_tankas_), joss-sticks, etc. The priests also get very good prices for small, insignificant, almost worthless clay idols, and paper strips with symbolical figures, which the pilgrims carry round the neck as talismans, when these things have been duly blessed by the Tashi Lama.

On February 21 I spent nearly the whole day in parts of the monastery I had not previously seen. We wandered through narrow winding corridors, and lanes in deep shadow, between tall white-washed stone houses, in which the monks have their cells. One of the houses was inhabited by student monks from the environs of Leh, Spittok, and Tikze, and we went into the small dark cubicles, hardly larger than my tent. Along one of the longer sides stood the bed, a red-covered mattress, a pillow, and a frieze blanket. The other furniture consisted of some boxes of books, clothing, and religious articles. Holy writings lay opened. A couple of bags contained _tsamba_ and salt, a small altar with idols, votive vessels, and burning butter lamps, and that is all. Here it is dark, cool, damp, and musty--anything but agreeable; very like a prison. But here the man who has consecrated his life to the Church, and stands on a higher level than other men, spends his days. Monks of lower rank live two or three in one cell. Gelongs have cells to themselves, and the chief prelates have much more elegant and spacious apartments.

Each monk receives daily three bowls of _tsamba_, and takes his meals in his own cell, where tea also is brought to him three times a day. But tea is also handed round during the services in the temple halls, in the lecture-rooms, and in the great quadrangle. No religious rite seems to be too holy to be interrupted at a convenient time by a cup of tea.

One day from the red colonnade (Kabung) I looked down on the court full of lamas, who were sitting in small groups, leaving only narrow passages free, along which novices passed to and fro with hot silver and copper pots, and offered the soup-like beverage stirred up with butter. It had all the appearance of a social "Five o'clock tea" after some service. But the meeting had a certain touch of religion, for occasionally a solemn, monotonous hymn was sung, which sounded wonderfully beautiful and affecting as it reverberated through the enclosed court. On March 4 the quadrangle and other places within the walls of Tashi-lunpo swarmed with women--it was the last day on which the precincts of the monastery were open to them; they would not be admitted again till the next Losar festival (Illustration 150).

The young monk who, when accompanying the Tashi Lama in India, had had an opportunity of learning about photography, had his dark room beside his large elegant cell. I, too, was able to develop my plates there. He asked me to come frequently and give him instructions. He had solid tables, comfortable divans, and heavy handsome hangings in his room, which was lighted with oil lamps at night. There we sat and talked for hours. All of a sudden he took it into his head to learn English. We began with the numerals, which he wrote down in Tibetan characters; after he had learned these by heart he asked for other of the more common words. However, he certainly made no striking progress during the few lessons I gave him.

Care is necessary in walking through the streets of the cloister town, for the flags, which have been trod by thousands of monks for hundreds of years, are worn smooth and are treacherous. Usually there is a good deal of traffic, especially on feast days. Monks come and go, stand talking in groups at the street-corners and in the doorways, pass to and from the services, or are on their way to visit their brethren in their cells; others carry newly-made banners and curtains from the tailor's shop into the mystical twilight of the gods; while others bear water-cans to fill the bowls on the altars, or sacks of meal and rice for the same purpose. Small trains of mules come to fill the warehouse of the convent, where a brisk business is going on, for a family of 3800 has to be provided for. And then, again, there are pilgrims, who loiter about here only to look in on the gods, swing their prayer mills, and murmur their endless "Om mani padme hum." Here and there along the walls beggars are sitting, holding out their wooden bowls for the passer-by to place something in, if it is only a pinch of _tsamba_. The same emaciated, ragged beggars are to be found daily at the same street-corners, where they implore the pity of the passengers in the same whining, beseeching tone. In the narrow lanes, where large prayer mills are built in rows into the wall, and are turned by the passers-by, many poor people are seated, a living reproof of the folly of believing that the turning of a prayer mill alone is a sufficiently meritorious action on the way to the realms of the blessed. In one particularly small room stand two colossal cylindrical prayer mills before which a crowd is always collected--monks, pilgrims, merchants, workmen, tramps and beggars. Such a praying machine contains miles of thin paper strips with prayers printed on them, and wound round and round the axis of the cylinder. There is a handle attached, by which the axle can be turned. A single revolution, and millions of prayers ascend together to the ears of the gods.