Mrs. Bridges describes a similar religious dance in Ladāk thus:—

‘A group of grinning masks—lions’ heads and harlequins’ bodies—came

down the steps, and whirling slowly round, retreated again into the

gloom and came out dragon-headed. Then a band of skeletons, the skulls

(masks) admirably painted, gnashing their hideous jaws and shaking

their lanky limbs, rushed out into the sunshine and executed a real

“Dance of Death” before us.’ (‘Travels,’ p. 101.)

Yet all true Buddhists are prohibited from dancing and masquerading (p.

126 of this volume); just as Manu (II. 178, IV. 15, 212) prohibited

Brāhmans from engaging in similar frivolities.

Then the religious dramas performed on some of the Buddhist festive days

are not the least interesting examples of the present prevalent

superstitions.

I witnessed part of a dramatic performance at a Burmese Theatre in

Calcutta (during the Exhibition year), when the story of the Hindū Epic,

called Rāmāyaṇa, and especially that portion of it which relates to the

carrying off of Sītā by demons (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 42,

and ‘Indian Wisdom,’ p. 337), was dramatically represented. The theatre

was a rude wooden enclosure open to the sky, with the exception of a

portion roofed over for a band of musicians, whose noisy performances

appeared to constitute an important element in the proceedings. The

chief musician sat on the ground in the middle of a circular

frame-work—about two or three feet high—hung round with drums of

different sizes, which he struck with his hands, and occasionally tuned

by the application of moist clay in larger or smaller lumps. In the

centre of the open area of flat dusty soil which served for the stage, a

big branch of a tree was stuck upright, possibly to represent the forest

in which Rāma lived with his wife. Then the hero and heroine of the

drama—Rāma and Sītā—kept up a tedious colloquy, interspersed with jokes,

for hours. The former—who, be it remembered, was supposed to be a

god—smoked a cigar all the while, and occasionally ejected saliva with

perfect indifference to all appearances and to all laws of congruity,

while every now and again Sītā, in spite of a tight dress, varied the

monotony of the dialogue by executing a slow dance, characterized by

strange contortions, twistings, and wrigglings of the limbs. Hideous

masks were at intervals assumed by the actors, and, of course, by the

demons who intervened at odd moments with much ludicrous gesticulation.

The action of the play went on continuously for about ten days, during

which period people came and went as they liked, and the last comers

entered into the progress of the plot with as much interest as if they

had witnessed the whole. There is never much originality of invention in

these religious plays. The Indian heroic poems and the five hundred and

fifty birth-stories (see p. 63) of the Buddha furnish the basis of all.

The religious dramas of Tibet are of a somewhat different character. The

following description is founded on Dr. Schlagintweit’s account (p.

233), and on that of Mrs. Bridges in her interesting ‘Travels’ (John

Murray, 1883, p. 130).

The dramatis personæ consist of three classes.—1. Tutelary deities or

good genii, called Dragshed (Dragṡed), who ward off the assaults of

evil demons; 2. Evil demons; 3. Men. The actors of each class are

distinguished by their masks. The first class—that is the Dragsheds or

good genii—wear masks of enormous size and terrific aspect[159]. The

second class—that is the Evil demons—wear larger masks of a dark

colour, and their garments are well padded to deaden the force of the

blows showered upon them. The third class—that is the Men—wear the

usual dress of human beings, and masks of a natural size and colour,

while under their clothes they carry heavy wooden sticks, with which

at times, during the progress of the drama, they belabour the demons.

The gods also get well knocked about by the demons, much to the

amusement of the spectators.

The drama is preceded by the recital of hymns and prayers and by noisy

music. The Dragsheds occupy the centre, the men are on their right and

the demons on their left. At short intervals the men and the demons

execute slow dances, each group by itself. At last, an evil spirit and

a man step forth. The evil spirit then tries, in a plausible speech,

to tempt the man to violate some precept of morality, while other evil

spirits approach and chime in. The man at first stands firm, but

gradually gives way and is about to yield, when other men come forward

and entreat him not to be seduced by the artful suggestions of the

demons. He is then closely pressed by the two opposite parties, but in

the end takes the advice of his human counsellors. Upon this all the

men break out into praise of the Dragsheds, to whose presence and

assistance they ascribe the victory. The Dragsheds now proceed to

punish the evil demons. The leading Dragshed, who is distinguished by

an unusually large yellow mask, advances against them surrounded by

about a dozen followers. Other Dragsheds next rush out from the

back-ground, shoot arrows, throw stones, and even fire with muskets

upon the demons, while the men belabour them with their sticks,

hitherto concealed under their clothes. The demons are routed, and run

in every direction pursued by the good genii. The drama concludes by

all the actors (men and demons included) singing hymns in honour of

the victorious tutelary genii.

Among the spectators (at the performance witnessed by Mrs. Bridges at

Leh) were six deities, represented by six Lāmas seated on a bench with

umbrellas over their heads. They had incense swung before them by

attendant priests.

This curious dramatic performance is paralleled in India by the Hindū

drama called Prabodha-ćandrodaya, ‘Rise of the moon of true knowledge,’

in which we have Faith, Volition, Opinion, Imagination, Contemplation,

Devotion, Quietude, Friendship, &c., on one side; Error, Self-conceit,

Hypocrisy, Love, Passion, Anger, Avarice, on the other. The two sets of

characters are, of course, opposed to each other, the object of the play

being to show how the orthodox faith of the Hindūs became victorious

over the erroneous doctrine of the Buddha—the Buddhists and other

heretical sects being represented as adherents of the losing side.

Then—to take a parallel nearer home—we find similar religious dramas

acted in England not so very long ago (about the time of Henry VIII).

For example, in the old English morality play, called ‘Every-man,’ some

of the dramatis personæ on the one side are—God, Death, Every-man,

Fellowship, Kindred, Good-deeds, Knowledge, Confession, Beauty,

Strength, Discretion; while on the other are personifications of the

opposite qualities. Then, again, in ‘Lusty Juventus,’ we have a medley

of Good Counsel, Knowledge, Satan, Hypocrisy, Fellowship, Abominable

Living, God’s Merciful Promises.

And here with reference to the supposed contest continually going on

between good and evil, and the participation of human beings in this

terrible struggle, we may note that the mystical thunderbolt called

Dorje (p. 322) is not the only implement of spiritual warfare employed

by the Lāmas against the demons[160]. Another important weapon is the

Phurbu or ‘nail,’ described as triangular and wedge-shaped, with the

thin end very sharp-pointed, and with the head of Tamdin (a particular

Dragshed = Haya-grīva, noted for his power) emerging from the broad end

and surmounted by a half-thunderbolt for a handle.

According to Schlagintweit, this weapon is often made of cardboard, on

which mystical sentences (Dhāraṇīs) in Sanskṛit are inscribed, some

against the demons of the South, some against those of the East, and

some against those of the South-east. In case of illness a Lāma goes

round the house turning the point of the Phurbu in all directions and

uttering magical spells.

Most of the Dhāaraṇīs end with the syllables Hūm phatṭ, the potency of

which in scaring evil demons is irresistible. Many charms begin with Ah

Tamdin.

Those Phurbus are considered most efficacious which are inscribed with

mystical syllables and words composed by either the Dalai Lāma or

Panchen Lāma. These are sold for large sums. It is said (Schlagintweit,

260) that such Phurbus form an important article of trade for the

Mongolian pilgrims returning from Tibet.

I was fortunate enough to meet with a remarkable specimen of a magical

weapon of this kind (called Phur-pa by Jäschke) made of metal, and

shaped like a dagger with three edges, one for each of the three classes

of demons inhabiting the three quarters. The handle is composed of a

Dorje (p. 322), and is surmounted by carvings of the heads of the three

most powerful Dragsheds. I here give a representation of it[161].

[Illustration: ]

It may be easily understood that among a people, steeped in

superstition, a man armed with such a weapon as this—composed of the

heads of three potent genii, a divine thunderbolt and a triple-edged

dagger—would be regarded as a match for the whole demon-host.

In Burma the tattooing of mystical squares, triangles and cabalistic

diagrams and figures on various parts of the body, seems to be regarded

as a sufficient substitute for the use of magical weapons, and is held

to be highly efficacious.

Obviously we may contrast the Christian armoury described by S. Paul

(Ephes. vi. 11), ‘the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit.’ We

might also contrast the words of Christ, ‘Rejoice not, that the spirits

are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written

in heaven’ (S. Luke x. 20).

_Domestic Rites and Usages._

I now pass on to domestic rites and usages, which are as numerous and

important in Buddhist countries as in India. It is said, indeed, that in

Tibet and Mongolia no one is so poor as not to possess an altar in his

dwelling on which he daily lays his offerings, and before which he

performs devotions.

In Ceylon and Burma certain ceremonies take place soon after the birth

of a child. Mr. Scott, describing those in Burma, says that a fortnight

after birth a fortunate day and hour is fixed by an astrologer for the

naming of the infant. A feast is prepared, and all the friends and

relations of the family are invited. ‘The child’s head is usually washed

for the first time on this day,’ and some one suggests a name.

The name actually given appears to be a matter of choice, but this is

not so. The consonants of the language are divided into groups, which

are assigned to the days of the week, Sunday having all the vowels to

itself. ‘It is an invariable rule in all respectable families that the

child’s name must begin with one of the letters belonging to the day on

which it was born, but within these limits any name may be chosen.’ A

common belief is that, according to the day of the week (or rather the

constellation representing that day) on which a child is born, so will

its character be.

In this way every person’s probable characteristics may be inferred. For

example, a man born on a Monday is likely to be jealous; on Tuesday,

honest; on Wednesday, hot-tempered—but soon appeased—this characteristic

being intensified under the influence of Rāhu[162].

Then, again, if born on a Thursday, a man will probably be mild; on

Friday, talkative; on Saturday, ill-tempered and quarrelsome; on Sunday,

parsimonious. Saturday is a bad day for everything. Not only has every

day its special character and its fixed letters, but there is also

(according to Mr. Scott) a particular animal assigned to symbolize

it—for example, a guinea-pig stands for Friday; a dragon for Saturday; a

tiger for Monday—and red or yellow wax candles are made in the forms of

these animals to be offered at the Pagoda by the pious. Each worshipper

offers the creature-candle representing his birth-day.

Then a careful note is made of the exact hour of birth, with the

important object of drawing up the child’s horoscope. This may be

delayed till the fifth or sixth year, and a Brāhman astrologer may be

called in for the purpose. He records the year, the month, the day and

hour at which the child was born; the name given to it and the planet in

the ascendant at the moment. All this is scratched neatly on a palm-leaf

with a metal style. On the other side are a number of cabalistic squares

and numbers from which future calculations may be made.

A person born on Monday remains under the influence of the moon for

fifteen years. Then he passes under Mars for eight years. At the age of

twenty-three Mercury presides over him, and so on through all the

planets to the end of his life, which may be protracted to 108 years.

Rāhu, and especially Saturn, have a particularly sinister influence. A

man does most of the stupid and wicked things in his life while he is in

Saturn’s house. Other details will be found in ‘Shway Yoe.’

The horoscope is carefully kept by the parents until the child is old

enough to take care of it himself, and thenceforward it is guarded as a

valuable possession.

All these Buddhist customs have their counterpart in the ceremonies of

Brāhmanism and Hindūism.

For example, the Hindūs have their birth-ceremonies (Jāta-karman), and

their name-giving ceremony (Nāma-karaṇa[163]), and the latter is a

solemn religious act fraught with momentous consequences in its bearing

on a child’s future. Hence Hindū boys are generally called after some

god, or the name indicates that the child is the god’s servant.

Horoscopes, too, are as important in India as in Buddhist

countries[164].

In India, too, all Brāhman boys go through the ceremony of tonsure and

cutting off the hair.

Among the Buddhists of Burma a boy is sent to the monastery school at

about the age of eight. Before he can become a novice he has to undergo

the hair-abscission ceremony, followed by shaving every fort-night (as

before described). But those who afterwards elect to lead a secular life

wear long hair, to wash which is regarded as a kind of religious

ceremonial, and only to be performed about once a month, partly, says

Mr. Scott, because the washing of a Burman’s luxuriant hair takes a long

time, and partly because too frequent ablutions ‘would disturb and

irritate the good genius who dwells in the head and protects the man.’

It is considered unlucky to wash the head on a Monday, Friday, or

Saturday; and ‘parents sending their boy to a monastery must remember

not to cut his hair off on a Monday, or on a Friday, or on his

birth-day.’

It is noticeable that a kind of baptism is practised in Tibet and

Mongolia. It is usual to sprinkle children with consecrated water, or

even to immerse them entirely on the third or tenth day after birth.

This is called Khrus-sol (according to Jäschke).

The priest consecrates the water by reciting some formula, while candles

and incense are burning. He then dips the child three times, blesses it,

and gives it a name. After performing the ceremony, he draws up the

infant’s horoscope.

Then, so soon as the child can walk and talk, a second ceremony takes

place, when prayers are said for its happy life, and an amulet or little

bag is hung round its neck, filled with spells and charms against evil

spirits and diseases.

The use of _amulets_ (Sanskṛit kavaća), charms and spells in Northern

Buddhist countries is universal.

At Dārjīling I noticed that among the crowds of persons who frequented

the bazaar—many of whom were travellers from Tibet, Nepāl, Bhutān, and

Sikkim—almost every one wore an amulet, or a string of amulets round the

neck. Most of these amulets are simply ornamental boxes or receptacles

for supposed relics of saints, or for little images, or pictures, or for

prayer-formularies, worn like breast-plates or phylacteries. They are

composed of wood, bone, and not infrequently of beautifully-worked

filigree silver, embossed and ornamented with turquoise. The shape is

sometimes square, sometimes circular or curved, and brought round to a

point[165]. I purchased several specimens, but the vendor of any amulet

in actual use invariably removed the contents before consenting to part

with it. Here is a specimen of one of exceptionally beautiful design

which was given to me by Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās. It was taken from the

neck of a woman in the bazaar, but not purchased without much

difficulty.

[Illustration: ]

We pass on next to the Buddhist _marriage-ceremony_. This in Ceylon,

Burma, Tibet, Mongolia, and indeed in all Buddhist countries, is

properly a purely civil contract witnessed only by parents and

guardians. We have already pointed out, that true Buddhism considers

celibacy to be the only sure means of attaining real sanctity of

character. Consistently with this idea, it has not prescribed any

religious ceremony to be performed by monks or priests, as a condition

of the validity of marriage[166].

Hence among Buddhists the ceremony of marriage is very simple, and has

no religious character, or at any rate no complicated religious

observances connected with it, as among the Hindūs[167]. In fact the

celibate monks of true Buddhism would be much scandalized if they were

asked to take part in the celebration of a wedding, or even to ratify it

by their presence.

The principal ceremony consists in a feast given by the bridegroom or

his parents, to which all the relations, friends, and neighbours are

invited. Nevertheless, in most Buddhist countries in the present day the

monks manage to have some remunerative work to do in connexion with

weddings; for their business is to fix the most auspicious days for the

performance of the ceremony, in return for which they receive offerings

of various kinds. We know that in India astrology is a chief factor in

all marriage-arrangements. Similarly in most Buddhist countries no

wedding can take place till the astrologer, who is usually a

monk-priest, has been consulted as to lucky and unlucky combinations,

and the benign or baleful aspects of planets and stars. For example, in

Burma, Saturdays and Thursdays are pronounced unlucky days, and it would

be the height of imprudence to marry in certain months of the year.

Then, again, a woman born on a Friday would be guilty of utter folly if

she married a man born on a Monday, seeing that one or other would soon

die[168]; and so on through a long list of auspicious and inauspicious

potentialities.

It should, however, be set down to the credit of Buddhism that wives and

daughters are not imprisoned in Zanānas, as among Hindūs and

Muhammadans. I was present at an evening-party given by a rich native of

Ceylon, when the ladies of the family were introduced to the European

guests, and conversed freely with the rest of the company. Nor is the

marriage of mere boys and girls insisted on in Buddhist countries as in

India. The bridegroom is seldom of a less age than eighteen or nineteen.

Then, again, not only births and marriages, but illnesses and death are

in the present day a source of revenue to the Buddhist monkhood.

First, as to _sickness_.

In Ceylon, when any one is dangerously ill, the monk-priest is summoned

from the neighbouring Vihāra, after first sending offerings of flowers,

oil, and food. Then a temporary preaching-place is erected near the

house, and all the relatives and friends, and if possible the sick man

himself, listen to the reading of the Law (Baṇa) for about six hours.

The part especially read and intoned is the Ratna-valiya section of the

Pirit (see p. 317). After the Baṇa a number of offerings are given to

the reciting priest, including a piece of calico, one end of which is

held by the priest, and the other by the sick man. Then the priest

pronounces a benediction, and says words to the following effect:—‘By

reverence do the wise secure health, by almsgiving do they lay up

treasures for themselves[169].’

When the sick man is likely to die the priest repeats the Three-refuge

formula (p. 78), the five commandments (p. 126), and the Sati-paṭṭhāna

Sutta (p. 49).

In Burma, if an epidemic happens to break out in any village, the people

begin by painting the supposed figure of an evil spirit on a common

earthenware water-pot, and then solemnly smashing it to pieces at sunset

with a heavy stick[170]. Then as soon as it gets dark all the villagers

shout, yell, shriek, and make every kind of deafening din, with the hope

of frightening away the evil spirit who has caused the disease. This

process is continued for three nights, and if no good result follows the

monk-priests are called in from the monastery. They recite the ten

precepts, chant the Law up and down the road, and intone a particular

sermon of the Buddha, by the preaching of which he once drove away a

pestilence. These means are, of course, not effective unless abundant

alms and gifts are bestowed upon the monastery.

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:—

[Illustration: ]

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.

And the men of Tibet are quite as much slaves to this superstition as

the women. A friend of mine when staying at Dārjīling had some

conversation on serious subjects with an apparently sensible native, and

observed with surprise that all the while he was engaged in talking with

the Buddhist, the latter continued diligently whirling a prayer-cylinder

with great velocity. My friend, being unacquainted with Tibetan customs,

came away from his colloquy under the impression that Buddhists regard

Christians as dangerous lunatics possessed with evil spirits, which

require specially active measures in the way of exorcism. It did not

occur to him that the Buddhist was merely intent on redeeming every

instant of time for the purpose of storing up merit by prayer.

And the hold which this extraordinary superstition has upon the

population is still more forcibly impressed on the traveller who

penetrates into the regions beyond Dārjīling. He may there see immense

prayer-cylinders set up like mills, and kept in incessant revolution,

not by the will or hand of man, but by the blind, unconscious force of

wind and water.

It is even said that great mechanical ingenuity is displayed by the

monks in some parts of Tibet, their inventive powers being stimulated by

a burning desire to economize time and labour in the production of

prayer-merit by machinery.

An intricate arrangement of huge wheels and other wheels within wheels,

like the works of a clock, is connected with rows of cylinders and made

to revolve rapidly by means of heavy weights. An infinite number of

prayers are repeated in this manner by a single monk, who takes a minute

or two to wind up the complicated spiritual machinery, and then hastens

to help his brothers in industrial occupations—the whole fraternity

feeling that the ingenious contrivance of praying by clock-work enables

them to promote the common weal by making the most of both worlds. The

story goes that, in times of special need and emergency, additional

weights are attached to the machinery, and, of course, increased cogency

given to the rotatory prayers. It is to be hoped that when European

inventions find their way across the Himālayas, steam-power may not be

pressed into the service of these gross superstitions.

The use of prayer-wheels of various kinds is also common in Japan, as

described in Sir Edward Reed’s work.

But praying by machinery is not all. Beneficial results are believed to

accrue through the carving of the all-powerful six syllables on every

conceivable object.

The traveller, as he walks along, sees the mystic words impressed on the

stones at his feet, on rocks, doors, monuments, and trees. Indeed, rich

and zealous Buddhists maintain at their own expense, companies of Lāmas

for the sole object of propagating the Maṇi-padme formula. These strange

missionaries may occasionally be encountered, chisel and hammer in hand,

traversing field, hill, dale, and desert, their only mission being to

engrave the sacred six syllables on every rock in their path (Huc, ii.

194).

Absolutely incalculable is the grand total of Maṇi-padmes thus placed to

the credit of the world of living beings during the short space of

twenty-four hours. Yet, at the end of the New Year’s festival in Tibet,

the chief Lāma will sometimes pretend to proclaim the exact sum of

mystic syllables supposed to have been repeated during its continuance,

amounting perhaps to billions upon billions, for the consolation of all

those faithful Buddhists who, oppressed by the evils of life, are

seeking for some antidote.

But the ‘jewel-lotus’ is not the only antidote. There are other short

prayer-formularies, such as Om Vajra-pāṇi-Hūm (addressed to the

Bodhi-sattva Vajra-pāṇi, p. 201), and other still more mystical

ejaculations (such as Om ah Hūm); and magical sentences, called Dhāranī,

and profoundly significant monosyllables, such as Ram, Phaṭ, Hṛim, Hṛīm,

Ṛim, Ṛīm, Hṛīs.

And here in connexion with the ubiquity of prayer-formularies, we must

not omit to notice the _Praying-walls_, that is, the long stone walls or

banks called (from the ‘jewel-lotus’ prayer inscribed upon them)

_Maṇi_[178], or in the provincial dialect Man Dang (variously Man-dong,

Mendong).

These remarkable stone-structures, peculiar to Lāmism, are erected by

the side of high-roads, and in frequented thoroughfares, with the simple

object of aiding in the accumulation of prayer-merit. Some are only a

few feet long, six feet high, and from six to twelve feet broad; others

have been met with nearly 1000 yards long, with pyramidal Stūpas[179] or

Ćaityas (in Tibetan Ćhortens) at each end. Inserted in these walls are

slabs on which the six-syllabled, and other prayer-formulas, and

sometimes images of saints, are carved and dedicated as votive

offerings. Passing travellers acquire merit by keeping them on their

left side[180], so that they may follow the letters of the inscription

without necessarily repeating the words[181].

In the same connexion we may advert to _Praying-flags_ and

_Praying-staffs_. And I may mention that, while staying at Dārjīling, I

visited a village to which a monastery is attached, and, on approaching

the spot, was surprised to see the whole neighbourhood studded with

poles from which long flags were flying. On the tops of the poles were

curious ornaments like caps, made of coloured cloth with flounces. I

naturally supposed that I had arrived on a gala day, and that at least a

great Lāma or other high functionary was expected, perhaps to lay the

first stone of some new building connected with the monastery. On

inquiry, however, I ascertained that there was nothing unusual about the

appearance of the village, which was merely praying, according to

custom, by means of its flag-staffs. Every time the wind, which happened

to be blowing fresh, extended the long flags, a vast number of prayers

were credited to the inhabitants who were themselves all absent, and

probably hard at work either in the fields or at Dārjīling.

I managed to obtain facsimiles of some of the flags. On them are

inscribed various versions of the inevitable Maṇi-padme formulary,

together with figures of the ‘flying-horse’ (Lungta, strictly rLuṅ-rta,

‘wind-horse’)[182] and other symbols, such as those of the Norbu

gem[183] and of the Phurbu—which are held to be peculiarly efficacious

in warding off evil spirits or neutralizing the diseases inflicted by

them. Indeed in most cases these flags are regarded by the peasantry as

talismans or charms to protect the village from the malice of

mischievous ghosts and demons, believed to haunt the atmosphere and

swarm everywhere around.

Here are some of the mystic formularies inscribed on my flags. They

resemble Ṡaiva Mantras and Dhāraṇīs—that is, mystical words or sentences

used as spells:—

Om maṇi padme Hūm Hring, Om Vajra-pāṇi Hūm, Om ā Hūm, Om Vāg-īṡvarī Mūm,

Sarva-siddhi-phala Hūm, Om muni muni mahā-muni, Ṡākya-muni svāhā, Om

vajra-sattva Hūm, Hulu hulu, Rulu rulu, Hūm Phaṭ, etc. (Compare my

‘Brāhmanism,’ etc. p. 197).

One flag in my possession has representations of four animals at the

four corners, viz. a Tiger, Lion, Eagle, and Dragon[184]—supposed to act

as guards against evil spirits. It also has an inscription in Tibetan

which was translated for me by Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās, thus:—

‘Reverence be to the Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas! Thus hath it been

heard by me—once on a time when the adorable Ṡākya-Buddha was seated

on a marble throne amid the gods of the Trayastriṉṡa heaven, Indra,

the Prince of Gods, arrived there, after being completely defeated by

the demons (Asuras). Seeing the Buddha, and throwing himself at his

feet, he thus reverentially addressed him:—“Oh, my Lord, we the gods

of the Trayastriṉṡa (heaven) have suffered a complete defeat at the

hands of the demons; instruct us, what are we to do? how are we to

triumph over our enemies?” To this the adorable one replied:—“O lord

of gods, take this mystical formula called Gyatshar gyi tsemoi

Punggyan, which, when repeated, will make you unconquerable. I, too,

in my former existence of a Bodhi-sattva found it efficacious in

securing victory.”’

It is of course a work of great merit to erect prayer-flags. They form a

conspicuous feature in every landscape throughout Tibet, fluttering on

hills and in valleys, by the roadside, and on the river bank, on walls

and on the tops of houses, in streets, squares, and gardens.

Then, again, the duty of a constant repetition of prayer-formulæ and

mystical sentences has led Northern Buddhists to employ _Rosaries_,

which were used both by Hindūs and Buddhists long before they came into

vogue in Europe. Without these necessary aids to devotion the long

rounds of repetition could not be accurately completed. In Northern

Buddhist countries rosaries ought to consist of 108 beads, which in

Tibet are said to represent the 108[185] volumes of the Kanjur. The same

number of beads is used by the worshippers of Vishṇu, who use the rosary

to aid them in repeating any one of the names of Vishṇu 800 times, the

eight additional beads marking each century of repetitions.

The commonest Buddhist rosaries are made of wood, or pebbles, or

berries, or bone[186]; the more costly, of turquoise, coral, amber, or

silver, or even of pearls and gems. If a rosary made of the bones of

some holy Lāma can be procured, it is of course prized above all others.

Sometimes a Dorje is appended. Northern Buddhist worshippers hold their

rosaries (like Roman Catholics) in the right hand, and move on the beads

with the left, and they will do this while talking together or even

quarrelling. In China and Japan Buddhist rosaries are often arranged in

two rings. They sometimes consist of enormous beads with relics in the

central bead.

Be it observed, however, that the prayer-formularies of Buddhists are

not always a mere unintelligible string of words and syllables,

muttered, iterated, and reiterated with the aid of rosaries. Their

prayers sometimes contain lofty sentiments. For instance, the two

vagabond mendicant monks seen by me at Dārjīling (described at p. 267)

went about chanting the following:—

Reverence to all the noble Father-Lāmas! I address this to the feet of

Duang our patron saint. I, Milaraspa[187], sing it. If the soul be

white (enlightened), it must be white inside and outside. I am born in

consequence of the works of this world. My earthly father is a sower

of the seed of sin. My mother is the soil which receives the seed of

sin. The child is myself tied to the father by the cord of sin. When

you think of your earthly father, think also of your Lāma (spiritual

father). Your earthly father is the source of your sin. Your Lāma

frees you from sin[188].

But this song, which was repeated over and over again, invariably

concluded by a repetition of the inevitable six-syllabled formula. This

they repeated very rapidly, pronouncing it as usual, ‘Om maṇi-pamme

Hūm,’ and adding the mystical syllable Hṛīs. Their chanting was

accompanied by an incessant agitation of their ḍamaru or sacred drum,

which I was able to purchase. It is shaped like two hemispheres, joined

on their convex sides, and is encircled by sacred shells. It is sounded

by means of buttons attached to two pendulous strips of leather. The

sound made by these drums is out of all proportion to their size. It may

be heard at a great distance, and is thought to be highly efficacious in

frightening away evil spirits, who dislike loud noises of all kinds.

Here is an exact representation of the sacred drum now in my

possession:—

[Illustration: ]

Again, Dr. Eitel (Lectures, iii.) mentions a manual of daily prayer used

by Northern Buddhists, which shows that striking words are sometimes

chanted, though they may be in Sanskṛit, and therefore unintelligible to

those who repeat them. For instance, the following:—

‘May all the Buddhas abide in me, instruct and enlighten me with

knowledge and perfection, free me, deliver me, cleanse me, purify me;

and may the whole universe be set free (Sarva-tathāgatā māṃ samāvasantu

buddhyā siddhyā bodhaya vibodhaya moćaya vimoćaya ṡodhaya viṡodhaya

samantaṃ moćaya)!’

Before, therefore, concluding this Lecture we must acknowledge, in

fairness to the inhabitants of Tibet, that much of the spirit of

religion may be mingled with their superstitions. The words of their

prayers are not merely repeated by machinery, written on paper, and

inscribed on rocks and stones. The voices of men and women, if not their

thoughts, often go heartily with uttered prayers. The note of prayer is

raised at all times and seasons—in the morning, mid-day, and evening, in

private and in public, at home or abroad, in the midst of labour and

idleness, in lying down and rising up, in moving about and keeping

still, on the march and on the battle-field, on mournful occasions, and

in the midst of joy and laughter. Nor is any one ashamed of praying

aloud or praying together in the open streets and squares of crowded

towns.

‘There exists,’ says the French Missionary (ii. 194), ‘a very touching

custom at Lhāssa. In the evening, just as the day is verging on its

decline, all the Tibetans stop business and meet together, men, women,

and children, according to their sex and age, in the principal parts of

the town and in the public squares. As soon as groups are formed, every

one kneels down, and they begin slowly and in undertones to chant

prayers.

‘The religious concerts produced by these numerous assemblages create

throughout the town a solemn harmony, which operates forcibly on the

soul. The first time we witnessed this spectacle, we could not help

drawing a painful comparison between this pagan town, where all prayed

together, and the cities of Europe, where people would blush to make the

sign of the cross in public.’

LECTURE XIV.

_Sacred Places._

It was only to be expected, that Buddhism, closely connected as it was

with Brāhmanism and Hindūism, and yet in some respects opposed to those

systems, should have certain sacred places and hallowed regions, some of

which were identical with those of Brāhmanism and Hindūism, and some

peculiarly its own.

In the Mahā-parinibbāna-sutta (V. 16-22, Rhys Davids), we have the

following declaration:—

‘There are four places which the believing man should visit as a

pilgrim with feelings of reverence and awe. The place at which he can

say, “Here the Tathāgata (one of the names of Buddha, see p. 23) was

born.” The place at which he can say, “Here the Tathāgata attained to

perfect insight and enlightenment.” The place at which he can say,

“Here the Law was first preached by the Tathāgata.” The place at which

he can say, “Here the Tathāgata passed finally away in that utter

passing away which leaves nothing whatever behind” (see p. 142, note,

and p. 477).

‘And they who die, while with believing heart they journey on such

pilgrimages, shall be reborn, in the happy realms of heaven.’

The Chinese traveller, Fā-hien, names the same four sacred places (Chap.

xxxi.), and says that the situation of the four great Stūpas (see p.

504) has been fixed, namely, (1) where the Buddha was born, (2) where he

attained wisdom, (3) where he began to turn the wheel of his Law, (4)

where he attained Pari-nirvāṇa (p. 142). Compare engraving of sculpture

opposite p. 477.

Elsewhere Fā-hien mentions two other sacred spots—the place where the

Buddha discomfited the advocates of erroneous doctrines[189], and the

place where he descended after ascending to the Trayastriṉṡa heaven (see

p. 414 of this volume), to preach the Law to his mother (Legge’s

Fā-hien, 68).

These places are all situated within the area of the sacred land of

Buddhism (see map opposite p. 21);—that is to say, the land which was

the scene of the Buddha’s itineration for forty-five years—a region

about 300 miles long, by nearly 200 broad, lying in Gangetic India,

within the modern provinces of Oudh and Behār (Bihār for Vihāra), or the

ancient kingdoms of Kosala and Magadha, and having Ṡrāvastī and

Buddha-Gayā for its limit towards the north and south respectively.

It will be interesting to note a few particulars in regard to these and

other sacred spots scattered throughout this region, in the following

order:—Kapila-vastu, Buddha-Gayā, Sārnāth near Benares, Rāja-gṛiha,

Ṡrāvastī (often written Ṡrāvasti), Vaiṡālī, Kauṡāmbi, Nālanda, Saṅkāṡya,

Sākeṭa (Ajūdhyā), Kanyā-kubja (Kanauj), Pāṭali-putra (Patnā), Kesarīya,

Kuṡi-nagara. The map opposite p. 21 will make these clear.

To begin with the Buddha’s birth-place (see p. 21).

_Kapila-vastu._

Kapila-vastu (in Pāli, Kapila-vatthu) was long searched for by

archæologists in vain, but is now identified by General Sir A.

Cunningham and Mr. Carlleyle with Bhūila, a village surrounded by buried

brickwork in the Bastī district under the Nepāl mountains, about

twenty-five miles north-east from Faizābād, twelve north-west from

Bastī, and one hundred and twenty north of Benares. Both Fā-hien (Legge,

67) and Hiouen Thsang describe the neighbouring Lumbinī (Lavaṇī) garden,

where the Buddha was born from the right side of his mother (see p. 23,

and engraving opposite p. 477). They also mention the Arrow-fountain

where Gautama contended with others of his tribe in a shooting-match.

The legend is (p. 24) that he gained the victory by shooting an arrow

which passed through the target, buried itself in the ground, and caused

a clear spring of water to flow forth (Legge, 65-67; Beal, ii. 23, 24).

This name Ṡara-Kūpa, ‘arrow-fountain,’ has now been corrupted into

Sar-Kuia (or Sar-Kuhiya), and the spot has been identified (Cunningham’s

‘Reports of Survey,’ xii. 188).

It might have been expected that so sacred a place as Kapila-vastu—the

birth-place of Buddha and the scene of his education and youthful

exploits—would have been a favourite place of pilgrimage for Buddhists

through all time; but we learn from the two Chinese travellers, that

even in their day (from the fourth to the seventh century) the whole

neighbourhood was a desert and the town in ruins (Beal, i. 50; ii. 14).

The reason probably is that Hindūism gained the ascendancy over Buddhism

in certain localities, and that when this happened the Brāhmans took

pains to obliterate all traces of the rival creed. In later times

Muhammadan invasions contributed to the same result.

_Buddha-Gayā._

This was the place where the Buddha obtained perfect knowledge and

enlightenment after his sexennial course of fasting and meditation (see

p. 31 of this volume). It is situated six or seven miles from the town

of Gayā, and about sixty miles from Patnā and Bankipur. It is of all

Buddhist sacred places the most sacred, and abounds in profoundly

interesting memorials of early Buddhism.

Of course it was only to be expected that memorial structures intended

to mark important epochs in the life of the extinct Buddha, and

calculated to foster feelings of reverence in the minds of his

followers, should have been erected at this and various other holy spots

of ground consecrated by the presence and acts of Gautama on great

occasions. And of all such Buddhist monuments the ancient pyramidal

temple at Buddha-Gayā, which I visited in 1876 and 1884, is the most

striking and full of interest. Probably a monument of some kind was

erected there not very long after the Buddha’s death, and Hiouen Thsang

(see p. 399) mentions the temple built there by Aṡoka. The temple which

I saw on the occasion of my first visit was probably not built till the

middle of the second century, but was erected on the foundation of

Aṡoka’s temple, the ruins of which are traceable under the present

one[190]. The materials consist of bluish bricks, plastered with lime.

Hiouen Thsang states that in his time it had eleven stories and an

altitude of about 165 feet. It also had niches in each story, with a

golden statue of Buddha in each niche. The whole was crowned with the

representation of an Amalaka fruit (Emblic myrobalan) in gilt copper

(Cunningham’s Report, i. 5). The Burmese probably restored the temple

between 1035 and 1078 A.D. Though falling into decay in 1876, its

appearance struck me as exceedingly imposing,—even more so than that of

the grand pyramidal towers, built over the entrances to the great South

Indian temples[191]. The annexed engraving of this ancient monument as

it appeared in 1880, before its restoration, is from a photograph by Mr.

Beglar, taken on the spot, and enlarged by Mr. Austen.

[Illustration: ANCIENT BUDDHIST TEMPLE AT BUDDHA-GAYĀ, AS IT APPEARED IN

1880.]

Erected about the middle of the second century over the ruins of Aṡoka’s

temple, at the spot where Gautama attained Buddhahood.

The original object of its erection seems to have been simply and solely

to serve as a monument, and not as a Dāgaba or receptacle for relics.

Very soon, however, monuments of this kind were made to enshrine images,

and were used as temples and places of worship. On inquiry I found that

the ancient image or images of Buddha, which once occupied the shrine in

the ancient Buddha-Gayā temple, had been destroyed or carried off at

different times[192], and that another stone image, believed to have

been carved in the eighth century, had been recently substituted for it.

It is remarkable that during the process of restoring the so-called

‘diamond throne,’ on which the statues were placed, a mass of fragments

of coral, sapphire, cornelian, crystal, ruby, pearl, ivory, and gold,

but no diamond, was found compacted or cemented together in front of

it[193].

At the back of the raised terrace which surrounded the ancient temple

was a Pīpal or sacred fig-tree, fabled to be the very tree under which

Gautama sat during his course of profound meditation ending in

Buddhahood (see p. 31). Its vitality was on the wane, for its decaying

branches drooped over the parapet as if they sought, like those of a

neighbouring Banyan tree, to gain new life by rooting themselves in the

ground beneath. Some Buddhist pilgrims happened, at the moment of my

visit, to be worshipping at the temple, deputed by the King of Burma to

present offerings. I observed that they had brought packets of

gold-leaf, and had gilded the stone steps that surrounded the tree.

Having performed this act of homage, they sat near muttering their

prayer-formularies. No doubt they believed it to be the very Bodhi-tree

of Gautama’s time, the stem of which had been miraculously preserved,

though, had it been really so, the stem would have been about

twenty-three centuries old. Considering the well-known properties of the

Pīpal tree, it is possible that the worshippers were, after all, paying

honour to the descendant of the original tree, the fact, no doubt, being

that as each tree began to decay a new one was produced, by the dropping

of seeds into the old roots and the springing up of fresh scions.

Probably most of the sacred trees in the neighbourhood of Buddhist

temples throughout India, Ceylon, and Burma were originally raised from

seeds brought from the ancient Buddha-Gayā tree.

[Illustration: ANCIENT BUDDHIST TEMPLE AT BUDDHA-GAYĀ, AS RESTORED IN

1884.]

It is a received tradition that a shoot from this tree was taken by the

Missionary Mahendra, son of Aṡoka, in the third century B.C. to Ceylon,

and planted at Anurādha-pura, where its descendant still flourishes.

When I again visited Buddha-Gayā in 1884, I found that the old pyramidal

temple had been restored according (as is conjectured) to Hiouen

Thsang’s description of the Vihāra of his day.

It is said that the late Burmese government, not very long ago, spent

about thirty thousand rupees in building a wall round the temple and

making excavations with a view to its restoration. Then our government,

about 1881 or 1882, undertook the work, and I believe at least a lakh of

rupees has been spent in completing it. I give a representation of the

restored temple (as it appeared in 1884), from a photograph taken by Mr.

Beglar, and enlarged by Mr. Austen. Its present height is 176 feet, as

it has several tiers of the usual umbrella-like ornament, tapering to a

point at the summit[194].

The reconstruction of the temple led of course to the removal of the

sacred Bodhi-tree, but an effort was made to preserve the tree by

transplanting it to a neighbouring garden. No sooner was this done than

parties of pilgrims from Burma and Ceylon, in their pious desire to

maintain the vitality of the venerated tree, covered the stem with

gold-leaf, and, bringing Eau de Cologne and other scents, poured them

over the roots, at the same time manuring them with the contents of

boxes of sardines steeped in oil, choice biscuits, and other delicacies.

Of course, the result was the speedy destruction of the tree, root and

branch. To compensate for its loss, a new Pīpal tree was planted behind

the restored temple by Sir A. Cunningham in 1885. Another near the

temple appeared to be in a flourishing condition in 1884, and I observed

that both Hindū and Buddhist pilgrims met together there as worshippers

of the same sacred object.

The idol-shrine, under the principal tower of the restored temple,

consists of a small vaulted stone-chamber lighted only by the door. My

first act, on arriving at Gayā in 1884, was to descend to this

interesting spot. At the further end is the principal statue of Buddha,

seated, in the ‘witness-attitude’ (see p. 480)—on an altar-like throne

having five pilasters, and supposed to represent the original

Bodhi-maṇḍa. The pedestal of the statue is ornamented with

diamond-shaped carvings, and sculptures of two elephants and two

lions[195].

Inside the shrine, at the moment of my visit, were five Burmese pilgrims

from Mandelay. They were apparently monks, as all were habited in yellow

dresses. Each man bowed down before the image, with hands joined in

reverence, occasionally touching the ground with his forehead, and going

through a course of prayer-repetition by help of a rosary. After

worshipping for some time, they deposited a quantity of offerings, of a

somewhat miscellaneous description, in front of the image. I noticed

among other things, rice, fruit, vegetables, flowers of the Bel-tree,

tin boxes filled with sardines, Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits, bottles

of the genuine Maria Farina’s Eau de Cologne for watering the

sacred-trees, and a large number of packets of gold-leaf. I left the

shrine for two or three hours, and on returning found that the pilgrims

had crowned their act of worship by gilding the image with the contents

of these packets, reserving a supply for covering the other images in

the vicinity of the temple. The cost of the whole process must have been

considerable.

At the back of the great Buddha-Gayā temple, I found a stone tablet for

offerings, recently brought and fixed horizontally in the ground by

another pilgrim who was from Colombo in Ceylon. It bore an inscription

indicating that the slab had been placed there as a votive offering by a

person calling himself Guṇa-ratna Muddali Rājā of Kolamba-pur. The date

carved on it (Buddha-vasse 2427) shows that the Buddhists of Ceylon are

no believers in the researches of modern scholars. They still reckon

from B.C. 543 for the supposed Nirvāṇa of Buddha.

At a little distance in front of the great Temple, but on the right

side, are the two smaller temples called Tārā-devī and Vāgīṡvarī. In the

latter is a circular stone with nine circles of complicated ornaments.

This is called a Vajrāsana, from the thunderbolt ornament in the second

circle, but it is not the true Bodhi-maṇḍa.

I may mention here that a portion of the original Aṡoka stone-railing,

with an inscription, lotus-ornaments and carvings, was discovered in a

fair state of preservation by Sir A. Cunningham, and is now to be seen

_in situ_. The Buddha’s walking place was unearthed by Mr. Beglar. The

massive new brick railing which now encloses the temple has been well

constructed after an ancient pattern, and ornamented with numerous

carvings representing scenes in the lives of the Buddha (p. 111). The

paved quadrangle sets the whole off to great advantage. Indeed, the

present appearance of the square and the sacred area of ground

adjoining—strewn with ruins of the Stūpas erected by Aṡoka and

others—and according to the legend by the gods Indra and Brahmā—is one

of the most striking sights in all India, and must be seen to be

appreciated.

In truth, Buddha-Gayā is a kind of Buddhist Jerusalem, abounding in

associations of thrilling interest, not only to the followers of Buddha,

but to all who see in that spot the central focus whence radiated a

system which for centuries has permeated the religious thought of the

most populous regions of Eastern Asia, and influenced the creed of a

majority of the human race.

Another remarkable characteristic of this spot is that it was converted

into a kind of Buddhist Necropolis, teeming with the remains of

generations of the Buddha’s adherents contained in relic-receptacles

called Stūpas (pp. 503-506), some of which have been brought to light,

while countless others still remain to be unearthed.

The fact was that immense numbers of pilgrims from all parts of India

and the outlying countries once thronged in crowds to Buddha-Gayā, and

nearly every pilgrim brought with him a Stūpa or relic-shrine of some

kind, according to his means, and deposited it as a votive offering in

this hallowed region, either with the object of acquiring religious

merit for himself, or of promoting the welfare of the deceased in other

states of being. Often it was inscribed with the usual Buddhist formula,

Ye Dharmā, etc. (see p. 104), and sometimes bore a date and the name of

the reigning king. Generally the votive Stūpa contained the relics of

deceased relatives—perhaps the ashes of a father or mother, or pieces of

bone, or a small fragment of a single bone placed in an earthen vessel

or casket of some other material, and buried in the interior of the

Stūpa.

Relics, however, were not always forthcoming, and so the votive Stūpas

were frequently mere cenotaphs or models in clay or stone of actual

Stūpas erected in other places. Often they were beautifully carved and

ornamented with rows on rows of images of the Buddha. I obtained some

beautiful specimens for the Indian Institute at Oxford, a drawing of one

of which will be given (see p. 505). Layers on layers of these have been

exhumed during the process of the excavations. They are of every variety

of size, from three inches to several feet high, and of every variety of

material, from terra cotta and clay turned on a potter’s wheel to

elaborately sculptured brick and stone. All the upper layers are now

gone (those made of clay and pottery having naturally crumbled to

pieces), but the lowest are still _in situ_, and furnish specimens of

all ages from the second century to the tenth or twelfth. I noticed

hundreds lying about on the ground in 1884.

A sacred tank, mentioned by Hiouen Thsang, is situated three or four

hundred yards to the left of the Buddha-Gayā temple. I found, on

visiting it, that this hallowed pool is quite as much venerated by

Hindūs as by pilgrims from Buddhist countries.

Indeed, I was much struck by the evidence which Buddha-Gayā affords of

the inter-relationship between Buddhism and Hindūism—especially that

form of the latter called Vaishṇavism. For instance, on one side of the

temple I noticed the tombs of the Mahants, or Heads of the neighbouring

Hindu monastery, who are buried there in a sitting posture. Near these

again are shrines of the five Pāṇḍava heroes (who take the place of the

five Buddhas), and a shrine containing the supposed impression of the

two feet of Vishṇu. The upper portion of a small Buddhist Stūpa has been

sawn off and inverted[196], and Vishṇu’s footsteps carved on the smooth

surface. This certainly symbolizes in a remarkable manner the merging of

Buddhism in Vaishṇavism, and bears out Dr. Sachau’s assertion that in

Alberūnī’s time Vishṇu-worship was dominant in India.

Then, again, on the right of the entrance to the principal temple is a

raised platform of earth, on which are images of Vishṇu, Ṡiva, Pārvatī,

and Gaṇeṡa. Here I saw a Ṡrāddha ceremony[197], in the act of being

performed by some Hindūs—just arrived from the neighbouring town of

Gayā. They were repeating their mantras, offering their Piṇḍas, and

putting the finishing stroke to the funeral services (previously

performed by them at the Vishṇu-pad temple at Gayā), under the shadow of

a Pīpal tree, held as sacred by them as by Buddhists.

To give an exhaustive account of the objects crowded together at this

fountain-head of Buddhism would be impossible. The following abbreviated

version of the Rev. S. Beal’s translation (ii. 115) of Hiouen Thsang’s

description, throws great light on the state of Buddhism in the seventh

century:—

Going south-west from Mount Prāgbodhi, we came to the Bodhi-tree. It

is surrounded by a brick wall, and is about 500 paces round. Within

the wall the sacred traces touch one another in all directions. In one

place there are Stūpas, in another place Vihāras. In the middle of the

enclosure is the Bodhi-tree, under which is the diamond throne called

Bodhi-maṇḍa. On this the Buddha sat and attained the holy path of

perfect wisdom. When the earth is shaken, this spot alone is unmoved.

In old days, when Buddha was alive, the Bodhi-tree—which is a Pippala

or sacred fig-tree—was several hundred feet high. Although it has

often been injured by cutting, it is still forty or fifty feet high.

The leaves never wither either in winter or summer, but always remain

shining and glistening, except on every successive Nirvāṇa-day, when

the leaves fade, and then in a moment revive as before. On this day

thousands and ten thousands assemble from different quarters, and

bathe the roots with scented water and perfumed milk. King Aṡoka,

before he was converted, tried to destroy the tree by force, and after

him king Saṡāṅka tried again, but the roots sprang up as full of life

as ever.

To the east of the Bodhi-tree, there is a Vihāra about 160 or 170 feet

high, built of blue tiles covered with chunam; all the niches in the

different stories holding golden figures. The four sides of the

building are covered with ornamental work. The whole is surmounted by

a gilded copper Amalaka fruit. To the right and left of the gate are

niches; in the left is a figure of Avalokiteṡvara Bodhi-sattva and in

the right a figure of Maitreya. On the site of the present Vihāra,

Aṡoka at first built a small Vihāra. Afterwards a Brāhman, who became

a convert to Buddhism, reconstructed it on a larger scale.

To the north of the Bodhi-tree is the place where Buddha walked up and

down, about 70 paces or so long. When he had obtained enlightenment,

he remained perfectly quiet for seven days. Then rising, he walked up

and down during seven days to the north of the tree. Not far to the

south of the tree is a Stūpa about 100 feet high, built by King Aṡoka.

To the east of the tree is the place (marked by two Stūpas) where Māra

tempted Gautama to become a Universal Monarch. To the north-west is a

Vihāra in which is an image of Kāṡyapa Buddha, noted for its

miraculous qualities. Occasionally it emits a glorious light, and the

old records say, that if a man, actuated by sincere faith, walks round

it seven times, he obtains the power of knowing the place and

condition of his previous births. Outside the south gate is a large

tank, about 700 paces round, the water of which is clear and pure as a

mirror. To the east of this is the lake of the Snake-king, Mućalinda.

On the west bank is a small Vihāra. Formerly, when Tathāgata acquired

complete enlightenment, he sat here for seven days in perfect

composure, and ecstatic contemplation, while Mućalinda protected him

with his folds wound seven times round his body. (Compare the

frontispiece.)

By the side of the river, not far off, is the place where Buddha

received the rice-milk, and where two merchants offered some

wheat-flour and honey from their travelling-store (p. 40 of this

volume).

Near this a Stūpa marks the spot where the four Kings presented Buddha

with four golden dishes. The Lord declined such costly offerings. Then

the four Kings, casting away the golden vessels, offered silver ones;

and afterwards vessels of crystal, lapis-lazuli, cornelian, amber,

ruby, and so on in succession; but the Lord of the World would accept

none of them. Lastly, the four Kings offered stone vessels.

Near this spot the Buddha worked various wonders to convert those who

were capable of conversion. For example, it was here that the Buddha

overcame the fiery snake-demon (see p. 46 of this volume). In the

middle of the night the Nāga vomited forth fire and smoke, and the

chamber seemed to be filled with fiery flames; but the Buddha having

forced the fiery dragon into his alms-bowl, came forth next day

holding it in his hand, and showed it to the unbelievers.

To the south of Mućalinda’s tank is a Stūpa, which indicates the spot

where Kāṡyapa, having embarked in a boat to save Buddha during an

inundation, saw the Lord of the World walking on the water as on land.

_Sārnāth near Benares._

The city of Benares (Banāras, properly Vārāṇasī) is the most sacred

place of Brāhmanism[198], and is certainly the second most holy place of

Buddhism. For it was from this centre that the stream of Buddhist

teaching first flowed, and in the days of Aṡoka and of his immediate

successors, Buddhism must have vied with Brāhmanism in the number of its

shrines and sacred objects collected there.

We have already seen that memorial Stūpas and temples, not intended to

contain relics, were reared at various holy spots of ground, consecrated

by the presence of Gautama on special occasions. The immense ruined

Stūpa—once a tower-like monument—at a spot now called Sārnāth

(Sāraṅga-nāth[199]), three or four miles from the modern city of

Benares, is a memorial of this kind. It is all that remains of the

celebrated structure erected at the spot in the Mṛiga-dāva or deer-park,

once called Isi-patana (for Sanskṛit Ṛishi-patana), where Gautama first

turned the wheel of the Law (Dharma-ćakra)—that is, where he preached

his first sermon (p. 42). It was to this place that Buddhist pilgrims

once flocked, and here vast numbers of votive relic-shrines and Stūpas

were deposited, as at Buddha-Gayā.

I visited this ancient ruin, in company with the late Mr. Sherring, in

1876, and enjoyed the advantage of his guidance in inspecting it, as

well as all that remains of the monastic buildings and other adjacent

ruins, including the octagonal tower called Chaukandi, about half a mile

distant. In his book on Benares, Mr. Sherring has followed General Sir

A. Cunningham, who describes the principal monument—now of a bee-hive

shape, and called Dhamek[200]—as 93 feet in diameter at the base, 292

feet in circumference, and 128 feet above the general level of the soil.

The lower part—to a height of 43 feet—is built of stone, and all the

upper part of bricks. There are eight projecting faces with empty

niches, which once held statues.

An old man who was in charge of the ruins when we examined them, lighted

a candle, and took us into the horizontal tunnel-like gallery which the

General had excavated some years before, in the hope that relics or

memorials of some kind might be found buried in the interior. A shaft or

well had been previously sunk from the summit, and at the depth of 10½

feet a slab was discovered, inscribed with the well-known Buddhist

formula ‘Ye dharmā,’ etc. (p. 104); but the search for relics proved

unsuccessful. The Stūpa, in fact, turned out to be merely memorial, like

that at Buddha-Gayā.

Probably some monumental Stūpa existed here from the earliest times, and

certainly from Aṡoka’s time. The present Stūpa was seen by Hiouen

Thsang, who has described it in rather a confused manner (Beal, ii. 45).

Hence it must be as old as about the ninth century. Fā-hien saw a Stūpa

of some kind there in the fifth century (p. 387).

About fifty yards from the Stūpa, Sir A. Cunningham found the

interesting sculpture given at p. 477.

_Rāja-gṛiha._

Rāja-gṛiha (Pāli, Rāja-gaha) is the modern Rāj-gīr. The old city had the

epithet Giri-vraja, ‘surrounded by hills[201].’ It was the first

metropolis or mother-city of Buddhism, and the original capital of the

powerful kingdom of Magadha, when under the rule of the Kings Bimbi-sāra

(p. 48) and his son Ajāta-ṡatru, who were contemporaries and friends of

Gautama, and converted by him to Buddhism[202]. The sacred character of

the place is attested by the ruins of vast numbers of Buddhist Stūpas

and Vihāras which once existed here. Unhappily Brāhmans and Musalmāns

have used the materials for their temples, tombs, and mosques.

It was here that Gautama first studied under the Brāhmans Āḷāra and

Uddaka (p. 29), and here he first imbibed the philosophical ideas which

afterwards coloured his teaching. It is not surprising, therefore, that

at a later period of his career he was fond of returning to Rāja-gṛiha

for retirement during Vassa; his two favourite resorts[203] being the

Bambu grove (Veḷu-vana, p. 48) and the hill called Vulture-peak

(Gṛidhra-kūṭa, Legge’s Fā-hien, 81, 83), both in the neighbourhood of

the city.

It was here, too, that several interesting incidents in the life of

Buddha occurred. For example, it was here in a cavern that the Buddha

often meditated. It was here that he often preached and taught; and it

was here, or in the neighbourhood of the city, that the god Ṡakra

(Indra) once appeared to Buddha, bringing a musician from heaven to

entertain him, and afterwards testing his knowledge by forty-two

questions. These the god traced with his finger on the rock, and the

impression of them, according to Fā-hien, was to be seen there in his

time, and a monastery was built on the spot. With reference to this

legend we may note that the answers to the forty-two questions are

supposed to be contained in a celebrated Tibetan work called the

‘Forty-two points on which the Buddha gave instruction[204]’, the

importance of which is proved by its being translated into several

languages.

It was in this neighbourhood, too, that Buddha’s two chief

disciples—Ṡāriputra and Maudgalyāyana (Pāli, Moggallāna, p. 47)—had

their noted meeting with Aṡvajit (Pāli, Assaji), already mentioned (p.

104). Here, also, a Jaina ascetic made a pit of fire and poisoned the

rice, and then invited Buddha to eat. Lastly, it was here that many of

Deva-datta’s plots against the Buddha’s life (see p. 52) were carried

on. The story of these is so interesting that I abridge it from the

Sacred Books of the East (vol. xx. p. 238):—

Now at that time the Venerable One was seated preaching the Law and

surrounded by a great multitude, including the king and his retinue.

And Deva-datta rose from his seat, and said, ‘The Venerable One is now

aged, he has accomplished a long journey, and his term of life is

nearly run. Let the Venerable One now dwell at ease and give up the

Saṅgha to me, I will be its leader.’ Then said the Buddha, ‘I would

not give over the Saṅgha, even to Sāriputta and Moggallāna; how much

less then to so evil-living a person as you.’

Then Deva-datta thought: ‘The Venerable One denies me before the king,

and calls me “evil-living,” and exalts Sāriputta and Moggallāna.’ With

these thoughts in his mind he departed, angry and displeased, and went

to Ajāta-sattu and said, ‘Do you, prince, kill your father, and become

Rājā; and I will kill the Venerable One and become the Buddha.’ And

prince Ajāta-sattu, taking a dagger, entered his royal father’s

chamber. And the Rājā Bimbi-sāra said, ‘Why do you want to kill me, O

prince? if you want the kingdom, let it be thine.’ And he handed it

over to Ajāta-sattu. Then Deva-datta said, ‘Give orders, O king, to

your men, that I may deprive the Samana Gotama of life.’ And

Ajāta-sattu did so. Then sixteen men were sent to kill Gotama. They

went, and returned and said, ‘We cannot kill him. Great is the power

of the Venerable One.’

Next Deva-datta climbed up the Vulture’s Peak, and hurled down a

mighty rock on the Venerable One. But two mountain peaks came together

and stopped that rock. [Fā-hien says that it hurt one of his toes.

Legge, p. 83.] Now at that time there was at Rāja-gṛiha an elephant

named Nālāgiri, fierce and a man-slayer. And Deva-datta caused the

elephant to be let loose against Gotama. But the Venerable One infused

a sense of love into the elephant. And the elephant extended his trunk

and took up the dust from off the feet of the Venerable One and

sprinkled it over his own head, and retired bowing backwards, gazing

upon the Venerable One.

It may be noted here that the hell to which Deva-datta was condemned for

his attempts upon the Buddha’s life, is thus described by Burmese

authorities:—

The impious Deva-datta, a cousin and brother-in-law of the Buddha,

suffers terrible punishment in Hell. His feet are sunk ankle-deep in

burning marl. His head is incased with a red hot metal cap down to the

lobe of the ears. Two large red-hot bars transfix him from back to

front, two horizontally from right to left, and one impales him from

head to foot. (Shway Yoe’s ‘Burman,’ i. 121.)

It should be mentioned in connexion with Rāja-gṛiha that Ajāta-ṡatru

built a grand Stūpa there, over a portion of the Buddha’s ashes, soon

after his cremation.

Another fact which enhances the interest of this place is the

propinquity of the celebrated Satta-paṇṇi cave (p. 55), where the

Buddhist brotherhood first assembled after their leader’s death.

_Ṡrāvastī._

Ṡrāvastī (Pāli, Sāvatthī), sometimes spelt Ṡrāvasti, has been identified

by General Cunningham with a place now called Sāhet-Māhet, about

fifty-eight miles north of Ajūdhyā in Oudh. The town is said to derive

its name from the fact that it was built by a certain King Ṡrāvasta.

Other native authorities derive it from a Ṛishi named Sāvattha, who is

said to have resided there. It was certainly the ancient capital of

Kosala (Oudh), and was ruled over by King Prasena-jit (Pāli, Pasenadi),

who was Gautama’s contemporary. Moreover, it was the Buddha’s favourite

place of retreat[205] during the rainy seasons (p. 48 of this volume),

about half of his Vassas having been spent there[206] in the Jeta-vana

monastery built for him by the wealthy merchant Anātha-piṇḍika

(Anepidu), sometimes called Su-datta.

Doubtless on this account Ṡrāvastī was once much resorted to by the

Buddha’s followers, and ultimately became an important seat of Buddhist

learning.

The celebrated monastery, the ruins of which still exist, was erected in

the garden (vana) of Prince Jeta, who parted with the land to Su-datta

on condition that he would cover it with gold coins. This was done, till

eighteen krores of coins had been spread out like a pavement on the

ground. Both Fā-hien and Hiouen Thsang mention this incident, and the

former states that the monastery was seven stories high[207]. The

pavement of coins is represented in one of the sculptures belonging to

the Stūpa of Bharhut (Cunningham, pp. 84-87), as well as on one of the

pillars of Aṡoka’s railing at Buddha-Gayā.

Ṡrāvastī was the place where, according to Fā-hien, the first

sandal-wood image of Buddha was set up in a monastery by King

Prasena-jit (see p. 471)[208]. A colossal erect figure of the Buddha was

found here in a temple excavated by Sir A. Cunningham, but this was of

stone.

With regard to the celebrated sandal-wood image, Fā-hien (p. 57) relates

a strange legend of its preservation by a miracle:—

‘The kings and people of the countries around vied with one another in

their offerings (to the image). Hanging up about it silken canopies,

scattering flowers, burning incense, and lighting lamps. It happened

that a rat, carrying in its mouth the wick of a lamp, set one of the

canopies on fire, which caught the Vihāra, and the seven stories were

all consumed. The kings and people were all very sad, supposing that

the sandal-wood image had been burned; but lo! when a small Vihāra to

the east was opened, there was seen the original image!’