The “Monlam” Festival.
_Monlam_ literally means supplication, but in practice it is the
name of the great Tibetan festival performed for the benefit of the
reigning Emperor of China, the offering of prayers to the deities for
his prosperity and long life. The festival commences either on the
3rd or 4th of January, according to the lunar calendar, and closes on
the 25th of the month. The three days beginning on New Year’s Day and
ending with the 3rd are given up to the New Year’s Festival, and from
the following day the great Monlam season sets in.
In order to make arrangements for the coming festival, the priests are
given holiday from the 20th of December. Holiday however is a gross
misnomer, for the days are spent in profane pleasures and in all sorts
of sinful amusements. The temples are no longer sacred places; they are
more like gambling-houses--places where the priests make themselves
merry by holding revels far into the night. Now is the time when the
Tibetan priesthood bids good-bye for a while to all moral and social
restraints, when young and old indulge themselves freely to their
heart’s content, and when those who remain aloof from this universal
practice are laughed at as old fogeys. I had been regularly employing
one little boy to run errands and to do all sorts of work. In order to
allow him to enjoy the season, I engaged another boy on this occasion.
I might have dispensed with this additional boy altogether, for as the
two boys never remained at home, and even stayed away at night, it was
just as if I had had no boy at all. And so for days and days religion
and piety were suspended and in their places profanity and vice were
allowed to reign supreme.
The wild season being over--it lasts about twelve days--the Monlam
festival commences. This is preceded by the arrival of priests at
Lhasa from all parts of Tibet. From the monasteries of Sera, Rebon,
Ganden and other large and small temples, situated at a greater or
less distance, arrive the contingents of the priestly hosts. These
must number about twenty-five thousand, sometimes more and sometimes
less, according to the year. They take up their quarters in ordinary
houses, for the citizens are under obligation to offer one or two
rooms for the use of the priests during this season, just as people
of other countries are obliged to do for soldiers when they carry out
manœuvres in their neighborhood. And as in the case when soldiers are
billeted, so the priests who come from the country are crowded in their
temporary abodes. Some of them are even obliged to sleep outside,
owing to lack of accommodation, but they do not seem to mind the
discomfort much, so long as snow does not fall. Besides the priests,
the city receives at the same time an equally numerous host of lay
visitors from the country, so that the population of Lhasa during this
festival season is swollen to twice its regular number, or even more.
In ordinary days Lhasa contains about fifty thousand inhabitants, but
there must be at least a hundred thousand on this special occasion. I
ought to state that formerly, and before the time of the present Dalai
Lama, the arrival of the Monlam festival was signalised not by the
inflow of people from the country but by the contrary movement, the
temporary exodus of the citizens to the provinces. Since the accession
of the present Grand Lama the direction of the temporary movement has
been reversed, and the festival has begun to be celebrated amidst
a vast concourse of the people instead of amidst a desolate scene.
This apparent anomaly was due to the extortion which the Festival
Commissioners practised on the citizens.
This function is undertaken by two of the higher priests of the Rebon
Monastery, the largest of the three important establishments, who take
charge of the judicial affairs of the temple during the term of one
year, and are known by the title of Shal-ngo. The appointment to the
post of Shal-ngo was and still is an expensive affair for its holder,
for he must present to the officials who determine the nomination
bribes amounting to perhaps five thousand _yen_. As soon as the post
has been secured at such a cost the Shal-ngo loses no time in employing
it as a means of recovering that sum, with heavy interest, during his
short tenure of office and especially during the two festival seasons
of Monlam and Sang-joe, over which the two Commissioners exercise
absolute control. They set themselves to collect enough to enable
them to live in competence and luxury during the rest of their lives.
Driven by this inordinate greed, the dealings of the Commissioners
are excessively strict during those days. Fines are imposed for every
trivial offence; the citizens are frequently fined as much as two
hundred _yen_, in Japanese currency, on the pretext of the imperfect
cleansing of the doorways or of the streets in front of their houses.
The parties engaged in a quarrel are ordered to pay a similarly heavy
fine, and without any discrimination as to the relative justice of
their causes. Then too the festival seasons are a dreadful time for
those who have debts not yet redeemed, for then the creditors can
easily recover the sum through the help of the Commissioners, provided
they are prepared to give to them one-half the sum thus recovered. On
receipt of a petition from a creditor, the greedy officials at once
order the debtors and their friends to pay the money on pain of having
their property confiscated. The whole proceedings of the Festival
Commissioners, therefore, are not much better than the villainous
practices of brigands and highwaymen. It is not to be wondered at that
at the approach of the festivals the citizens began in a hurry to lock
away their valuable property in the secret depths of their houses, and
then leaving one or two men to take charge during their absence, left
the city for the country, the houses being given over as lodgings for
the priests. During the Monlam season, therefore, there did not remain
in the city even one-tenth of its ordinary population.
[Illustration: A CORRUPT CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE MONKS.]
The shark-like practices of the Shal-ngos are not confined to the
festival seasons or to the citizens; on the contrary, they prey even
on their brother-priests for the purpose of satisfying their voracious
greed, and extort money from them. The Shal-ngos are like wolves in a
fold of sheep, or like robbers living with impunity amidst ordinary
law abiding people. That such gross abuses and injustice should have
been allowed within the sacred precincts of a monastery is really
marvellous, but it is a fact. The Shal-ngos’ extortions from the
citizens were checked when the present Dalai Lama ascended the throne,
and the citizens were thus enabled to live in peace and to participate
in the festival during the Monlam season, but the sinful practices of
the Legal Commissioners in other quarters are still left uncurtailed.
An interesting story is told which shows how the Shal-ngos are abhorred
and detested by the Tibetans. A certain Lama, superstitiously believed
to possess a supernatural power of visiting any place in this world or
the next and of visiting Paradise or Hell, was once asked by a merchant
of Lhasa to tell him with what he, the Lama, had been most impressed
during his visits to Hell. The Lama replied that he was surprised to
see so many priests suffering tortures at the hands of the guardians
of Hell. However he continued with an air of veracity, the tortures
to which ordinary priests were being subjected were not very extreme,
and they were therefore allowed to live in their new abode with less
suffering. But the tortures inflicted on the Shal-ngos of Rebon
monastery were horrible; they were such that the mere recollection of
them caused his hair to stand on end. Such is the story told at the
expense of these Lama sharks, and indeed from the way in which they
act during their short tenure of the office, Hell, and the lowest
circle in it, seems to be the only place for which they are fit.
Lhasa puts on her cleanest and finest appearance with the advent of
this season. The filth and garbage that have been left accumulating
during the preceding months are carried away, the gutters are cleaned,
and the public are no longer allowed to drop dirt about or in any way
to pollute the streets.
The grand service is performed at the magnificent three-storied edifice
which is so conspicuous in Lhasa, namely the Cho Khang, the celebrated
Buḍḍha’s Hall. During the service this hall is packed to overflowing
with priests and pious believers, and there is not space left to move
one’s elbows. Not infrequently, therefore, casualties are said to
happen.
The service is performed three times a day, first from five to seven
in the morning, then from ten to a little before one and lastly from
three to about half past four in the afternoon. The second service
is the most important one for the priests who attend the ceremony,
as it is accompanied by monetary gifts. The gifts come either from
philanthropic folk or from the Government, and range on each occasion
from twenty-four _sen_ (Japanese) to seventy-two _sen_. The gifts
generally amount during the period of the Festival to about ten _yen_
for ordinary priests. This sum is considerably larger on a special
occasion, as when a Dalai Lama is enthroned or dies, when it may
increase to about twenty _yen_.
The receipts of the higher Lamas during this season are far
greater--often one thousand, two thousand or even as much five thousand
_yen_.
On the other hand all the priests who arrive in Lhasa to attend the
ceremony are required to pay their own lodging expenses, at the rate
of twenty-five to fifty _sen_ a day. For a room or set of rooms better
furnished than usual the charge may be three to five _yen_, and of
course only aristocratic priests can afford to hire such rooms. The
lodging of the priests is somewhat exclusive, and they are forbidden to
stay at houses selling liquors, or containing many females.
During this season, besides the Festival Commissioners who are the
Lama sharks of the year, a special office for supervising priests,
called _Khamtsan-gi Giken_, is created, commissioned with the duty of
controlling the conduct of the priests. Quarrels are, however, very
rare during the season, though from the ordinary behavior of priests
they might naturally be expected to occasion such troubles. At any
rate the priests maintain decorum externally. They are expected to
attend the three services performed each day, and they are not allowed
to attend the ceremony at their own temples, even when those temples
are situated near the city. They must live in the city, and remain
there, unless under exceptional circumstances, such as illness. The
attendance at the three services is not compulsory, yet it is very
rarely neglected, for a distribution of gifts is very often made at
each service.
[Illustration: THE FINAL CEREMONY OF THE MONLAM.]
On January 15th, according to the lunar calendar, the most magnificent
ceremony is carried out at night. The offerings are arranged around
the Buḍḍha’s Hall, and the most conspicuous object among them is a
triangular wooden frame with sharp apex, the structure measuring about
forty feet high and thirty feet long at the base. Two dragons in an
ascending position are fixed to the two sides, while about the middle
of the frame the “Enchanted Garden” is represented, peopled either with
figures of the Buḍḍha teaching human beings or of Princes and other
important dignitaries. These figures are all made of butter. Besides
human figures there are figures of several of the alleged birds of
paradise, such as are mentioned in Buḍḍhist books. All these are of
Tibetan workmanship, and creditably executed, probably as a result
of long experience. I should add that the butter figures are all
finely painted and even gilded, and as the butter takes color easily
the effect produced is very splendid, when those highly decorated and
painted figures are seen by the light of butter-lamps or torches that
are burning at a suitable distance from the figures. There must be as
many as a hundred and twenty such ornamental structures around the
Hall, while the lamps and torches that are burning are quite countless.
Indeed, it seemed to me as if some gorgeous scene such as we imagine to
exist only in Heaven had been transplanted to earth on that particular
occasion. To the Tibetans the scene as exhibited on this particular
night marks the high-water level of all that is splendid in this world,
and it is therefore quoted as an ideal standard in speaking of anything
that is uncommonly magnificent.
This offering ceremony concludes at about two o’clock the following
morning, and two hours later the decorated figures are removed, for
they are in danger of being melted when exposed to the rays of the sun.
The ceremony, it must be remembered, is attended only by a limited
number of priests, probably three hundred at the utmost out of the
twenty-five thousand who are present in the city to attend the Monlam
festival. The privilege of inspecting this yearly show is therefore
regarded as a great honor by the Tibetan priests.
The reason why this magnificent display is denied to the inspection of
the majority of priests and to the whole of the populace is because
formerly, when it was open to universal inspection, uncontrollable
commotion attended by casualties used to mar the function. And so
the authorities decided about thirty years ago to perform it in this
semi-private manner.
The ceremony begins at about eight in the evening and closes, as
before mentioned, at about four the following morning. The function
is sometimes inspected by the Dalai Lama, while at other times he does
not come, as was the case when I had the good fortune to witness it
in the company of the ex-Finance Minister. The Amban however does not
omit to attend the ceremony. He was attired in the gorgeous official
garments of China, and sat in a carriage lit up inside with twenty-four
tussore silk lanterns in which were burning foreign-made candles. On
his head he wore the official cap befitting his rank. The procession
was preceded by a cavalcade of Chinese officers also in their gala
dresses, and behind the carriage followed another train of mounted
guards. It was really a fine scene, this procession of the Chinese
Amban as it passed through the streets lit up with tens of thousands of
butter-lamps; only I thought that the sight was too showy and that it
lacked the element of solemnity.
After the procession of the Amban followed the trains of the high
priests, then high lay officials and last of all the Premiers. On that
occasion only two of the four Premiers attended, the other two being
unable to be present.
The Premiers come to the function in order to inspect the offerings,
which are contributed by the Peers and the wealthy as a sort of
obligation. Butter decorations are expensive things, costing from three
hundred to two thousand yen in Japanese currency, according to their
magnitude and the finish of the workmanship; and here were over one
hundred and twenty such costly decorations arranged as offerings, and
that only for one evening. I believe no such costly butter decorations
are to be seen anywhere else in the world.
[Illustration: A SCENE FROM THE MONLAM FESTIVAL.]
During the festival I remained as before under the hospitable roof of
the ex-Minister, and though through the favor of my host I inspected
the offering ceremony, I did not attend the prayer services. The
former I saw from mere curiosity and as an outsider. The scene on
the occasion was sufficiently enjoyable; I went first to the quarters
assigned to the warrior-priests and observed that these young men were
spending their time in their own customary way even during the time of
the service, singing songs, trying feats of arms, or engaged in hot
disputes or even open quarrels. All at once the clamor ceased and order
was restored as if by magic, and the young priests were seen demurely
reciting the service; they had noticed some subordinates of the
Festival Commissioners coming towards them in order to maintain order.
Those subordinates were armed with willow sticks about four feet long
and fairly thick--sticks which were green and supple and well suited
for inflicting stinging blows.
Then I moved on to the quarters where the learned priests were intently
engaged in carrying out the examination held for the aspirants to the
highest degrees obtainable in Tibet. The examination was oral and in
the form of interrogations put to the candidates by the examination
committee, the latter being composed of the most celebrated theologians
in the three colleges. The candidates too were not unworthy to be
examined by such divines, for those only are qualified to apply for
permission to undergo the examination who have studied hard for twenty
years, and have acquired a thorough knowledge of all the abstruse
points in Buḍḍhist theology and have made themselves masters of the art
of question and answer. The learned discourses delivered by examiners
and examinees awoke in me high admiration. The forensic skill of the
two parties was such as I had rarely seen anywhere else. The examiners
put most tortuous questions to entice the candidates into the snare of
sophistry, while the latter met them with replies similarly searching
and intended to upset the whole stratagem of the querents. So forcible
and exciting were the arguments offered by both parties that they
might be compared, I thought, to a fierce contest such as might take
place between a lion and a tiger.
The examination was indeed an exhibition of a truly intellectual
nature, and was attended not only by the committee and candidates
but by almost all the learned theologians and their disciples. These
strangers were sitting round the examination tables and freely
criticised the questions put and replies made. They even raised shouts
of applause or of laughter, whenever either convincingly refuted his
antagonist or was worsted in the argument. I observed the laughter to
be especially contagious and the merry sound raised by two or three men
in the strangers’ quarters would spread to all the others in the hall,
till the walls resounded with the loud “ha, ha, ha” coming from several
thousand throats.
Every year during the Monlam season sixteen candidates selected from
the three colleges are given the degree of _Lha Ramba_, meaning
‘Special Doctor,’ and this degree is the most honorable one open to
Tibetan divines. Only those of exceptional acquirements can hope for it.
On the occasion of the _Choen joe_ festival also, sixteen candidates
of the secondary grade are sent from the universities to pass the
examination for the _Tso Ramba_ degree. Then there are inferior
degrees, which are granted by the monasteries to the young priests
studying there. There are two such degrees, one called _Do Ramba_ and
the other _Rim-shi_. Sometimes divines of great erudition are found
among the holders of the Do Ramba degree, men even more learned than
the ‘Special Doctors.’ The fact is that the examination for the highest
degree is expensive, when one wishes to procure that title at one jump
and without previously obtaining the intermediary Do Ramba.
It is not rare, therefore to find among the Do Ramba men theologians
whose learning can even outshine that of the proud holders of
the highest degree, for there are often men who from pecuniary
considerations only are withheld from attempting the examination.
The holders of the Do Ramba degree therefore differ considerably in
learning, but this cannot be said of those holding the other title
of Rim-shi, the latter being in nine cases out of ten of mediocre
learning. This degree is easily procurable for a certain sum of money
when one has studied five or six years at the monasteries of Rebon
and Ganden, and so the young priests from the country generally avail
themselves of this convenient transaction and return home as proud
holders of the Doctor’s title, and as objects of respect and wonder for
their learning among the local folk. In Tibet therefore, as in other
parts of the world, cheap Doctors flaunt their learning, and pass for
prodigies among the simple-minded people of the country.
The Doctors of the highest grade are unquestionably theologians of
great erudition, for knowledge of the ordinary Buḍḍhist text-books is
not enough for the aspirants to that title; they must study and make
themselves at home in the complete cycle of Buḍḍhist works. Perhaps
the Tibetan first class Doctors possess a better knowledge of Buḍḍhist
theology and are more at home in all its ramifications than are the
Japanese Buḍḍhist divines; for though there are quite a large number
of theologians in Japan who are thoroughly versed in the philosophy
and doctrine of their own particular sects it cannot boast so many
divines whose knowledge completely covers the whole field of Buḍḍhist
philosophy.
During the festival I frequently went to the Hall to see the
function as a curious observer, but for the rest I devoted my time
to prosecuting my studies under a Lhakhamba Doctor and the learned
Mae Kenbo of the Sera monastery. Thus while the other priests were
attending to their worldly business of making money, I detached myself
from society and was absorbed in study. I had the more reason to
devote myself to this self-imposed task, for the time I had fixed
for my departure from Tibet was drawing nearer. Not that I had
hitherto neglected the main object which prompted me to undertake this
self-assigned expedition to Lhasa; on the contrary, even when I was
obliged, from unavoidable circumstances, to act the part of an amateur
doctor and prescribe treatment to Tibetan patients, I never suspended
my study; I either read Buḍḍhist works or attended lectures.
On March 4th of the solar calendar (January 24th of the Tibetan
almanac) the sword festival was celebrated at Lhasa. I had the good
fortune to witness this performance also, though the function is not
open to general inspection. I observed it from the window of a certain
Peer, an acquaintance of mine, whose house fronted the Buḍḍha’s Hall.
I may call the Sword Festival a sort of Tibetan military review. At
any rate the regulars in and about Lhasa participated in it, and also
the special soldiers temporarily organised for the occasion. They were
all mounted, and numbered altogether perhaps two thousand five hundred
men. They were quaintly accoutred, and seemed to be divided according
to the colors of the pieces of cloth attached to the back of their
helmets and hanging down behind. I saw a party of about five hundred
troopers distinguished by white cloths, then another with purple
cloths, while there was a third which used cloths of variegated dyes.
But irrespective of the different colors, they were all clad in a sort
of armor and carried small flags also of different colors. Some were
armed with bows and arrows and others with guns, and the procession of
the gaily attired soldiery was not unlike the rows of decorated May
dolls arranged for sale in Tokyo on the eve of the Boys’ Festival in
Japan.
The proceedings began with a signal gun. As the booming sound subsided
the procession of soldiery made its appearance and each division went
past the Grand Lama’s seat constructed on an elevated stand to the west
of the Hall. With the termination of this march-past a party of about
three hundred priests, carrying a flat drum each with a long handle
and with the figure of a dragon inscribed upon its face, came out of
the main edifice. Each of them carried in his right hand a crooked
drum-stick. This party took its stand in a circle in front of the Hall.
Next marched out the second party of priests all gorgeously attired in
glittering coats and brocade tunics, each carrying a metallic bowl used
in religious services. I must mention that the function demands of the
soldiery and priests the washing of their bodies with warm water on the
preceding evening, and so on that particular occasion those Tibetans,
careless and negligent of bodily cleanliness at other times, are for
the first time in the year almost decently clean.
The metallic-bowl party was arranged in a row around the drum party,
and soon the signal for the service was given by one of the bowl-men
who was apparently a leader. It was a peculiar signal, and consisted in
striking on the bowl and starting a strange dancing movement. On this
the two parties beat their drums and bowls in some sort of tune. After
this had gone on for some time the whole party burst out into a chorus
of ominous howls, not unlike the roar of the tiger. As the thousand
priests composing the two parties all howled to the fullest extent of
their throats, the noise made was sufficiently loud.
After the howling parties had completed their part in this ceremony,
out marched a party of Nechung priests, those oracle-mongers of
Tibet to whom reference has been made more than once already. The
oracle-mongers’ party was heralded by a number of sacred-sword-bearers
in two rows, about a dozen in each. The sword carried measured about
four feet in length and was set off with pieces of silk cloth of five
different colors. The sword-bearers were followed by the bearers of
golden censers and other sacred caskets or vessels. Then followed the
oracle-monger, dressed _cap-à-pie_ in all the glittering fashion which
Tibetan ingenuity alone could devise. He was clad in gold brocade and
wore head-gear of the same cloth. He behaved like a man stricken with
palsy, was supported right and left by an assistant, and his eyes were
shut. Gasping like a fish out of water and walking with a tottering
gait not unlike that of a man who has lost his power of locomotion
through too much liquor, the Nechung slowly emerged from the Hall. By
the ignorant populace he was greeted as an object of veneration, but
there were seen not a small number of priests and laymen who looked
upon this peculiar appearance of the Nechung with eyes of undisguised
disgust.
The part assigned to this Lama fanatic is one of semi-divine character,
he being required to act as a guardian angel, to prevent any mishaps
occurring during the ceremony of the ‘Sword Festival’.
Last of all slowly marched forth the procession of the Ganden Ti
Rinpoche. I saw him under a capacious and highly decorated awning
which is the same sort of umbrella as that of the Grand Lama. He was
attired in the ceremonial robe befitting his rank of Ti Rinpoche. His
appearance was highly impressive and even those priests who had viewed
the oracle-mongers with well-deserved scorn were seen in attitudes
of sincere respect. That was also my sentiment as my eyes met him;
for he truly impressed me as a living Buḍḍha. To the Ti Rinpoche was
entrusted the most important function in this ceremony, the hurling of
the sacred sword in order to avert any evil spirits that may obstruct
the prosperous reign of the Chinese Emperor. With this sword-hurling
the ceremony was brought to a close.
Though in principle this ceremony concludes the Monlam, in practice
it comes to an end only on the following morning and with a custom
of practical utility--that of carrying stones to the banks of the
river Kichu which flows by Lhasa, and is often liable to overflow and
flood the city. The stones required for this purpose are brought by
the country people, and are sold at ten or twenty _sen_ a piece, and
each priest or citizen who attends the ceremony buys one or two such
stones and conveys them to the banks either on his own back or by hired
carriers. The stones thus conveyed to the banks are supposed to possess
the effect of atoning for their sins. The banks must acquire great
strength in consequence of this stone-piling.