On the side opposite the door is the shrine of Buddha. By the light of the little waxen tapers we observe a large idol of perhaps four feet in length, with proportionate body, made of wood and overlaid with gold-leaf. On a shelf below where this sleepy Buddha sits are scores of smaller idols, covered with gold or silver and similar in appearance to the large image. If we go nearer we shall see some of the offerings the women have brought and laid on this shrine. There are garlands of lovely flowers which fill the air with a heavy perfume, fruit of different kinds, piles of newly-made yellow robes, new mats, pillows with embroidered work, etc. These are all for the priests, and have been prepared by the skillful hands of women. You soon notice that more than three-fourths of those present are women.
As the time for their so-called worship has come, we look about for seats, but as none are provided, we shall have to do as the others do, sit down on the floor. The Laos women are kind and polite, and we soon find quite a number of soft straw mats at our service, with invitations to come and sit on this or that mat. Selecting our places, we are soon seated in an audience of heathen worshipers. How depressing and melancholy it all seems! The flickering flames of the tapers cast a weird light over the stupid countenance of the large idol, toward which every face is turned. The worshiping is not simultaneous; there is neither rule nor order in it. Neighbors who have not met for some time are chatting together in an ordinary tone of voice. A woman sitting by us is inquiring if we are comfortable, if this is not a pleasant occasion, if this is one of the ways we are accustomed to worship, etc. While answering her questions we are observing two women in front of us. One is a mother with a young child on her knee, in whose little hands she places a sweet, bright flower; then she closes the tiny hands, palm to palm, the flower projecting from the tips of the fingers, the stem within the palms. She then, pressing the hands closely with hers, raises them above its baby head, at the same time inclining its body in a bow toward the image of Buddha. So soon do the heathen mothers begin to teach their religion to their little ones. The other woman is very aged, and she places her hands just as the baby did, and, raising them high above her head, bends her body forward till her head and hands are pressing the stony floor. How abject, how devout she looks in her prostration before the idol! But she is again, in a minute, taking up the conversation where it was broken off, with quite a hearty laugh at some passing remark.
By this time a priest begins in a monotonous tone to read from one of the sacred books. The talking and laughing are going on in the mean time. No one present understands what is being read, the reader included, for it is in the Pali language, but they imagine some blessing comes from the reading, although it is in an unknown tongue.
This over, the ceremony of bathing the idols follows. All rise to their feet, the women getting their basins of water ready, while the men carry out the small images and place them in a miniature temple of bamboo which has been temporarily prepared in the yard. When they are all arranged the women gather around, and each one dashes her basin of water over them, but not touching one of them with the end of a finger; they are too sacred for a woman’s hand to touch. The splashing and dashing of the water is attended with great hilarity, terminating in a noisy romp.
As we turn homeward from this scene can we refrain from praying, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, and reveal thyself to these poor benighted ones”? In the evening, as we stand again on the veranda, looking at the sunset, we see on the opposite side of the river a number of men and women busily gathering up sand and putting it into baskets. You are astonished when I tell you that this sand is carried to the temple-grounds and thrown into piles known as sand-gods, and a kind of worship is offered to them. As the night comes on the people scatter away to their homes; the noisy tumult subsides, leaving a quiet hush which we welcome most gratefully. But hark! that deep, heavy thud! thud! in the distance. What is it? It is the beating of the great drums which are hung in the temple-grounds, to awaken or notify their gods that an offering is about to be made. You will hear them at intervals through the night, even into the morning watches.
When the sun goes from you in America this evening it will rise upon the poor Laos people to awaken them to some of their many forms of idolatry.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A LAOS CABIN.
The cabin of the picture could hardly have been copied from any one in Cheung Mai. In the garden districts temporary huts may be found which resemble this one. But these, being for the most part on the open plain, are without the shade of palm or other trees.
The Laos captives near Petchaburee live in houses whose roofs have a circular appearance. The gables are enclosed with thatch, so arranged as to form a continuous roof with that of the house. This roof reaches so low as to shut out all view of the house itself from the passer-by. These people have come from the north, where both cold and storms are more severe than where they now live. In Cheung Mai, the eaves of the roofs and the ends projecting beyond the gables are sometimes caught with such force by the whirling storm that the roof is carried away. The whole of this house seems to be resting upon those short posts which fork at the top. In most of the houses of the Cheung Mai peasantry these short posts serve to support only the flooring. Strong beams or sills are laid upon them. Bamboo poles are laid across these sills about a foot apart and tied with ratan. Over these is spread the bamboo flooring. This is made from the trunk of a large-sized bamboo. It is cut into the proper lengths, and these are gashed lengthwise all over their surface by repeated strokes of the knife or axe. By this process the sticks become quite pliable. They are then slit open by passing the knife through one side of them from end to end. The broken and jagged edges of the inner side of the joints are smoothed off, and we have bamboo boards a foot or more wide. This flooring bends under the pressure of the feet, and when dry makes a creaking noise, which is not very pleasant. When riddled by a small black beetle that burrows in its fibres, it becomes unsafe to tread upon, and sometimes one breaks through it. But by putting it, when green, into water, and keeping it submerged until it passes through the process of fermentation, it is, in a great measure, free from the ravages of this beetle. The many chinks in this bamboo floor offer convenient passage for the streams of red saliva that flow from the mouths of its betel-chewing inmates.