MINA FU-YEH (BUDDHA).
Mina Fu-yeh[6] is a man twenty-seven years of age, or twenty-eight by Chinese calculation, and has been in the monastery since he was seven. Considerably below medium height, and of slight build, he has a very pleasant face, especially when lit up by a happy smile, as it often is. It struck us both that the sedentary indoor life he is more or less bound to live was telling on his constitution, and that if he had spent more of his time in the open air, instead of in reading, writing, and meditation, his health would benefit greatly. However that may be, it did not interfere with his hospitality, for the moment we were seated he told us that food was being prepared, and that it would shortly be ready. He was living in a small room about twelve feet square, with massive stone walls, squatting on the "k'ang" or raised platform which occupied the greater portion of the room. On this "k'ang" was a low square table only a few inches high, holding a beautiful tea-cup made of stone, with a silver cover. On his right was a darkly-stained cupboard, wherein he kept his books, writing materials, and other nick-nacks. Hanging on the wall opposite him, and in no way harmonising with the other surroundings, was a coloured picture of the day illustrating some English boys and girls out of school. This had been given him by Mr. Rijnhart, who meanwhile told him all about us—who we were, where we had come from, and gave him a general outline of our journey, in all of which he took considerable interest, and, through Rijnhart, he asked us several questions, including the inevitable one, "Aren't you cold in those thin clothes?" No Chinaman or Tibetan seems able to grasp the European fashion of wearing tight clothing; to them our outer clothes appear to fit so closely that there can be no room for any underneath.
Mina Fu-yeh speaks Chinese, Mongolian, and Tibetan with equal ease and fluency, so that any questions we wished to ask we put to Rijnhart, who translated them into Chinese, the answer being received the reverse way. In this manner we were able to get a reliable statement about the priests who live on the "Dragon Colt's Island," the island in the Koko Nor, mention of which has been made by so many travellers. While marching along the north shore of the lake, we had just been able to make out the island away towards the south side, but no two men gave the same account of its inhabitants. Mina Fu-yeh said that there are twelve or thirteen priests living there, that they keep sheep and goats, and that, being free from depredations of wolves, their flocks thrive well. In winter, when the lake is frozen over, they cross to the mainland and lay in stores for the following summer. He himself, he added, was thinking of building a house there and getting a boat of some sort, so that he would be able to go backwards and forwards at any time of year. I don't suppose this idea of his will ever come to anything.
One was naturally diffident about asking a perfect stranger a great deal about his religious tenets, for although our host was a very liberal-minded man and far more ready to converse than most Tibetans, there was always the feeling that one might touch on some delicate subject and quite unintentionally annoy him. We therefore contented ourselves with asking Rijnhart privately what he had told him on other occasions. His explanation of how he came to be recognised as the reincarnation of the previous Mina Fu-yeh shows how convincing the proofs of identity are to one who has been brought up to accept and believe in the theory. He relates how, when very small, various articles were laid out from which he was to select those which had been his own in his previous life-time. Among these was a number of rosaries from which he had no difficulty in choosing his own, "For," he says, "I had used it daily for years; how is it possible that I should not know it from among all these others? Of course I knew it." So on with other articles; his identity was established without a doubt, and he became the heir to the accumulated property of fifteen former lifetimes.[7] He talks freely of his last lifetime, pointing out the site of the house in which he lived, and which was burnt down about two years before his death; it was, he says, a far finer house than the one he now occupies.
In the course of conversation, he told us that he had spent some time in studies at Pekin, and that he had also been on a journey to the Eastern Mongols, where he read the sacred books to all who wished it. He selected them as they were more pious and more wealthy than the Tibetans or Western Mongols. While in Pekin he had had some dealings with foreigners, buying things in the stores, and was full of admiration for their honesty. He was much amused when we told him we were sorry we could not say the same for the Chinese. Most of his own people, those for whose spiritual welfare he is chiefly responsible, come from round Kuei-Tê, where he himself was born; he has also a certain number of Tibetans and Mongols from the Koko Nor and Tsaidam. He was till recently Ta K'anpo or abbot of the monastery, a position of great dignity, being in fact the principal official.
All officials are elected for a period of three years, and the abbot during that time has a very peculiar privilege. He is allowed to send out eight parties of priests in different directions for three months carrying with them Ts.2,000 worth of merchandise. This they trade for sheep, cattle, horses, etc., which are sold at considerable profit on their return. All this profit goes into the pocket of the abbot, who runs no risk beyond the Ts.2,000 originally invested. All other expenses are defrayed out of the monastery funds.
Mina Fu-yeh had been most unfortunate in his business matters while abbot, for in 1894 he had sold a great proportion of his horses, etc., to Mohammedans. They, in accordance with the universal Chinese custom, deferred payment till New Year's Day, by which time the rebellion had broken out, some of his debtors had been killed, and others had left the country, so that he only collected a tithe of what was due to him; in 1895 no party was sent out, owing to the disturbed state of the country, and in 1896 he had only sent out Ts.1,000 worth of stuff. With this he had done extremely well, but only made sufficient profit to cover his losses of 1894.[8]
While we had been conversing thus, our food, tea and large quantities of boiled mutton, was being prepared and was now brought in, a large dishful for the three of us, and a separate smaller dish for our host, as is only fitting for one who lives in such an odour of sanctity as he does.