The festival of the New Year is, of course, universal. It is supposed to celebrate the victory of light over darkness, and, in Buddhist countries, of Buddhism over ignorance. The corresponding Hindū festival is called Makara-saṅkrānti. In India this marks the termination of the inauspicious month Pausha and the beginning of the sun’s northern course (uttarāyaṇa) in the heavens. It is a season of general rejoicing.
In Burma, where a good type of Southern Buddhism is still to be found, the New Year’s festival might suitably be called a ‘water-festival.’ It has there so little connexion with the increase of the New Year’s light, that it often takes place as late as the early half of April (see Mr. Scott’s ‘Burman,’ ii. 48). It is, however, a movable feast, the date of which is regularly fixed by the astrologers of Mandalay, ‘who make intricate calculations based on the position of various constellations.’ The object is to determine on what precise day the king of the Naths (see [p. 217] of this volume) will descend upon the earth and inaugurate the new year. When the day arrives all are on the watch, and just at the right moment—which invariably occurs at midnight—a cannon is fired off, announcing the descent of the Nath-king upon earth. Forthwith (according to Mr. Scott) men and women sally out of their houses, carrying pots full of water consecrated by fresh leaves and twigs of a sacred tree ([p. 514] of this volume), repeat a formal prayer, and pour out the water on the ground. At the same time all who have guns of any kind discharge them, so as to greet the new year with as much noise as possible.
Then, ‘with the first glimmer of light,’ all take jars full of fresh water and carry them off to the nearest monastery. First they present them to the monks, and then proceed to bathe the images. This work is usually done by the women of the party, ‘who reverently clamber up’ and empty their goblets of water over the placid features of the Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas. Then begin the Saturnalia. All along the road are urchins with squirts and syringes, with which they have been furtively practising for the last few days. The skill thus acquired is exhibited by the accuracy of their aim. Cold streams of water catch the ears of the passers by. Young men and girls salute one another with the contents of jars and goblets. Shouts of merriment are heard in every quarter. Before breakfast every one is soaked, but no one thinks of changing his garments, for the weather is warm, and ‘water is everywhere.’ The girls are the most enthusiastic, and as they generally go in bands and carry copious reservoirs along with them, ‘unprotected males’ are soon routed. Then a number of ‘zealous people’ go down to the river, wade into the water knee-deep, splash about and drench one another till they are tired. No one escapes. For three days no one likes to be seen with dry clothes. The wetting is a compliment. A clerk comes up to his master, bows, and ‘gravely pours the contents of a silver cup down the back of his neck,’ saying, ‘let me do homage to you with water.’
It appears from Mr. Scott’s amusing narrative that, when there was a king in Burma, an important feature of the festival was the formal washing of his Majesty’s head.
The New Year’s rejoicings in Ceylon require no special notice.
In Tibet the New Year’s festival properly begins at new moon, and may be delayed till some time in February. The festival lasts fifteen days, and, as usual, is a season of general festivity, gifts, congratulations, mummery, dancing, and acting. It is the Lāmistic carnival.
According to M. Huc (ii. 216) the rejoicings commence (as in Burma) at midnight. At Lhāssa all the inhabitants sit up, awaiting the solemn moment which is to close the old year and open the new. The usages differ so curiously from those customary in Southern Buddhist countries, that I here give an abbreviated version of the two French travellers’ experiences.
Not being at all eager to watch for the moment of separation between the two Tibetan years, we went to bed at our usual hour, and were wrapped in profound slumber, when we were suddenly awakened by cries of joy issuing from all quarters of the town. Bells, cymbals, conchs, tambourines, and all the instruments of Tibetan music, were set to work together and produced the most frightful uproar imaginable. We had a good mind to get up to witness the happiness of the inhabitants of Lhāssa, but the cold was so cutting that, after reflection, we decided to remain under our woollen coverlets, and to unite ourselves in heart only with the public felicity. Unhappily for our comfort, violent knocks on our door, threatening to smash it into splinters, warned us that we must renounce our project. We therefore donned our clothes, and the door being opened, some friendly Tibetans rushed into our room, inviting us to the New Year’s banquet. They all bore in their hands a small vessel made of baked earth, in which balls of honey and flour floated on boiling water. One visitor offered us a long silver needle, terminating in a hook, and invited us to fish in his basin. At first we sought to excuse ourselves, objecting that we were not in the habit of taking food during the night, but they entreated us so warmly, and put out their tongues at us with so friendly a grace, that we were obliged to comply, and resign ourselves to a participation in the New Year’s festivities. Each of us, therefore, hooked a ball, which we then crushed between our teeth to ascertain its flavour. For politeness sake we had to swallow the dose, but not without making some grimaces. Nor could we get off with this first act of devotion. The New Year was inexorable. Our numerous friends at Lhāssa succeeded each other almost without interruption, and we had perforce to munch Tibetan sweetmeats till daybreak.
It is said that other peculiar customs follow, one of which the Tibetans call the Lhāssa-Moru. This takes place on the third day, and leads to the invasion of the town and its environs by innumerable bands of Lāmas. Immense numbers of Lāmas, some on foot, some on horseback, some on asses or oxen, and all carrying cooking-utensils and prayer-books, crowd into Lhāssa from all points. The town is completely over-run. Those who cannot get lodgings encamp in the streets and squares, or pitch their tents in the suburbs. The tribunals are closed, and the course of justice is suspended. The Lāmas parade the streets in disorderly bands, uttering discordant cries, pushing one another about, quarrelling, fighting, and yet, in the midst of all, chanting their prayers (Huc, ii. 218).
In Tibet there is a ‘water-festival’ in the seventh or eighth month (about our August and September). At this festival the Lāmas go in procession to rivers and lakes, and consecrate the waters by benediction or by throwing in offerings. Huts and tents are erected on the banks, and people bathe and drink to wash away their sins. It concludes with dancing, buffoonery, and masquerading.