| 118. View of Tashi-lunpo. Sketch by the Author. |
Now the religious ceremonies begin. The Tashi Lama takes off his mitre and hands it to an acolyte. All the secular lords on the open platforms also take off their mushroom-shaped hats. Two dancers with gruesome masks, in coloured silken dresses with wide open sleeves, come forth from the lower gallery, the curtain being drawn aside, and revolve in a slow dance over the quadrangle. Then the Grand Lama is saluted by the eleven principal standards in Tashi-lunpo; every idol has its standard, and every standard therefore represents a god of the copious Lamaistic mythology, but only the standards of the eleven chief deities are brought out. The flag is square, but strips or ribands of a different colour protrude at right angles from the three free edges; there are white flags with blue strips, blue flags with red ribands, red with blue, yellow with red strips, etc. The flag is affixed in the usual way to a long painted staff, round which it is wrapped when a lama brings it out. He marches solemnly up, halts before the box of the Tashi Lama, holds out the staff horizontally with the assistance of a second lama, and unrolls the flag, and then the emblem of the god is raised with a forked stick to salute the Grand Lama. It is then lowered again, the flag is rolled up, and the staff is carried sloped on the shoulder of the bearer out through a gate beneath our balcony. The same ceremony is observed with all the standards, and as each is unfolded a subdued murmur of devotion rises from the assembly.
After a short pause the trumpets sound again, and now appear some lamas with white masks and white robes, heralding a procession of monks, each of whom carries some article used in the ritual of Buddhism, holy temple vessels, golden bowls and chalices, censers of gold swinging in their chains and emitting clouds of sweet-smelling incense. Some of these monks appear in harness and accoutrements; three masked lamas almost collapse under the weight of their exceedingly costly vestments of red, blue, and yellow gold-embroidered silk. Behind them six copper trumpets, 10 feet long and bound with brass, are carried, and are so heavy that their sound-bells must be supported on the shoulders of young novices. They are followed by a group of flutists, and then come forty men in fanciful motley costly dresses, who bear drums held up vertically on carved poles, and beat them with drumsticks resembling a swan’s neck. Now come the cymbals clashing loudly and in regular time in the hands of monks clothed in red silk. Nakchen, “The Great Black Man,” is the name of a dressed-up monk who bears a hand-bell. Below, at the stone steps, the court is spread with a square of carpets. There the orchestra seats itself, the forty drums are held up parallel to one another, and likewise the trumpets, which are now allowed to slope down to the pavement. All the musicians wear yellow mitres somewhat like the mitre of the Grand Lama. Three monks of high rank come out on the gallery, which is situated on the short side of the quadrangle immediately above the arena. They wear yellow vestments and yellow mitres, and ring from time to time brazen bells which they hold in their hands. Each of them, I am told, is the superior of a thousand monks; only three are present, for the fourth is ill. Tashi-lunpo has 3800 monks at the present time.
| 119. Street in Tashi-lunpo, with Lamas. |
The curtain at the top of the stone staircase is opened and a masked figure, named Argham, comes out with a bowl full of goat’s blood in his hand. He holds it horizontally with outstretched arms while he executes a mystic dance; suddenly he pours the blood over the steps. With both arms extended, holding the bowl upside down, he continues his dance, while some serving brothers hurry up to wipe up the blood. Undoubtedly this ceremony is a relic of the time when the original Bon religion prevailed in Tibet, before the Indian monk Padma Sambhava in the eighth century A.D. laid the foundation stone of Lamaism by introducing Buddhism into Tibet; for Lamaism is only a corrupt form of pure Buddhism, and under an outward varnish of Buddhistic symbolism has incorporated a number of Sivaistic elements, and has also retained the superstitions which in pre-Buddhistic times found expression in wild fanatical devil dances, rites, and sacrifices. The object of these ceremonies was to exorcise, banish or propitiate the powerful demons which reign everywhere, in the air, on the earth, and in water, and whose only function is to plague, torture, and persecute the children of men. At that time the god of war and the demons were appeased by human sacrifices, and the ceremony I have just described is certainly a relic of these offerings. Of course Buddhism had a better prospect of becoming popular in Tibet if as much as possible of the old religion were incorporated in the new. But the first command of the fundamental law of Buddhism forbids to “quench the vital spark,” to kill. This does not, however, prevent the monks from eating meat or making use of goat’s blood in certain religious rites—the sheep and goats are killed by ordinary butchers, while the lamas themselves do not transgress the commandments of the law.
Bagcham is the name of a dancer in a frightful devil’s mask; as he circles over the quadrangle, pieces of coloured cloth flutter about on all sides. He is followed by eleven masked lamas who execute the same movements. They are joined by a troop of new performers in coloured garments with necklaces, beads, and ornaments. They wear a square collar with a round hole in the middle, which is passed over the head, so that the collar rests on the shoulders and stands out horizontally when they dance. A great number of strips tied about the body swing out like the skirts of a ballet-dancer when the dancers spin round. They hold in their hands various religious objects and long light strips, ribands, and streamers.
Again the curtain parts asunder, and preceded by two flutists Chöjal Yum appears at the top of the steps, the impersonation of a female spirit, and with a trident in his hand performs a dance on the topmost step. Lastly, lamas dance in hideous masks with large evil eyes and Mephistophelian eyebrows, distorted features, and huge tusks; others represent mythical wild beasts, all equally terrible (Illustrations 115, 116, 117). At every new number the three high priests ring their bells, and the music continues without interruption, the discordant noise awakening a thundering echo from the stone façades of the narrow court. The drummers beat their instruments slowly and in strict time, accompanied by the clash of the cymbals, the weird, prolonged blasts of the trumpets, and the more agreeable notes of the flutes. But now and then the time is accelerated, the beats of the drum follow one another more and more closely, and the claps of the clashing basins pass into one continuous resonance. The musicians seem to stimulate one another, and there is a great crescendo; there is more than enough noise to deafen one, so it is useless to attempt to speak to one’s neighbour. The dancing becomes more furious, and undoubtedly the fanatical spectacle makes a deep impression on the spectators. Now and then a fanatic is overpowered by it, jumps up, and, turning towards the Tashi Lama, grabs at his head with his hands, falls forward with his hands and forehead on the ground, and repeats this obeisance thrice—he has a deified man before him. A greybeard from Chang-tang, sitting in his fur coat just below our balcony, is unwearied in these observances, and is constantly jumping up to make his reverence to the Grand Lama; but once he slips on a piece of mandarin peel and makes a frightful contortion, to the great amusement of his neighbours. Other pilgrims take from their girdles a small bag of rice or barley, and throw a pinch or two into the court. This is an offering to the temple, and is appropriated by the pigeons and sparrows.
Only the northern third of the quadrangle is required for the religious diabolical masquerade; the other two-thirds are left free for the poor of Shigatse and its environs. There the crush is terrible, but now and then lictors, as they may be called, armed with whips and rods, clear a space. They strike right and left, and all the people bend their backs under the blows, but their interference seems only to increase the disorder. Among the pilgrims on the platforms tea is distributed gratis by monks of low rank; they carry large brass-bound copper cans on the right shoulder, from which they fill the wooden cups held out by their guests. Panem et circenses! The monks know how to treat their lambs. What does it matter to them if they give a few yak-loads of brick tea once or twice a year, when they live exclusively at the expense of the people and from the Peter’s pence which flow continuously from the bags of pilgrims into the temple treasury?
| 120. Street in Tashi-lunpo. |
At length the lictors clear a space in the crowd below us, where a fire is lighted. Two monks step forward and hold a large sheet of paper horizontally over the fire at as great a height as possible; on this paper is written down all the evil from which protection is desired during the year now commencing, and all the affairs in which a triumph is hoped for over the designs and influence of wicked demons. The paper also represents the past year with all its sufferings and all its sins. A lama walks up to the fire with a wand in one hand and a bowl in the other. He recites some formulæ of incantation, performs all kinds of mystical hocus pocus with his arms, and throws the contents of the bowl, some inflammable stuff, into the flames, which blaze up brightly and consume in a moment the paper, the passing year with its sins, and all the power of the demons. All the spectators rise and break out into prolonged shouts of rejoicing, for now evil is crushed and every one may rest in peace. The last number of the day’s programme was a general dance of all the lamas in the courtyard.