UPWARD TO THE SHRINE OF BUDDHA
From Colombo it is but seventy-five miles to Ceylon's ancient capital,
and the journey thither is picturesque almost beyond description. For
fifty miles the railway leads through the rich vegetation of the
lowlands, with groves of cocoanut palms seemingly as boundless as the
sea. In a suburb of Colombo the sacred Kelani River is crossed, at a
point not remote from the Buddhist temple claimed to be contemporary
with Gautama himself. The valley of the Kelani is vivid with rice-fields
of green. The line then pushes its way through a bewildering medley of
tropical vegetation--there are miles of cashew and breadfruit trees, of
frangipani and jaks, and more than once a stately talipot-palm is
discerned in full blossom--for half a century the tree has stored its
vitality for this one effort; and the burst of splendor spent, its
career on earth is ended. For twenty-five miles the train zigzags up
hills, running now and then on the edge of a shelf from whence the
traveler looks down hundreds of feet sheer upon foam-crested rapids. The
journey from Colombo to Kandy affords one of the memorable experiences
of Ceylon.
[Illustration: A LADY OF KANDY]
England has held the interior region of the island, controlled for
centuries by the Kandyan kings, for but ninety odd years, and it is
curious to observe wings of palaces at Kandy, where a semi-barbaric rule
long held sway, employed now as British administrative offices. Little
antiquity is discernible in the old hill capital, due to former rival
interests of the Portuguese and Dutch. When one nation had control of
the picturesque town, it was customary to efface or demolish everything
that the other had done.
Kandy is the city of Buddha's tooth, and as such is the object of
unbounded reverence with more than four hundred million inhabitants of
the earth. Oudh, where Gautama Buddha died, lacks the sacred importance
of Kandy; and the sepulcher at Jerusalem means no more to Christians,
nor Mecca and Medina to followers of Mahomet.
Kandy was but a mountain village when the holy molar was brought here in
the sixteenth century for safe-keeping. The small temple wherein it was
deposited was beautified and enlarged, and finally the priesthood made
the place their principal seat, and the Kandyan kings later made the
city their stronghold and capital of the country.
Thousands of pilgrims come yearly to offer to the Temple of the Tooth
their gifts of gold and silver ornaments, coins, jewels, vestments for
the priests, even fruits and flowers--and these devotees have traveled
from every hamlet of Ceylon and from every land where Buddha has
believers--from Nepaul, the Malay Peninsula, China, Japan, even from
Siberia and Swedish Lapland. The kings of Burmah and Siam, in compliance
with the wish of their subjects, send annual contributions toward the
support of the temple enshrining the tooth; and Buddhist priests in
far-away Japan correspond with the hierarchy of the temple of Kandy. No
other tooth has the drawing power of this one, certainly.
Strange to say. Buddhism has been cast out from India, where it
originated, by the Hindu faith, which it was meant to reform. In India's
enormous population scarce seven millions to-day worship at Buddha's
shrine. Christianity, as well, is a stranger to the land where it was
born. It appears the irony of fate that these great religions, glorious
in principle, have abiding places without number, save in the countries
where they originated. But such is the fact.
Few scholars can study the tenets of Buddhism without the conviction
that it is a religion of striking merit--that is, as form and dogma are
described by writers and commentators; but as practised by races not far
removed from pagan illiteracy, with whom idolatry and superstition are
inherent, it may no longer be the perfection of doctrine that was
espoused by Prince Gautama.
Sir Edwin Arnold, who thoroughly knew most Eastern religions, admired
enthusiastically the precepts of Buddha, and no one can read his
writings without experiencing some regard for the Buddhism of
literature. In "The Light of Asia" the five commandments of the great
religion of the Orient are thus poetically recited:
Kill not--for Pity's sake--and lest ye slay
The meanest thing upon its upward way.
Give freely and receive, but take from none
By greed, or force or fraud, what is his own.
Bear not false witness, slander not, nor lie;
Truth is the speech of inward purity.
Shun drugs and drinks which work the wit abuse;
Clear minds, clean bodies, need no Soma juice.
Touch not thy neighbor's wife, neither commit
Sins of the flesh unlawful and unfit.
Whether present-day Buddhism is the exact religion taught by the
princely priest, and gracefully described by the English poet, matters
little--its fountainhead is Kandy, and temple and dependencies of the
sacred bone form the Vatican of the faith. This miraculous tooth,
alleged to be the left eye-tooth of Gautama Buddha, and taken from the
ashes of his funeral pyre twenty-five hundred years ago, has played a
mighty part in Eastern intrigue, and wars between nations have been
fought over it. For centuries it was the priceless marriage dower going
with certain favored princesses of royal blood. It was brought from
India to Ceylon in the fourth century after Christ. The Malabars
secured it by conquest more than once, the Portuguese had it for a time
at Goa, and for safety it was brought to Kandy in the sixteenth century,
and it has there since been cared for with scrupulous fidelity.
A relic supported by so much history should at least be genuine--the
history may be all right, but the tooth is a shambling hoax, at best a
crude proxy for the molar of Gautama. Intelligent priests of Buddhism
must know this, but the millions of common people finding solace in the
faith have never heard the truth--and wouldn't believe it if they did.
No more amazing display of faith over a reputed sacred relic is known
than is associated with this bogus tooth of Kandy.
Reference to any library of unimpeachable works on the world's religions
proves conclusively that the actual tooth was burned by the Catholic
archbishop of Goa in 1560, in the presence of the viceroy of India and
his suite--this is authentic history. Six years after the event at Goa a
spurious tooth had to be provided to effect an international marriage
long under contract, and the molar of a wild boar or of an ape was used.
This tooth eventually was brought to the town nestling in the hills of
Ceylon, and surrounding it grew the capital of the proud kingdom of the
Kandyans. In the year of Waterloo, the British overthrew the reigning
sovereign, and the bogus tooth and its temple have since had the
protection of English rule.
[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF THE TOOTH, KANDY]
The dimensions of the tooth are fatal to its pretended genuineness,
for it is a discolored ivory two inches in length and one in diameter.
No human mouth ever gave shelter to such a tooth. To view it would be a
test of credulity too trying even for fanaticism to stand. The hoax,
consequently, is concealed from sight. On important occasions it is
displayed--at a distance. When the Duke and Duchess of York visited
Kandy the high priests of the temple exhibited the tooth; and on
occasions it is supposed to be carried in processions through the
streets on the back of an elephant--but deception and trickery in
connection with the tooth come easy.
The enshrined humbug reposes on a massive silver table, encrusted with
gems and festooned with jeweled chains. The chamber in which it is kept
in the temple is stiflingly hot, with atmosphere heavy from the perfume
of flowers. Within six or eight bell-shaped metal covers the tooth is
held by a standard as if emerging from the petals of a lotus flower of
gold. Visitors to the museum at Colombo may see a replica of the relic
and its setting: it is a tawdry, unimpressive object.
Glance where you will in Kandy, drive in any direction, penetrate any
avenue or footpath, and priestly disciples of Buddha, of every age from
the novice to the patriarch of exalted rank, accost the vision. Pilgrims
appear to be constantly arriving. They are present from Jaffna in the
north, from Galle in the south, from Nuara Eliya in the mountains, from
everywhere--some come on foot, some by curious carts drawn by buffaloes
or bullocks, some by railroad train. All are unshod, and the head of
each is bare and shaven. Each wears the robe of eternal yellow, with an
arm and shoulder bare, and the sunshade and palm fan have been the
adjuncts of the brotherhood since Gautama left his royal parents' house
to teach the word of Buddha.
Celibacy is the rule of the priesthood. Nothing can be less obtrusive
than the demeanor of the brethren. Visitors to their temples are
welcomed, and courteous replies are always made to inquiries.
Cremation is general in the priesthood, but apparently optional with
others of the faith. When a dignitary of the priesthood passes away his
confrères assemble from far and near at the funeral pyre to do him
honor. The incineration usually takes place in a palm grove. The corpse
is surrounded with dried wood, made additionally inflammable with oils.
The rites of the pyre include nothing of a sensational character; the
assemblage chants for a time, then a priest of high rank applies the
torch, and in an hour nothing remains but a mound of embers and ashes. A
cremation may be readily witnessed at Kandy or Colombo, or other place
possessing a considerable population.
The peoples of low caste of the East are too numerous to be catalogued.
India teems with them, of course, and the paradise island of Ceylon has
a considerable percentage of human beings denied by their betters of
almost every privilege save breathing the free air of heaven. The
lowlands and coastal regions have been so commercialized that human
pariahs are there almost overlooked--but they are at every turning of
the road in every hamlet, everywhere. Kandy, once royal city, knows the
abhorred low caste to-day as it did five hundred years ago, for in plain
view of the capital in the hills there are settlements of men and women
still excluded from communion with the world by reason of a royal curse
pronounced centuries ago--and it is a condition worse than death itself.
Representatives of the Rodiya caste may be seen any day by pedestrians
in the city's outskirts. There are not many of them,
fortunately--perhaps a thousand all told. Tradition has it that hundreds
of years ago a vengeful monarch condemned their race to never-ending
degradation for having supplied the royal table with human flesh instead
of venison. Custom forces these poor mortals to ford or swim a stream,
instead of using a ferry; and forbids their drawing water at public
wells. They must not live in houses like other people, but in hovels
constructed usually by leaning a hurdle against a rock, and their men
and women must never clothe their bodies above the waist. Until recent
years courts of justice have been closed to them, and if overtaken on
their travels by darkness they must find shelter in caves or abandoned
hovels. They recognize their degradation by falling on their knees when
addressing even toilers on the highway, and shout a warning on the
approach of a traveler, that he may halt long enough for them to get off
the road to secure his passing without possibility of defilement.
These groveling worms of the earth are nominally Buddhists, but are
forbidden to enter a temple. Hence they pray "standing afar off." Demon
worship is accredited to them. Their headman can officiate only when he
has obtained the sanction of the common jailor of the district. Even to
ask alms they must not enter a fenced property, and it is said at Kandy
that water over which their shadows have fallen is held to be so defiled
that other natives will not use it until purified by the sun's rays. And
thus it is; their race is penalized in every manner, and the ban goes
unchallenged by the miserable beings.
Their denial by mankind of ordinary fellowship has driven them to filthy
and beastly habits. They devour the flesh of monkeys and tortoises, even
carrion, it is claimed; and of late years they haunt feasts and
ceremonials hoping to obtain fragments of food thrown from the tables of
their betters. Now and then they are paid something for watching fields,
and for burying carcasses of dead cattle. It is not known that they are
thieves, but they are shunned as if they were. In emergencies, when
there is a scarcity of labor, they are induced to work on tea estates,
or at road mending; but the habits of vagabondage are too rooted to
allow their remaining long in useful employment.
[Illustration: CREMATION OF A BUDDHIST PRIEST]
Superior in every way to their men, the Rodiya women are the most
beautiful in all Ceylon. Their scantiness of raiment, it is pleaded
in their behalf, is due in no sense to immodesty. Rodiya girls wander
the country as dancers and jugglers, and their erect figures, elastic
step, and regalness of carriage, would be envied by the proudest woman
promenading Vanity Fair; some of them have faces so perfect in a classic
way that a sculptor or painter might make himself famous by reproducing
them.
Believe not that these miserable people represent the lowest grade of
degradation in Lanka's isle, for there are two outcast races so far
beneath them in the social scale as to be avoided by Rodiyas as if they
reeked with a pestilential disease. These castes are hopelessly beyond
the pale.
British rule in Asia recognizes no caste distinctions, but it has been a
humane work of the wives of several English governors of Ceylon to seek
to improve the position of the women of the Rodiya caste, especially of
the young girls. Some benefit is claimed as a result of the efforts of
the English women--but the majesty and power of Great Britain are puny
institutions compared with the force of caste among native races. To
keep down the Rodiya population a certain Kandyan king, it is stated on
good authority, used to have a goodly number of them shot each year.