Admission into Sera College.
I did not see as much of the festival as I might have done, because I
had to go through my formal entrance examinations before the festival
was entirely over, and I devoted all spare moments to preparation. Once
more I overworked myself, but I bought some more medicine, and was
soon well again. This caused no little wonder among my neighbors, and
I was often asked if I had studied medicine. I must have studied it,
they would say, because I could cure my own illness, and I was obliged
to tell them that I had read a few books on medicine. This led me to
practise it among them afterwards.
Before the celebrations were over, I went back to my own monastery
for my examination. It was on April 18th that I presented myself
with forty other candidates. I was given both written and oral
examinations, besides the recitation of a passage from the Scriptures.
The examinations were such as are generally given to those who have
finished the common course in Tibetan schools. They were not so
difficult for me as I had expected, and I was admitted to the college,
though all were not equally fortunate, for only seven out of the forty
passed. Among the successful members were a few warrior-priests also.
They had run into debt, and had since studied hard to be admitted.
But, let me say, their object was something more than mere study.
Scholarships were awarded, from fifty sen to one yen and sometimes
two yen a month per scholar-priest. The amount was not fixed, but it
generally came to some ten yen a year. It was on account of that sum of
money that many warrior-priests tried to pass the examination. I was
admitted as a student of the first class, in which priest-students
varying from boys in their teens to men in the forties and fifties were
studying the Buḍḍhist catechism, according to the Tibetan fashion.
Their way of studying was so interesting and active, and they were so
earnest and fervent, that one would have thought they were quarrelling
with one another while discussing.
The catechism is a very pleasant performance, and the ways of
questioning, emphasis, and intonation are quite interesting. The
catechised sits in a certain attitude, and the questioner stands up
with a rosary in his left hand, and walks towards him. He stretches
out his hands with the palm of the left hand downwards and that of the
right hand upwards and claps them together, uttering the words, _Chi!
chi tawa choe chan_. Here ‘Chi’ means the heart of the Boḍhisaṭṭva
Mañjushrī and its utterance is supposed to make the questioner one
with Him, whose real body is knowledge. The rest of the utterance
literally means, “in that nature of the truth.” The sense of the whole
is “We shall begin the discussion following the nature of Truth as it
is manifested in the Universe.” Then the discussion begins in earnest
according the rules of the logic of Nyāya. The first question, for
instance, may be whether Buḍḍha was human or not. Whether the answer
is in the affirmative or the negative, the questioner goes on to ask;
“But he was not above mortality, was he?” If he be answered in the
affirmative, he will say that it could not be so, for Buḍḍha was no
more than mortal. The answerer, if bright enough, will then reply that
Buḍḍha, though himself above death, submitted himself to it in his
incarnated body. He must say also that Buḍḍha had three bodies, called
in Saṁskṛṭ Ḍharmakāya, Sambhogakāya and Nirmānakāya, and in Tibetan,
Choeku, Lonjoeku and Tulku. These terms mean: ‘The all pervading body
consisting of the purest virtue of Truth in him’, ‘the body derived
from his countless virtues, enjoying complete happiness with the
light of Truth,’ and ‘the body derived from his boundless mercy and
transcendental knowledge for the good of all beings.’
[Illustration: A VEHEMENT PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSION.]
If the catechised shows any weak point in his answers, the questioner
never fails to take advantage of the opportunity, and drives him on,
saying for example that Buḍḍha was a real man born in India. Whether
the answer be in the affirmative or negative, he will go on asking many
questions in succession, and that with so much animation that, when he
utters the words of a question, he beats time with hands and feet. The
teacher always teaches the catechists that the foot must come down so
strongly that the door of hell may be broken open, and that the hands
must make so great a noise that the voice of knowledge may frighten the
devils all over the world, by a fearless heart and a brave attitude.
The object of the questions and answers is to free the mind from all
worldliness, and to get into the very bottom of Truth, giving no power
to the devils of hell in the mind.
To show how excitedly the catechism is carried on, it is said that a
countryman once came to see the scene. The question happened to be
about physiognomy (kan-sa), which in Tibetan is synonymous with a
tobacco-pipe. The countryman thought that they were disputing over
a tobacco-pipe, and was very much surprised that a pipe should be
the matter of the quarrel, for the priests were seemingly very much
provoked and railed at each other and exchanged blows! Three years
later, the same countryman came to worship at the temple of Sera,
and again happened to see the priests disputing hotly about what he
thought to be a pipe. He saw them strike each other at the end of the
dispute, and felt very sorry for them. So he thought he would settle
the dispute by arbitration. He then walked among the priests, holding
out his pipe, which he meant to give them. Though it was none of his
business to come among the priests, he offered the pipe and begged them
to settle the dispute, thereby causing great laughter among them. It is
with such excitement and with hardly any formality that the questions
are asked and answered. Still it must not be supposed that one could
answer these questions without a knowledge of Buḍḍhism. One has to
read many texts and reference books before one can go through these
questions. It takes the natives twenty years of hard and unceasing
study, with examinations every year, to obtain the degree of a doctor.
The catechism forms the chief part of the education of Tibetan priests.
This method seems to excite so great an interest among priest-students
that there are always many Mongolians in Tibet, who come so far and
through so much hardship with the sole object of receiving education
there. There are three hundred Mongolians at the Sera college, and
hardly fewer at other large temples, such as that of Tashi Lhunpo. The
New Sect of Buḍḍhism owes a great deal of its fine prospects to its
catechism, while the Old Sect has already lost popularity and is now
tottering. It is by this spirited Catechism that the naturally dull and
lazy Tibetans are goaded on to understand Buḍḍhism, and are very rich,
for a half-civilised nation, in logical ideas. But let me add, it is
only the learned that are rich in logical ideas; the people at large,
who have received little education, are far from being intelligent.
The Catechism is generally held at some beautiful place, where there
are many fine trees, such as elms, willows, nuts, peaches and various
others which are not found in Japan, though on the whole Tibet does
not possess a large variety of trees. The ground under the trees is
covered with beautiful white sand. When the first Catechism is over,
the priests have what is termed the Garden of Truth, at some equally
well-wooded place, where there are varieties of flowers. The ground
there is also covered with white sand, and enclosed by stone walls five
or six feet high with a gateway constructed in Chinese fashion. The
priests gather themselves there to read from the Scriptures, and after
the reading, they begin questioning one another. Here they make no
difference of classes, but ask one another concerning their text books
and everything else. This helps them a great deal to improve their
knowledge and wisdom.
At the other place, there may be no more than one questioner and one
answerer, the rest keeping silence, whether the class consist of fifty
or a hundred priests. The questioner and the answerer might change, but
they could be taken only from that one class. In the garden, however,
there are no such limitations, there is no difference of classes, and
young and old priests are seen questioning each other. So one may
easily fancy how noisy and excited they are. While I was having a
Catechism among them under a peach-forest in blossom, snowflakes began
to fall on us. I stopped questioning and, struck with the beautiful
scene around me, I wrote two Japanese poems which served to give my
friends at home some idea of my thoughts.
In spring the blooming flowers of the peach
Are fully blown in “Dharma-garden” there,
Greeting with welcome glee the friendly snows.
Under their shades the wrangling priests discuss,
With their vehement, uncouth gestures strange,
Their doubts to melt, like to the melting snows
Beneath these trees emitting odours sweet.
Day and night I studied in this way. But finding soon that it left me
too many precious hours to have only one teacher, I now found another
priest to teach me. I went to them to receive their instruction, while
they too sometimes came to teach me. I thus made considerable progress
in my learning.
There is a strange custom which a new college student has to observe
as a sign of his admittance. I had to go to Lhasa and to travel, as
a sign of my admittance, for two days to beg for fuel. But one day a
young priest next door quarrelled with another young priest and hit him
with a stone, which dislocated the bone of his upper arm. The wounded
lad was a special favorite of his instructor, who feared very much that
he might be deformed. Bone-setting is quite unknown to the Tibetans,
and their doctors, who have no knowledge of how to set a dislocated
bone, apply heated iron, or give some medicine to drink or use. I was
on my walk and happened to hear the pitiful cries of the wounded boy,
and was told, when I asked why they did not send for a doctor, that it
was far better not to do so, as it would only be a heavy expense for
nothing. They were not going to have one. When I asked if no doctor in
Tibet could set a dislocated bone, they seemed to be much surprised
at my improbable question. It was with some difficulty that I made
them believe that a dislocated bone can be easily set. So going to the
wounded boy, I easily set his bone, while a Tibetan held his head and
left hand. Then I acupunctured that part where the muscle was a little
swollen, and the boy was soon cured.