The Sakya Monastery.
We lodged at a neighboring inn which placed a cicerone at our service,
and proceeded to pay a visit to the celebrated monastery. Going through
the front gate and past several smaller buildings, we arrived in
front of the main edifice. At first sight the interior of the latter
appeared to be completely enclosed, but a closer examination showed
that light was let in through a courtyard. Entering the front hall,
seventy-eight feet by forty-two, we saw standing on both sides statues
of Vajrapāni, each about twenty-five feet high, one painted blue and
the other red, such as are seen on each side of the gate of every great
Japanese Temple. Each image has its right leg a little bent and the
left one put forward, while the right hand is raised towards the sky
and the left one vigorously stretched downward. The workmanship seemed
even to my lay eyes representative of Tibetan art, the muscles, for
instance, being very excellently moulded. There are also images of the
four heavenly kings, each thirty feet high, standing on the right side.
Again, looking to the left, we saw on the wall (which was of stone
over-laid with mud and then with some lime-like substance) beautiful
pictures of deities and saints, which covered a space twenty-four
feet by twenty-one. There is no fissure visible in the pictured area,
in spite of its dimensions. The structure as a whole is in good
repair. The front hall opens to an inner courtyard, paved with stone,
thirty-six feet by thirty, where the priests of the inferior orders
gather to dine and to read the scriptures, while the higher Lamas have
the privilege of living inside the building. Passing this courtyard
we entered the main chamber (which faces west) where the images of
Buḍḍhist deities are placed. There are two entrances to this chamber,
the southern one being open to the priests and the northern one to the
visitors. Once inside, we were lost in a sea of dazzling gold; the
splendor was simply beyond description. The ceilings and pillars are
all covered with gold brocade, and the images, more than three hundred
in number, are emblazoned with very fine gold. In the centre of the
room there stands a statue of Shākyamuni Buḍḍha, thirty-five feet high,
which, we were told, is made of mud covered with gold. In front of this
image are placed seven water-trays, some candle-sticks and a table for
oblations, all of pure gold, with the exception of a few articles made
of silver.
The disorderly manner in which the images are arranged, however,
greatly detracts from the impression produced by their intrinsic
merits. The spectacle is a grand exhibition of Buḍḍhist fine arts, but
put together without much order. In short, the chief feature of the
chamber consists in its splendor, but its effect is greatly impaired by
the tasteless and excessive decorations.
At the rear of this chamber there is another, sixty feet high and two
hundred and forty feet wide, which is full of valuable collections of
ancient Buḍḍhist manuscripts, some written in gilded letters on dark
blue-colored paper and others in Samskṛṭ on the leaves of the fan palm
tree (_Borassus flabelliformis_). Many of these scriptures were brought
all the way from India by the founder of the temple, Sakya Panḍiṭ, and
his successors, who sent their priests to that country for the purpose.
With regard to the scriptures in the Tibetan language, I was told that
they had a great number of them there, and that they were all written,
not printed. We left this chamber, and while we were again looking
round the main chamber I was struck with a strong and offensive smell
which, as my subsequent experiences taught me, is a curious feature of
every monastery in Tibet. I wondered how I had been insensible to such
a stench up to that time. Where did it come from? you may ask. Well! in
Tibetan temples clarified butter is used in lighting the lamps offered
to Buḍḍha, and the priests are so careless as to throw away upon the
floor the residue of tea and butter, which not only keeps the floor
always wet but also putrefies. This is why the chamber is filled with
such a sickening odor. Strangely enough, Tibetans regard this smell as
a sweet one, but I declare myself emphatically to the contrary. On both
sides of the main chamber we found two more chambers where different
figures were also kept. Of these images, the one which especially
attracted my attention was that of Padma Chungne, the founder of the
old school of Lamaism, for it is made entirely of precious stones. The
surrounding walls and the floor are also inlaid with gems, which are
amazingly beautiful.
Outside the main edifice there are several dormitories where some
five hundred men of the order live. Then standing to the south is the
stately residence of the ‘great instructor’ of the temple, Chamba
Pasang Tinle, who looks after the spiritual education of five hundred
souls.
We had an interview with this spiritual superior, who looked very
saint-like, seated on a dais covered with two mats in one of the
upper rooms. I wanted to ask him a few questions with regard to the
difference between the Sakya doctrines and those of the other sects
of Lamaism, but he told me that he was busy then and asked me to come
again the next day. We then retired and left the temple grounds.
I noticed several palatial buildings rising above a far-off willow
plantation. My companions told me that these buildings were the
residence of the Abbot of the temple, Sakya Koma Rinpoche, and we
proceeded to pay our respects to him. Koma Rinpoche means the ‘highest
treasure’ and is used only in addressing the Chinese Emperor and the
Abbot of the Sakya Monastery, whom Tibetans esteem as one of the two
sacred beings of the world. This being so, the natives who are honored
with an audience by the Abbot pay special respect to him, and when he
gives them his blessing in return it is not infrequently accompanied
by some presents. But in reality the Abbot is a layman, the essential
point of his excellence being that he is the descendant of Sakya Panḍiṭ
himself. He is married, takes meat for dinner, and even drinks wine, as
do all the secular people. In spite of these facts, not only the public
at large but also priests salute him with the rite of ‘three bows’
which as laid down by Buḍḍha is a mark of reverence due only to high
priests and not to laymen.
When we were received by the Abbot, I therefore paid him only such
respect as would be due to a personage of his rank. He has, however, a
very dignified mien, which bespeaks his noble descent.
While we were returning to our lodgings, I was blamed by my companions
for my failure to give the Abbot the ‘three bows,’ and when I told them
the reason of the omission they were astonished at my rigid observance
of the Buḍḍha’s teachings. The next day, when I called upon the ‘great
teacher’ at the appointed hour, I found him playing with a boy who was
behaving toward him in a very familiar way, as if he were his son. I
could not think that such a man, who was a genuine priest, was married,
and yet I very much suspected some such relation--a suspicion which was
afterwards confirmed during my sojourn at Lhasa.
At first I had intended to stay and study at the temple for at least
two weeks, but after this discovery I was now loath to remain with
such a degenerate priest. I left the town the next day, and as I was
now separated from my companions I had to carry my effects myself. For
a distance of two and a half miles the road gradually ascended along
a mountain rivulet in a south-easterly direction and then, turning
eastwards, became a steep descent of five miles. Proceeding ten miles
further in a south-easterly direction and along the stream I found
two dwellings, in one of which I lodged for the night. The next day I
again ascended a steep slope, two and a half miles long, and climbed
down another twice that length. As the day was snowy and my baggage got
wet, I was obliged to take lodgings at the first house I could find.
The next day, November 30th, I fortunately met seven or eight men who
seemed to be transport agents, and were driving forty or fifty asses,
and I was glad to place my things in their charge. Thus freed from
encumbrances, I, with the party, descended the Tharu river for five
miles. It then turned to the south-east, and after proceeding fifteen
miles further along the riverside, we found a village where we stopped.
The drivers, however, encamped in a neighboring meadow, where they
unburdened their animals and surrounded themselves on all sides
except one with the goods thus unloaded. As was customary with them,
the men improvised a kind of fire-place. On the first of December we
proceeded along the river for about ten miles and then left it; again
for ten miles, we ascended the eastern mountain called Rangla with
its perpendicular peaks of red rock. We lodged under the rock and on
the following day we ascended Rangla for five miles and marched more
than another five miles on the mountainous plains; we reached a big
monastery named Kang-chen and passed that night in a field south of the
monastery. At first, when I saw my drivers recklessly making their
way through the cultivated fields, I expressed my fear to them that we
might be caught by the farmers. “No,” was their reply, “you need not
bother yourself on that score.” They explained to me that these fields
were fallow ones, “which were enjoying their holidays” for this year,
so that any person might choose them as roads. It was a custom in this
locality to raise the wheat-crop every other year, leaving the fields
unemployed for the intervening year--a custom which did not obtain in
Lhasa and the neighborhood. Moreover, I was told, it was winter, when
the privilege held good in any year, and no one need entertain any fear
of intruding. At night I preached to my drivers, and the next day we
set out together, taking an easterly direction. We proceeded seven and
a half miles, when we found rising among the mountains a magnificent
temple, still under construction. On making enquiries I learned that
the work had been undertaken by the Tibetan Government, which is acting
under the advice of a soothsayer.
The latter had, I was told, declared that there exists a spring just
beneath the site of the building, that it is the mouth of a monstrous
dragon, and that unless a temple be erected over it, it will ultimately
burst out and deluge the whole country. Unfortunately this idea
is supported by a book of prophecies brought from China, which is
apparently the work of some priest with hidden motives. I read the book
and found it to be full of awe-inspiring predictions. It states, for
instance, that as wickedness obtains on the earth, a flood of water
will be brought upon it and everything on the face of it destroyed;
that fatal calamities, such as a great famine or war, will break out
as a prelude to such a flood. In addition, it is stated that the book
had been sent from heaven, and that therefore any one who is so
careless as to doubt its truth will be punished with immediate death.
I declared that these prophecies were all false, but of course nothing
extraordinary happened to me. The book may be well meant, but it is
full of nonsensical sayings. But Tibetans believe in it so firmly that
translated copies are being circulated all over the country. It is most
surprising that such superstitions should have led the Government to
begin a foolish undertaking at a great cost. But indeed, oracle-mongers
are held in high esteem, not only by the Government but also by the
general mass of the people, who consult them whenever they are at fault.
Passing under the above-mentioned temple we proceeded further, and
before we had gone far, we found some five vultures (known among
the natives by the name of Cha-goppo) perched on a hill-side. On
questioning my companions, I was told that there exists in Tibet a very
curious and unpleasant custom of offering the corpses of dead men to
vultures as a part of the funeral ceremony; that as in this locality
the people do not bring enough carrion to these birds, the latter are
always hungry; and that therefore they are granted an allowance of meat
from the kitchen of a temple called the Tashi Lhunpo. How they are fed
on human flesh at a funeral ceremony I shall relate later in my account
of Lhasa.
After some further journeying we arrived at an “abstinence house” (Nyun
ne Lhakhang in Tibetan), in the neighborhood of which there stood a
temple called the Nartang. Wanting to make some enquiries, I decided
to stay at this house, so that I parted company with my carriers, who
proceeded towards Shigatze. This house is used both by priests and
laymen for observing the ‘Eight rules of abstinence’ enjoined by the
Buḍḍha, or other forms of religious self-denial, such as silence or
abstinence from meat. Abstinence from flesh is considered an austerity
by Tibetan priests, because they eat meat, contrary to the ordinary
usages of Buḍḍhist monks.
The next day I visited the Nartang Temple, where I inspected the
most valuable of its treasures, which are immense heaps of wooden
printing-blocks, comprising the collection of all the Buḍḍhist writings
in Tibet, divided into two departments--Buḍḍha’s own preachings and
the works of the saints. In addition, they have an equally large
number of printing-blocks for the commentaries prepared by the native
Lamas. These blocks are kept in two large buildings, one of which
measures about 180 feet by sixty. This temple is the sole publisher
of the ‘collection of all the Buḍḍhist writings,’ the three hundred
priests who live there being printers. I called upon the head priest
of the temple, who had been specially sent from the Tashi Lhunpo
Temple, and found him very clever in conversation. The interview was
at once very instructive and agreeable to me, for the priest not only
gave me valuable information on Buḍḍhism but also accorded me cordial
treatment.