Chapter C: Heavens of formless entities (4)

The Rev. D. J. Gogerley witnessed the performance of a great Pirit ceremony in Ceylon (Hardy’s Monachism, p. 240). Taking his account and that of Mr. Dickson, I have compiled the following brief description of the Mahā-baṇa Pirit, ‘great Pirit recitation’:—

So soon as the sun has set crowds of people arrive at the Recitation-Hall, bringing oil-lamps made out of cocoanut-shells. The Hall is decorated, and a canopy, shaped like a pagoda, is erected over the pulpits, which are placed on a raised platform. When darkness supervenes a blaze of light illuminates the Hall. A relic of the Buddha is deposited on the platform, and a sacred thread is fastened round the Hall, one extremity of it being brought close to the relic and to the Reciters. On the morning of the next day, the recitations begin. One of the Reciters repeats the three-refuge formula, and the five commandments (see pp. 78, 126). Then incense is burnt round the platform, and the musicians outside the Hall strike up a lively air. Next, the formula of ‘the twelve successive causes of existence’ (see p. 102) is intoned, and a hymn of victory chanted.

The recitation of the Pirit continues uninterruptedly, day and night, for seven days. Twenty-four priests are employed, two of whom are constantly seated on the platform and engaged in reciting. Moreover three times in each day—at sunrise, mid-day, and sunset—they all assemble together and chant in chorus. Of course, when the recitation of the Suttas constituting the Pirit is concluded, it is recommenced, and in this way all the Suttas are recited again and again. On the morning of the seventh day a messenger is sent to a neighbouring temple to invite the attendance of the gods. Then by a stretch of the imagination certain of the gods and spirits are believed to answer the summons, and on their supposed arrival, the protective Suttas are chanted more energetically than ever till the morning of the eighth day, when a benediction concludes the ceremony, and offerings of robes are made to the priest-reciters.

We now pass on to Tibet and Mongolia.

The ceremonies of admission to the monkhood in those countries do not deviate sufficiently from the practices just described to require special notice.

With regard, however, to the dress of Lāmistic monks after their admission to the Order, the ancient rule, as we have seen, obliged them to wear only three garments of a dirty yellowish colour, made out of rags, or picked up in cemeteries or on dust heaps. But the necessities of a colder climate have compelled the Lāmas to increase their official vestments, and the higher Lāmas sometimes wear bright silken robes enriched with ornament. The law is sufficiently obeyed by putting a patch or two at one corner.

A full equipment is supposed to consist of an under vestment, a sort of tunic worn over it, a mantle, a kind of scarf worn over the left shoulder, a loose robe brought round over the same shoulder, and a cap[142]. The right shoulder is rarely bare, as it generally is in Southern Buddhist countries.

The colour of these six articles of clothing, especially of the cap, is yellow or red, according to the sect to which a monk belongs.

The cap is an important mark of sectarian difference, and is of various forms, and when it has five points, has been compared to a bishop’s mitre, but the five points really denote the five Dhyāni-Buddhas and their Bodhi-sattvas.

Part of every full monk’s equipment in Tibet is a peculiar instrument, made of bronze or other metal, and called a Dorje (Sanskṛit Vajra, ‘a thunderbolt’), the employment of which for religious objects is peculiar to Northern Buddhism. It is shaped like the imaginary thunderbolt of the gods Indra and Ṡiva—that is, it consists of a short bar, about four inches long, the two extremities of which swell out in globular form, or like small oval cages formed of hoops of metal. The original Dorje is supposed to have fallen direct from Indra’s heaven, and to have been preserved in a monastery near Lhāssa, called Sera pp. 278, 442. According to another legend, the original instrument belonged to Gautama Buddha himself, and on his passing away into non-existence, transported itself through the air from India into Tibet. The consecrated imitations of it are innumerable. Their primary use is for exorcising and driving away evil spirits, especially in the performance of ceremonies and repetition of prayers—the instrument being then held between the fingers and thumb and waved backwards and forwards, or from side to side.

The efficacy of the Dorje in securing good fortune and warding off evil influences of all kinds is supposed to be of wide application. The idea was really borrowed from Ṡaivism or from the Tantra system, introduced through Nepāl by the Red sect. It is easy to understand the enormous power supposed to belong to a priesthood which claimed to be the wielders of a formidable thunderbolt, sent to them directly from heaven.

No wonder that the original Dorje preserved at the Sera monastery has become an object of actual worship. According to M. Huc, countless pilgrims prostrate themselves before it; and at the New Year’s festival, on the 27th day of the first month, it is carried in procession with great pomp to Lhāssa,—to the two centres of Lāmism—Potala and Lā brang. On its way there, the mystical implement is adored by the whole population, male and female (ii. 221).

Below is an engraving of a Dorje which I brought from Dārjīling.

It should be mentioned that the fierce Bodhi-sattva Vajra-pāṇi (see p. 201 of this volume) is represented holding a similar Dorje in his right hand in his character of subduer of evil spirits. In some representations the evil demons are denoted by serpents.

Another important part of a full monk’s equipment in Tibet is the Prayer-bell (called Drilbu) employed at the performance of daily religious ceremonies, and rung to accompany the repetition and chanting of prayers, or to fill up the intervals of worship. It often has half a Dorje as a handle, or the handle is ornamented with various mystical symbols carved on it. The object of ringing bells during worship is to call the attention of the beings who are worshipped, or to keep off evil spirits by combining noise with the waving of the Dorje in the handle.

The bell here represented was brought by me from Dārjīling.

The bells used in Burma are described at p. 526.

Other religious implements used by novices and lay-brethren, as well as by full monks, are prayer-wheels, prayer-cylinders, rosaries, amulets (see p. 358), drums (see p. 385), and the Phurbu or Phur-pa (pp. 351, 352).

As to the daily religious services and ceremonies performed by Monks in Tibet and Mongolia, these, of course, are far more ritualistic than in southern Buddhist countries. It has already been explained (at pp. 202, 225) that certain abstract essences or mystical forms of the Buddha, called Dhyāni-Buddhas, were imagined to exist, and these had their concrete energizing vice-gerents called Bodhi-sattvas—beings who received adoration as if they were actually gods. In Tibet the Bodhi-sattva Avalokiteṡvara, and the canonized reformer Tsong Khapa, and other supposed saints, became prominent objects of religious worship. Then, in process of time, a complicated ceremonial was developed, which, as we shall see (p. 338), has much in common with the ritual of Roman Catholic Christianity.

The language employed in the religious services of the Lāmistic Hierarchy, whether in Tibet, Mongolia, or in the Lāma monasteries of China and Manchuria, is Tibetan. In fact, Tibetan is to the Lāmistic Church what Latin is to the Romish. It is the sole orthodox language of religion and religious ceremonial.

According to Koeppen, only one Mongolian Lāma-monastery (and that established at Peking) has the right to perform religious services in Mongolian instead of in Tibetan[143].

Dr. Edkins, however, states that there is a temple (called Fa-hai-si) near the hunting-park, in which the Manchu language is employed instead of Tibetan. (Chinese Buddhism, p. 406.)

Without doubt the acquisition of some knowledge of the Tibetan language is incumbent on every Lāma. Nevertheless, few, except in Tibet, really understand it. They simply repeat the usual prayers and formularies mechanically[144].

It appears that the Lāmistic priests assemble three times a day to go through the prescribed ritual—at sunrise, at mid-day, and at sunset. We read that, before commencing the service, they enter the temple or hall of worship in procession and seat themselves on low seats in long rows. These are placed the whole length of the hall, from the entrance-door to the altar, being divided in the middle by a passage. At the further extremity, close to the altar, are two raised thrones for the Head Lāmas—a five-cushioned one on the right for the Abbot and a three-cushioned one for the Vice-Abbot.

When all have seated themselves, the choir-master or precentor gives a signal with a bell. Then the prayer-formularies are recited or chanted, certain passages out of the Law are intoned and certain litanies sung, sometimes in loud tones, accompanied by noisy music or by clapping of hands, and generally in unison, though occasionally verses are sung alternately with responses.

Then at other times a sentence of the Law is repeated by each monk in turn; or a chant is set up consisting of such words as: Praise be to the Buddha! or praise be to some Bodhi-sattva! followed by a recital of all his names, titles, and epithets; or mystical sentences and syllables are ejaculated. The result is said to be a chaos of voices and a deafening confusion of sounds.

The chief instruments used in the services are a spiral shell, a long trumpet of copper or brass (sometimes more than ten feet long), a large drum, flutes, cymbals, and horns—the last being sometimes made of the thigh-bones of human beings[145].

The ritual is imposing, and still more so when a living Buddha is present. It has been described by M. Huc, and I here give the substance of his account[146].

In front of the chief idol, and on a level with the altar, is a gilded
seat for the living Buddha or Grand Lāma of the Monastery. The whole
space of the temple, from one end to the other, is occupied by long
low seats almost level with the ground, stretching right and left of
the Grand Lāma’s throne. These are covered with carpets, a vacant
space being left between each row for the Lāmas to pass and repass.
When the hour of prayer is come, a Lāma, whose office it is to summon
the choir, places himself in front of the grand entrance of the temple
and blows with all the force of his lungs into a conch-shell trumpet,
the sound of which is audible for a league round. This effectually
rouses the Lāmas and calls them together. Each then takes his mantle
and official hat of ceremony, and repairs to the interior court. The
trumpet sounds again, and when its note is heard for the third time,
the great door is suddenly thrown open; the living Buddha enters, and
takes his seat in front of the image on the altar. Then the Lāmas,
after depositing their red boots in the vestibule, advance towards him
barefoot, and adore him by three prostrations. This done, they seat
themselves on the long seats according to their dignity, cross-legged
and face to face. As soon as the director of the ceremonies has given
the signal by tinkling a little bell, everyone murmurs the prescribed
prayers, unrolling the formularies on his knees. After this
recitation, there is profound silence for a minute. Then the bell is
again rung, and a hymn or chant in two choruses begins. The Tibetan
prayers, ordinarily arranged in verses, and written in metrical style,
are well adapted to harmony; but sometimes at certain pauses indicated
by the rubric, the Lāma musicians execute a strain in little accord
with the gravity of the psalmody. The result is a stunning noise of
bells, cymbals, drums, tambourines, conch-shells, trumpets, and pipes.
Each musician sounds his instrument with a sort of fury, and each
strives to outdo his neighbour in the noise he can produce. (Huc’s
Travels, i. 88, abridged.)

One important element in some Tibetan religious services is the consecration and distribution of holy water and grain by the chief Lāmas.

Perfumes, too, are burnt, and censers containing incense are swung backwards and forwards during the ceremonies.

Then, again, some Lāmistic ceremonials include the drinking of tea poured into little cups, kept in the breast-pockets of the monks’ robes, and replenished two or three times during the service.

Sir Richard Temple (Journal, ii. 208) thus describes a tea-drinking ceremonial at which he was present, at the monastery of Pemyangchi in Sikkim (see p. 298 of these Lectures).

The priests and monks, some thirty-five in all, were drawn up in full
robes to receive us. Then the officials of the monastery were
introduced—the steward, the rod-bearer, the deputy master, and lastly,
the master. A procession was quickly formed, which we followed into
the chapel, where they all took their accustomed seats, while we sat
on places prepared for us. The interior of the chapel seemed an odd
place for this, but we were told that it was the correct ceremonial. A
chant was begun, which lasted some ten minutes, as a sort of grace,
and then tea was handed round—first to us, next to the priests, and
lastly to the monks. A short chant followed, and then the procession
preceded us out of the chapel.

In the picture which accompanies Sir Richard’s description, all the monks have head-coverings, some of which are like caps or hats of a high sugar-loaf shape, while others have several points like episcopal mitres (see p. 321).

The monks of Sikkim are generally of the Dugpa sect[147], and wear red caps (see pp. 273, 298).

When Dr. Watt was in Ladāk, he was present at a service performed by a number of monks belonging to both sects, who seemed to fraternize very amicably. All the monks of the red sect took up a position on one side of the chapel, while those of the yellow sect ranged themselves on the opposite side. The two sects entered together, as usual, in procession, and part of the ceremonial—as in that witnessed by Sir Richard Temple—consisted in drinking tea from little cups taken from the folds of their robes, and put back again, to be again taken out and replenished; and this, too, without interrupting the continuous repetition of prayers, chants, and formularies[148].

M. Huc also describes a ‘Tea-general’ ceremony after morning service in a temple. Each monk drinks in silence, carefully placing his scarf before his cup, as if to prevent the sight of the apparent incongruity of drinking tea in such a sacred spot (ii. 57).

Another instance of tea-drinking as an element in Lāmistic ceremonial, occurs in Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ highly interesting account of the ceremony of his presentation to the Dalai Lāma at the palace-monastery of Potala, in Lhāssa, on June 10, 1882. I venture to give the substance of it in an abbreviated form and not quite literally[149].

An account of other presentations both to the Dalai Lāma and Tashi Lāma will be given in a future Lecture (see pp. 439, 444, 447).

Early in the morning I was informed of the arrival of Chola Kusho, who
was ready to take me to Potala for presentation to the Dalai Lāma. We
sallied forth on horseback, with three bundles of incense-sticks in
our hands, and a roll of scarves in our breast-pockets, chanting as we
went along certain hymns, and particularly the mystic ‘Om maṇi padme
Hūm.’ In the street we saw a calf sucking milk, and several women
fetching water in our direction. My companions were delighted at these
auspicious omens. Arrived at the eastern gateway of Potala, we
dismounted, and walked up a long hall, on two sides of which were two
rows of prayer-wheels, put there to be twirled, on going in and coming
out.

A young monk now came down to conduct us, and we ascended slowly,
looking only on the ground before us. The several ladders which
conducted us from one story to another were steep, and placed in dark
halls. I counted five, which took us as far as the ground-floor of the
Red palace. Half-a-dozen ladders still remained to be scaled.

At about eight we reached the top, and there found a number of monks
anxiously awaiting an interview with his Holiness. A seat was pointed
out to me. A monk sat near me, and smilingly observed that it must
have been on account of the sins of my former life that I was born in
India, where there is no living Buddha.

From the top of the Red palace we enjoyed a grand panorama of Lhāssa
and its suburbs. Shortly afterwards some Lāmas of high rank, dressed
in loose yellow mantles, arrived. They entered the hall of reception
one after another in solemn array. We remained outside in anxious
suspense, fixing our eyes on the entrance door, and expecting to be
summoned to his Holiness’ presence.

At last, three Lāmas came towards us and asked us to enter in a line
one after another. Walking very gently, we proceeded to the middle of
the audience hall—a spacious apartment supported by three rows of four
wooden pillars. The walls had paintings of the exploits of Buddha, of
Chanrassig[150], Tsong Khapa, and other celebrated saints, besides
images of the successive incarnations of the Dalai Lāma.

As soon as we had entered the official scarf-collectors received the
presentation-scarves from our hands. We seated ourselves on rugs,
spread in about eight rows, my seat being in the third row, at a
distance of about ten feet from the Grand Lāma’s throne, and a little
to his left. When all were seated, perfect silence reigned in the
grand hall. The state officials walked from left to right with serene
gravity, as became their exalted rank, in the presence of the Supreme
Vice-Regent of Buddha on earth. At their head walked the Kuchar
Khanpo, who carried in his hand the bowl of benediction, containing
the sacred Thui (that is, consecrated water stained yellow with
saffron) for sprinkling over the audience. The bearer of the
incense-pot, suspended by three golden chains, the carrier of the
royal golden tea-pot, and other domestic officials, now came up, and
stood motionless as pictures, without looking on either side, but
fixing their eyes and their attention, as it were, on the tips of
their respective noses. Two large golden lamp-burners, resembling
flower-vases, flickered on two sides of the throne. The great
altar—resembling an oriental throne, and supported by lions[151]
carved in wood—on which sat his Holiness, a child of eight, was
covered with silk scarves of great value. It was about four feet high,
six long, and four broad. A yellow mitre-hat[152] covered the Grand
Lāma’s head, the pendant portions veiling his ears, and a yellow
mantle enveloped his person. He sat cross-legged, with the palms of
his hands joined together to bless us. When it came to my turn I
received his Holiness’ benediction, and was able to look upon his
divine face. Other Lāmas approached him with downcast looks, and
resumed their respective seats, not presuming to look up. I longed to
linger a few seconds, but other candidates for benediction displaced
me by pushing me gently forward. I noticed that the princely child
possessed a really bright and fair complexion, with rosy cheeks. His
eyes were large and penetrating. The contour of his face was
remarkably Āryan, though somewhat marred by the obliquity of his eyes.
The thinness of his person was probably owing to the fatigues of the
court-ceremonies, religious duties, and ascetic observances, to which
he had been subjected since taking the vows of monkhood. Remembering
the stories about the freaks of fortune, which had lately brought him
to this proud position, and had compelled his predecessors to undergo
untimely transmigrations, I pitied his exalted rank: for who knows
whether he will not be forced to undergo another transmigration before
reaching his twentieth year?

When all were again seated after receiving the Dalai Lāma’s
benediction, the Sol-pon Chhenpo poured tea in his Holiness’ golden
cup from a golden tea-pot, while four assistant Sol-pons poured tea in
the cups of the audience, consisting of the head Lāmas of Meru
monastery and ourselves. Before the Grand Lāma lifted his cup to his
lips, a grace was solemnly said, beginning with ‘Om āh Hūm’ thrice
chanted, and followed by a prayer to the following effect:—‘Never even
for a moment losing sight of the three Holies, always offer reverence
to the Tri-ratnas; let the blessings of the three be upon us.’ Without
even stirring the air by the movements of our limbs, we slowly lifted
our cups to our lips, and drank the tea—which was delicious—taking
care to make no sound with our lips. Three times was tea served, and
three times we emptied our cups, after which we put them back in our
breast-pockets. Then the Sol-pon placed a golden dish full of
consecrated rice in front of his Holiness, which he only touched. The
remainder was distributed among those present. I obtained a handful,
which I carefully tied in one corner of my handkerchief. The following
grace was then uttered by the assembled monks, with much gravity:—‘The
most precious _Buddha_ is the most perfect and matchless teacher; the
most unerring guide is the _Saṅgha_; the most infallible protection is
in the sacred _Dharma_. We offer these offerings to these three
objects of refuge. Reverence be to each of them!’

Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās also witnessed at the same time the performance of a remarkable ceremony for the translation of the soul of a chief Lāma or Khanpo to one of the heavenly mansions.

It appears that a certain well-known Khanpo had died of small-pox. He was one of the most distinguished scholars of Tibet, and held the highest position in the Court of Potala. The day on which the ceremony was performed was the twenty-seventh day of this chief Lāma’s _Bardo_ (p. 371); that is, of the interval of forty-nine days between his death and his translation to another world. (According to Jäschke the interval of the intermediate state only lasts for forty days.)

The Dalai Lāma, seated on his throne, chanted a hymn in a low indistinct voice. Afterwards the assembled monks in grave tones repeated what the Grand Lāma had uttered. Then a venerable personage rose from the middle of the first row of seats, and addressing the Grand Lāma as the incarnate Lord Chenressig (Avalokiteṡvara), recited all the many acts of mercy performed by him, as the patron-saint of Tibet, for the benefit of its people. Next, he made offerings of certain precious things (including an imaginary presentation of the seven mythical treasures[153]) for the benefit of the soul of the late Khanpo, saying:—‘I pray that you may graciously accept these presents for the good of all living beings.’

Finally, he prostrated himself three times before the Grand Lāma’s throne. A solemn pause followed; after which the audience rose, and the Grand Lāma retired. Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās goes on to relate that at the end of the ceremony one of the assistant Lāmas gave him two packets of pills, and another tied a scrap of red silk round his neck. The pills, he was told, were chinlab or blessings, consecrated by the Buddha and other saints; and the consecrated scrap of silk, called sungdū, ‘knot of blessing,’ was the Grand Lāma’s usual return for presents made to him by pilgrims and devotees.

We may note here that in 1866 the Indian explorer Nain Singh saw the then Dalai Lāma. He was a handsome boy about thirteen years old, and was seated on a throne six feet high. He had the Regent on his right hand. He was said to be in his thirteenth transmigration[154].

Dr. Schlagintweit (p. 239) describes a ceremony in which consecrated water (thui) is poured from a teapot-like vessel over a metallic mirror (pp. 458, 463 of these Lectures), which is held so as to reflect the image of Gautama Buddha seated on the altar. This water falls down into a flat vessel containing a bag filled with rice, and is then suitable for ceremonial ablutions.

Another ceremony (called Nyungne? by Schlagintweit), involving long abstinence, lasts for four days.

The first and second days are passed in preparations. Those who are to take part in the ceremony rise at sunrise, bathe and prostrate themselves several times before the image of Avalokiteṡvara. The head Lāma then bids them confess their faults, and meditate on the evils resulting from demerit. He next, with his attendants, recites extracts from certain books of confession. This goes on till ten o’clock, when tea is taken. After this the recitations and prayer-recitals continue till two o’clock, when a meal of vegetables is eaten. Then comes a pause, but the prayers and readings are afterwards carried on till late at night, tea being handed round at intervals. Before retiring to rest, the head Lāma specifies the various duties to be performed by the devotees on the following day, and orders them, as a penance, to sleep in ‘the lion-posture,’ viz. to lie on the right side, to stretch out the feet and to support the head with the right hand[155].

The third day is the most important, and is passed in rigorous abstinence from all food. No one is even allowed to swallow his saliva, which must be ejected into a vessel placed before him. Not a word must be spoken. Each man prays and confesses his sins, but does so in absolute silence. This continues till sunrise on the fourth day.

It was at first the rule that repetitions of the Law, confessions of sin (especially the Pātimokkha), and some of the chief religious ceremonies (including fasting) should take place, more particularly on the days of new and full moon (called Uposatha, p. 84).

Thus we read that ‘on the day of full moon Ānanda purified himself, and went up to the upper story of his house to keep the sacred day’ (Mahāsudassana-sutra, 1-10). This was in conformity with the ancient Brāhmanical rule that every new-moon day (Darṡa) and every full-moon day (Paurṇamāsa) should be set apart for special religious observances[156].

In later times the intermediate quarter-moon days were also held sacred, and so the number of Uposatha days (see p. 84) was increased to four in every month, or once a week. Very strict Buddhists in Tibet eat nothing on these days between sunrise and sunset except farinaceous food with tea (p. 346).

The laity are invited to join in keeping the Uposatha days, but take no real part in the detail of the services. The same rule applies to all religious ceremonies. Laymen may be present at any rite, but without co-operating in carrying out the ritual. Still, laymen have their own part to perform. They look on—listen, tell their rosaries, and repeat short prayers—such as the ‘three-refuge’ and ‘jewel-lotus’ formula (pp. 78, 370)—and make declarations to avoid the five great sins (p. 126). Or they walk up to the image-altar and place offerings on it, or bow before it and receive the Lāma’s benediction. Theoretically, the laity only exist to honour and support the monkhood, and to be blessed by them in return. At all events a layman’s religion is usually restricted to a very limited range of duty.

One common way of showing piety is by walking round temples, monasteries, Stūpas, and sacred walls (see pp. 380, 505), from east to west, keeping the right shoulder towards them, and even occasionally measuring the ground with the extended body.

This last task is by no means a light or easy one. According to M. Huc (i. 202), a whole day scarcely suffices to perform the circumambulation when the monastic buildings and temples occupy an extensive area. People begin at daybreak, and the feat must be accomplished all at one time, without any break, or even a few moments’ pause for taking nourishment. Moreover, the measuring-process must be perfect; ‘the body must be extended to its whole length, and the forehead must touch the earth while the arms are stretched out in front and the hands joined.’ At each prostration a circle must be drawn on the ground with two rams’ horns held in the hands. ‘It is a sorrowful spectacle, and the unfortunate people often have their faces and clothes covered with dust and mud. The utmost severity of the weather does not present any obstacle to their courageous devotion. They continue their prostrations through rain, snow, and cold. Sometimes they go through the additional penance of carrying an enormous weight of books on their backs. You meet with men, women, and even children sinking under these excessive burdens. When they have finished their circumambulation, they are considered to have acquired the same merit as if they had recited all the prayers contained in the books they have carried.’ In point of fact they are generally far too ignorant to be able to read the books, and the carrying of them on their backs is taken as an adequate equivalent.

The acquisition of merit by circumambulation is not an exclusively Hindū or Buddhist idea. The Holy House at Loretto near Ancona—believed to have been transported there from Bethlehem by angels—is circumambulated by pilgrims on their knees, but keeping the sacred object to the left. Indeed, we may fitly conclude the present Lecture by a comparison between the ritual of Tibetan Buddhism and that of Roman Catholicism—a comparison, too, drawn by the Roman Catholic Missionaries themselves:

‘The cross, the mitre, the dalmatica, the cope, which Grand Lāmas wear on their journeys, or when they are performing some ceremony out of the temple; the service with double choirs, the psalmody, the exorcisms, the censer for incense, suspended from five chains, and opened or closed at pleasure; the benedictions pronounced by the Lāmas by extending the right hand over the heads of the faithful; the chaplet, ecclesiastical celibacy, spiritual retirement, the worship of the saints, the fasts, the processions, the litanies, the holy water, all these are analogies between the Buddhists and ourselves’ (Huc, ii. 50). To these may be added sacred images, sacred pictures, sacred symbols, relics, lamps, and illuminations[157].

This is doubtless a true comparison. But it does not follow that the opinion which the missionaries express—‘that these analogies are of Christian origin’—is equally deserving of our assent. No doubt one chief feature of Buddhism, as of Hindūism[158], is its receptivity, but may it not be the case that human nature and human tendencies will be found to assert themselves independently in every part of the world, wherever surrounding circumstances are favourable to their development?

LECTURE XIII.
_Festivals, Domestic Rites, and Formularies of Prayer._

We must now turn to the consideration of some of the chief festivals, domestic rites, and prayer-formularies of Buddhism—a subject which follows as a natural sequel to the last Lecture.

It is well known that the Hindūs have certain festivals and holy days, celebrated at the junction of the seasons which in India are properly six in number—namely, spring, summer, the rains (Varsha), autumn, winter, and the season of dew and mist (see ‘Indian Wisdom,’ p. 450; ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 428).

Buddhism has adopted the old Hindū ideas on this subject, and has added others of its own, but generally only reckons three seasons—summer, the rains (Vassa = Varsha) and winter.

The festival of the New Year is, of course, universal. It is supposed to celebrate the victory of light over darkness, and, in Buddhist countries, of Buddhism over ignorance. The corresponding Hindū festival is called Makara-saṅkrānti. In India this marks the termination of the inauspicious month Pausha and the beginning of the sun’s northern course (uttarāyaṇa) in the heavens. It is a season of general rejoicing.

In Burma, where a good type of Southern Buddhism is still to be found, the New Year’s festival might suitably be called a ‘water-festival.’ It has there so little connexion with the increase of the New Year’s light, that it often takes place as late as the early half of April (see Mr. Scott’s ‘Burman,’ ii. 48). It is, however, a movable feast, the date of which is regularly fixed by the astrologers of Mandalay, ‘who make intricate calculations based on the position of various constellations.’ The object is to determine on what precise day the king of the Naths (see p. 217 of this volume) will descend upon the earth and inaugurate the new year. When the day arrives all are on the watch, and just at the right moment—which invariably occurs at midnight—a cannon is fired off, announcing the descent of the Nath-king upon earth. Forthwith (according to Mr. Scott) men and women sally out of their houses, carrying pots full of water consecrated by fresh leaves and twigs of a sacred tree (p. 514 of this volume), repeat a formal prayer, and pour out the water on the ground. At the same time all who have guns of any kind discharge them, so as to greet the new year with as much noise as possible.

Then, ‘with the first glimmer of light,’ all take jars full of fresh water and carry them off to the nearest monastery. First they present them to the monks, and then proceed to bathe the images. This work is usually done by the women of the party, ‘who reverently clamber up’ and empty their goblets of water over the placid features of the Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas. Then begin the Saturnalia. All along the road are urchins with squirts and syringes, with which they have been furtively practising for the last few days. The skill thus acquired is exhibited by the accuracy of their aim. Cold streams of water catch the ears of the passers by. Young men and girls salute one another with the contents of jars and goblets. Shouts of merriment are heard in every quarter. Before breakfast every one is soaked, but no one thinks of changing his garments, for the weather is warm, and ‘water is everywhere.’ The girls are the most enthusiastic, and as they generally go in bands and carry copious reservoirs along with them, ‘unprotected males’ are soon routed. Then a number of ‘zealous people’ go down to the river, wade into the water knee-deep, splash about and drench one another till they are tired. No one escapes. For three days no one likes to be seen with dry clothes. The wetting is a compliment. A clerk comes up to his master, bows, and ‘gravely pours the contents of a silver cup down the back of his neck,’ saying, ‘let me do homage to you with water.’

It appears from Mr. Scott’s amusing narrative that, when there was a king in Burma, an important feature of the festival was the formal washing of his Majesty’s head.

The New Year’s rejoicings in Ceylon require no special notice.

In Tibet the New Year’s festival properly begins at new moon, and may be delayed till some time in February. The festival lasts fifteen days, and, as usual, is a season of general festivity, gifts, congratulations, mummery, dancing, and acting. It is the Lāmistic carnival.

According to M. Huc (ii. 216) the rejoicings commence (as in Burma) at midnight. At Lhāssa all the inhabitants sit up, awaiting the solemn moment which is to close the old year and open the new. The usages differ so curiously from those customary in Southern Buddhist countries, that I here give an abbreviated version of the two French travellers’ experiences.

Not being at all eager to watch for the moment of separation between
the two Tibetan years, we went to bed at our usual hour, and were
wrapped in profound slumber, when we were suddenly awakened by cries
of joy issuing from all quarters of the town. Bells, cymbals, conchs,
tambourines, and all the instruments of Tibetan music, were set to
work together and produced the most frightful uproar imaginable. We
had a good mind to get up to witness the happiness of the inhabitants
of Lhāssa, but the cold was so cutting that, after reflection, we
decided to remain under our woollen coverlets, and to unite ourselves
in heart only with the public felicity. Unhappily for our comfort,
violent knocks on our door, threatening to smash it into splinters,
warned us that we must renounce our project. We therefore donned our
clothes, and the door being opened, some friendly Tibetans rushed into
our room, inviting us to the New Year’s banquet. They all bore in
their hands a small vessel made of baked earth, in which balls of
honey and flour floated on boiling water. One visitor offered us a
long silver needle, terminating in a hook, and invited us to fish in
his basin. At first we sought to excuse ourselves, objecting that we
were not in the habit of taking food during the night, but they
entreated us so warmly, and put out their tongues at us with so
friendly a grace, that we were obliged to comply, and resign ourselves
to a participation in the New Year’s festivities. Each of us,
therefore, hooked a ball, which we then crushed between our teeth to
ascertain its flavour. For politeness sake we had to swallow the dose,
but not without making some grimaces. Nor could we get off with this
first act of devotion. The New Year was inexorable. Our numerous
friends at Lhāssa succeeded each other almost without interruption,
and we had perforce to munch Tibetan sweetmeats till daybreak.

It is said that other peculiar customs follow, one of which the Tibetans call the Lhāssa-Moru. This takes place on the third day, and leads to the invasion of the town and its environs by innumerable bands of Lāmas. Immense numbers of Lāmas, some on foot, some on horseback, some on asses or oxen, and all carrying cooking-utensils and prayer-books, crowd into Lhāssa from all points. The town is completely over-run. Those who cannot get lodgings encamp in the streets and squares, or pitch their tents in the suburbs. The tribunals are closed, and the course of justice is suspended. The Lāmas parade the streets in disorderly bands, uttering discordant cries, pushing one another about, quarrelling, fighting, and yet, in the midst of all, chanting their prayers (Huc, ii. 218).

In Tibet there is a ‘water-festival’ in the seventh or eighth month (about our August and September). At this festival the Lāmas go in procession to rivers and lakes, and consecrate the waters by benediction or by throwing in offerings. Huts and tents are erected on the banks, and people bathe and drink to wash away their sins. It concludes with dancing, buffoonery, and masquerading.

The festival of Gautama Buddha’s conception, or of the Buddha’s _last_ birth—for it must be borne in mind that, before Buddhahood, he went through innumerable previous births—is a most important anniversary in all Buddhist countries, but the right date has been the occasion of much controversy. The event is generally celebrated at the end of April, or beginning of May, or on a day corresponding to the 15th day of the Hindū month Vaiṡākha, which is also sometimes given as the date of the Buddha’s attainment of Buddhahood, and of his death. Everywhere throughout the modern Buddhist world the Buddha’s birthday is kept by the worship of his images, followed by processions.

As to the day of his death, Sarat Chandra Dās was at Lhāssa on June 1, 1882, and wrote thus:—‘To-day being the holiest day of the year—the anniversary of Buddha’s Nirvāṇa—the burning of incense in every shrine, chapel, monastery, and house, darkened the atmosphere with smoke. Men hastened to the great temple to do homage to the Buddha and to obtain his blessing.’

The ‘festival of lamps’ is an important anniversary with all Buddhists. The Hindūs have their Dīvālī or feast of illuminations (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 432) when the cold season begins. The early Buddhists marked the end of the rainy season (Vassa = Varsha), which terminated their period of retirement, by a day of rejoicing (see p. 84). In process of time they connected the celebration of Gautama’s descent from heaven (p. 417) with the termination of Vassa.

In Tibet the orthodox followers of the Dalai Lāma have a festival of their own, with illuminations, on the 25th day of the 10th month (Nov.—Dec.), to celebrate the ascension of Tsong Khapa to heaven (p. 280). Sarat Chandra Dās was at Tashi Lunpo on this day in 1881, when ‘hundreds of lamp-burners were tastefully placed in rows on the roof of every building.’ The illuminations of the temples, tombs, and grand monastery ‘presented a magnificent appearance.’

With regard to the season called Vassa, it should be noted here that since there is no rainy period of the year in Tibet which corresponds to the Indian ‘Rains,’ certain seasons of abstinence from food are observed either before, or at the same time with the great Festivals. These periods of fasting are distributed equally throughout the year—one in February, one in May, one in July, one in November or December.

The festivals and holy days thus briefly described, are by no means the only festivals of Buddhism. There are numerous other special and local ones. For example, in Ceylon, the Sinhalese celebrate the coming of the Buddha to their island and his victory over the Rākshasas and evil demons by a festival in March or April, when the greater number of pilgrims flock to his supposed foot-print on Adam’s Peak, or to the sacred Bodhi-tree at Anurādha-pura (see p. 519). Other Southern countries have festivals connected with the worship of special foot-prints and relics of their own.

Then the Lāmas in Lhāssa keep the day of the worship of the Dorje (see p. 322) on the 27th day of the first month, while those in Sikkim celebrate as a festival the day on which the Lepchas make offerings to the spirit of the mountain Kinchinjunga.

Then, again, at the beginning of the third month an exhibition of sacred vessels and pictures takes place at Lhāssa, accompanied by processions in masks, the Lāmas appearing as good genii, and the laity as tigers, leopards, elephants, &c.

In other places, too, there are special festivals. For example, a singular festival, called ‘Chase of the spirit-kings,’ is kept by Northern Buddhists on the 30th of the second month, when there is a vast amount of religious dancing (with tediously slow movements), masquerading, mummery, and buffoonery, not unlike the devil-dancing which goes on in Ceylon, and closely connected with the universal belief in demons and evil spirits.

The most hideous masks are used on these occasions. In 1884 I had an opportunity of inspecting in a Buddhist monastery near Dārjīling a most singular assortment of religious masks, which for distortion of feature and horrible unsightliness, could scarcely be matched anywhere; for indeed mask-making is an art which Buddhism has brought to the greatest perfection. I also witnessed a religious dance performed by a party of masqueraders which struck me as a remarkable example of the utter debasement of Buddhism in Northern countries.

Mrs. Bridges describes a similar religious dance in Ladāk thus:—

‘A group of grinning masks—lions’ heads and harlequins’ bodies—came
down the steps, and whirling slowly round, retreated again into the
gloom and came out dragon-headed. Then a band of skeletons, the skulls
(masks) admirably painted, gnashing their hideous jaws and shaking
their lanky limbs, rushed out into the sunshine and executed a real
“Dance of Death” before us.’ (‘Travels,’ p. 101.)

Yet all true Buddhists are prohibited from dancing and masquerading (p. 126 of this volume); just as Manu (II. 178, IV. 15, 212) prohibited Brāhmans from engaging in similar frivolities.

Then the religious dramas performed on some of the Buddhist festive days are not the least interesting examples of the present prevalent superstitions.

I witnessed part of a dramatic performance at a Burmese Theatre in Calcutta (during the Exhibition year), when the story of the Hindū Epic, called Rāmāyaṇa, and especially that portion of it which relates to the carrying off of Sītā by demons (see ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism,’ p. 42, and ‘Indian Wisdom,’ p. 337), was dramatically represented. The theatre was a rude wooden enclosure open to the sky, with the exception of a portion roofed over for a band of musicians, whose noisy performances appeared to constitute an important element in the proceedings. The chief musician sat on the ground in the middle of a circular frame-work—about two or three feet high—hung round with drums of different sizes, which he struck with his hands, and occasionally tuned by the application of moist clay in larger or smaller lumps. In the centre of the open area of flat dusty soil which served for the stage, a big branch of a tree was stuck upright, possibly to represent the forest in which Rāma lived with his wife. Then the hero and heroine of the drama—Rāma and Sītā—kept up a tedious colloquy, interspersed with jokes, for hours. The former—who, be it remembered, was supposed to be a god—smoked a cigar all the while, and occasionally ejected saliva with perfect indifference to all appearances and to all laws of congruity, while every now and again Sītā, in spite of a tight dress, varied the monotony of the dialogue by executing a slow dance, characterized by strange contortions, twistings, and wrigglings of the limbs. Hideous masks were at intervals assumed by the actors, and, of course, by the demons who intervened at odd moments with much ludicrous gesticulation. The action of the play went on continuously for about ten days, during which period people came and went as they liked, and the last comers entered into the progress of the plot with as much interest as if they had witnessed the whole. There is never much originality of invention in these religious plays. The Indian heroic poems and the five hundred and fifty birth-stories (see p. 63) of the Buddha furnish the basis of all.

The religious dramas of Tibet are of a somewhat different character. The following description is founded on Dr. Schlagintweit’s account (p. 233), and on that of Mrs. Bridges in her interesting ‘Travels’ (John Murray, 1883, p. 130).

The dramatis personæ consist of three classes.—1. Tutelary deities or
good genii, called Dragshed (Dragṡed), who ward off the assaults of
evil demons; 2. Evil demons; 3. Men. The actors of each class are
distinguished by their masks. The first class—that is the Dragsheds or
good genii—wear masks of enormous size and terrific aspect[159]. The
second class—that is the Evil demons—wear larger masks of a dark
colour, and their garments are well padded to deaden the force of the
blows showered upon them. The third class—that is the Men—wear the
usual dress of human beings, and masks of a natural size and colour,
while under their clothes they carry heavy wooden sticks, with which
at times, during the progress of the drama, they belabour the demons.
The gods also get well knocked about by the demons, much to the
amusement of the spectators.

The drama is preceded by the recital of hymns and prayers and by noisy
music. The Dragsheds occupy the centre, the men are on their right and
the demons on their left. At short intervals the men and the demons
execute slow dances, each group by itself. At last, an evil spirit and
a man step forth. The evil spirit then tries, in a plausible speech,
to tempt the man to violate some precept of morality, while other evil
spirits approach and chime in. The man at first stands firm, but
gradually gives way and is about to yield, when other men come forward
and entreat him not to be seduced by the artful suggestions of the
demons. He is then closely pressed by the two opposite parties, but in
the end takes the advice of his human counsellors. Upon this all the
men break out into praise of the Dragsheds, to whose presence and
assistance they ascribe the victory. The Dragsheds now proceed to
punish the evil demons. The leading Dragshed, who is distinguished by
an unusually large yellow mask, advances against them surrounded by
about a dozen followers. Other Dragsheds next rush out from the
back-ground, shoot arrows, throw stones, and even fire with muskets
upon the demons, while the men belabour them with their sticks,
hitherto concealed under their clothes. The demons are routed, and run
in every direction pursued by the good genii. The drama concludes by
all the actors (men and demons included) singing hymns in honour of
the victorious tutelary genii.

Among the spectators (at the performance witnessed by Mrs. Bridges at Leh) were six deities, represented by six Lāmas seated on a bench with umbrellas over their heads. They had incense swung before them by attendant priests.

This curious dramatic performance is paralleled in India by the Hindū drama called Prabodha-ćandrodaya, ‘Rise of the moon of true knowledge,’ in which we have Faith, Volition, Opinion, Imagination, Contemplation, Devotion, Quietude, Friendship, &c., on one side; Error, Self-conceit, Hypocrisy, Love, Passion, Anger, Avarice, on the other. The two sets of characters are, of course, opposed to each other, the object of the play being to show how the orthodox faith of the Hindūs became victorious over the erroneous doctrine of the Buddha—the Buddhists and other heretical sects being represented as adherents of the losing side.

Then—to take a parallel nearer home—we find similar religious dramas acted in England not so very long ago (about the time of Henry VIII). For example, in the old English morality play, called ‘Every-man,’ some of the dramatis personæ on the one side are—God, Death, Every-man, Fellowship, Kindred, Good-deeds, Knowledge, Confession, Beauty, Strength, Discretion; while on the other are personifications of the opposite qualities. Then, again, in ‘Lusty Juventus,’ we have a medley of Good Counsel, Knowledge, Satan, Hypocrisy, Fellowship, Abominable Living, God’s Merciful Promises.

And here with reference to the supposed contest continually going on between good and evil, and the participation of human beings in this terrible struggle, we may note that the mystical thunderbolt called Dorje (p. 322) is not the only implement of spiritual warfare employed by the Lāmas against the demons[160]. Another important weapon is the Phurbu or ‘nail,’ described as triangular and wedge-shaped, with the thin end very sharp-pointed, and with the head of Tamdin (a particular Dragshed = Haya-grīva, noted for his power) emerging from the broad end and surmounted by a half-thunderbolt for a handle.

According to Schlagintweit, this weapon is often made of cardboard, on which mystical sentences (Dhāraṇīs) in Sanskṛit are inscribed, some against the demons of the South, some against those of the East, and some against those of the South-east. In case of illness a Lāma goes round the house turning the point of the Phurbu in all directions and uttering magical spells.

Most of the Dhāaraṇīs end with the syllables Hūm phatṭ, the potency of which in scaring evil demons is irresistible. Many charms begin with Ah Tamdin.

Those Phurbus are considered most efficacious which are inscribed with mystical syllables and words composed by either the Dalai Lāma or Panchen Lāma. These are sold for large sums. It is said (Schlagintweit, 260) that such Phurbus form an important article of trade for the Mongolian pilgrims returning from Tibet.

I was fortunate enough to meet with a remarkable specimen of a magical weapon of this kind (called Phur-pa by Jäschke) made of metal, and shaped like a dagger with three edges, one for each of the three classes of demons inhabiting the three quarters. The handle is composed of a Dorje (p. 322), and is surmounted by carvings of the heads of the three most powerful Dragsheds. I here give a representation of it[161].

It may be easily understood that among a people, steeped in superstition, a man armed with such a weapon as this—composed of the heads of three potent genii, a divine thunderbolt and a triple-edged dagger—would be regarded as a match for the whole demon-host.

In Burma the tattooing of mystical squares, triangles and cabalistic diagrams and figures on various parts of the body, seems to be regarded as a sufficient substitute for the use of magical weapons, and is held to be highly efficacious.

Obviously we may contrast the Christian armoury described by S. Paul (Ephes. vi. 11), ‘the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit.’ We might also contrast the words of Christ, ‘Rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven’ (S. Luke x. 20).

_Domestic Rites and Usages._

I now pass on to domestic rites and usages, which are as numerous and important in Buddhist countries as in India. It is said, indeed, that in Tibet and Mongolia no one is so poor as not to possess an altar in his dwelling on which he daily lays his offerings, and before which he performs devotions.

In Ceylon and Burma certain ceremonies take place soon after the birth of a child. Mr. Scott, describing those in Burma, says that a fortnight after birth a fortunate day and hour is fixed by an astrologer for the naming of the infant. A feast is prepared, and all the friends and relations of the family are invited. ‘The child’s head is usually washed for the first time on this day,’ and some one suggests a name.