I need scarcely revert to the Umbrella symbol (see [p. 393]). In Eastern countries it typifies supremacy. If a king is present no one else ought to carry an umbrella.
The Ṡaṅkha or Conch-shell is a very auspicious symbol, especially if the convolutions turn to the right in the Nandy-āvarta form, as on the Buddha’s foot (see [p. 513]).
The Tibetan symbol of the ‘Flying horse’ (Lung-ta)—able to transport a man round the world in one day—has been mentioned before; also the Norbu gem (see pp. [381], [528]).
Sacred Animals.
It may be truly said that all animals are more or less venerated—though not actually worshipped—under the Buddhist system. How can it be otherwise when every Buddhist believes that the Buddha himself was incarnated in various animals during the period of his Bodhi-sattvaship (see [p. 111])?
In the same way the Hindūs believe that the god Vishṇu was incarnated in animals, such as a fish, a tortoise, and a boar.
Buddhism in this as in other respects is like Brāhmanism and Hindūism. The feeling of reverence for animals rests on the doctrine of metempsychosis. It is difficult for either a Hindū or a Buddhist to draw a line of demarcation between gods, men, and animals, when the same living being may exist as a god, a man, or an animal. It is on this account that in India animals appear to live on terms of the greatest friendship and mutual confidence with human beings.
Everywhere in India animals dispute possession of the earth with man. Birds build their nests and lay their eggs in the fields, untroubled by fears or misgivings, before the very eyes of every passer-by, and within the reach of every village school-boy. Animals rove over the soil as if they were the landlords. Bulls walk about independently in the streets, and jostle you on the pavements; monkeys domesticate themselves jauntily on the roof of your house; parrots peer inquisitively from the eaves of your bedroom into the mysteries of your toilet; crows make themselves at home on your window-sill, and carry off impudently any portable article of jewellery that takes their fancy on your dressing-table; sparrows hop about impertinently and take the bread off your table-cloth; a solitary mongoose emerges every morning from a hole in your verandah, and expects a share in your breakfast; swarms of insects claim a portion of your mid-day meal, and levy a tax on the choicest delicacies at your dinner table; bats career triumphantly about your head as you light yourself to your bedroom; and at certain seasons snakes domicile themselves unpleasantly in the folds of your cast-off garments. (Quoted from my ‘Brāhmanism and Hindūism.’)
Perhaps the most sacred animal in the estimation of all Buddhists is the elephant. This will be easily understood by recalling what has been said in a previous Lecture (see pp. [23], [24]). In one of the Bharhut sculptures the white elephant is seen descending to enter the side of Gautama’s mother Māyā (‘Stūpa of Bharhut,’ [p. 84]). The elephant, says Sir A. Cunningham, is a favourite subject for delineation. It is represented in almost every possible position, as standing, walking, running, sitting down, eating, drinking, throwing water over its own back, and lastly, kneeling down in reverence before the holy Bodhi-tree.
Probably the next sacred animal to the elephant is the deer. The Buddha was born eleven times as a deer ([p. 111]), and he delivered his first sermon in a deer-park ([p. 42]). The ‘goose’ (Haṉsa, sometimes called ‘a duck’ or ‘a swan’) is also very sacred. With regard to other animals, Sir A. Cunningham remarks:—