This is what should be done by him who is wise in seeking his own
good. Contented and cheerful, not oppressed with the cares of this
world, not burdened with riches, tranquil, discreet, not arrogant, not
greedy for gifts, let him not do any mean action for which others who
are wise might reprove him. Let all creatures be happy and prosperous;
let them be of joyful mind. Let no man in any place deceive another,
nor let him be harsh towards any one; let him not, out of anger or
resentment, wish ill to his neighbour. As a mother, so long as she
lives, watches over her child, her only child, so among all beings let
boundless goodwill prevail. Let goodwill without measure, impartial,
unmixed with enmity, prevail throughout the world, above, below,
around.
The Rev. D. J. Gogerley witnessed the performance of a great Pirit
ceremony in Ceylon (Hardy’s Monachism, p. 240). Taking his account and
that of Mr. Dickson, I have compiled the following brief description of
the Mahā-baṇa Pirit, ‘great Pirit recitation’:—
So soon as the sun has set crowds of people arrive at the
Recitation-Hall, bringing oil-lamps made out of cocoanut-shells. The
Hall is decorated, and a canopy, shaped like a pagoda, is erected over
the pulpits, which are placed on a raised platform. When darkness
supervenes a blaze of light illuminates the Hall. A relic of the Buddha
is deposited on the platform, and a sacred thread is fastened round the
Hall, one extremity of it being brought close to the relic and to the
Reciters. On the morning of the next day, the recitations begin. One of
the Reciters repeats the three-refuge formula, and the five commandments
(see pp. 78, 126). Then incense is burnt round the platform, and the
musicians outside the Hall strike up a lively air. Next, the formula of
‘the twelve successive causes of existence’ (see p. 102) is intoned, and
a hymn of victory chanted.
The recitation of the Pirit continues uninterruptedly, day and night,
for seven days. Twenty-four priests are employed, two of whom are
constantly seated on the platform and engaged in reciting. Moreover
three times in each day—at sunrise, mid-day, and sunset—they all
assemble together and chant in chorus. Of course, when the recitation of
the Suttas constituting the Pirit is concluded, it is recommenced, and
in this way all the Suttas are recited again and again. On the morning
of the seventh day a messenger is sent to a neighbouring temple to
invite the attendance of the gods. Then by a stretch of the imagination
certain of the gods and spirits are believed to answer the summons, and
on their supposed arrival, the protective Suttas are chanted more
energetically than ever till the morning of the eighth day, when a
benediction concludes the ceremony, and offerings of robes are made to
the priest-reciters.
We now pass on to Tibet and Mongolia.
The ceremonies of admission to the monkhood in those countries do not
deviate sufficiently from the practices just described to require
special notice.
With regard, however, to the dress of Lāmistic monks after their
admission to the Order, the ancient rule, as we have seen, obliged them
to wear only three garments of a dirty yellowish colour, made out of
rags, or picked up in cemeteries or on dust heaps. But the necessities
of a colder climate have compelled the Lāmas to increase their official
vestments, and the higher Lāmas sometimes wear bright silken robes
enriched with ornament. The law is sufficiently obeyed by putting a
patch or two at one corner.
A full equipment is supposed to consist of an under vestment, a sort of
tunic worn over it, a mantle, a kind of scarf worn over the left
shoulder, a loose robe brought round over the same shoulder, and a
cap[142]. The right shoulder is rarely bare, as it generally is in
Southern Buddhist countries.
The colour of these six articles of clothing, especially of the cap, is
yellow or red, according to the sect to which a monk belongs.
The cap is an important mark of sectarian difference, and is of various
forms, and when it has five points, has been compared to a bishop’s
mitre, but the five points really denote the five Dhyāni-Buddhas and
their Bodhi-sattvas.
Part of every full monk’s equipment in Tibet is a peculiar instrument,
made of bronze or other metal, and called a Dorje (Sanskṛit Vajra, ‘a
thunderbolt’), the employment of which for religious objects is peculiar
to Northern Buddhism. It is shaped like the imaginary thunderbolt of the
gods Indra and Ṡiva—that is, it consists of a short bar, about four
inches long, the two extremities of which swell out in globular form, or
like small oval cages formed of hoops of metal. The original Dorje is
supposed to have fallen direct from Indra’s heaven, and to have been
preserved in a monastery near Lhāssa, called Sera pp. 278, 442.
According to another legend, the original instrument belonged to Gautama
Buddha himself, and on his passing away into non-existence, transported
itself through the air from India into Tibet. The consecrated imitations
of it are innumerable. Their primary use is for exorcising and driving
away evil spirits, especially in the performance of ceremonies and
repetition of prayers—the instrument being then held between the fingers
and thumb and waved backwards and forwards, or from side to side.
The efficacy of the Dorje in securing good fortune and warding off evil
influences of all kinds is supposed to be of wide application. The idea
was really borrowed from Ṡaivism or from the Tantra system, introduced
through Nepāl by the Red sect. It is easy to understand the enormous
power supposed to belong to a priesthood which claimed to be the
wielders of a formidable thunderbolt, sent to them directly from heaven.
No wonder that the original Dorje preserved at the Sera monastery has
become an object of actual worship. According to M. Huc, countless
pilgrims prostrate themselves before it; and at the New Year’s festival,
on the 27th day of the first month, it is carried in procession with
great pomp to Lhāssa,—to the two centres of Lāmism—Potala and Lā brang.
On its way there, the mystical implement is adored by the whole
population, male and female (ii. 221).
Below is an engraving of a Dorje which I brought from Dārjīling.
[Illustration: ]
It should be mentioned that the fierce Bodhi-sattva Vajra-pāṇi (see p.
201 of this volume) is represented holding a similar Dorje in his right
hand in his character of subduer of evil spirits. In some
representations the evil demons are denoted by serpents.
Another important part of a full monk’s equipment in Tibet is the
Prayer-bell (called Drilbu) employed at the performance of daily
religious ceremonies, and rung to accompany the repetition and chanting
of prayers, or to fill up the intervals of worship. It often has half a
Dorje as a handle, or the handle is ornamented with various mystical
symbols carved on it. The object of ringing bells during worship is to
call the attention of the beings who are worshipped, or to keep off evil
spirits by combining noise with the waving of the Dorje in the handle.
The bell here represented was brought by me from Dārjīling.
[Illustration: ]
The bells used in Burma are described at p. 526.
Other religious implements used by novices and lay-brethren, as well as
by full monks, are prayer-wheels, prayer-cylinders, rosaries, amulets
(see p. 358), drums (see p. 385), and the Phurbu or Phur-pa (pp. 351,
352).
As to the daily religious services and ceremonies performed by Monks in
Tibet and Mongolia, these, of course, are far more ritualistic than in
southern Buddhist countries. It has already been explained (at pp. 202,
225) that certain abstract essences or mystical forms of the Buddha,
called Dhyāni-Buddhas, were imagined to exist, and these had their
concrete energizing vice-gerents called Bodhi-sattvas—beings who
received adoration as if they were actually gods. In Tibet the
Bodhi-sattva Avalokiteṡvara, and the canonized reformer Tsong Khapa, and
other supposed saints, became prominent objects of religious worship.
Then, in process of time, a complicated ceremonial was developed, which,
as we shall see (p. 338), has much in common with the ritual of Roman
Catholic Christianity.
The language employed in the religious services of the Lāmistic
Hierarchy, whether in Tibet, Mongolia, or in the Lāma monasteries of
China and Manchuria, is Tibetan. In fact, Tibetan is to the Lāmistic
Church what Latin is to the Romish. It is the sole orthodox language of
religion and religious ceremonial.
According to Koeppen, only one Mongolian Lāma-monastery (and that
established at Peking) has the right to perform religious services in
Mongolian instead of in Tibetan[143].
Dr. Edkins, however, states that there is a temple (called Fa-hai-si)
near the hunting-park, in which the Manchu language is employed instead
of Tibetan. (Chinese Buddhism, p. 406.)
Without doubt the acquisition of some knowledge of the Tibetan language
is incumbent on every Lāma. Nevertheless, few, except in Tibet, really
understand it. They simply repeat the usual prayers and formularies
mechanically[144].
It appears that the Lāmistic priests assemble three times a day to go
through the prescribed ritual—at sunrise, at mid-day, and at sunset. We
read that, before commencing the service, they enter the temple or hall
of worship in procession and seat themselves on low seats in long rows.
These are placed the whole length of the hall, from the entrance-door to
the altar, being divided in the middle by a passage. At the further
extremity, close to the altar, are two raised thrones for the Head
Lāmas—a five-cushioned one on the right for the Abbot and a
three-cushioned one for the Vice-Abbot.
When all have seated themselves, the choir-master or precentor gives a
signal with a bell. Then the prayer-formularies are recited or chanted,
certain passages out of the Law are intoned and certain litanies sung,
sometimes in loud tones, accompanied by noisy music or by clapping of
hands, and generally in unison, though occasionally verses are sung
alternately with responses.
Then at other times a sentence of the Law is repeated by each monk in
turn; or a chant is set up consisting of such words as: Praise be to the
Buddha! or praise be to some Bodhi-sattva! followed by a recital of all
his names, titles, and epithets; or mystical sentences and syllables are
ejaculated. The result is said to be a chaos of voices and a deafening
confusion of sounds.
The chief instruments used in the services are a spiral shell, a long
trumpet of copper or brass (sometimes more than ten feet long), a large
drum, flutes, cymbals, and horns—the last being sometimes made of the
thigh-bones of human beings[145].
The ritual is imposing, and still more so when a living Buddha is
present. It has been described by M. Huc, and I here give the substance
of his account[146].
In front of the chief idol, and on a level with the altar, is a gilded
seat for the living Buddha or Grand Lāma of the Monastery. The whole
space of the temple, from one end to the other, is occupied by long
low seats almost level with the ground, stretching right and left of
the Grand Lāma’s throne. These are covered with carpets, a vacant
space being left between each row for the Lāmas to pass and repass.
When the hour of prayer is come, a Lāma, whose office it is to summon
the choir, places himself in front of the grand entrance of the temple
and blows with all the force of his lungs into a conch-shell trumpet,
the sound of which is audible for a league round. This effectually
rouses the Lāmas and calls them together. Each then takes his mantle
and official hat of ceremony, and repairs to the interior court. The
trumpet sounds again, and when its note is heard for the third time,
the great door is suddenly thrown open; the living Buddha enters, and
takes his seat in front of the image on the altar. Then the Lāmas,
after depositing their red boots in the vestibule, advance towards him
barefoot, and adore him by three prostrations. This done, they seat
themselves on the long seats according to their dignity, cross-legged
and face to face. As soon as the director of the ceremonies has given
the signal by tinkling a little bell, everyone murmurs the prescribed
prayers, unrolling the formularies on his knees. After this
recitation, there is profound silence for a minute. Then the bell is
again rung, and a hymn or chant in two choruses begins. The Tibetan
prayers, ordinarily arranged in verses, and written in metrical style,
are well adapted to harmony; but sometimes at certain pauses indicated
by the rubric, the Lāma musicians execute a strain in little accord
with the gravity of the psalmody. The result is a stunning noise of
bells, cymbals, drums, tambourines, conch-shells, trumpets, and pipes.
Each musician sounds his instrument with a sort of fury, and each
strives to outdo his neighbour in the noise he can produce. (Huc’s
Travels, i. 88, abridged.)
One important element in some Tibetan religious services is the
consecration and distribution of holy water and grain by the chief
Lāmas.
Perfumes, too, are burnt, and censers containing incense are swung
backwards and forwards during the ceremonies.
Then, again, some Lāmistic ceremonials include the drinking of tea
poured into little cups, kept in the breast-pockets of the monks’ robes,
and replenished two or three times during the service.
Sir Richard Temple (Journal, ii. 208) thus describes a tea-drinking
ceremonial at which he was present, at the monastery of Pemyangchi in
Sikkim (see p. 298 of these Lectures).
The priests and monks, some thirty-five in all, were drawn up in full
robes to receive us. Then the officials of the monastery were
introduced—the steward, the rod-bearer, the deputy master, and lastly,
the master. A procession was quickly formed, which we followed into
the chapel, where they all took their accustomed seats, while we sat
on places prepared for us. The interior of the chapel seemed an odd
place for this, but we were told that it was the correct ceremonial. A
chant was begun, which lasted some ten minutes, as a sort of grace,
and then tea was handed round—first to us, next to the priests, and
lastly to the monks. A short chant followed, and then the procession
preceded us out of the chapel.
In the picture which accompanies Sir Richard’s description, all the
monks have head-coverings, some of which are like caps or hats of a high
sugar-loaf shape, while others have several points like episcopal mitres
(see p. 321).
The monks of Sikkim are generally of the Dugpa sect[147], and wear red
caps (see pp. 273, 298).
When Dr. Watt was in Ladāk, he was present at a service performed by a
number of monks belonging to both sects, who seemed to fraternize very
amicably. All the monks of the red sect took up a position on one side
of the chapel, while those of the yellow sect ranged themselves on the
opposite side. The two sects entered together, as usual, in procession,
and part of the ceremonial—as in that witnessed by Sir Richard
Temple—consisted in drinking tea from little cups taken from the folds
of their robes, and put back again, to be again taken out and
replenished; and this, too, without interrupting the continuous
repetition of prayers, chants, and formularies[148].
M. Huc also describes a ‘Tea-general’ ceremony after morning service in
a temple. Each monk drinks in silence, carefully placing his scarf
before his cup, as if to prevent the sight of the apparent incongruity
of drinking tea in such a sacred spot (ii. 57).
Another instance of tea-drinking as an element in Lāmistic ceremonial,
occurs in Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ highly interesting account of the
ceremony of his presentation to the Dalai Lāma at the palace-monastery
of Potala, in Lhāssa, on June 10, 1882. I venture to give the substance
of it in an abbreviated form and not quite literally[149].
An account of other presentations both to the Dalai Lāma and Tashi Lāma
will be given in a future Lecture (see pp. 439, 444, 447).
Early in the morning I was informed of the arrival of Chola Kusho, who
was ready to take me to Potala for presentation to the Dalai Lāma. We
sallied forth on horseback, with three bundles of incense-sticks in
our hands, and a roll of scarves in our breast-pockets, chanting as we
went along certain hymns, and particularly the mystic ‘Om maṇi padme
Hūm.’ In the street we saw a calf sucking milk, and several women
fetching water in our direction. My companions were delighted at these
auspicious omens. Arrived at the eastern gateway of Potala, we
dismounted, and walked up a long hall, on two sides of which were two
rows of prayer-wheels, put there to be twirled, on going in and coming
out.
A young monk now came down to conduct us, and we ascended slowly,
looking only on the ground before us. The several ladders which
conducted us from one story to another were steep, and placed in dark
halls. I counted five, which took us as far as the ground-floor of the
Red palace. Half-a-dozen ladders still remained to be scaled.
At about eight we reached the top, and there found a number of monks
anxiously awaiting an interview with his Holiness. A seat was pointed
out to me. A monk sat near me, and smilingly observed that it must
have been on account of the sins of my former life that I was born in
India, where there is no living Buddha.
From the top of the Red palace we enjoyed a grand panorama of Lhāssa
and its suburbs. Shortly afterwards some Lāmas of high rank, dressed
in loose yellow mantles, arrived. They entered the hall of reception
one after another in solemn array. We remained outside in anxious
suspense, fixing our eyes on the entrance door, and expecting to be
summoned to his Holiness’ presence.
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.’
With regard to the season called Vassa, it should be noted here that
since there is no rainy period of the year in Tibet which corresponds to
the Indian ‘Rains,’ certain seasons of abstinence from food are observed
either before, or at the same time with the great Festivals. These
periods of fasting are distributed equally throughout the year—one in
February, one in May, one in July, one in November or December.
The festivals and holy days thus briefly described, are by no means the
only festivals of Buddhism. There are numerous other special and local
ones. For example, in Ceylon, the Sinhalese celebrate the coming of the
Buddha to their island and his victory over the Rākshasas and evil
demons by a festival in March or April, when the greater number of
pilgrims flock to his supposed foot-print on Adam’s Peak, or to the
sacred Bodhi-tree at Anurādha-pura (see p. 519). Other Southern
countries have festivals connected with the worship of special
foot-prints and relics of their own.
Then the Lāmas in Lhāssa keep the day of the worship of the Dorje (see
p. 322) on the 27th day of the first month, while those in Sikkim
celebrate as a festival the day on which the Lepchas make offerings to
the spirit of the mountain Kinchinjunga.
Then, again, at the beginning of the third month an exhibition of sacred
vessels and pictures takes place at Lhāssa, accompanied by processions
in masks, the Lāmas appearing as good genii, and the laity as tigers,
leopards, elephants, &c.
In other places, too, there are special festivals. For example, a
singular festival, called ‘Chase of the spirit-kings,’ is kept by
Northern Buddhists on the 30th of the second month, when there is a vast
amount of religious dancing (with tediously slow movements),
masquerading, mummery, and buffoonery, not unlike the devil-dancing
which goes on in Ceylon, and closely connected with the universal belief
in demons and evil spirits.
The most hideous masks are used on these occasions. In 1884 I had an
opportunity of inspecting in a Buddhist monastery near Dārjīling a most
singular assortment of religious masks, which for distortion of feature
and horrible unsightliness, could scarcely be matched anywhere; for
indeed mask-making is an art which Buddhism has brought to the greatest
perfection. I also witnessed a religious dance performed by a party of
masqueraders which struck me as a remarkable example of the utter
debasement of Buddhism in Northern countries.