Among other abstruse subjects, this penitent must study a composition on some kind of magic, which renders him insensible to cold and almost independent of the laws of gravity. He becomes light, and when the hour of release arrives, travels on winged feet: whereas he used to take ten days to journey from Tashi-lunpo to Gyangtse, he can now cover the distance in less than a day. Immediately the twelve years of trial are ended, he must repair to Tashi-lunpo to blow a blast of a horn on the roof, and then he returns to Shalu-gompa. He is considered a saint as long as he lives, and has the rank of a Kanpo-Lama. No sooner has he left his grotto than another is ready to enter the darkness and undergo the same test. This lama was the only one in this neighbourhood then confined in a grotto, but there are hermits in abundance, living in open caves or small stone huts, and maintained by the nomads living near them. We were later on to hear of fanatical lamas who renounce the world in a much stricter fashion.
In Tashi-lunpo the cloister rule seems to be strictly enforced: there are especial inspectors, policemen and lictors who control the lives of the monks in their cells and take care that no one commits a breach of his vows. Recently a monk had broken the vow of chastity; he was ejected for ever from the Gelugpa confraternity and banished from the territory of Tashi-lunpo. He has, then, no prospect of finding an asylum in another monastery, but must embrace some secular profession.
One day we visited the Dena-lhakang, a temple like a half-dark corridor, for it is lighted only by two quite inadequate windows. In the middle of the corridor there is a niche which has doors into the hall, for the walls are very thick. Thus between the doors and the window is formed a small room in which the lama on duty sits as in a hut. He belongs to the Gelong order, is named Tung Shedar, came from Tanak, and is now seventy years old, has short white hair, and a skin as dry as an old yellow crumpled parchment.
On entering, one sees on the right a bookcase with deep square pigeon-holes, in which holy books are placed. On the outer, longer wall, banners painted with figures hang between the two windows, in the deepest shadow, most of which are of venerable age, and are dusty and faded—a Lamaist picture gallery. Pillars are ranged along the longer wall, of red lacquered wood, and between them is suspended trellis-work of short iron rods, forming geometrical figures. They are intended to preserve the valuables from theft. In such a niche we see hundreds of small idols set round in rows, four to eight inches high, in silken mantles. Before them are taller statues of gods, and Chinese vases of old valuable porcelain. Especial reverence is shown to a cabinet with an open door, within which is preserved a tablet, draped with kadakhs, and inscribed with Chinese characters, in memory of the great Emperor Kien-Lung who was admitted by the third Tashi Lama into the confraternity of the yellow monks. Above, covering the capitals of the pillars, is hung strange, shabbily-fine drapery, of pieces of variously coloured cloth and paper strips. For the rest, the hall abounds in the usual vessels, brazen elephants with joss-sticks, large chalices and bowls, small and large flags, and other things.
Another time I had been drawing in a sepulchral chapel and taken the opportunity of making a sketch of some female pilgrims who were praying there. When the work was finished, we crossed a paved court fully 20 yards broad by 90 long, which was situated just under the façade of the Labrang. It was full of people waiting to see the Tashi Lama, who was to pass by on his way to some ceremony. He came in a red monk’s frock and the yellow mitre; above his head was held the yellow sunshade, and he was accompanied by a train of monks. He walked with his body slightly bent and an air of humility. Many fell down before him full-length and worshipped him, while others threw grains of rice over him. He did not see me, but his smile was just as kind and mild as when we last met. So he is evidently affable to all alike.
I made daily visits to the monastery and so gained a thorough knowledge of the solitary life of the monks. Gompa signifies “the abode of solitude,” or monastery; the monks in the convent certainly live isolated from the outer world, its vanities and temptations. Once, in the Kanjur-lhakang, I purposed to draw the images with the lamps burning before them on the innermost, darkest wall, but just as I was about to begin monks filled the hall. Their places on the long divans were made ready for them, and before each seat a huge volume of the holy scriptures, the Kanjur, lay on a long continuous desk. The large yellow robes which are put on at service time, but may not be worn in the open-air, were laid ready. The young, brown-skinned, short-haired monks entered in red togas, threw the yellow vestments over their shoulders, and sat down cross-legged before the books. An older lama, a Kanpo, mounted the pulpit on the shorter wall and intoned the sacred text in a harsh, solemn, bass voice. The pupils joined in a monotonous rhythm. Some read from the pages in front of them, while others seemed to know the words of the chant by heart—at any rate they looked all about. Exemplary order is not observed. Some young fellows, who certainly were much more at home in the world than in the Church, talked during the chant, giggled, and buried their faces in their robes to stifle their laughter. But no one took any notice of them; they caused no disturbance. Others never raised their eyes from the book. The hall was as dark as a crypt, being lighted only by a narrow skylight, and through two small doors (Illustration 154).
| 146. The Panchen Rinpoche, or Tashi Lama. |
After they had sung awhile there was an interval, and lama boys passed along the gangways between the rows of benches and poured tea, with wonderful adroitness and without spilling a drop, into the wooden cups held out to them. But almost before the pupils have begun to drink, the deep bass of the leader drones out in the gloom above, and the proceedings recommence. Meanwhile pilgrims pass along the gangways to the altar and place small heaps of tsamba or meal in the bowls standing before the images, from the bags and bundles they bring with them.
A tall lama stands erect at the entrance door. A pilgrim says to him: “I will pay 3 tengas for a blessing.” The lama sings out aloud the contribution and the purpose for which it is given, and then a strophe is sung especially on behalf of the pilgrim, after which all the monks clap their hands. This is repeated whenever fresh pilgrims come up. I myself paid 5 rupees for a blessing, and received it together with a noisy clapping. For ten minutes the lamas stand up, run along the passages outside the lecture-hall, or take stock of me while I am sketching the schoolroom and the pupils. Often a handful of rice rains down upon the youths—some pilgrim is passing by the window opening. At these readings and at the high mass the monks who have been longest in the monastery occupy the front seats, and the last-comers the back seats. When the lecture is over the Kanpo-Lama counts the receipts that have flowed in from the pockets of the pilgrims, wraps the coins in paper, which is sealed up and conveyed to the treasury, and enters the amount in a large account book.
The images on the altar table of the Kanjur-lhakang are small, and composed of gilded metal, and most of the other idols in Tashi-lunpo are of the same kind. Some are of carved wood, and a few, like the great statue of Tsong Kapa, are composed of powdered spices cemented together by a gum extracted from roots of plants. The statue of Tsong Kapa is said to have been constructed seventy-two years ago, and to have cost as much as one of gold. The Tashi Lama has 1500 small gods cast for the New Year festival, each costing 7 rupees; they are manufactured in Tashi-lunpo, and are given away or sold. The manufacture of these images is regarded as a peculiarly blessed work, and the lamas engaged in it may count with certainty on a long life. Especially is this the case with those who make images of the Tsepagmed. The oftener they utter his name and produce his likeness from the rough metal, the longer it will be before their poor souls have to set out on their travels again. No idol, however, possesses any miraculous power or the slightest shadow of divine influence unless it is properly consecrated and blessed by an incarnated lama.