Photo by A. Cabaton.
[The Hearse and Bearers at an Annamese Funeral.]
Photo. by A. Cabaton.
[The Altar of his Ancestors which accompanies the Deceased.]
Three times a day the priestess prepares a meal for the deceased. An orchestra plays from morning to night almost without intermission. It is soon plain that this lying-in-state, so far from being a rite of mourning, is more like a festival. The guests consume enormous quantities of food and drink, and only the unfortunate relations are under ban to refrain from meat until after the cremation.
When at length the great day arrives the priests construct a catafalque adorned with paper figures, the mourners line up in procession behind, and all proceed to the appointed place. Every villager dons his white scarf—white being the colour of mourning—brandishes a spear, sword, or flag, and joins in the cortège. The bearers perform the most remarkable evolutions with the body, carrying it now feet first, now head first, or turning it round and round in order to confuse the spirit and prevent it from finding its way back. This essential object is also secured by a priest, known on these occasions as "Pô Damoeun," "Lord of Sorrow," who remains in the house of the deceased, shuts himself in, and calls on every object, animate and inanimate, to prevent the soul from entering and molesting the living.
When the funeral procession is within a hundred yards from the exit from the village a priest takes a spade and marks out the spot destined for the funeral pyre. Wood is brought and piled up and the corpse is stripped of its wrappings and offered its last meal. As soon as the flames break out the clothes of the deceased are thrown into them. Now comes the moment, marked by the passage of the soul to the life beyond, when the living send gifts to their dead relations. Each man writes his list of presents on a slip of paper and then burns it. The list is exhaustive, including such homely and necessary articles as a pipe, spittoon and the inevitable receptacle for betel and lime. Even underclothing and small change are not forgotten. During the progress of the conflagration the spectators joke and chatter together, leaving the serious business of desolation to the hired mourners, who weep aloud and tear their hair. At the conclusion of the ceremony the frontal bone of the deceased is carefully broken in nine pieces, which are collected in a metal box, the "klong," a special kind of urn. Every man provides himself with one of these receptacles in anticipation of his own death, but the usual practice is to conceal it in some place known only to his family, as it is not altogether pleasant to be perpetually reminded of the terror to come.
The fragments of bone are now subjected to a long and tedious process of purification, after which they are buried at the foot of a tree, which is carefully noted, as being only a temporary depository. For the next seven years on each anniversary the family dig up the box, carry it back to their house, and offer sacrifices in its honour. After the seventh year the interment is permanent. A spot is chosen near to the best of the family ricefields, trees are planted round it, and a tombstone is erected.
Sometimes the rites require that for the first interment the "klong" of a man and a woman must be used together. It follows that in small families where many years may elapse between the deaths of its members the first "klong" runs a great risk of exceeding its seven compulsory years of waiting before reaching its final resting-place.
The direction in which the urn is placed varies with the sex of the deceased. The "klong" of a woman points to the west, that of a man to the east.