The priests and monks, some thirty-five in all, were drawn up in full robes to receive us. Then the officials of the monastery were introduced—the steward, the rod-bearer, the deputy master, and lastly, the master. A procession was quickly formed, which we followed into the chapel, where they all took their accustomed seats, while we sat on places prepared for us. The interior of the chapel seemed an odd place for this, but we were told that it was the correct ceremonial. A chant was begun, which lasted some ten minutes, as a sort of grace, and then tea was handed round—first to us, next to the priests, and lastly to the monks. A short chant followed, and then the procession preceded us out of the chapel.
In the picture which accompanies Sir Richard’s description, all the monks have head-coverings, some of which are like caps or hats of a high sugar-loaf shape, while others have several points like episcopal mitres (see [p. 321]).
The monks of Sikkim are generally of the Dugpa sect[147], and wear red caps (see pp. [273], [298]).
When Dr. Watt was in Ladāk, he was present at a service performed by a number of monks belonging to both sects, who seemed to fraternize very amicably. All the monks of the red sect took up a position on one side of the chapel, while those of the yellow sect ranged themselves on the opposite side. The two sects entered together, as usual, in procession, and part of the ceremonial—as in that witnessed by Sir Richard Temple—consisted in drinking tea from little cups taken from the folds of their robes, and put back again, to be again taken out and replenished; and this, too, without interrupting the continuous repetition of prayers, chants, and formularies[148].
M. Huc also describes a ‘Tea-general’ ceremony after morning service in a temple. Each monk drinks in silence, carefully placing his scarf before his cup, as if to prevent the sight of the apparent incongruity of drinking tea in such a sacred spot (ii. 57).
Another instance of tea-drinking as an element in Lāmistic ceremonial, occurs in Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ highly interesting account of the ceremony of his presentation to the Dalai Lāma at the palace-monastery of Potala, in Lhāssa, on June 10, 1882. I venture to give the substance of it in an abbreviated form and not quite literally[149].
An account of other presentations both to the Dalai Lāma and Tashi Lāma will be given in a future Lecture (see pp. [439], [444], [447]).
Early in the morning I was informed of the arrival of Chola Kusho, who was ready to take me to Potala for presentation to the Dalai Lāma. We sallied forth on horseback, with three bundles of incense-sticks in our hands, and a roll of scarves in our breast-pockets, chanting as we went along certain hymns, and particularly the mystic ‘Om maṇi padme Hūm.’ In the street we saw a calf sucking milk, and several women fetching water in our direction. My companions were delighted at these auspicious omens. Arrived at the eastern gateway of Potala, we dismounted, and walked up a long hall, on two sides of which were two rows of prayer-wheels, put there to be twirled, on going in and coming out.
A young monk now came down to conduct us, and we ascended slowly, looking only on the ground before us. The several ladders which conducted us from one story to another were steep, and placed in dark halls. I counted five, which took us as far as the ground-floor of the Red palace. Half-a-dozen ladders still remained to be scaled.
At about eight we reached the top, and there found a number of monks anxiously awaiting an interview with his Holiness. A seat was pointed out to me. A monk sat near me, and smilingly observed that it must have been on account of the sins of my former life that I was born in India, where there is no living Buddha.
From the top of the Red palace we enjoyed a grand panorama of Lhāssa and its suburbs. Shortly afterwards some Lāmas of high rank, dressed in loose yellow mantles, arrived. They entered the hall of reception one after another in solemn array. We remained outside in anxious suspense, fixing our eyes on the entrance door, and expecting to be summoned to his Holiness’ presence.
At last, three Lāmas came towards us and asked us to enter in a line one after another. Walking very gently, we proceeded to the middle of the audience hall—a spacious apartment supported by three rows of four wooden pillars. The walls had paintings of the exploits of Buddha, of Chanrassig[150], Tsong Khapa, and other celebrated saints, besides images of the successive incarnations of the Dalai Lāma.
As soon as we had entered the official scarf-collectors received the presentation-scarves from our hands. We seated ourselves on rugs, spread in about eight rows, my seat being in the third row, at a distance of about ten feet from the Grand Lāma’s throne, and a little to his left. When all were seated, perfect silence reigned in the grand hall. The state officials walked from left to right with serene gravity, as became their exalted rank, in the presence of the Supreme Vice-Regent of Buddha on earth. At their head walked the Kuchar Khanpo, who carried in his hand the bowl of benediction, containing the sacred Thui (that is, consecrated water stained yellow with saffron) for sprinkling over the audience. The bearer of the incense-pot, suspended by three golden chains, the carrier of the royal golden tea-pot, and other domestic officials, now came up, and stood motionless as pictures, without looking on either side, but fixing their eyes and their attention, as it were, on the tips of their respective noses. Two large golden lamp-burners, resembling flower-vases, flickered on two sides of the throne. The great altar—resembling an oriental throne, and supported by lions[151] carved in wood—on which sat his Holiness, a child of eight, was covered with silk scarves of great value. It was about four feet high, six long, and four broad. A yellow mitre-hat[152] covered the Grand Lāma’s head, the pendant portions veiling his ears, and a yellow mantle enveloped his person. He sat cross-legged, with the palms of his hands joined together to bless us. When it came to my turn I received his Holiness’ benediction, and was able to look upon his divine face. Other Lāmas approached him with downcast looks, and resumed their respective seats, not presuming to look up. I longed to linger a few seconds, but other candidates for benediction displaced me by pushing me gently forward. I noticed that the princely child possessed a really bright and fair complexion, with rosy cheeks. His eyes were large and penetrating. The contour of his face was remarkably Āryan, though somewhat marred by the obliquity of his eyes. The thinness of his person was probably owing to the fatigues of the court-ceremonies, religious duties, and ascetic observances, to which he had been subjected since taking the vows of monkhood. Remembering the stories about the freaks of fortune, which had lately brought him to this proud position, and had compelled his predecessors to undergo untimely transmigrations, I pitied his exalted rank: for who knows whether he will not be forced to undergo another transmigration before reaching his twentieth year?
When all were again seated after receiving the Dalai Lāma’s benediction, the Sol-pon Chhenpo poured tea in his Holiness’ golden cup from a golden tea-pot, while four assistant Sol-pons poured tea in the cups of the audience, consisting of the head Lāmas of Meru monastery and ourselves. Before the Grand Lāma lifted his cup to his lips, a grace was solemnly said, beginning with ‘Om āh Hūm’ thrice chanted, and followed by a prayer to the following effect:—‘Never even for a moment losing sight of the three Holies, always offer reverence to the Tri-ratnas; let the blessings of the three be upon us.’ Without even stirring the air by the movements of our limbs, we slowly lifted our cups to our lips, and drank the tea—which was delicious—taking care to make no sound with our lips. Three times was tea served, and three times we emptied our cups, after which we put them back in our breast-pockets. Then the Sol-pon placed a golden dish full of consecrated rice in front of his Holiness, which he only touched. The remainder was distributed among those present. I obtained a handful, which I carefully tied in one corner of my handkerchief. The following grace was then uttered by the assembled monks, with much gravity:—‘The most precious Buddha is the most perfect and matchless teacher; the most unerring guide is the Saṅgha; the most infallible protection is in the sacred Dharma. We offer these offerings to these three objects of refuge. Reverence be to each of them!’
Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās also witnessed at the same time the performance of a remarkable ceremony for the translation of the soul of a chief Lāma or Khanpo to one of the heavenly mansions.
It appears that a certain well-known Khanpo had died of small-pox. He was one of the most distinguished scholars of Tibet, and held the highest position in the Court of Potala. The day on which the ceremony was performed was the twenty-seventh day of this chief Lāma’s Bardo ([p. 371]); that is, of the interval of forty-nine days between his death and his translation to another world. (According to Jäschke the interval of the intermediate state only lasts for forty days.)