Leh, the capital of Ladak, is a little town of 5,000 inhabitants, who
live in white, two-story houses, upon two or three streets, principally. In
its centre is the square of the bazaar, where the merchants of India,
China, Turkestan, Kachmyr and Thibet, come to exchange their products for
the Thibetan gold. Here the natives provide themselves with cloths for
themselves and their monks, and various objects of real necessity.
An old uninhabited palace rises upon a hill which dominates the town.
Fronting the central square is a vast building, two stories in height, the
residence of the governor of Ladak, the Vizier Souradjbal--a very amiable
and universally popular Pendjaban, who has received in London the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy.
To entertain me, during my sojourn in Leh, the governor arranged, on the
bazaar square, a game of polo--the national sport of the Thibetans, which
the English have adopted and introduced into Europe. In the evening, after
the game, the people executed dances and played games before the governor's
residence. Large bonfires illuminated the scene, lighting up the throng of
inhabitants, who formed a great circle about the performers. The latter, in
considerable numbers, disguised as animals, devils and sorcerers, jumped
and contorted themselves in rhythmic dances timed to the measure of the
monotonous and unpleasing music made by two long trumpets and a drum.
The infernal racket and shouting of the crowd wearied me. The
performance ended with some graceful dances by Thibetan women, who spun
upon their heels, swaying to and fro, and, in passing before the spectators
in the windows of the residence, greeted us by the clashing together of the
copper and ivory bracelets on their crossed wrists.
The next day, at an early hour, I repaired to the great Himis convent,
which, a little distance from Leh, is elevated upon the top of a great
rock, on a picturesque site, commanding the valley of the Indies. It is one
of the principal monasteries of the country, and is maintained by the gifts
of the people and the subsidies it receives from Lhassa. On the road
leading to it, beyond the bridge crossing the Indus, and in the vicinity of
the villages lining the way, one finds heaps of stones bearing engraved
inscriptions, such as have already been described, and t’horthenes.
At these places, our guides were very careful to turn to the right. I
wished to turn my horse to the left, but the Ladakians made him go back and
led him by his halter to the right, explaining to me that such was their
established usage. I found it impossible to learn the origin or reason of
this custom.
Above the gonpa rises a battlemented tower, visible from a great
distance. We climbed, on foot, to the level on which the edifice stands and
found ourselves confronted by a large door, painted in brilliant colors,
the portal of a vast two-story building enclosing a court paved with little
pebbles. To the right, in one of the angles of the court, is another huge
painted door, adorned with big copper rings. It is the entrance to the
principal temple, which is decorated with paintings of the principal gods,
and contains a great statue of Buddha and a multitude of sacred statuettes.
To the left, upon a verandah, was placed an immense prayer-cylinder. All
the lamas of the convent, with their chief, stood about it, when we entered
the court. Below the verandah were musicians, holding long trumpets and
drums.
At the right of the court were a number of doors, leading to the rooms
of the lamas; all decorated with sacred paintings and provided with little
prayer-barrels fancifully surmounted by black and white tridents, from the
points of which floated ribbons bearing inscriptions--doubtless prayers. In
the centre of the court were raised two tall masts, from the tops of which
dangled tails of yaks, and long paper streamers floated, covered with
religious inscriptions. All along the walls were numerous prayer-barrels,
adorned with ribbons.
A profound silence reigned among the many spectators present. All
awaited anxiously the commencement of a religious "mystery,"
which was about to be presented. We took up a position near the verandah.
Almost immediately, the musicians drew from their long trumpets soft and
monotonous tones, marking the time by measured beats upon an odd-looking
drum, broad and shallow, upreared upon a stick planted in the ground. At
the first sounds of the strange music, in which joined the voices of the
lamas in a melancholy chant, the doors along the wall opened
simultaneously, giving entrance to about twenty masked persons, disguised
as animals, birds, devils and imaginary monsters. On their breasts they
bore representations of fantastic dragons, demons and skulls, embroidered
with Chinese silk of various colors. From the conical hats they wore,
depended to their breasts long multicolored ribbons, covered with
inscriptions. Their masks were white death's-heads. Slowly they marched
about the masts, stretching out their arms from time to time and
flourishing with their left hands spoon-shaped objects, the bowl portions
of which were said to be fragments of human crania, with ribbons attached,
having affixed to their ends human hair, which, I was assured, had been
taken from scalped enemies. Their promenade, in gradually narrowing circles
about the masts, soon became merely a confused jostling of each other; when
the rolling of the drum grew more accentuated, the performers for an
instant stopped, then started again, swinging above their heads yellow
sticks, ribbon-decked, which with their right hands they brandished in
menacing attitudes.
After making a salute to the chief lama, they approached the door
leading to the temple, which at this instant opened, and from it another
band came forth, whose heads were covered by copper masks. Their dresses
were of rich materials, embroidered in various bright colors. in one hand
each of them carried a small tambourine and with the other he agitated a
little bell. From the rim of each tambourine depended a metallic ball, so
placed that the least movement of the hand brought it in contact with the
resonant tympanum, which caused a strange, continuous under-current of
pulsating sound. These new performers circled several times about the
court, marking the time of their dancing steps by measured thumpings of the
tambourines. At the completion of each turn, they made a deafening noise
with their instruments. Finally, they ran to the temple-door and ranged
themselves upon the steps before it.
For a moment, there was silence. Then we saw emerge from the temple a
third band of performers. Their enormous masks represented different
deities, and each bore upon its forehead "the third eye." At
their head marched Thlogan-Poudma-Jungnas (literally "he who was born
in the lotus flower"). Another richly dressed mask marched beside him,
carrying a yellow parasol covered with symbolic designs. His suite was
composed of gods, in magnificent costumes; Dorje-Trolong and Sangspa-Kourpo
(i.e., Brahma himself), and others. These masks, as a lama sitting
near me explained to us, represented six classes of beings subject to the
metamorphoses; the gods, the demi-gods, men, animals, spirits and demons.
On each side of these personages, who advanced gravely, marched other
masks, costumed in silks of brilliant hues and wearing on their heads
golden crowns, fashioned with six lotus-like flowers on each, surmounted by
a tall dart in the centre. Each of these masks carried a drum.
These disguises made three turns about the masts, to the sound of a
noisy and incoherent music, and then seated themselves on the ground,
around Thlogan-Pondma-Jungnas, a god with three eyes, who gravely
introduced two fingers into his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. At this
signal, young men dressed in warrior costumes--with ribbon-decked bells
dangling about their legs--came with measured steps from the temple. Their
heads were covered by enormous green masks, from which floated triangular
red flags, and they, too, carried tambourines. Making a diabolical din,
they whirled and danced about the gods seated on the ground. Two big
fellows accompanying them, who were dressed in tight clown costumes,
executed all kinds of grotesque contortions and acrobatic feats, by which
they won plaudits and shouts of laughter from the spectators.
Another group of disguises--of which the principal features were red
mitres and yellow pantaloons--came out of the temple, with bells and
tambourines in their hands, and seated themselves opposite the gods, as
representatives of the highest powers next to divinity. Lastly there
entered upon the scene a lot of red and brown masks, with a "third
eye" painted on their breasts. With those who had preceded them, they
formed two long lines of dancers, who to the thrumming of their many
tambourines, the measured music of the trumpets and drums, and the jingling
of a myriad of bells, performed a dance, approaching and receding from each
other, whirling in circles, forming by twos in a column and breaking from
that formation to make new combinations, pausing occasionally to make
reverent obeisance before the gods.
After a time this spectacular excitement the noisy monotony of which
began to weary me--calmed down a little; gods, demigods, kings, men and
spirits got up, and followed by all the other maskers, directed themselves
toward the temple door, whence issued at once, meeting them, a lot of men
admirably disguised as skeletons. All those sorties were calculated and
pre-arranged, and every one of them had its particular significance. The cortêge
of dancers gave way to the skeletons, who advanced with measured steps, in
silence, to the masts, where they stopped and made a concerted clicking
with pieces of wood hanging at their sides, simulating perfectly the
rattling of dry bones and gnashing o f teeth. Twice they went in a circle
around the masts, marching in time to low taps on the drums, and then
joined in a lugubrious religious chant. Having once more made the concerted
rattling of their artificial bones and jaws, they executed some contortions
painful to witness and together stopped.
Then they seized upon an image of the Enemy of Man--made of some sort of
brittle paste--which had been placed at the foot of one of the masts. This
they broke in pieces and scattered, and the oldest men among the
spectators, rising from their places, picked up the fragments which they
handed to the skeletons--an action supposed to signify that would soon be
ready to join the bony crew in the cemetery.
The chief lama, approaching me, tendered an invitation to
accompany him to the principal terrace and partake of the festal "tchang;"
which I accepted with pleasure, for my head was dizzy from the long
spectacle.
We crossed the court and climbed a staircase--obstructed with
prayer-wheels, as usual--passed two rooms where there were many images of
gods, and came out upon the terrace, where I seated myself upon a bench
opposite the venerable lama, whose eyes sparkled with spirit.
Three lamas brought pitchers of tchang, which they poured into small
copper cups, that were offered first to the chief lama, then to me and my
servants.
"Did you enjoy our little festival?" the lama asked me.
"I found it very enjoyable and am still impressed by the spectacle
I have witnessed. But, to tell the truth, I never suspected for a moment
that Buddhism, in these religious ceremonies, could display such a visible,
not to say noisy, exterior form."
"There is no religion, the ceremonies of which are not surrounded
with more theatrical forms," the lama answered. "This is a
ritualistic phase which does not by any means violate the fundamental
principles of Buddhism. It is a practical means for maintaining in the
ignorant mass obedience to and love for the one Creator, just as a child is
beguiled by toys to do the will of its parents. The ignorant mass is the
child of The Father."
"But what is the meaning," I said to him, "of all those
masks, costumes, bells, dances, and, generally, of this entire performance,
which seems to be executed after a prescribed programme?"
"We have many similar festivals in the year," answered the
lama, "and we arrange particular ones to represent 'mysteries,'
susceptible of pantomimic presentation, in which each actor is allowed
considerable latitude of action, in the movements and jests he likes,
conforming, nevertheless, to the circumstances and to the leading idea. Our
mysteries are simply pantomimes calculated to show the veneration offered
to the gods, which veneration sustains and cheers the soul of man, who is
prone to anxious contemplation of inevitable death and the life to come.
The actors receive the dresses from the cloister and they play according to
general indications, which leave them much liberty of individual action.
The general effect produced is, no doubt, very beautiful, but it is a
matter for the spectators themselves to divine the signification of one or
another action. You, too, have recourse sometimes to similar devices,
which, however, do not in the least violate the principle of
monotheism."
"Pardon me," I remarked, "but this multitude of idols
with which your gonpas abound, is a flagrant violation of that
principle."
"As I have told you," replied the lama to my interruption,
"man will always be in! childhood. He sees and feels the grandeur of
nature and understands everything presented to his senses, but he neither
sees nor divines the Great Soul which created and animates all things. Man
has always sought for tangible things. It was not possible for him to
believe long in that which escaped his material senses. He has racked his
brain to and means for contemplating the Creator; has endeavored to enter
into direct relations with him who has done him so much good, and also, as
he erroneously believes, so much evil. For this reason he began to adore
every phase of nature from which he received benefits. We see a striking
example of this in the ancient Egyptians, who adored animals, trees,
stones, the winds and the rain. Other peoples, who were more sunk in
ignorance, seeing that the results of the wind were not always beneficent,
and that the rain did not inevitably bring good harvests, and that the
animals were not willingly subservient to man, began to seek for direct
intermediaries between themselves and the great mysterious and unfathomable
power of the Creator. Therefore they made for themselves idols, which they
regarded as indifferent to things concerning them, but to whose
interposition in their behalf, they might always recur. From remotest
antiquity to our own days, man was ever inclined only to tangible
realities.
"While seeking a route to lead their feet to the Creator, the
Assyrians turned their eyes toward the stars, which they contemplated
without the power of attaining them. The Guebers have conserved the same
belief to our days. In their nullity and spiritual blindness, men are
incapable of conceiving the invisible spiritual bond which unites them to
the great Divinity, and this explains why I they have always sought for
palpable things, which were in the domain of the senses, and I by doing
which they minimized the divine principle. Nevertheless, they have dared to
attribute to their visible and man-made images a divine and eternal
existence. We can see the same fact in Brahminism, where man, given to his
inclination for exterior forms, has created, little by little, and not all
at once, an army of gods and demi-gods. The Israelites may be said to have
demonstrated, in the most flagrant way, the love of man for everything
which is concrete. In spite of a series of striking miracles accomplished
by the great Creator, who is the same for all the peoples, the Jewish
people could not help making a god of metal in the very minute when their
prophet Mossa spoke to them of the Creator! Buddhism has passed through the
same modifications. Our great reformer, Sakya-Muni, inspired by the Supreme
Judge, understood truly the one and] indivisible Brahma, and forbade his
disciples attempting to manufacture images in imaginary semblance of him.
He had openly broken from the polytheistic Brahmins, and appreciated the
purity, oneness and immortality of Brahma. The success he achieved by his
teachings in making disciples among the people, brought upon hint
persecution by the Brahmins, who, in the creation of new gods, had found a
source of personal revenue, and who, contrary to the law of God, treated
the people in a despotic manner. Our first sacred teachers, to whom we give
the name of buddhas--which means, learned men or saints--because the great
Creator has incarnated in them, settled in different countries of the
globe. As their teachings attacked especially the tyranny of the Brahmins
and the misuse they made of the idea of God--of which they indeed made a
veritable business--almost all the Buddhistic converts, they who followed
the doctrines of those great teachers, were among the common people of
China and India. Among those teachers, particular reverence is felt for the
Buddha, Sakya-Muni, known in China also under the name of Fô, who lived
three thousand years ago, and whose teachings brought all China back into
the path of the true God; and the Buddha, Gautama, who lived two thousand
five hundred years ago, and converted almost half the Hindus to the
knowledge of the impersonal, indivisible and only God, besides whom there
is none.
"Buddhism is divided into many sects which, by the way, differ only
in certain religious ceremonies, the basis of the doctrine being everywhere
the same. The Thibetan Buddhists, who are called 'lamaists,' separated
themselves from the Fô-ists fifteen hundred years ago. Until that time we
had formed part of the worshippers of the Buddha, Fô-Sakya-Muni, who was
the first to collect all the laws compiled by the various buddhas preceding
him, when the great schism took place in the bosom of Brahmanism. Later on,
a Khoutoukhte-Mongol translated into Chinese the books of the great Buddha,
for which the Emperor of China rewarded him by bestowing upon him the title
of 'Go-Chi--'Preceptor of the King!' After his death, this title was given
to the Dalai-Lama of Thibet. Since that epoch, all the titularies of this
position have borne the title of Go-Chi. Our religion is called the Lamaic
one--from the word 'lama,' superior. It admits of two classes of monks, the
red and the yellow. The former may marry, and they recognize the authority
of the Bantsine, who resides in Techow Loumba, and is chief of the civil
administration in Thibet. We, the yellow lamas, have taken the vow of
celibacy, and our direct chief is the Dalai-Lama. This is the difference
which separates the two religious orders, the respective rituals of which
are identical."
"Do all perform mysteries similar to that which I have just
witnessed?"
"Yes; with a few exceptions. Formerly these festivals were
celebrated with very solemn pomp, but since the conquest of Ladak our
convents have been, more than once, pillaged and our wealth taken away. Now
we content ourselves with simple garments and bronze utensils, while in
Thibet you sec but golden robes and gold utensils."
"In a visit which I recently made to a gonpa, one of the lamas told
me of a prophet, or, as you call him, a buddha, by the name of Issa. Could
you not tell me anything about him?" I asked my interlocutor, seizing
this favorable moment to start the subject which interested me so greatly.
"The name Issa is very much respected among the Buddhists," he
replied, "but he is only known by the chief lamas, who have read the
scrolls relating to his life. There have existed an infinite number of
buddhas like Issa, and the 84,000 scrolls existing are filled brim full of
details concerning each one of them. But very few persons have read the
one-hundredth part of those memoirs. In conformity with established custom,
every disciple or lama who visits Lhassa makes a gift of one or several
copies, from the scrolls there, to the convent to which he belongs. Our
gonpa, among others, possesses already a great number, which I read in my
leisure hours. Among them are the memoirs of the life and acts of the
Buddha Issa, who preached the same doctrine in India and among the sons of
Israel, and who was put to death by the Pagans, whose descendants, later
on, adopted the beliefs he spread,--and those beliefs are yours.
"The great Buddha, the soul of the Universe, is the incarnation of
Brahma. He, almost always, remains immobile, containing in himself all
things, being in himself the origin of all and his breath vivifying the
world. He has left man to the control of his own forces, but, at certain
epochs, lays aside his inaction and puts on a human form that he may, as
their teacher and guide, rescue his creatures from impending destruction.
In the course of his terrestrial existence in the similitude of man, Buddha
creates a new world in the hearts of erring men; then he leaves the earth,
to become once more an invisible being and resume his condition of perfect
bliss. Three thousand years ago, Buddha incarnated in the celebrated Prince
Sakya-Muni, re-affirming and propagating the doctrines taught by him in his
twenty preceding incarnations. Twenty-five hundred years ago, the Great
Soul of the World incarnated anew in Gautama, laying the foundation of a
new world in Burmah, Siam and different islands. Soon afterward, Buddhism
began to penetrate China, through the persevering efforts of the sages, who
devoted themselves to the propagation of the sacred doctrine, and under
Ming-Ti, of the Honi dynasty, nearly 2,050 years ago, the teachings of
Sakya-Muni were adopted by the people of that country. Simultaneously with
the appearance of Buddhism in China, the same doctrines began to spread
among the Israelites. It is about 2,000 years ago that the Perfect Being,
awaking once more for a short time from his inaction, incarnated in the
new-born child of a poor family. It was his will that this little child
should enlighten the unhappy upon the life of the world to conic and bring
erring men back into the path of truth; showing to them, by his own
example, the way they could best return to the primitive morality and
purity of our race. When this sacred child attained a certain age, he was
brought to India, where, until he attained to manhood. he studied the laws
of the great Buddha, who dwells eternally in heaven."
"In what language are written the principal scrolls bearing upon
the life of Issa?" I asked, rising from my seat, for I saw that my
interesting interlocutor evidenced fatigue, and had just given a twirl to
his prayer-wheel, as if to hint the closing of the conversation.
"The original scrolls brought from India to Nepaul, and from Nepaul
to Thibet, relating to the life of Issa, are written in the Pali language
and are actually in Lhassa; but a copy in our language--I mean the Thibetan--is
in this convent."
"How is Issa looked upon in Thibet? Has he the repute of a
saint?"
"The people are not even aware that he ever existed. Only the
principal lamas, who know of him through having studied the scrolls in
which his life is related, are familiar with his name; but, as his doctrine
does not constitute a canonical part of Buddhism, and the worshippers of
Issa do not recognize the authority of the Dalai-Lama, the prophet Issa--with
many others like him--is not recognized in Thibet as one of the principal
saints."
"Would you commit a sin in reciting your copy of the life of Issa
to a stranger?" I asked him.
"That which belongs to God," he answered me, "belongs
also to man. Our duty requires us to cheerfully devote ourselves to the
propagation of His doctrine. Only, I do not, at present, know where that
manuscript is. If you ever visit our gonpa again, I shall take pleasure in
showing it to you."
At this moment two monks entered, and uttered to the chief lama a few
words unintelligible to me.
"I am called to the sacrifices. Will you kindly excuse me?"
said he to me, and, with a salute, turned to the door and disappeared.
I could do no better than withdraw and lie down in the chamber which was
assigned to me. and where I spent the night.
In the evening of the next day I was again in Leh--thinking of how
to get back to the convent. Two days later I sent, by a messenger, to the
chief lama, as presents, a watch, an alarm clock, and a thermometer. At the
same time I sent the message that before leaving Ladak I would probably
return to the convent, in the hope that he would permit me to see the
manuscript which had been the subject of our conversation. It was now my
purpose to gain Kachmyr and return from there, some time later, to Himis.
But fate made a different decision for me.
In passing a mountain, on a height of which is perched the gonpa of
Piatak, my horse made a false step, throwing me to the ground so violently
that my right leg was broken below the knee.
It was impossible to continue my journey, I was not inclined to return
to Leh; and seeking the hospitality of the gonpa, of Piatak was not, from
the appearance of the cloister, an enticing prospect. My best recourse
would be to return to Himis, .then only about half a day's journey distant,
and I ordered my servants to transport me there. They bandaged my broken
leg--an operation which caused me great pain--and lifted me into the
saddle. One carrier walked by my side, supporting the weight of the injured
member, while another led my horse. At a late hour of the evening we
reached the door of the convent of Himis.
When informed of my accident, the kind monks came out to receive me and,
with a wealth of extraordinary precautions of tenderness, I was carried
inside, and, in one of their best rooms, installed upon an improvised bed,
consisting of a mountain of soft. fabrics, with the
naturally-to-be-expected prayer-cylinder beside me. All this was done for
me under the personal supervision of their chief lama, who, with
affectionate sympathy, pressed the hand I gave him in expression of my
thanks for his kindness.
In the morning, I myself bound around the injured limb little oblong
pieces of wood, held by cords, to serve as splints. Then I remained
perfectly quiescent and nature was not slow in her reparative work. Within
two days my condition was so far improved that I could, had it been
necessary, have left the gonpa and directed myself slowly toward India in
search of a surgeon to complete my cure.
While a boy kept in motion the prayer-barrel near my bed, the venerable
lama who ruled the convent entertained me with many interesting stories.
Frequently he took from their box the alarm clock and the watch, that I
might illustrate to him the process of winding them and explain to him
their uses. At length, yielding to my ardent insistence, he brought me two
big books, the large leaves of which were of paper yellow with age, and
from them read to me the biography of Issa, which I carefully transcribed
in my travelling note-book according to the translation made by the
interpreter. This curious document is compiled under the form of isolated
verses, which, as placed, very often had no apparent connection with, or
relation to each other.
On the third day, my condition was so far improved as to permit the
prosecution of my journey. Having bound up my leg as well as possible, I
returned, across Kachmyr, to India; a slow journey, of twenty days, filled
with intolerable pain. Thanks, however, to a litter, which a French
gentleman, M. Peicheau, had kindly sent to me (my gratitude for which I
take this occasion to express), and to an ukase of the Grand Vizier of the
Maharajah of Kachmyr, ordering the local authorities to provide me with
carriers, I reached Srinagar, and left almost immediately, being anxious to
gain India before the first snows fell.
In Muré I encountered another Frenchman, Count André de Saint Phall,
who was making a journey of recreation across Hindostan. During the whole
course, which we made together, to Bombay, the young count demonstrated a
touching solicitude for me, and sympathy for the excruciating pain I
suffered from my broken leg and the fever induced by its torture. I cherish
for him sincere gratitude, and shall never forget the friendly care which I
received upon my arrival in Bombay from the Marquis de Morés, the Vicomte
de Breteul, M. Monod, of the Comptoir d’Escompte, M. Moët, acting
consul, and all the members of the very sympathetic French colony there.
During a long time I revolved in my mind the purpose of publishing the
memoirs of the life of Jesus Christ found by me in Himis, of which I have
spoken, but other interests absorbed my attention and delayed it. Only now,
after having passed long nights of wakefulness in the co-ordination of my
notes and grouping the verses conformably to the march of the recital,
imparting to the work, as a whole, a character of unity, I resolve to let
this curious chronicle see the light.
