THE MONKS
Siam has been called the "Kingdom of the Yellow Robe," on account of the
presence everywhere of large numbers of monks, all of whom wear the
yellow robe. Every man in Siam enters a monastery at some time or other
in his life, and lives as a monk for a period varying from a few months
to many years, or even for the whole of his life. The usual age for
entering the priestly circle is about nineteen, and the shortest stay
that can be decently made is for two months. The person seeking
admission goes to the temple wearing his best clothes, and attended by a
crowd of friends and relatives, who take presents to the priests. The
presents include rice, fish, matches, fruit, cigars, betel-nut,
alarm-clocks, vases of flowers, incense sticks, and dozens of other
curious things. These are all distributed about the temple floor, till
the sacred building looks as though it were about to be the scene of a
glorified "jumble sale."
Occasionally children enter the temple service and wear the yellow robe.
It often happens that when one of a boy's parents is cremated he becomes
a "boy-monk," because by this means he hopes to help his father in that
other world to which he has been called. As a rule, too, each monk has a
boy servant, or disciple, who cleans out his cell, and does other work
of a lowly character for him. Monks may not possess silver money, but
these disciples may receive it and spend it for the benefit of their
masters.
In the early morning the big bell of the monastery calls the monk to
rise and go out to beg for his breakfast. He takes a big iron bowl in
his hands, holds it in front of him, and then with downcast head walks
slowly through the streets allotted to him. He may not wander into
another man's street, but must keep to his own. As he walks along, the
people come out of their houses and put food into the bowl. One puts in
a handful of rice, another a spoonful of curry. Someone else adds a few
bananas, or some stale fish, or some scraped coco-nut. The monk looks
neither to the right hand nor to the left, and gives no thanks to the
donor of the meal. By the time he gets back to the monastery it is no
exaggeration to say that his bowl often contains a very varied and weird
assortment of oddments. It looks rather "a mess," and there is not much
to be surprised at when we learn that some of the monks, who do not keep
the rules of their Order very strictly, throw all this motley assortment
of fish, flesh, fowl, and stale red-herrings to the dogs, afterwards
partaking of a rather more tempting breakfast that has been prepared for
them in the monastery. At certain times of the year only a few monks
from each monastery go in search of food. The others stay at home at the
temple. If a monk has rich relations, his disciple often receives for
him well-cooked and appetizing meals upon which to break his fast.
When breakfast is over, the brethren of the yellow robe go into the
temple for service, after which there is work for those who care to do
it. The majority do nothing, a form of employment which suits the
average Siamese a great deal better than work. As the monks are drawn
from all classes of society, there are always amongst them some who can
repair the buildings or help in building boats, or even, perhaps, teach
in the school.
At noon another meal is eaten; after that there is neither tea nor
supper, so that the monks get nothing more to eat until the next
morning. They manage to stifle their natural hunger by drinking tea,
chewing betel-nut, and smoking tobacco.
Towards evening the priests bathe, either in the river or in some pond
in the temple grounds. As soon as it is dark they must confine
themselves within the monastery walls. Every evening at about half-past
six the bell rings to tell the monks that "locking-up" time has arrived.
The bells, which play so important a part as clocks in the temples, are
hung in a wooden framework, usually built in three stories. Strictly
speaking, it is not correct to say that the bells are rung. They are not
rung--they are beaten with a thick piece of wood. There are generally a
number of little boys playing about in the cool, shady grounds who are
only too willing at the proper time to scramble up the rickety wooden
ladders and hammer away on the bells with a lump of wood.
From July to October, when the heavy rains fall, the priests meet
together in the evening and chant prayers. The only light in the temple
is that of dim candles or smoky lamps, and the dull rays fall on the
kneeling yellow-robed figures below, or lose themselves in the blackness
of the lofty roofs above, while there rolls out into the evening air the
rich, mellow notes of the voices in prayer. The frogs in the pond croak
a sonorous bass, the crickets add their chirpy treble, and the
fire-flies flash on shrub and palm, all adding their share to the
evening service.
The cells in which the monks live are small whitewashed rooms, with
practically no furniture. There are a few mats, perhaps a bedstead--or,
failing that, a mattress on the floor--a few flowers, and an image of
the Buddha, the founder of their religion. In a little cupboard the monk
keeps a teapot and a few tiny cups, and he is always glad to give a
visitor as much tea as he can drink. Most likely he possesses a
chessboard and a set of chessmen, for most of the Siamese are fond of
this ancient game.
The prayers and chants are written with a hard, fine point of ivory or
iron upon long strips of palm-leaf. The strips are held together by a
string or a piece of tape passed through a series of holes. The bundle
is gilded round the edges and carefully preserved in a chest. These
"books" are written in a language which the common people do not
understand, and, in fact, only those monks who stay long enough in the
temple service to learn the language have any idea what the chants are
about that they so diligently repeat.
Amongst the few possessions which a monk may lawfully hold is a big fan
made of broad palm-leaves. This he is supposed to hold in front of his
face as he walks about, in order that he may keep his eyes from
beholding the things of the world. But as often as not, during the heat
of the day, he holds it over his head to shield him from the fierce rays
of the sun. And one can scarcely blame him, for he is not allowed to
wear a hat of any kind, and every bit of hair has been shaved off the
top of his head.
There is a chief priest to each monastery, whose business it is to see
that the temple services are properly conducted, and that the monks
behave themselves in a becoming manner. If one of the brethren does
anything wrong, and his superior hears about it, punishment is sure to
follow. For a very serious offence the guilty one is expelled from the
monastery and handed over to the police. Such a man gets the severest
punishment allowed by the law. But if the offence is only a mild one,
then the punishment is a light one. The sinner will perhaps be set to
draw water, to sweep the temple courtyard, or to perform some other
menial duty usually undertaken by the ordinary servants.
Some of the "sins" that the priest may not commit are very curious to
us, and many of them are, in fact, committed regularly without any
punishment following. For instance, it is a sin to sleep more than
twelve inches above the ground, to listen to music, to eat too much, to
sleep too long, to swing the arms when walking, to burn wood, to wink,
to slobber or make a noise when eating, to ride on an elephant, or to
whistle.