Shin-ki is a small monastery. Perhaps its temples have never been comparable with the shrines of Yu-chom-sa in grace and beauty. Nothing, however, can excuse the disorder and neglect of its court-yards, and the slovenliness of the temple service. There seems to be nothing in common between this and those other monasteries, which rest within the heart of the ranges. One looks in vain for the courtly dignity of the aged Abbot of Yu-chom-sa, whose humanitarian spirit was so impressive. The principles of consideration, politeness, and devotion that govern his conduct are sadly lacking in the Abbot, the priests, and monks attached to Shin-ki-sa. The contrast is indeed great. The most painful emotions are excited by the decline which has taken place in the prosperity of the temples. Anger and sorrow fill the soul. As one gazes beyond the temples into the peace and beauty of the valley below, it is as if one were looking across from a place of abomination into another and a better world. The colourless skeleton of the past alone remains, and one longs for the power to restore the fabric to its former self.
In its setting the monastery has caught something of the spirit of nature. If there is any compensating element in its decadence, it is found in the wild beauty of the rugged mountains, which tower above it from across the valley. Beyond their granite faces lie the trials and tribulations of the outer world; once enclosed within their grey embrace the little ironies of life disappear. The hours are cool and undisturbed. Primeval forests adorn the deep gullies of the ranges; a flood of colour comes from the open spaces where wild flowers are growing and the tints of the woodland foliage disclose an endless variety of green. In the centre of a patch, cleared of its undergrowth and approached by a path winding through deep woods, is Mum-sa-am. This retreat is given over to the twenty nuns who are associated with Shin-ki-sa. I know nothing of their lives, but from the state of their temples, and the roughness and disorder of their surroundings, it did not appear to me that they, any more than the sixty priests, monks, and boys of the lower monastery, find the tenets of Buddha very elevating, or derive much satisfaction from the surrounding scenery.
SHIN-KI-SA
The history of our days in the more important monasteries of the Diamond Mountains was uneventful. The anxious care and solicitude of the monks for the welfare of their guests was hourly manifested, and some kindly attention was shown to us at every possible opportunity. Cool and lofty quarters were allotted for our entertainment; the resources of the monastery were placed at our disposal. The Abbot of Chang-an-sa prepared draughts of honey-water and cakes of pine-seeds for our refreshment. Every morning supplies of honey, rice, and flour, and small bundles of fresh vegetables were brought to the table; throughout the day nothing was left undone, which, in the minds of these simple men, would be conducive to our comfort. A deep pool in the tumbling mountain-stream was reserved for our use, and when, in the fresh air of the morning, and again when the cool winds of the evening had tempered the heat of the day, we went to bathe, the Abbot, upon his own initiative, arranged that we should be left in undisturbed possession of the water-hole.
The Temple, which we occupied during our stay at Chang-an-sa, contained The Altar of the Three Buddhas. The building was spacious and impressive. A wide verandah surrounded it, teak pillars supported a massive roof; scrolls and allegorical pictures, illustrating incidents in the life of Buddha, decorated the wall. Layers of oiled paper carpeted the floor; an altar cloth of silk, richly embroidered, small mats, bronze incense bowls and brass candelabra, embellished the altar, in the centre of which was a large gilt image of the Three Buddhas. Every evening at sunset, the monks who officiated in this Temple placed bowls of rice, honey, and pine-seed cakes upon the altar, and lighted the small lamps and candles which illuminated it. Prayers were not always said, nor were the services always the same, the numbers of the monks varying nightly according to the character of the special office. When the services concluded, there were many who found something to attract them in our small encampment. They gathered round the kitchen; they assisted the interpreter to cook, and tasted his dishes. They handled with amazement the cooking utensils of a camp-kitchen, the cutlery of a traveller’s table. Occasionally, as their increasing familiarity brought about some small degree of intimacy between us, the monks would display their beads and alms-bowls for our inspection, requesting our acceptance of copies of their books in return for photographs of their temples. The intricacies of a camera delighted them, the appearance of a sporting rifle created consternation in their breasts, and they were never tired of swinging in my camp-bed.
THE ABBOT AND MONKS OF CHANG-AN-SA
Before the camp at Chang-an-sa was shifted to Yu-chom-sa, a fast friendship, engendered by many kindly acts and the uninterrupted expression of a thoughtful consideration for our needs, sprung up between the monks and ourselves. They consulted us about their ailments, which usually took the shape of an acute attack of indigestion or a form of intermittent dysentery. My medicines were limited to some quinine pills and a bottle of fruit salts; they accepted either prescription with gratitude and much melancholy philosophy. But although they remained always the same well-disposed visitors to our camp, I noted that they did not frequently present themselves as candidates for treatment again. When the moment came for our departure, many small gifts were pressed upon us. For a long time, too, it seemed as if it would be impossible to obtain an account of our indebtedness to the monastery. In the end the persuasion of the interpreter prevailed. When we added to the reckoning a few dollars for the funds of the monastery, the expressions of gratitude and appreciation, to which our little gift gave rise, made it almost possible to believe that the kindness and hospitality shown had been all on our side.