The Festival of Lights.
On January 4th, 1902, that is to say, on November 25th of the
lunar calendar, the festival of Sang-joe commenced, this being the
anniversary day of the death of Je Tsong-kha-pa the great Lamaist
reformer. This may be called the “Festival of Lights,” every roof in
Lhasa and in all the adjoining villages blazing with lights set burning
in honor of the occasion. Hundreds, even thousands of such butter-fed
lights were burning on the roofs of monasteries, and presented a unique
sight, such as is rarely seen in other parts of the world.
The Sang-joe is one of the most popular festivals, and lasts for two
weeks. It is the season when the Tibetans, priests and laymen, give
themselves up to great rejoicing, when dancing, singing and feasting
are the order of the day, and when people put on their gala dresses.
The arrival of the season is announced by an interesting custom, a sort
of religious blackmail, enforced at the expense of people of position
from about the second decade of the month of November according to
the lunar calendar. According to this custom every person enjoys the
privilege, for the sake of the coming festival, of begging a present of
money from any superior in rank or position who may visit his house.
Even people of good position and means do not think it beneath them to
exercise this privilege of begging. I myself felt the effect of this
custom and was obliged to present here a _tanka_ and there two tanka.
In this way I spent about five _yen_ in Japanese money during this
season of public begging. I did not doubt it when I was told by some
acquaintance that my Sang-joe item next year would be threefold what
it was in the present year, owing to the enlargement of the circle of
my acquaintances.
The religious side of Sang-joe is a sort of vigil, performed every
night from about midnight to early dawn, the service consisting of the
reading in company of holy Texts. This midnight ceremony is a solemn
affair which every person in the monastery is obliged to attend.
As I attended this ceremony in the Sera monastery I was highly
impressed with the solemnity of the function, and felt that the
peculiarly subdued tones of the chanting exerted upon my mind a
powerful effect. It seemed to me as if angels were conducting the
service.
The whole surroundings were in keeping with the solemnity of the
occasion. The lofty hall was hung with tapestries of glittering brocade
and satin; the pillars were wound with red woollen cloth with floral
designs in blue and white; while on the walls and from the upper parts
of the pillars were hung religious pictures regarded as masterpieces in
Tibet. All these were lighted up by several thousand lamps containing
melted butter, the lamps shining bright and clear with pure-white rays,
not unlike those of gas-burners.
Sitting in the hall amidst such sacred surroundings, and listening
to the chanting of the holy Texts, thoughts of profound piety took
possession of my mind, and I felt as if I were transported to the
region of Buḍḍha.
The Sang-joe is also a great occasion of alms and charity, and the
priests, especially the acolytes and disciples, go round at dawn to
collect alms in the temple when the service is concluded. The people
being more generously disposed at this season than at other times
give quite liberally. I am sorry to say that this pious inclination
on the part of the people is often abused by mischievous priests,
who do not scruple to go, in violation of the rules, on a second or
even third or fourth round of begging at one time. I was astonished
to hear that the priests who are on duty to prevent such irregular
practices are in many cases the very instigators, abetting the younger
disciples in committing them. The ill-gotten proceeds go into the
pockets of those unscrupulous ‘inspectors’ who, urged on by greed,
even go to the extreme of thrashing the young disciples when they
refuse to go on fraudulent errands of this particular description.
Now and then the erratic doings of these lads come to the ears of the
higher authorities, who summon them and inflict upon them a severe
reprimand, together with the more smarting punishment of a flogging.
The incorrigible disciples are not disconcerted in the least, being
conscious that they have their protectors in the official inspectors,
and of course they are immune from expulsion from the monastery.
These mischievous young people are in most cases warrior-priests.
These warrior-priests, of whom an account has already been given, are
easily distinguished from the rest by their peculiar appearance and
especially by their way of dressing the hair. Sometimes their heads are
shaved bald, but more often they leave ringlets at each temple, and
consider that these locks of four or five inches long give them a smart
appearance. This manner of hair-dressing is not approved by the Lama
authorities, and when they take notice of the locks they ruthlessly
pull them off, leaving the temples swollen and bloody. Painful as
this treatment is, the warriors rather glory in it, and swagger about
the streets to display the marks of their courage. They are, however,
cautious to conceal their ‘smart’ hair-dressing from the notice of the
authorities, so that when they present themselves in the monastery
they either tuck their ringlets behind the ears or besmear their faces
with lamp-black compounded with butter. When at first I saw such
blackened faces I wondered what the blackening meant, but afterwards
I was informed of the reason of the strange phenomenon and my wonder
disappeared as I became accustomed to the sight.
I am sorry to say that the warrior-priests are not merely offensive
in appearance; they are generally also guilty of far more grave
offences, and the nights of the holy service are abused as occasions
for indulging in fearful malpractices. They really seem to be the
descendants of the men of Sodom and Gomorrah mentioned in the bible.
They are often quite particular in small affairs. They are afraid of
killing tiny insects, are strict in not stepping over broken tiles of a
monastery when they find them on the road, but walk round them to the
right, and never to the left. And yet they, and even their superiors,
commit grave sin without much remorse. Really they are straining at
gnats and swallowing camels.
There lived once in Tibet a humorous priest named Duk Nyon, a Tibetan
Rabelais, who was celebrated for his amusing though none the less
sensible way of teaching. This priest met on the road a priest of the
New Sect, and it may be imagined that sharp repartees must have been
exchanged between the two. On the road Duk Nyon noticed a small stone,
which he carefully avoided and instead of walking over it walked round
it. Next they came to a big rock, which hardly admitted of walking
over. The humorist stooped low to give momentum to his body and the
next instant he jumped over it. His companion marvelled at this
strange behavior of Duk Nyon; he could not understand why he should
have avoided a small stone and then should jump over a large one. So
the New Sect priest bantered Duk Nyon on what he considered a silly
proceeding, but Duk Nyon replied that he had been merely giving an
object-lesson to the New Sect folk, who were meticulously exact about
small things, but were wont to leap over grave sins without remorse.
The story goes that his companion was much abashed at this home-thrust
of the humorist. This witty remark of the old priest may be said to
hold true even at the present time, for though the Sang-joe presents a
solemn and impressive front outwardly, it is full of abominable sights
behind the scenes. It is merely a season of criminal indulgence for the
warrior-priests and other undesirable classes.