ANURADHAPURA
Factory of cement pipes—Tiripane—Galkulum—Ruanweli Dagoba—The
Abayagiria—Thuparama Dagoba—Jetawanarama Dagoba—Temple of the Tooth—
Tomb and relic dagobas—Square and circle building material—Peacock
Palace—Brazen Palace—Successive capitals—The Sacred Ark—Stone bulls—
Pilgrims’ tents—The sacred Bo-tree.
Continuing our drive through the jungle (occasionally passing through
fine forest, and sometimes crossing a bit of open plain with
rice-fields), we came to Maradankadawalla, where we spent the night, and
where, in addition to the usual deafening tom-toming and shrieking of
shrill pipes, we were favoured with an exhibition of most repulsive
barbaric dancing. Here, and also at Ellagamua, we were told that the
tom-toming is considered equal to the best French drumming—in which case
I can only say, may I never be compelled to hear either!
In 1890 a valuable industry was started at Maradankadawalla—namely, the
manufacture of cement concrete pipes for road culverts and for sluices,
similar to those now made in the modern city of Anuradhapura, the cost
of transport being saved by establishing these factories as near as
possible to new centres of work. It is encouraging to those who have so
energetically promoted the work of restoration, to learn that in this
district the villagers have of their own accord commenced the
restoration of sixty abandoned Government tanks, each of which will
become the centre of a new village and careful cultivation.
On the following morning we drove early to the Tiripane Tank, which is
like a pretty natural lake, surrounded by grassy land and forest, and
then on to Galkulum, altogether eleven miles. There we found graceful
arches, and a most picturesque camp of temporary huts in the jungle, the
breakfast house being quite a fine room. All the handsome white-humped
oxen grazing near their respective large thatched waggons, and the
groups of servants and drivers cooking under the shady trees, combined
to make a most interesting scene.
In the afternoon (leaving the main road, which runs due north and south
from one end of the isle to the other) we rode the remaining ten miles
by a bridle-path, through fine jungle till we reached the far-famed
pre-Christian city—the wonderful Anuradhapura.
The Government Agent’s pleasant house had been prepared for the
reception of the Governor’s party, and its approach embellished by
sundry fine _pandals_ of jungle treasures, and a great display of
coloured calico. Here we found ourselves in the very heart of the ruins
of the once mighty capital—ruins totally unlike anything which I have
seen in other countries. For my own part, the feeling they inspire is
not so much admiration as wonder and bewilderment, as one wanders in
every direction, walking or riding, only to come to more, and more, and
more ruins,—ruins wrought by war and by ruthless treasure-seekers, but
far more extensively and effectually by the silent growth of vegetation,
which, fastening into every neglected crevice, has overthrown massive
masonry, which, but for these insidious parasites, might have defied
time.
Two characteristics are specially striking: the incalculable multitude
of tall monoliths—not rude stone monuments, but accurately hewn pillars
of stone or granite, which in some cases must evidently have supported
roofs, or some form of building; while a great number, capped with a
beautifully sculptured crown, form the ornamental surroundings of the
cyclopean dagobas or relic-shrines, which are the most prominent
features of the whole place. These are gigantic masses of solid
brickwork, built in the form of a half-egg or a bell, and crowned with a
sort of spire called a _tee_, which symbolises the honorific umbrella.
These huge piles are estimated to contain millions of cubic feet, and
somewhere near the summit of each a secret chamber was constructed,
wherein was deposited some worshipful fragment of Buddha himself, or of
one of his saints, surrounded by costly offerings.
The means of access to this chamber was known only to the priests, but
it is recorded in the book of the chronicles of Ceylon, the Maha-wanso,
that when, about B.C. 161, King Dutugemunu had built the Ruanweli
dagoba, he ascended to the summit by means of a temporary winding
staircase, and thence descended into the sacred chamber, wherein he
deposited the precious casket containing the relic, whatever it was, and
various other treasures.
This Ruanweli or ‘Golden Dust’ dagoba is close to the house in which we
lived, so it afforded the first and ever-present impression—a huge
conical mass of crumbling red brickwork, partly veiled by quite large
trees, which have grown up from seeds dropped into crevices all over the
building, and have somehow contrived to obtain not only a footing but a
living in that seemingly unnourishing soil. It is believed to have been
originally 270 feet high, but is now only 189, and is crowned by an
ornamental sort of spire, which I suppose must have been added at some
time of restoration.
[Illustration:
THE RUANWELI DAGOBA, ANURADHAPURA, B.C. 300.
(To contain right collar-bone of Buddha. To the right is the
Government Agent’s House.)
]
It stands in the centre of a granite pavement, forming a square
platform, which measures 500 feet in every direction. It is raised on a
second platform, likewise square, and round the upper square you can
still trace the broken fragments of what was once a whole regiment of
elephants, which, like the huge shrine itself, were all coated with the
smoothest cream-coloured chunam, like polished marble. The old
chronicles say that each of these elephants was originally provided with
real ivory tusks: if this were so, tusked elephants must have been more
abundant in Ceylon in those days than in the present century! There are
also several large stone statues of ancient kings and saints, and a
small temple, surrounded by a frieze of grotesque figures in high
relief.
King Dutugemunu had previously built the Miris-wetiya dagoba, to
commemorate his victory over Prince Elāla, and as he pitied his people,
burdened as they had been by long wars, he refused to avail himself of
his right to employ their forced labour. So he paid all his workers at a
very liberal rate, and perhaps for that reason his building did not
progress quite so fast as it might otherwise have done. Besides, he had
many great works on hand, one of which was the erection of the Great
Brazen Palace for the priests.
At all events, he did not live to complete his ‘Golden-Dust’
relic-shrine, so his devoted brother, Saidai-tissa, had a framework of
wood made on the summit, and covered it with white cloth, that his dying
eyes might behold it as it would appear when finished. The king was
carried round the great building, and then laid down upon a carpet, that
he might die gazing on this work which the priests told him was so
meritorious. But in the hour of death the great king could find no
comfort in any of the good deeds extolled by the priests, but only in
recalling some acts of unselfish kindness known only to himself. A large
slab of granite, surrounded by small pillars, marks the spot where the
king lay in those last hours. A ruinous mound at a considerable distance
is pointed out as his tomb.
It is said that in his last hours the king spoke somewhat bitterly of
the state of absolute slavery to the priests in which he had lived all
his life, an instance thereof commonly quoted being the erection of the
Miris-wetiya dagoba, of which it is averred that he built it as a
penance for having on one occasion so far forgotten his rule of giving
the priests a share of everything, that he had eaten his curry, with the
usual accompaniments of chillies and sambal (Miris-wetiya), without
setting aside a portion for the priests! However, as I have just
mentioned, a more plausible origin is assigned for the erection of this
monument.
A Siamese prince has recently provided funds for the restoration of this
dagoba (whether in memory of the king’s atonement anent the curry-stuff,
or of his victory over the Malabar invaders, I cannot say). It is said
that the sculptures and tracery on the three chapels connected with this
dagoba, now exposed to view for the first time in the present century,
are the most delicate and artistic that have as yet been disinterred.
But the addition of some handsome brick arches, far up the sides, are
criticised as being an incongruous though effectual method of arresting
the process of disintegration.
The native chronicles give minute details of the building of the
Ruanweli dagoba, and of the enormous labour expended on preparing a
foundation capable of sustaining so ponderous a weight. It was dug to
the depth of a hundred cubits, and filled with round stones, which were
trampled by the largest elephants, their feet being protected by leather
boots. These stones were embedded in clay, and over them was poured a
layer of cement, then of sandstone, and over all were laid great plates
of iron and of brass.
After the king’s death, his brother, who succeeded to the throne,
surmounted the great edifice with a spire of glass as a protection
against lightning. The great damage was done about the year A.D. 1214 by
Maagha, a ruthless treasure-seeker, who, in his determination to reach
the relic-chamber, tore down all the upper part of the structure, which
accounts for its present reduced height.
I found a capital point whence to sketch this huge red ruin, veiled with
green and grey foliage, with a wonderful foreground of a multitude of
handsome stone pillars with elaborately sculptured square capitals—some
upright, some leaning, others fallen and half overgrown with trailing
vines—and overshadowed by fine trees with quaintly twisted stems.
In the distance, to the left of the Ruanweli dagoba, towered another—the
Abayagiria dagoba, or Fortress of Safety, originally the greatest of all
these monstrous piles, its full height having been about 405 feet
(_i.e._, fifty feet higher than St. Paul’s) and its circumference 1,130
feet! Its height is now considerably reduced, but the square platform on
which it stands still covers an area of eight acres! And around it are
the ruins of various chapels and other buildings connected with a great
college of priests; and among the ruins are many finely sculptured
stones, a gigantic seven-headed cobra, and sundry flowers and figures.
All this was the work of King Walagambahu, who thus (B.C. 89)
commemorated the expulsion of the Malabar invaders and his own recovery
of the throne.
[Illustration:
THE THUPARAMA DAGOBA, ANURADHAPURA, B.C. 300.
(To the left lies the Delada Maligawa, where the Sacred Tooth rested
on its arrival from India, A.D. 400.)
]
A few years ago the Government explorers tunnelled right into the heart
of this huge ‘Fortress of Safety,’ through 200 feet of solid brickwork,
because of a tradition that therein were buried very ancient books
inscribed on metal plates. But on reaching the jealously guarded secret
chamber, nothing whatever was found save a few beads, of no value beyond
that due to their antiquity. The prisoners who were employed on this
work of excavation, and on the restoration of the summit tower, have
left rude steps along the side of the brickwork by which it is now
possible to ascend to a height of 231 feet above the platform—_i.e._,
549 feet above sea-level—which, amid such very level surroundings,
secures a wide-spread view in every direction over the wide expanse of
park, land, and forest, dotted with the huge monuments of olden days,
glimpses of stone pillars, and of glistening lakes and tanks, and
bounded on the one side by the blue Ritigala and Matele hills, and on
the other by Mihintale, the sacred mountain, so rich in ruins and in
legends.
I found another fascinating spot for a very comprehensive sketch—seated
beneath an overhanging tree whose roots were all entwined with a flight
of beautifully sculptured steps, quaint animals, and other carved
stones, which, with a couple of dark miniature dagobas to the left,
formed an effective foreground for the really beautiful Thuparama
dagoba, which stands on a raised mound approached by a fine flight of
steps, and surrounded by 128 most elegant slim white columns with
beautifully sculptured capitals. They are in three circles, the
fifty-two nearest the dagoba being twenty feet high: all of these are
monoliths. The great building itself was cleared of jungle, restored and
recoated with chunam about sixty years ago. It is crowned by a gigantic
_tee_ or spire, apparently representing seven honorific umbrellas, piled
in the manner still realistically done in Burmah; and the eye is carried
still higher by a group of tall palmyra palms, while a great temple-tree
loaded with creamy fragrant blossom stands in relief against a
background of dark foliage.
Then to the left, on lower ground, another stairway, with more quaint
sculptured beasts and figures, leads up to a group of monoliths (two of
which still support a third like a capstone). Here stand a group of
pillars with most curiously sculptured capitals, quite unlike any others
in the neighbourhood. They are described as ‘cuneiform mouldings,’ but
some prosaic person has compared them to a gigantic double tooth with
fangs!—that image being suggested by the fact that this is indeed the
original Dalada Maligawa, or Palace of the Tooth, having been the first
of the many resting-places of the famous Tooth of Buddha, of which, as
also of the many palaces erected for it in the course of its wanderings
in Ceylon, I have already spoken, so need only add that this building,
where it was welcomed in the first instance, was erected by King Kirti
Sri Megaha-warna in A.D. 311.
Fa-Hian, the Chinese traveller who visited Ceylon about A.D. 413, gives
a wonderful account of the gorgeous ceremonials in honour of the Sacred
Tooth—showing how, after great festivities, it was carried in procession
to its summer home in the mountains, along a road so thickly strewn with
flowers that the whole air was perfumed. Then strange miracle-plays were
enacted, representing the chief events of Buddha’s life, with
appropriate scenery and costumes, and introducing figures of elephants
and stags so delicately coloured as to be scarcely discernible from
life.
Strange, is it not, to find these curious religious plays in favour
wellnigh two thousand years ago!
As I have frequently referred to my selection of scenes for
‘Comprehensive Sketches,’ I may mention that in all my travels, from the
Himalayas to the remotest corners of the South Seas, I have always
carried, in addition to a considerable variety of smaller
sketching-blocks, one large sheet of galvanised zinc, turned over at the
edges to give additional strength, and measuring 31 by 23 inches. On
this (no matter how tired at night, in tent or in rest-house, where very
often my large sheet of American waterproof, laid on the floor, formed
my only sponging-table) I stretched a fresh sheet of drawing-paper as
soon as it was possible to remove the last sketch, which was then laid
with its predecessors in a flat tin box, proof against rain, white ants,
and other foes.
The large zinc block was pinned up in white cloth, and strapped up in
the aforesaid waterproof, which was the carpet on which I sat while
sketching. I found that, from not being cramped for space, I could work
much more rapidly, and produce a far more comprehensive and realistic
picture, than by smaller studies of separate portions. In every case I
always devoted several hours to most careful pencil-drawing, in order to
secure accuracy of detail, before indulging in the joy of colour.
I think I have alluded elsewhere to the impossibility of preserving
drawing-paper for water-colour painting in the damp tropics. The rapid
development of mildew is so inevitable, that the artist has no
alternative but just to make the best of it, and by long experience I
found that the only thing to do was, just before beginning to colour, to
wash over the whole paper with pure water. Then when great stars of
mildew revealed themselves, I fed each hungry fungus with a good
brushful of white paint. In colouring it is necessary to avoid these
patches as much as possible, or work over them finely with a very dry
brush. By observing these precautions I have produced many effective
pictures on paper, which at first sight seemed absolutely hopeless, but
on which now no one would suspect the presence of the once rampant
mildew. At the same time, my rash attempt to ‘improve’ a sketch done in
the tropics, by a wash of colour or even of water, will inevitably
reveal countless troublesome stars and patches, previously invisible.
To return to the Thuparama dagoba, which is the oldest and most
venerated of all these great buildings. It was built by King
Dewananpia-tissa, ‘the Delight of the Gods,’ who ascended the throne
B.C. 307, and having obtained possession of Buddha’s right collar-bone,
proceeded to build this wonderful shrine for its reception. (I cannot
refrain from reiterating how culpably careless were poor Prince
Gautama’s cremators! We have seen the dagoba at Kala-wewa purporting to
contain his jawbone, while another at Bintenne was erected B.C. 164 to
contain a bone from his thorax.) The height of the Thuparama dagoba is
about 63 feet.
The slim monolithic columns all round it are peculiarly elegant, though
unmeaning except as ornaments. A similar arrangement of three rows of
pillars of equally delicate workmanship, numbering respectively 20, 28,
and 40, surround the Lankarama, which is a smaller but very fine dagoba,
of unknown date. It is attributed to King Maha-Sen, who succeeded to the
throne A.D. 275, and who having in the earlier years of his reign
adopted a creed known to orthodox Buddhists as ‘the Wytulian heresy’
(supposed to have been Brahminical), had done all in his power to
suppress Buddhism and destroy its monuments; but finding that the
inevitable result would be to raise a general rebellion, he recanted,
and became a zealous Buddhist, not only rebuilding all the monuments and
priests’ houses which he had destroyed, but building new ones to outvie
those of his predecessors.
The chief of these is the Jetawanarama, which, though not originally
quite so large as the Abayagiria, was 316 feet high, and is still 249
feet high, with a diameter of 360 feet. Sir James Emerson Tennant
calculated that even now it measures twenty millions of cubical feet,
giving sufficient material to raise eight thousand houses, each with 20
feet frontage, which would form thirty streets half a mile in length,
and would construct a town the size of Ipswich or Coventry, or form a
wall one foot in thickness and two feet in height, reaching from London
to Edinburgh!
Now this mountain of brickwork is covered to the very summit with large
trees, of such frugal habit as apparently to live on air, for they
surely can find no sustenance in the crumbling bricks!
Those slim columns with the ornamental crown, which never supported
anything, are most puzzling, no one having any idea why they were
erected. The only rude parallel that occurs to me, as possibly throwing
light on the subject, is a custom which prevails in certain tribes in
the Kassia hills on the confines of Upper India, where a cromlech is
erected over the ashes of the dead, whose spirits are invoked by the
living. Should the prayers thus offered be granted, a great monolith is
erected close to the tomb, in acknowledgment thereof, and in due course
of time these multiply, so that some favoured tombs are surrounded with
a large group of such tributes of gratitude. It is just possible that
this rude phase of ancestor worship may give us the clue to the more
elaborate productions of a highly civilised race, whose object was
equally the invocation of the dead. Whatever meaning may have once
attached to them is now utterly forgotten, even by the priests.
As regards the dagobas themselves, there are two classes. First, those
which were built as depositories for sacred relics (these include all
the cyclopean buildings); and secondly, a multitude of small ones, which
were merely hollow circular domes, built over a lower square chamber
which was the receptacle for the ashes of some cremated monk or nun.
Apparently the only means of access to this chamber, beneath the square
platform, was by a square opening beneath the dome; but when once the
dome has been erected, the living might no more enter the chamber of the
dead. Within the chamber, at the four corners, forming a sort of
octagon, were stone slabs bearing the name of the dead, and a short
catalogue of his or her good deeds, together with a representation of
Buddha’s feet, the trident, the sun and moon, and other Buddhistic
emblems.
Unfortunately, at Anuradhapura most of these tomb dagobas have been
destroyed by sacrilegious treasure-seekers.
Though the dagobas in this place are specially interesting as being the
largest and oldest in Ceylon, the same form is reproduced in many more
modern cities, and in connection with Buddhist temples all over the
Isle, all[112] built on the same pattern—namely, a circular building on
a square platform.
-----
Footnote 112:
The Thuparama and Lankarama dagobas are apparently exceptions to this
rule, for though the tall circular spire rests on a square platform,
on the summit of the dagoba, the great massive buildings are raised on
circular mounds.
-----
(At Chi-Chen, in Central America, there are ancient buildings, which in
size, form of dome, and the ornamental tower or _tee_ on the summit, are
said to be apparently identical with those of Ceylon. It would be
interesting to know whether they also have the square platform.)
It is worthy of note that the commonest type of grave all over North
China, from Shanghai to Peking, simply consists of a circular earthen
mound erected on a square platform of earth, the mound being generally
crowned by a spire or knob. These are made in miniature for the very
poor, very large for the wealthy, and cyclopean for emperors. This
combination is the mystic symbolism which, to the Chinaman, represents
the dual principle in nature. The square is the feminine symbol, and
represents the earth. The circle suggests the male principle, and
symbolises heaven. The same principle is worked out in the construction
of the great Temples of Heaven and Earth at Peking.[113]
-----
Footnote 113:
These I have described fully in ‘Wanderings in China,’ vol. ii. pp.
172, 175, 180, 322. See also a ground-plan of the Temple of Heaven,
and notes on tomb-temples in ‘Meeting the Sun,’ by Will Simpson,
F.R.G.S., pp. 176, 190-193. Longmans, Green, & Co.
-----
It is interesting and curious to find this ancient symbolism revered and
perpetuated by the professors of a creed to which such details are
certainly foreign.
The external square was repeated by an internal pillar which marked the
exact centre of the dagoba: in the case of the tomb-dagoba the pillar
was sometimes square, sometimes circular. It was about a foot square,
and rose about four feet above ground, and on it rested the casket
containing the ashes of the dead. Such caskets were generally miniature
dagobas of the same bell shape.
In the construction of the gigantic relic-shrines, it appears that, in
the first place, the exact centre was marked by an upright monolith
accurately squared, and placed so as to have the four sides true to the
points of the compass. The squares of the platform and outer wall were
then marked out,—also the true circle for the dagoba,—and the whole was
built up solidly; no chamber of any sort till the appointed height was
reached, perhaps 15 feet from the summit. But so soon as the central
square pillar was built up, another was placed on the top of it, ‘truly
perpendicular, and securely fixed in position by mortice and tennon.’
Thus it was carried right up from the base to a height of from 200 to
400 feet, to the relic chamber, which was formed as a perfect square
facing the cardinal points; and here, as in the tomb dagobas, this stone
pillar projected about four feet through the floor. It was overlaid with
gold, and supported a circular golden tray, on which was laid the casket
containing the precious relic, which may have been only a hair from a
saint’s eyebrow, or a revered toe-nail, but was probably accompanied by
treasures of very much greater interest, which fully accounts for the
anxiety of ruthless marauders to pillage these depositories.
Here, for example, is a list published by Mr. Wickremasinghe of the
various objects enshrined in a dagoba at Hanguranketa: ‘Two gold chains
and two medals, studded with valuable gems; 160 silver images, 199
bronze images, 604 precious stones, 2,000 uncut stones, and many other
objects, including two boards for binding a book, of silver and gold,
studded with gems; five books of the Vinaya Pitaka written on silver
plates; seven books of the Abhidharma Litaka on silver plates, as also a
number of other books; one book written on 900 copper plates, each three
spans long, and extracts from various religious books written on 37
plates of gold, each plate weighing five English sovereigns.’
Of the cyclopean relic-dagobas,[114] there are seven within the limits
of Anuradhapura itself, without reference to those at Mehintale and
elsewhere in the neighbourhood. These seven are—
-----
Footnote 114:
Various derivations are given: _datu_, ‘a relic,’ and _gabbhan_, ‘a
shrine’; or, _deha_, ‘the body,’ and _gopa_, ‘that which preserves.’
-----
Supposed Present Diameter Date
original height. at base. begun.
height.
Thuparama — 62½ 59 B.C. 307
Mirisawetiya — 82½ 164 B.C. 164
Ruanweli 270 189 379 B.C. 161
Abayagiria 405 231 325 B.C. 89
Jetawanarama 316 249 360 A.D. 302
Lankarama — 32½ 44 Unknown.
Seta 20 Too ruinous to ascertain. B.C. 119
Chaitiya
The latter, though generally known by this name, which means ‘the Stone
Temple,’ is properly called the Lajjikavihara, having been built by King
Lajji-tissa. Though small, and in very ruinous condition, it is deemed
highly sacred, and its stone carving and stairways are considered very
fine.
Of the other dagobas which are scattered about in the jungle, I may
mention the Kiri Wihara (Milk Temple), which is so entirely buried
beneath encroaching earth, that its existence is only known by the
tradition which declares it to lie buried beneath a huge grassy mound.
All the dagobas at Anuradhapura are built of brick, and perhaps their
erection here was suggested by the fact of finding building material in
such abundance, in the form of beds of clay ready for the manufacture of
millions of bricks—though, strange to say, the ancient chronicles relate
how, to facilitate the building of the Ruanweli dagoba, one of the gods
created the requisite quantity of bricks at a place sixteen miles
distant; but there is no record of their having been miraculously
transported to the spot.
Of course, in viewing these ruinous red mounds, it requires an effort of
imagination to picture them as they appeared when so thickly coated with
chunam as to resemble huge domes of polished cream-coloured marble. This
chunam was still in use when the oldest European bungalows were built,
and gives their pillared verandahs a delightfully cool appearance; but,
as I have already mentioned, this manufacture is a lost art, though it
is known that chunam was a preparation of lime made from burned
oyster-shells, mixed with the water of cocoa-nuts and the glutinous
juice of the fruit called paragaha.[115]
-----
Footnote 115:
_Dillena dentata._
-----
As regards the multitude of great columns, ‘moon-stones,’ and other
large monoliths, some were obtained from masses of rock very near the
city, which still bear the marks of the wedges by which the pillars were
split off from the rock. But many were quarried from beds of mountain
limestone and granitic gneiss in the neighbourhood of Mihintale, a very
sacred mountain about eight miles from Anuradhapura. In these quarries
you still discern the holes from which, two thousand years ago, the huge
blocks and slabs were chiselled,—a stone so hard as to defy the ravages
of time and-weather, for the most delicate sculptures remain as perfect
as though only completed yesterday—each bead on the ornaments of the
figures, each detail of flower or foliage, retaining all its original
sharpness.
Of course, in exploring any scene of ancient historic interest, it is
essential to have previously gathered as much information as possible
regarding it, for nowhere does the eye so truly see what it brings the
capacity for seeing as in visiting the ruined cities of bygone ages.
This is certainly true of this labyrinth of ruinous brickwork and
sculptured stones, so bewildering till one begins to get something like
a clue to its main features.
In point of fact, most of what remains of the once mighty city of
Anuradhapura, the magnificent, lies buried beneath from six to fifteen
feet of soil, waiting for a whole army of excavators to come and
supplement the feeble force now working for Government. And yet,
although the forest now overgrows the whole plain, so that the only
break in your long ride is coming to an occasional open tract, where
fine old trees grow singly as in an English park, enough remains above
ground to enable you to recall vivid visions of the past.
For a space of sixteen square miles the somewhat scrubby jungle, stunted
by the prevalence of droughts, is but a veil for the masses of masonry
and brickwork; a wilderness of granite pillars with richly carved
capitals, and flights of steps, some covered with intricate carving, as
perfect to-day as when, two thousand years ago, they were trodden by the
unsandalled feet of reverent worshippers or busy merchants. The designs
of these stairs are beautiful—on either side supported by rich
scroll-patterns, and graceful figures overshadowed by the seven-headed
cobra, supposed to be the emblem of vigilance; while the huge
semicircular stone which forms the lowest step (commonly called
‘moon-stone’) generally represents a sacred lotus-blossom, round which
circle rows of horses, elephants, bullocks, and the invariable geese
held sacred by all ancient nations. These stones are peculiar to Ceylon.
Strange to say, no two of these are exactly alike in arrangement of
detail.
Broad roads have been cleared through the dense jungle, embracing the
chief points of interest, and as you ride slowly along these or any of
the innumerable pilgrim-paths which here intersect the forest, you see
on every side the same wilderness of hewn stones, heaped up in dire
confusion, all overturned by the insidious growth of vegetation, and at
last you emerge at some huge bathing tank, all of carved stonework; or
it may be on the brink of a great artificial lake, formed by an
embankment of cyclopean masonry. Or else you find yourself in presence
of some huge figure of Buddha, perhaps reclining in the dreamless repose
of Nirvana, perhaps sitting in ceaseless contemplation of the lonely
forest—a mighty image of dark stone brought from afar, at some remote
time when worshippers were legion. Now, perhaps, a handful of flowers,
or some ashes of burnt camphor, tell of some solitary villager who has
here offered his simple prayer.
Or the object which suddenly presents itself to your amazed sight may be
one of the gigantic dagobas of which I have already spoken—one of many
similar buildings which lie scattered in various parts of Ceylon, in the
silent depths of vast forests which now cover the sites where once stood
busy populous cities.
It is recorded in the ancient chronicles that on great festivals these
dagobas were festooned from base to summit with endless garlands of the
most fragrant and lovely flowers, till the whole building resembled some
huge shrub in blossom. Others were literally buried beneath heaps of
jessamine. One of the relic-shrines which was thus adorned, the
Jetawanarama, towered, as I have said, to a height of 316 feet.
Though no reverent hands now garland this desolate shrine, kind nature
still strews it with fairest blossoms, and has covered it, right up to
the summit, with trees of largest growth, all matted together with
beautiful flowering creepers. These have now been in a measure cleared
away so as to reveal the form of the gigantic dome, capped with a
ruinous red spire four storeys high, circular, on a square base. Tall
monoliths and sculptured figures at the base of this huge mass of
masonry afford the eye a standard by which to estimate its height. My
own feeling as I sat at work sketching it, as in duty bound, was of
amazement that any human beings could have constructed an object so
oppressively large, useless, and hideous.
Of vanished glories, one of the chief must have been the Monara- or
Mayura-paya—_i.e._, the Peacock Palace of the kings, so called not only
from the brilliancy of the colours with which it was painted externally,
but also from the abundance of precious stones, gold, and silver
employed in its decoration. It is described as having been a building
three storeys high, with ranges of cool rooms underground. Whatever may
still remain of it is all underground, buried beneath a grassy mound;
but round it, as if keeping sentry round the royal palace, stand a
circle of fine stone pillars with beautifully sculptured capitals.
But the crowning marvel of Anuradhapura was the Lowa-maha-paya, or Great
Brazen Palace, a monastery built by King Dutugemunu about B.C. 164, for
the accommodation of one thousand priests. It was nine storeys high,
probably pyramidal, so that the top storey was much smaller than the
lowest. The latter was built up from a foundation supported by sixteen
hundred granite pillars, all of which, the Rajavali implies, were
covered with copper. Each priest (or rather monk) had his own little
dormitory, and (as no great man could possibly allow his inferior to sit
higher than himself) the poor old monks of highest rank had to occupy
the uppermost rooms, just under the roof with its glittering brazen
tiles—rather warm quarters on a hot summer’s day!
A most interesting account of this palace, and its various apartments,
has been preserved in the Maha-wanso, which is the book of ancient
national chronicles. In one great hall were golden pillars, supported by
golden statues of lions and elephants, while the walls were inlaid with
flower-patterns of costly gems, and festoons of pearls. In the centre
stood a magnificent ivory throne of wondrous workmanship, for the high
priest, while above it was the white chatta or umbrella, the oriental
type of sovereignty. On either side of this throne were set a golden
image of the Sun, and a silver one of the Moon; and the whole palace was
richly carpeted, and full of luxurious couches and divans.
Amongst the curious statistics of the Great Brazen Palace, we hear of a
stone canoe, twenty-five cubits long, made to contain some special drink
for the thousand priests—a very capacious punch-bowl! A huge hollowed
stone, 63 feet long, 3-1/2 feet broad, and 2 feet 10 inches in depth,
was pointed out to us among the ruins of this great monastery as having
been used for this purpose; while another hollowed block of granite, 10
feet long, 2 feet deep, and 6 feet wide, lying near the Jetawanarama,
was shown as that wherein the daily allowance of rice was measured out.
Certainly the proportion of sack was largely in excess of the solids.
Minute details are given of the daily rations provided for all these
priests by the king’s bounty, as also of the vessels of sugar, buffalo
butter, and honey provided for the builders, whose work, however, did
not prove enduring, for in the following reign this ‘Tower of Babel’ had
to be taken down, and it was rebuilt only seven storeys high. Two
hundred years later these were reduced to five storeys, and seventy
years afterwards, in A.D. 240, it must have been entirely rebuilt, as
the reigning monarch changed the position of the supporting pillars.
When (A.D. 275) King Maha-Sen succeeded to the throne, full of
iconoclastic zeal, he demolished this lofty ‘clergy-house,’ as well as
many more buildings connected with Buddhism, and used them as quarries
for the erection of new shrines for the images supposed to have been
sanctioned by ‘the Wytulian heresy.’ But when he threw over his new love
to return to the old, he rebuilt the Brazen Temple and all else that he
had destroyed. Unfortunately some of the 1,600 granite monoliths had
been broken; so, to make up the number, several were split. This was
done by boring holes in the stone, and therein driving wooden wedges,
into which water was poured to make the wood swell,—a simple but
effective device, which was first adopted in England about two thousand
years later.
How strange it is to think that when our ancestors sailed the stormy
seas in their little skin-covered wicker boats, or paddled canoes more
roughly hollowed from trees than those quaint outriggers which here
excite our wonder, Ceylon was the chief centre of eastern traffic,
having its own fleet of merchant ships, wherein to export (some say) its
superfluous grain—certainly other products—to distant lands! Possibly
its traffic may even have extended to Rome, to whose historians it was
known as Taprobane, and of whose coins as many as eighteen hundred, of
the reigns of Constantine and other emperors, have been found at
Batticaloa.
Think, too, that while Britons wore a full-dress of only woad, and lived
in wattle huts, these islanders had vast cities, with stately palaces
and other great buildings, and monuments whose ruins even now vie in
dimensions with the Egyptian pyramids.
Besides these massive ruins and this endless profusion of sculptured
granite columns, and noble stairs which once led up to stately temples,
how poor and mean all the modern temples do appear, with their wooden
pillars and walls of clay, the work of pigmy descendants of giants!
Here, four hundred years before the birth of Christ, all that
constituted Eastern luxury reigned supreme: great tanks watered
beautiful gardens, and in the streets busy life fretted and toiled.
Even allowing largely for Oriental exaggeration we can form some idea of
the greatness of the city from the native annals, which tell how,
including these tanks and gardens, it covered two hundred and fifty-six
square miles, the whole of which was enclosed by a strong outer wall,
which was not completed till the first century after Christ. From the
north gate to the south gate measured sixteen miles, and the old
chronicles tell that it would take a man four hours to walk from the
north to the south gate, or across the city from the rising to the
setting sun.
The writer enumerates the principal streets, and it gives a strangely
familiar touch to hear of Great King Street, while Moon Street reminds
us of the planet-worship of the early Singhalese. Moon Street consisted
of eleven thousand houses, many of which were large beautiful mansions
two storeys high. There were lesser streets without number, bearing the
name of the caste or profession of its inhabitants.
All were level and straight; the broad carriage-way was sprinkled with
glittering white sand, while the footpath on either side was covered
with dark sand. Thus the foot passengers were protected from the dangers
of the swift riders, chariots, and carriages. Some carriages were drawn
by four horses. There were elephants innumerable, rich merchants,
archers, jugglers, women laden with flowers for temple offerings, and
crowds of all sorts.
Not only had they cunning craftsmen of all manner of trades, but the
most minute care was bestowed on such practical matters as the
sanitation of their cities. Thus in Anuradhapura there was a corps of
200 men whose sole work was the daily removal of all impurity from the
city, besides a multitude of sweepers: 150 men were told off to carry
the dead to the cemeteries, which were well cared for by numerous
officials. ‘Naked mendicants and fakirs,’ ‘castes of the heathen,’ and
the aboriginal Yakkos and Nagas—_i.e._ the demon and snake worshippers—
each had distinct settlements allotted to them in the suburbs.
Within the city there were halls for music and dancing, temples of
various religions (all of which received liberal support from the
earlier kings), almshouses and hospitals both for men and beasts, the
latter receiving a special share of attention. One of the kings was
noted for his surgical skill in treating the diseases of elephants,
horses, and snakes. Another set aside rice to feed the squirrels in his
garden, and a third devoted the produce of a thousand fields to provide
for the care of sick animals.
At every corner of the countless streets were houses for preaching, that
all the passers-by might learn the wisdom of Buddha, whose temples, then
as now, were daily strewn with the choicest flowers, garlands of
jessamine, and the fragrant champac-blossoms, and beautiful white and
pink water-lilies (the sacred symbolical lotus). On all great festivals
the streets were spanned by arches covered with gold and silver flags,
while in the niches were placed statues holding lamps or golden vases
full of flowers.
At a later date the records of Pollonarua are almost identical with
these. Yet ere long both these cities were doomed to be forsaken. The
huge tanks which watered the beautiful gardens and irrigated all the
land were left to go to utter ruin; and for centuries all has lain
hushed and still. When foreigners invaded the Isle, it was the policy of
the Kandyans to keep the interior inaccessible, so there were only
difficult paths through dense jungle. Consequently, although Knox had
written of the wonderful ruins through which he had passed when making
his escape from his long captivity in Kandy, they continued unknown till
they were re-discovered by Lieutenant Skinner about 1833, when surveying
for his great work of road-making.
At that time the site of the ancient city was the haunt of vast herds of
elephants, sambur and fallow deer, buffalo, monkeys, and jackals.
Porcupines and leopards sought shelter among the ruins, the tanks were
alive with pelicans, flamingoes, and other aquatic birds, and large
flocks of peafowl sought refuge in the cool shade, or sunned themselves
in the green glades where once were busy streets. Of course, with the
return of so many human beings, these shy creatures have retreated to
more secluded hiding places.
Here and there, on the outskirts of Anuradhapura, there are great heaps
of stones—huge cairns, to which, even to this day, each passer-by must,
without fail, add a stone, though the people have long since utterly
forgotten what event they commemorate.
Imagine such a fate as this creeping over the great capitals, where a
hundred and sixty-five successive kings reigned in all the pomp and
luxury of an Oriental court.[116] Their history has been handed down to
us in the Mahawanso, or ‘Genealogy of the Great,’—that precious
manuscript to which frequent reference is so necessary to a right
understanding of events in Ceylon. Its first section—which was compiled
about the year A.D. 470 from native annals—treats of the Great Dynasty—
_i.e._, the kings who reigned from 543 B.C. to 310 A.D., after which
comes the history of those who are classed as the Sulu-wanse, or ‘lower
race,’ although that list includes the great king Prakrama Bahu, by
whose orders the work was completed up to his time—_i.e._, 1266 A.D.
Finally, it was carried on to the year 1758 A.D. by command of the last
King of Kandy, all compiled from authentic native documents.
-----
Footnote 116:
The reigns of most of these kings have been neatly summarised, as so
many tales in which ‘irrigation, subjugation, and assassination’ form
the main incidents, to which we may add the building of useless
relic-shrines. Many of the kings were distinguished only for their
amazing superstition, and the first queen who held the throne was so
bad as to be remembered only as ‘the infamous Anula.’ Having poisoned
her husband, King Chora Naga—_i.e._, Naga the Marauder—and also her
son Tisso, she successively selected a porter of the palace, a
carpenter, a carrier of firewood, a Brahman, and various other lovers,
to share her throne, till she was finally put to death by her own
grandson.
About A.D. 30 there reigned a king, by name Yatalaka Tissa, whose
history affords a curious true version of ‘The Prince and the
Peasant.’ His gate-porter Subha resembled him so strikingly, that
sometimes the king amused himself by exchanging dresses with him.
Subha, however, found these tastes of royal honour so attractive, that
he contrived to effect the exchange in good earnest. The king was
dethroned, and the porter took his place, and reigned till he was
slain by the next man. And so the long tale goes on.
-----
Being written in Pali verse, none but the most learned priests could
possibly read it, and, as a matter of fact, no one seems to have been
able to do so, until in 1826 Mr. Turnour, of the Ceylon Civil Service,
set himself to master this terribly difficult task, and, with marvellous
patience and ingenuity, succeeded in so doing. Therein we obtain the
clue to what at first seems such a mystery—how a race which produced
work so wonderful as these great cities, a people so powerful, and in
some respects so wise, as those old Singhalese (themselves, we must
remember, conquerors from Northern India), should have been driven from
province to province till all their old power and energy seems to have
died out.
The mischief seems to have begun when the King of Anuradhapura first
took into his pay mercenary troops from Malabar. These were the Tamils,
whose descendants remain to this day. They rebelled, slew the king, and
held the throne for twenty years. Driven from the Island, they returned,
and again held it for forty years. Once more they were expelled, and
once more fresh hordes poured in from Malabar, and landing
simultaneously on all parts of the Island, again took possession of the
capital, where some settled, while others returned to the mainland laden
with plunder.
During all these years an ever-recurring contest was maintained between
the Buddhists and their Brahmin invaders. There was the usual pulling
down and building up of temples, so that by A.D. 300 the native records
declare that the glory of the city was utterly destroyed, and that the
royal race of children of the Sun had been exterminated. Nevertheless,
it still continued to be a great powerful town, enclosed by strong
walls.
The struggle with the Malabars continued till about A.D. 726, when the
kings forsook Anuradhapura and made Pollonarua, farther to the south,
their capital, and more beautiful than the old city. Still the Malabars
pushed on, and overran every corner of the Island.
At length, A.D. 1153, a mighty king arose, by name Prakrama Bahu, who
with a strong hand delivered his country, and, driving out the invaders,
established peace and security. He rebuilt the temples of Buddha, and
made or restored fifteen hundred tanks, and canals without number, to
irrigate and fertilise the thirsty land. Yet thirty years after the
death of this great, good man, his family had become so utterly weak
through their incessant quarrels, that the Malabars once more returned
and seized the tempting prize.
And so the story of strife continued, till in 1505 the Portuguese came,
and then followed the further complications of the struggles between
Portuguese and Dutch, and later the French and English took their turn
as disquieting elements.
But the consequence of all these fightings was the removal of the seat
of Government from one part of the Isle to another, so that in many a
now desolate jungle there still remain some ruins of ancient cities
which successively claimed the honour of being the capital for the time
being. The oldest of these was Tamana-nuwara, which was the capital of
Wijayo, the conqueror, B.C. 543. His successor founded Oopatissa-nuwara,
calling it after himself. Then Maagama and Kellania had their turns
before Anuradhapura asserted its supremacy. With the exception of those
eighteen years when Kaasyapa (the parricide and suicide) lived on the
fortified rock of Sigiri,[117] and one year when King Kaloona removed
the capital to Dondra or Dewa-nuwara, the city of the gods, and likewise
committed suicide, Anuradhapura reigned supreme for 1,353 years, when it
was abandoned in favour of Pollonarua: three hundred years later
Anuradhapura became the capital during one stormy reign, and Roohoona,
Kalu-totta, and Kaacha-ragama were each the royal home for a brief
interval.
-----
Footnote 117:
P. 246.
-----
Then came the reign of the great King Prakrama, when the glory of
Pollonarua was at its height, and continued the capital during the
seventeen changes of sovereignty which followed in the twenty years
after his death. From 1235 to the end of the century, Dambadeniya was
the chief city. Then Pollonarua had another turn. After this,
Kurunegalla, Gampola, Sengada-galla-nuwara, Kandy, and Cotta were
successively the royal headquarters.
Now one after another of these great centres has fallen into comparative
neglect, and several into total oblivion. Giant trees have overgrown
both palaces and markets; beautiful parasitic plants have loosened the
great blocks of stone, and the dark massive ruins are veiled by lovely
creepers, and all the wealth of tropical scenery, through which (as they
did so recently in Anuradhapura) bears and leopards roam undisturbed,
while birds of all glorious hues flit through the foliage. Only at the
time of certain great festivals do devout pilgrims still wend their way
through the silent depths of these dark forests, to do homage at these
shrines; and the stillness of night is broken by their pious
ejaculations as they circle round the huge relic-shrines.
At the time of our visit to Anuradhapura, the pilgrims had assembled in
vast numbers to celebrate the festival of the Midsummer New Moon, and
their simple camps—yellow tents of great taliput palm-leaves, of which
each pilgrim carries one section, to act as sunshade or umbrella—formed
a very picturesque feature in the scene. Half-a-dozen pieces of leaf,
supported by sticks, form the slight shelter which is all they need.
(Many carry one of the tough fibrous sheaths which has enveloped the
young flower of the areca-palm, and which serves as a simple rice-plate,
while an ingeniously folded palmyra-palm leaf forms an excellent
water-bucket.)
With reverent steps they trod the green forest-glades, marking the
course of the main streets of the holy city, and guided by yellow-robed
Buddhist priests. Many of the pilgrims carried small flags and banners,
and one group carried a miniature ark containing a golden lotus-blossom,
to be offered to the sacred Bo-tree.
[Illustration:
PILGRIMS’ CAMP AND THE THREE STONE BULLS.
(Near the Ruins of the Brazen Temple.)
]
The ark, I may observe, holds the same place of honour in Ceylon as it
does in many other nations. To all travellers in the Himalayas, the ark
veiled with curtains, within which is concealed the idol most deeply
reverenced, is a familiar object—an ark which is carried on staves
through the forests, with music and dancing, and which, both in its
proportions and in all the ceremonies connected with it, bears strange
affinity to the sacred ark of the Israelites.[118] We find it again in
the Christian Churches of Abyssinia and in the Buddhist temples of
Japan; and here in Ceylon every important _dewali_ (that is, every
Malabar temple) has an ark very similar to that of the Himalayas, the
sacred objects, which are so jealously concealed from the gaze of even
devout worshippers, being in this case the mystic arrows of the god or
deified hero there held in reverence. Once a year, at a great full moon
festival, this ark is borne forth on its staves, and carried in sunwise
circuit round the temple amid great rejoicing.
-----
Footnote 118:
I have described many such arkite ceremonies in ‘In the Himalayas,’
pp. 361-371, 436. Published by Chatto & Windus.
-----
That tiny ark, containing the mystic lotus-blossom, was not the only
link we noticed to the customs of far-distant lands. At the entrance to
the Wata Daghè, at Pollonarua, lies a stone precisely similar to the
Clach Brach at St. Oran’s Chapel in Iona, with a row of hollows, said to
have been worn by the continual action of stone or crystal balls, which
the passers-by turned sunwise to bring them luck. And here, in
Anuradhapura, are three stone bulls, which women who have not been
blessed with offspring also drag round sunwise, that they may ensure the
speedy birth of an heir. One of these seems to have formerly revolved on
a pivot, but now main force does all.
Certainly the most venerated objects of superstition are not often
impressive to the eye, and these are three insignificant little animals,
measuring respectively 3 feet 6, 2 feet 9, and 1 foot 7. They lie on the
turf beneath a great tree—a curious foreground to a most picturesque
pilgrim’s camp of yellow palm-leaves like gigantic fans, banked up with
withered boughs; women and children busy round their camp fires, and
beyond the curling blue smoke rise the pillars of the Brazen Palace.
Thousands of these primitive tents were scattered about in groups in the
park-like grounds, and I had the good fortune to witness a very striking
scene on the night of our arrival, when all night long, by the light of
a glorious full moon, great companies, guided by bare-armed and
bare-footed yellow-robed priests, circled round the Ruanweli dagoba,
shouting ‘Saadhu!’ the Buddhist form of ‘All hail!’ But in making their
circle they kept their left side towards the relic-shrine, which in
sun-lore all the world over is the recognised form of invoking a curse
instead of a blessing! But on the beautifully sculptured ‘moon-stones’
at the base of the great temple and palace-stairs, all the animals—
elephants, oxen, horses, lions, sacred geese—have their right side
towards the central lotus-blossom; so they are making the orthodox
sunwise turn.
On returning to Britain I compared notes with my kinsman, J. F.
Campbell, of Islay, and found that he also had been impressed by these
various peculiarities of sunwise and anti-sunwise turns; and he noticed,
moreover, that all creeping plants in the jungle coil with their left
side towards the centre.
But the object of deepest reverence to the pilgrims, and of exceeding
interest to us all, was the Peepul or sacred Bo-tree (as irreverent
Britons, in their love for abbreviation, call the Maha Jaya Sri
Bodingahawahanse, or great illustrious sacred Tree of Wisdom, which is
really believed to be the very identical tree which was planted here in
the year B.C. 288, and which consequently must now be 2,180 years old).
What was shown to us as the original tree was such a wizened little old
stump, that we agreed it might very well be the genuine article, and the
ancestor of the generations of old Bo-trees which surround it within the
sacred enclosure, to say nothing of all others in every corner of
Ceylon, all of which have been propagated from seed.
Assuredly no other tree has ever occupied so important a place in
history, or had its own story so minutely recorded from generation to
generation. Sir James Emerson Tennant[119] quotes twenty-five extracts
from various native chronicles, and other ancient sources (and these, he
says, are but a few out of a multitude), stating the various honours
paid to the sacred tree in different reigns, from its first arrival,
nearly three hundred years before the Christian era, till that of the
very last King of Kandy, who in 1739 caused it to be inscribed on a rock
that he had dedicated certain lands in the Wanni to the sacred tree.
-----
Footnote 119:
‘Ceylon,’ vol. ii. pp. 617, 632.
-----
One of the passages quoted from the Mahawanso, written about 470 A.D.,
concludes: ‘Thus this monarch of the forest, _endowed with miraculous
powers_, has stood for ages in the delightful Maha-mego gardens in
Lanka, _promoting the spiritual welfare of its inhabitants and the
propagation of true religion_.’
It is somewhat remarkable that in one of these quotations Fa Hian, the
Chinese traveller, describes the tree as having sent forth a branch
which descended to earth and there took root. Now as this is the habit
of the banyan (_Ficus indica_), and not of the Peepul or Bo (_Ficus
religiosa_), certain heretics have suggested that the priests may
occasionally have renovated the old tree by placing a healthy seedling
in some crevice, and that by mistake a seedling of the wrong sort had at
that time been introduced.
[Illustration:
THE SACRED BO-TREE.
(Rising through the Upper Terrace.)
]
However, the leaves of these two cousins are so essentially different
that such a mistake could not really have been made, those of the banyan
being thick and leathery, while those of the Bo are very thin and light.
They are like very large birch-leaves, heart-shaped, with a long
ribbon-like point, and are attached to the stem by such a long slender
stalk that they tremble incessantly, like the leaves of the aspen. This,
say the Buddhists, is because of their sympathetic joy that beneath
their shade Gautama attained to the perfection of all knowledge—a legend
which to Christian ears recalls the tradition which attributes the
quivering of the aspen leaf to the memory of that dread day when the
bitter Cross on Calvary was fashioned from its unwilling wood.
The story of the tree is that it was a branch of the sacred Peepul at
Uruwelle (now known as Gaya or Buddha-Gaya, the capital of Behar)
beneath which Buddha sat absorbed in contemplation—some say he lived
beneath its shade for four years. Those who seek most closely to
assimilate the ‘Light of Asia’ with the True Light of the World, say,
forty days.[120] The mighty Indian King Dharm-Asoka—_i.e._, the
righteous Asoka—having zealously embraced Buddhism, his children
followed in his footsteps, his son Mahindo becoming a priest, and his
daughter Sanghamitta the abbess of a Buddhist nunnery. Mahindo, the
royal missionary, came to Ceylon B.C. 307, and preached so effectually
that not only Dewenipiatissa, the King of Anuradhapura, but also Queen
Anula, and many women of the Isle, declared themselves converts to the
new creed, and desired to take the vows of devotion thereto.
-----
Footnote 120:
The original tree at Buddha-Gaya has long since disappeared, but as
with kings, so with sacred trees, ‘_Le roi est mort, vive le roi!_’ A
descendant has ever flourished to receive homage from the 100,000
pilgrims who annually flock to Gaya, no longer to reverence the memory
of Buddha, but of Vishnu, to whom the tree is now dedicated. The
modern tree was a very grand one, estimated at about two hundred years
of age, but about ten years ago it was blown down, and only a sapling
remained, which, however, has now developed into a fine tree. Close to
it were the ruins of the ancient dagoba, erected on the spot where
Buddha is supposed to have sat. It had been so entirely demolished by
Hindoo successors that little more than the foundations remained. With
more consideration for Buddhist traditions than for England’s credit
as a Christian nation, this stately pyramidal dagoba was actually
rebuilt at great expense by the British Government, at the time when
Sir Ashley Eden was Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal.
-----
Mahindo recommended that his sister Sanghamitta should come to instruct
the women; so King Tissa sent an embassy to Behar inviting the royal
Abbess to come to Ceylon, and praying Asoka to bestow upon him a branch
or graft of the Tree of Wisdom. This the king was willing to do, but
dared not risk the sin of sacrilege by cutting the tree with any
instrument. He therefore approached it reverently at the head of a
thousand priests; they worshipped the tree, and presented offerings of
flowers to it; then having prepared a golden vase filled with perfumed
earth, he took vermilion paint in a golden pencil, and therewith drew a
line round a branch, and prayed it to sever itself from the tree, and
transplant itself into the vase, which it most obligingly did forthwith,
while the assembled multitudes shouted ‘Saadhu!’ to the holy tree.
Then Sanghamitta, with five hundred Buddhist nuns, started for Ceylon,
in charge of the precious branch, where it was received with
indescribable devotion. A whole chapter of the Mahawanso is devoted to
the account of its reception, and how the king, the lord of chariots,
commanded that it should be lifted by the four high-caste tribes, and by
eight persons of each of the other castes, and so it was duly planted,
and much worshipped.
The fact of the Peepul being held in veneration by Hindoos of all sects,
as being alike sacred to Brahma and Vishnu, accounts for its having been
not only spared, but honoured by the conquerors who in different
centuries overran the Isle with fire and sword.[121]
-----
Footnote 121:
Various trees hold a place in the legends of the twenty-five Buddhas
whose presence has already blessed this world. Gautama selected the
Bo, as did also one of his predecessors; another was connected with
the Champac; and the next will, it is said, confer similar honour on
the ironwood tree with the scarlet tips of young foliage.
-----
In the history of successive kings, their devotion to the Bo-tree is
duly recorded—how one built up the tiers of stone terraces around it;
another paved the enclosure with marble; another erected stone stairs
leading up to it from four sides; others made many images of Buddha in
stone and in metal, and built halls to receive these and various relics.
King Waahsabo, who reigned A.D. 62, kept up an illumination of a
thousand lamps here and at other shrines, and also ‘caused statues to be
formed of the four Buddhas, of their exact stature, and he built an
edifice to contain them, near the delightful Bo-tree.’ If the exact size
of the other Buddhas was at all on the scale of Gautama’s tooth and
footprint, it must have been rather a large edifice!
After the destruction of Sitawacca by the Portuguese, it was prophesied
that the town would be rebuilt when the Bo-tree lost one of its
branches.
In A.D. 1674 a branch of the tree was stricken by lightning, and the
Dutch verified the prophecy by restoring some of the old buildings.
It would be interesting to know whether the present phoenix-like birth
of a modern Anuradhapura has any connection with the disaster which
befell the tree on October 4, 1887. After a prolonged drought, which
continued for eight months, the tom-tom was beaten to invite all good
Buddhists to assemble on the 7th to take part in the ceremony of Kiri
Utura-wanawa—_i.e._, the outpouring of milk, at the shrine of the sacred
tree, while invoking rain. But on that very day (without waiting for the
milk-offering!) there arose a mighty tempest of thunder, lightning, and
rain, accompanied by a violent north wind which snapped the main stem:
it fell with a crash, carrying with it part of the iron railing round
the enclosure. Now a stump about four feet high is all that remains of
the original tree.
A smaller branch had been broken in 1870, and was cremated with all
honour, and said to have attained its Nirvana. But the fall of the
‘Great Lord’ itself was a more serious matter, and was deemed a very
evil omen. Sadly and solemnly the fallen branch was sawn into logs by
men attired in mourning and having handkerchiefs tied over their mouths.
One log was preserved by the high priest, to be sold to pilgrims in
small chips, as precious worshipful relics; the others were laid on a
bullock-cart canopied with white cloth, and borne in procession to a
funeral pyre erected near the Thuparama dagoba, where they were cremated
with all the ceremonial observed at the funeral of a Buddhist high
priest, and to a terrific accompaniment of tom-tom beating.
On the following day the ashes were collected, and a second great
procession conveyed them to the neighbouring lake, the Tissa-wewa on
whose waters they were to be scattered. Apparently, however, some ashes
were reserved, and a small dagoba was erected to their honour, so
doubtless these now receive their full share of worship.
Except to the eye of faith, the disappearance of this preternaturally
old branch will make small difference, as there are so many branches,
all apparently about the same age, and none exceeding two feet in
diameter, growing up through the pyramidal stonework which is built
round the tree in four terraces. It is impossible to guess how much
trunk there may be, as it is so effectually built up out of sight. Each
of these terraces forms a platform round which the pilgrims walk in
procession, and feed the great company of monkeys of all sizes and ages
which play in the branches.
At one festival—the Wandanawa—these branches are plastered over with
gold paper, and the boughs are decorated with hundreds of brightly
coloured handkerchiefs fluttering gaily in the breeze—a pretty
elaboration of the decoration of sacred bushes with rag-offerings, as
practised in so many lands, from Ireland and Scotland to the Himalayas.
At night pilgrims come bearing tiny lamps, and burn camphor to the tree
as they circle round within the railing. To the priests they offer more
practical gifts of rice and coin. Much good milk is also poured out in
offerings to the thirsty tree.
You can well understand that the withered leaves which fall from so
sacred a tree are priceless treasures, and jealously guarded. The
priests spread white cloths of honour beneath the tree to collect all
such, and distribute or sell them to eager pilgrims. If the supply
exceeds the demand, the superfluous leaves are cremated. Of course to
gather one would be accounted unpardonable sacrilege.
At night the tree is illuminated by very primitive lamps, half-cocoa-nut
shells filled with oil and with floating wicks, which give a feeble
flickering light. I wondered that the monkeys did not upset them, but
probably they have learnt by experience to respect flame.
In the outer court, overshadowed by Bo-trees of a younger and more
vigorous generation, and by cocoa and palmyra palms, are various images
and finely sculptured stones, including sundry five- and seven-headed
cobras. So here we stand in the very presence of the ancient tree and
serpent worship—the former as real as ever, the latter obsolete except
in quiet corners.[122]
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Footnote 122:
See Chapter v., p. 91.
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Yet even here you may sometimes see ashes of burnt camphor, and bits of
wax and a few flowers, on these snake sculptures, proving that they have
received their share of night worship, and images of cobras made of
painted clay are offered on the altar of the Bo-tree which stands on the
outer side of the inner wall. So Buddhism incorporates and sanctions
every conceivable variety of worship, provided that of Buddha himself is
paramount. Thus the serpent worship, which could not be eradicated, was
made subservient to Buddhism, by the legend of how the gigantic king of
all the cobras proved his reverence for Gautama by rearing its great
hood above his head, to protect him from the sun as he sat lost in
meditation. Hence the hydra-headed serpent which forms the canopy of
such innumerable images of Buddha.
The Rev. Samuel Langdon mentions that he has known various instances in
which the priests or their attendants have kept tame cobras within the
enclosure which generally surrounds each sacred Bo-tree, notably at the
gigantic tree which overshadows the place where the kings of Kandy were
cremated. These gentle pets are fed at regular hours, and it is
suspected that the protection afforded them is not unmingled with some
feeling of reverence.
In the same way in India, the Brahmin priests find it convenient to
sanction proceedings which they cannot prevent, and are present at many
ceremonies of the simplest serpent-worship.[123]
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Footnote 123:
Some of which I have described in ‘In the Himalayas,’ pp. 249, 250.
Published by Chatto & Windus.
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[Illustration: BUDDHA GUARDED BY THE COBRA, ROCK TEMPLE, ELLA PASS.]
Both Tamils and Singhalese have a legend of how a cobra and the even
more deadly tic polonga came together to a well in a time of great
drought, and finding a little girl drawing water, each asked for a
drink. This she agreed to draw, provided they would promise never to
bite her. Both promised and both drank, and the cobra glided gratefully
away, but the treacherous tic bit the child, who died in great agony.
So the cobra is called _Nallu pambu_, ‘the good snake,’ because he kept
his promise, and he and the tic hate one another so cordially that the
Singhalese equivalent for the old English saying about hating a thing
‘as the devil hates holy water’ is, ‘They hate one another as the tic
hates the polonga.’
It has been suggested that the various proverbs and folklore referring
to this enmity really owe their origin to ancient feuds between clans of
the Nágas or serpent worshipping tribes who inhabited Ceylon ere its
conquest by the Singhalese.
Pollonarua, the mighty medieval city which became the capital of the
Isle after the downfall of Anuradhapura, is said to have been named in
honour of the two serpents aforesaid—_Polon_ and _ná_, the polonga and
naga—in order to propitiate both.
Some years ago Mr. Layard opened a dagoba near Colombo which was
supposed to have been built to commemorate the conversion of the Nága
king of Kelany to the faith of Buddha. The treasure-chamber contained
some fragments of bone wrapped in thin gold-leaf, a few pearls, gold
rings and bits of brass, a brass lamp, a small pyramid made of cement
and A CLAY COBRA wrapped up in cotton cloth.
I lingered long, alone with my sketching-block, amid these strangely
suggestive surroundings, the stillness broken only by the ceaseless
rustling of the trembling leaves, or an occasional stampede of
inquisitive monkeys.
The entrance to this sacred enclosure is by a double-roofed red-tiled
gateway (what a multitude of reverent pilgrims from far and near have
passed through that old portal in the course of these two thousand
years!). Just beyond are forty rows of roughly-hewn stone pillars, which
even now stand twelve feet above the soil and are doubtless sunk to a
depth of many more—a strange and unique sight. In each row there are
forty of these granite monoliths, making sixteen hundred in all. Some
have fallen, some are half buried among the ruins, but there they are—
and these are all that now remain above ground to mark the spot where
the stately Brazen Palace once stood, with all its crowds of learned
priests. Of course there is not a vestige of the copper which once
covered the pillars, nor of the resplendent brazen tiles.
I was told a legend—whether authentic or not I cannot say—that the final
destruction of this grand building was due to fire kindled by a queen,
who when sore beset by the Malabar armies, and seeing no hope of escape
from beleaguering foes, resolved that at least they should not enjoy the
pillage of the palace, and so caused all her most precious possessions
to be brought here and heaped together, and having with her own hands
set fire to this costly funeral pyre, thereon sought death.
Now the desolate ruins are forsaken alike by priests and worshippers. I
wandered alone through the labyrinth of grey pillars where only a flock
of shaggy, long-legged, reddish goats were nibbling the parched grass,
just as I have seen British sheep finding greener pasture beneath the
shadow of the mighty rock-temple of our own ancestors at Stonehenge.