The Lama, pointing at it, told me that it was a good God. I saluted it and deposited a small offering in the collection-box. This seemed to please the Lama greatly, for he at once fetched a holy-water amphora, hung with long "veils of friendship and love,"[6] and poured some scented liquid on the palms of my hands. Then, producing a strip of veil, he wetted it with the scent and presented it to me. The majority of pilgrims generally go round the inside of the temple on their knees, but, notwithstanding that, to avoid offending prejudices, I generally follow the principle of doing in Rome as the Romans do, I could not here afford the chance of placing myself at such a disadvantage in case of a surprise. The High Lama explained the different images to me, and threw handfuls of rice over them as he called them by their respective names, all of which I tried hard to remember, but, alas! before I could get back to the serai and scribble them down on paper, they had all escaped my memory. A separate entrance led from the monastery into the temple.
Lights, burning in brass bowls, their wicks being fed with melted butter, were scattered on the floor in the central quadrangle. Near them lay oblong books of prayers printed on the smooth yellow Tibetan paper made from a fibrous bark. Near these books were small drums and cymbals. One double drum, I noticed, was made from reversed sections of human skulls. My attention was also attracted by some peculiar head-gear worn by the Lamas during their services and ceremonies, when they not only accompany their chanting and prayers with the beating of drums and clashing of cymbals, but they also make a noise on cane flutes, tinkle hand-bells, and sound a large gong. The noise of these instruments is at times so great that the prayers themselves cannot be heard. Awe-inspiring masks are used by Lamas in their eccentric and mystic dances. The Lamas spend the entire day in the temple and consume much tea with butter and salt in it, which is brought to them in cups by Lamas of an inferior order acting as servants. They pass hour after hour in their temples, apparently absorbed in praying to the God above all gods, the incarnation of all the saints together united in a trinity, the Kunjuk-Sum.
Kunjuk-Sum, translated literally, means "the three deities." Some take it to refer to the elements—air, water, and fire—which in the Tibetan mind are symbols of speech, charity, and strength or life. One great point in Buddhism is the love and respect for one's father and mother, and the prohibition to injure one's neighbors in any way. The latter is preached, but seldom practised. According to the commandments contained in some eight hundred volumes called "the Kajars," the Tibetans believe in a heaven (the Deva Tsembo) free from all anxieties of human existence, full of love and joy. Their heaven is ruled over by a god of infinite goodness, helped by countless disciples called the Chanchubs, who spend their existence in performing charitable deeds among living creatures. With a number of intermediate places of happiness and punishment, they even believe in a hell where the souls of sinners are tormented by fire and ice.
"God sees and knows everything, and He is everywhere," exclaimed the Lama, "but we cannot see Him! Only the Chanchubs can see and speak to Him."
"What are the evil qualities to be mostly avoided?" I inquired of the High Lama, who spoke a little Hindustani.
"Luxury, pride, and envy," he replied.
"Do you ever expect to become a saint?" I asked him.
"Yes, I hope so; but it takes five hundred transmigrations of an uncontaminated soul before one can be a saint."
Then, as if waking to a sudden thought, he seized my hand impulsively and spread my fingers apart. Having done this, he muttered two or three words of surprise. His face became serious, even solemn, and he treated me with strange obsequiousness. Rushing out of the temple, he went to inform the other Lamas of his discovery, whatever it was. They crowded round him, and from their words and gestures it was easy to see they were bewildered.
When I left the company of the strange idols and came into the court-yard, every Lama wished to examine and touch my hand. The sudden change in their behavior was to me a source of great curiosity, until I learned the real cause of it some weeks later.