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’.