Being rather sceptical on the subject of relics, I ascertained that this casket contained a tooth of Buddha! A small donation readily obtained for me a closer examination of the article, and I am now quite prepared to take an affidavit that what I saw had every appearance of a full-grown, sound molar; but at the same time I must beg leave to add that the great eastern prophet must have had a spare set or two at his disposal, inasmuch as, to my certain knowledge, there are several scores of Buddha’s teeth being shown in various parts of the East or China, and history does not mention, that I am aware of, that men—even of the calibre of Buddha—were blessed with more than thirty-two. Archæologists, even, do not tell us that dentistry was amongst the learned professions of the ante-Christian era, otherwise it might readily be inferred that this sainted individual had at a moderate outlay been able to distribute “relics” amongst the faithful.
Should I ever have the felicity of being canonized, a relic of your humble servant—similar to that of Buddha—may some day be exhibiting in Ceylon. It happened in this wise. On the day of my departure from the island, wishing to get rid of the Indian coins I had left in my purse, I was bargaining with a hawker for some ebony carvings. His demand was some six or seven rupees in excess of my change. We were both anxious to deal, but I was firmly determined not to part with any more gold. My dressing-case lay open on the table, and in it was—a front TOOTH, set in gold, which I had long discarded as a misfit! The metal attracted the native’s keen eye, and he said—“Give me this; you can have another ‘elephant’ with what you have already selected.” The bargain was struck, and, as I said, who knows what that tooth of mine might be turned into? There are many temples of Buddha that may want a relic. Here, as it is elsewhere, C’est la foi qui sauve.
I felt disappointed at the spectacle here, arising, perhaps, from my taking no interest in the religious ceremony I did not understand, and looking at it merely as an empty show.
The strong glare of hundreds of lamps; the heat, and crowding of so many in so small a place; the sickly perfume of the piles of Buddha flowers heaped before the shrine by the pilgrims; the deafening, discordant din of a score of tom-toms and vile, screeching pipes—made me glad enough to descend the stairs, and, giving a rupee to the priest at the door, to escape once more into the glorious fresh air outside.
Being bent on a thoroughly religious pilgrimage, I left the votaries of Saman, and, following another crowd of a slightly darker colour, I made my way into the Hindoo temple, another gaily decorated and over-crowded building.
Here, to the sound of much music, and by the light of many flaring lamps, a group of young dancing girls were delighting the motley crowd. There were three of them—one a finely-made creature, with graceful movements; the others younger, stouter, but far less pleasing. A great deal of pains and expense had evidently been taken with their dress, which, in embroidery of gold and jewels was, I am credibly informed, worth some hundreds of pounds! The graceful little jacket of one of these dancers sparkled and glittered with an article, to me, quite new in the way of ornament. Along the edge of a pure white garment shone a whole row of “fire-flies,” which by some ingenious contrivance had been inserted in the hem of the dress, and gave a strange but pleasing novelty to the appearance of her attire as the girl swept gracefully round in slow and measured steps. The music to which these people dance is anything but pleasing to an European ear—indeed, there is scarcely any sign of a tune in it—yet they contrive to measure their mazy and intricate dance by its notes with admirable precision, singing whilst they dance a monotonous nasal song, the words being extemporised by the dancer. In this instance, whilst the girl was twisting and turning before me, a Singalese gentleman informed me the theme of her song was a welcome to the white-faced stranger—a compliment which, even in Kandy, implies a “backsheesh” for the Nautch girl as well as the musicians.
Leaving the dancers and priests, I strolled towards the adjoining lake and the broad drive which winds round it. It was one of those lovely moonlight nights of the tropics which baffle description; the palm-shaded banks of the placid sheet of water stood out in the sweetest contrast to the noisy revelry I had just left. The moon was near the full, and rising above the many rich green topes and drooping plantains, lit up the peaceful scene with marvellous radiance. The master-hand of our finest painter might attempt to draw such a picture, but his attempt would be a signal failure.
The next day the bazaars were crowded with dealers in, and buyers of, precious stones. Thousands of Moormen, Chetties, Arabs, Parsees, and Singalese were busily employed in the barter, and a more noisy crowd I never met with—not even at the Paris Bourse, which I always looked upon as the nearest approach to what I imagine Pandemonium must be like.
In this crowd I for the first time saw some Hindoo fakirs, most repulsive objects, depending for subsistence on the alms of the faithful. One of these wretched creatures, in the fulfilment of a vow, or as an act of atonement and righteousness, had held his left arm for so many years erect above his head, that it could not now be moved, and grew transfixed, emaciated, and bony. It looked more like a dry, withered stick, tied to the body, than a part of the body itself.
Another fakir had closed one of his hands for so long that the finger nails had cut through the palm. These miserable objects appeared to do a good trade to judge from the number of pilgrims who contributed alms in response to their importunate begging.