In its striking and unique position, it is even more imposing than the Vatican.
Imagine a lofty structure erected on an isolated hill[230], rising abruptly from the plain with three long summits or eminences, and watered at the base by the Ki-ćhu river, which flows into the great Tsanpo. The south-western ridge is the so-called Iron-hill, on which is a monastery where Tsong Khapa himself is said to have taught. The north-eastern bears the name of the Phagmo hill[231], while the highest is the hill of Potala, with its palace-monastery towering in four stories to the height of about 367 feet, and ending in a cupola covered with plates of pure gold.
From this vantage ground the incarnated Bodhi-sattva looks down on the crowds of pilgrims approaching to worship him, or kneeling at the foot of the hill. The buildings grouped in the vicinity are said to contain 10,000 rooms, for the accommodation of as many monks. Countless are the statues of Buddha, with other idols and images of saints, not to mention obelisks and pyramidal monuments, which meet the eye everywhere. All sacred objects are manufactured out of gold, silver, or copper, according to the wealth of those who have brought them as offerings. Two ascending avenues lead up from Lhāssa to Potala, which are constantly thronged with foreign pilgrims, troops of Lāmas in official vestments, higher Lāmas and courtiers in full uniform. Yet we are told that a solemn religious silence prevails, for the thoughts of all are fixed in meditation.
I have already given an abstract of Mr. Sarat Chandra Dās’ narrative of his visit to Potala, and his presentation to the Dalai Lāma on June 10, 1882 (see [p. 331] of these Lectures). I now add an account of Mr. Thomas Manning’s interview with the Dalai Lāma on December 17, 1811. No European, except Mr. Manning[232], has ever set eyes on a Dalai Lāma, and no other Englishman has ever seen Lhāssa (for M. Huc was misinformed; Moorcroft was never there):—
We rode to the foot of the mountain on which the palace is built, or out of which, rather, it seems to grow; but having ascended a few paces to a platform, were obliged to dismount. From here to the hall where the Grand Lāma receives visitors is a long and tedious ascent. It consists of about four hundred steps, partly stone steps in the rocky mountain, and the rest mere ladders from story to story in the palace. Besides this, from interval to interval along the mountain, wherever the ascent is easy, there are stretches interspersed, where the path continues for several paces together without steps. At length we arrived at the large platform on which is built the hall of reception. There we rested awhile, arranged the presents, and conferred with the Lāma’s Chinese interpreter.
The Tí-mu-fu was in the hall with the Grand Lāma. I was not informed of this until I entered, which occasioned me some confusion. I did not know how much ceremony to go through with one, before I began with the other. I made the due obeisance, touching the ground three times with my head to the Grand Lāma, and once to the Tí-mu-fu. I presented my gifts, delivering the coin and the handsome silk scarf with my own hands into the hands of the Grand Lāma. I then took off my hat, and humbly gave him my clean-shaven head to lay his hands upon. The ceremony of presentation being over, the Munshī and I sat down on two cushions not far from the Lāma’s throne, and had tea brought to us. It was most excellent, and I meant to have emptied the cup, but it was whipped away suddenly, before I was aware of it. The Lāma’s beautiful and interesting face and manner engrossed almost all my attention. He was at that time about seven years old; and had the simple and unaffected manners of a well-educated princely child. His face was, I thought, poetically and affectingly beautiful. He was of a gay and cheerful disposition; his beautiful mouth perpetually unbending into a graceful smile, which illuminated his whole countenance. Sometimes, particularly when he had looked at me, his smile approached to a gentle laugh. No doubt my grim beard and spectacles somewhat excited his risibility. He inquired whether I had not met with molestation and difficulties on the road; to which I promptly returned the proper answer. A present of dried fruit was brought and set before me, and then we withdrew. (Mr. Clements Markham’s Tibet, p. 264, abridged.)
As to the monasteries grouped around this Vatican of Lāmistic Buddhism, we may make special mention of four, noting a few particulars.
To begin with the oldest monastery, that of Lā brang, said to mean ‘abode of Lāmas[233],’ which was built by King Srong Tsan Gampo (see [p. 271] of this volume), and founded in the seventh century. This ancient institution is in the very centre of Lhāssa, and is regarded as the centre of the whole country. All the main roads of Tibet converge towards it. Doubtless the area of the monastery has been enlarged by occasional additions in the course of one thousand years, but not since it was partly rebuilt and restored in the seventeenth century. Its magnificent temple (Cho Khang) is the St. Peter’s of Lāmism (see [p. 459]).
The immense number of monks inhabiting this monastery is proved by the fact that a huge cauldron is shown which holds more than 1200 gallons of tea for the Lāmas who perform the daily services.
The other three monasteries near Potala and Lā brang, according to Koeppen, are devoted to the study of magic and the art of exorcising. We may take them in the following order:—
First, at a short distance north of Lā brang, stands the monastery Ramoćhe, ‘the great enclosure,’ which was the other ancient monastery built by Srong Tsan Gampo, or by one of his wives (see [p. 271]). It is now a great school of exorcism, and has a celebrated temple (see pp. [462], [463]), containing the celebrated image of the Buddha, and also one of Nanda, Gautama’s step-brother and disciple. Those who study here may gain the decree of ‘Doctor of Magic.’