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Title: The Life or Legend of Gaudama
The Buddha of the Burmese (Volume II)
Author: Right Reverend Paul Ambroise Bigandet
Release Date: June 3, 2019 [EBook #59673]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
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TRÜBNER’S
ORIENTAL SERIES.
THE LIFE OR LEGEND
OF
GAUDAMA
THE BUDDHA OF THE BURMESE.
With Annotations.
THE WAYS TO NEIBBAN, AND NOTICE ON THE
PHONGYIES OR BURMESE MONKS.
BY THE
RIGHT REVEREND P. BIGANDET,
BISHOP OF RAMATHA,
VICAR APOSTOLIC OF AVA AND PEGU.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
Fourth Edition.
LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO. LTD.
BROADWAY HOUSE, CARTER LANE, E.C.
1912.
The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
LEGEND OR LIFE OF THE BURMESE BUDDHA, CALLED GAUDAMA.
| PAGE | |
| CHAPTER I. | |
| Buddha, being seventy-nine years old, delivers instructions to the Rahans—Preachings in the village of Patalie—Miraculous crossing of the Ganges—Conversion of a courtesan—Sickness of Buddha—His instructions to Ananda—Last moments and death of Thariputra—His eulogium by Buddha—Death of Maukalan—Reflections of Buddha on that event | 1 |
| CHAPTER II. | |
| Voyage to Wethalie—Last temptation of Manh—Causes of earthquake—New instructions to the Rahans—Last meal of Buddha—His painful distemper—His conversation with one of the Malla Princes—Sign foreshowing Buddha’s coming death—Arrival in the Kootheinaron forest—Buddha lays himself on his couch—Wonders attending that event—Instructions to Ananda—Eulogium of Ananda by Buddha—Conversion of Thoubat—Last words of Buddha to the Rahans—His death | 28 |
| [vi]CHAPTER III. | |
| Stanzas uttered after Buddha’s death—Ananda informs the Malla Princes of Buddha’s demise—Preparations for the funeral—Arrival of Kathaba at the spot where the body was exposed to public veneration—He worships the body—Wonder on that occasion—The burning of the corpse—Partition of the relics made by a Pounha called Dauna—Extraordinary honours paid to the relics by King Adzatathat—Death of that king and of Kathaba | 75 |
| CHAPTER IV. | |
| After Buddha’s death, zeal of Kathaba in upholding genuine doctrines—He selects five hundred elders to become members of a council or assembly—Radzagio is fixed upon for the holding of the council—He repairs thither with a portion of the appointed members—Behaviour of the amiable Ananda previous to his departure for Radzagio—King Adzatathat supports Kathaba in his views—The hall for holding the council is prepared by his orders—Ananda is qualified in a miraculous manner for sitting as a member of the council—Holding of the council under the presidency of Kathaba—Establishment of the Religious era—Destruction of Wethalie by Adzatathat—The successors of that Prince—In the days of King Kalathoka a second council is held at Pataliputra under the presidency of Ratha—Causes that provoked the holding of a second assembly | 101 |
| CHAPTER V. | |
| Kalathoka is succeeded by his eldest son, Baddasena—And finally by the youngest, Pitzamuka—This prince is killed and succeeded by a chief of robbers, named Ouggasena-nanda—King Tsanda-gutta—King Bandasura—Miraculous dreams of Athoka’s mother—King Athoka—His[vii] conversion—His zeal for Buddhism—Finding of the relics—Distribution of them—Third council held under the presidency of Mauggalipata—Preaching of religion in various countries, and particularly in Thaton—Voyage of Buddhagosa to Ceylon—Establishment of religion in Pagan—Various particulars relating to the importation of the Scriptures in Burmah | 123 |
| An Abstract of a few small Dzats, and of two principal ones, known as Nemi and Dzanecka | 153 |
| Remarks on the Sites and Names of the principal Places mentioned in the Legend or Life of Gaudama | 177 |
| The Seven Ways to Neibban | 189 |
| Art. I.—Of the Precepts | 191 |
| Art. II.—Of Meditation and its various Degrees | 202 |
| Art. III.—Of the Nature of Beings | 212 |
| Art. IV.—Of the Cause of the Form and of the Name, or of Master and Spirit | 218 |
| Art. V.—Of the True Meggas or Ways to Perfection | 227 |
| Art. VI.—Of the Progress in Perfect Science | 233 |
| Notice on the Phongyies, or Buddhist Monks, sometimes called Talapoins | 241 |
| Art. I.—A short Parallel between the Brahminical and Buddhistic Religious Orders | 244 |
| Art. II.—Nature of the Religious Order of Phongyies | 251 |
| Art. III.—Hierarchy of the Order | 261 |
| Art. IV.—Ordination, or Ceremonies observed at the Admission into the Society | 272 |
| [viii]Art. V.—Rules of the Order | 282 |
| Art. VI.—Occupations of the Buddhist Monks | 296 |
| Art. VII.—Religious Influence of the Phongyies—Respect and Veneration paid to them by the Laity | 303 |
| Addenda | 321 |
| On the word “Nat” | 324 |
Buddha, being seventy-nine years old, delivers instructions to the Rahans—Preachings in the village of Patalie—Miraculous crossing of the Ganges—Conversion of a courtesan—Sickness of Buddha—His instructions to Ananda—Last moments and death of Thariputra—His eulogium by Buddha—Death of Maukalan—Reflections of Buddha on that event.
During all this time Buddha was travelling about the country, preaching the law to those that were worthy to obtain the deliverance. He had reached his seventy-ninth year.[1] At that time there were eighteen monasteries in[2] the neighbourhood of Radzagio, peopled by a great number of religious. On a certain day, Buddha said to Ananda, “Invite all the Rahans to assemble in the Gny-Moora hall.” When they had gathered together in that place, Buddha repaired thither, and spoke to them as follows: “Beloved Bickus, as long as you shall remain united, and continue to hold regular meetings, you shall certainly prosper and flourish—as long as you shall agree together, and come unitedly to a decision on all principal affairs, so that you will impose no obligation where there is no precept,[3] and that you will fervently observe all the commands, strictly adhering to all the rules of your profession, you will ever be in a prosperous condition. It is required that you should behave respectfully towards your superiors, yielding due obedience to their injunctions. Beware of passions, and particularly of concupiscence, lest you should ever be brought under their tyrannical yoke. Love retreat and solitude; endeavour to observe your regulations, as well as all the ordinances and ceremonies of the law. Let it be a pleasure to you to receive kindly good religious who may come to your monasteries, and converse with them. Avoid carefully to take pleasure in what you do or say, or pride yourselves in the number of your attendants. Shun bad company; apply yourselves diligently to acquire knowledge and wisdom; meditate on the great truths, mutability, pain, and unreality. As long as you observe those important points and adhere to them, you shall prosper and be ever respected by all. Moreover, you will be thereby enabled to avoid all that which is base and unbecoming in your sacred calling.”
When the instruction was over, Buddha called Ananda and bade him inform the Rahans to hold themselves ready for going to Ampaladaka.
Whilst staying in a dzeat or bungalow, Thariputra approached Buddha, and having paid him his respects, said to him, “O most illustrious Buddha, there is no one that surpasses, or that is even equal to you in the knowledge of the law. There has never been, nor will ever be, a being that can be compared to you. This is what elicits my admiration towards and love for your person.” Buddha replied, “You are not mistaken, Thariputra; blessed are they who, like you, know the value and the science of a Buddha.” Desiring to try the wisdom of his great disciple, he added, “Beloved son, how do you know that no one can be compared to me, and that my knowledge of the law is unrivalled?” Thariputra answered, “I have not the knowledge of the present, nor of the past and future, but I[4] understand the law; through you, O most glorious Buddha, I have come to that understanding; you have said that you have infinite wisdom, hence I conclude that you know the present, the past, and the future—you are to be ever praised; you are most excellent, ever glorious, and free from all passions, and therefore to you I attribute all the qualities inherent in him who is invested with the Buddhaship.” From Ampaladaka Buddha went to the large village of Nalanda, where he was well received by the inhabitants. He preached to them and made a short stay with them.
Phra summoned again Ananda to his presence, and directed him to tell the Rahans to be ready for a voyage, as he desired to go to the village of Patalie. When he arrived at that place, the people prepared for him the dzeat[2] or hall, which had been erected by the order of[5] King Adzatathat, for receiving the Letziwy princes of Wethalie, who had come to a conference for settling some affairs with him. Everything being ready, they invited Phra, who by his silence testified his acceptance of their invitation. Water to drink, rinse the mouth, and wash his hands and feet, was ready. Buddha sat leaning against the central post of the hall, facing the east. His disciples remained behind in a humble posture, whereas the people sat opposite to him, having their faces turned towards the west. Phra began to explain to the numerous hearers the demerits and punishments attending the trespassing of the precepts of the law, and the advantages reserved to those who religiously observe them. “Darakas,” said he, “whoever trespasses the moral precepts, or is remiss in observing them, will see his happiness and fortune gradually decreasing, and his good character falling away. He will ever live in a sad state of doubt and uncertainty,[6] and at last, when death shall have put an end to his present existence, he will fall into hell. But the lot of the faithful observer of the great precepts shall be widely different. He will obtain riches and pleasures, and gain an honourable reputation. He will be welcome in the assemblies of princes, pounhas, and Rahans; doubt shall never enter his mind, and his death will open before him the way to the pleasant seats of Nats.” The people were so much taken up with the preaching that they remained in the dzeat until a very late hour. At last they paid their homage to Buddha, rose up, turned on the right, and departed.
It is in the following year that the same king built the city of Patalibot or Pataliputra, on that same spot. In anticipation of that event, Buddha foretold that the village would become a great city, which would obtain a renowned celebrity among all other cities. Thither countless merchants would resort from all parts of Dzampoodipa. At the same time he predicted the great calamities that would befall it. Internal discords, fire, and inundation of the Ganges would gradually work out its total destruction.
In the morning Buddha went to the southern bank of the Ganges, and preached the law to some pounhas, who, in return, made him offerings and paid him much respect. He stood on that place as if waiting for some boat to cross the mighty stream. Some of the people were looking out for boats, others were busily engaged in preparing rafts. Whilst they were making all the necessary arrangements, Buddha stretched both arms and found himself, with all his Rahans, on the opposite bank. Turning his face in the direction of those who were in search of boats and rafts, he said: “He who has crossed the sea of passions is an Ariah. The practice of the great duties are the boats and rafts whereupon he contrives to cross the sea of passions. He who desires to pass a river wants the aid of rafts and boats, which are made up of different pieces of wood joined together; but he who has become an Ariah[7] by the knowledge of the great roads that lead to perfection, weakens all passions and extricates himself from the whirlpool of concupiscence: he can also, without the help of boats or rafts, cross rivers.”
Phra informed Ananda that he intended to go to the village of Kantikama. Having reached that place, he explained to the Rahans the glorious and sublime prerogatives of Ariahs. Thence he passed over to the village of Nadika. It was in that place that Ananda asked him what had become of a certain Rahan, named Thamula, and of a certain Rahaness, named Anaunda, who had both just died. “The Rahan,” answered Buddha, “has conquered all his passions and obtained the state of Neibban. As to the Rahaness, she has gone to one of the seats of Brahmas: thence she will migrate to Neibban without reappearing in the world of passions.”
Buddha went to the country of Wethalie with his disciples, and dwelt in a beautiful grove of mango-trees. There he earnestly recommended his disciples to have their minds always attentive and ready to engage in serious reflections and meditations. In Wethalie lived a famous courtesan, named Apapalika. She had her dwelling in a beautiful place, near to an extensive and delightful grove, planted with mango-trees. She went along with others to hear the preaching of Gaudama, which had the good effect of disposing her to make a great offering to the distinguished preacher and his followers. Buddha was submissively requested to come on the following day with all the Rahans to receive his food. The invitation was graciously accepted. The courtesan hastened to prepare the meal for Buddha and his followers. On the same day he preached the law to a number of young princes who had offered to supply him with his meal on the following day. He refused to accept the invitation, because he had already promised to Apapalika to go to her place for the same purpose. The princes had come in their finest and richest dress; in their deportment they[8] vied in beauty with the Nats. But foreseeing the ruin and misery that was soon to come upon them all, Buddha exhorted his disciples to entertain a thorough contempt for things that are dazzling to the eyes, but essentially perishable and unreal in their nature. The princes were greatly disappointed at the preference given to the courtesan. On the following day, Gaudama went to the grove of mango-trees, attended by all his Rahans. After the meal, Apapalika presented the grove to Gaudama, who readily accepted the pious gift.
Having remained a while on this spot, Buddha went to the village of Weluwa, where he spent the forty-fifth and the last season. There he assembled the Rahans and said to them: “I intend to spend the season in this place, but you have my permission to go and remain in the neighbouring districts.” The reason that induced him to part for a while with his disciples was the smallness of the place and the difficulty of procuring rice, whilst in the contiguous districts there were many monasteries and an abundance of all the necessaries of life. He would not, however, allow them to withdraw to too great a distance, for two reasons: first, because he knew that in ten months hence he would attain the state of Neibban; and, second, because he desired to see them assembled in his place several times every month, that he might have opportunity to preach the law, and deliver to them his final instructions.
Whilst he was living in that place Buddha was visited with a most painful distemper, which threw him into a state of prolonged agony. But owing to the absence of his disciples, and knowing besides that this was not the spot he was to select for his last moments, he overcame, by his incomparable power, the evil influence of the illness, and entering soon into a state of absolute trance, he remained therein for a while. Awakening from that situation, he appeared anew with his strength and usual vigour. When he came out from the monastery to take[9] his wonted walk, Ananda went into his presence, and expressed to him the profound grief felt by all those who had heard of his illness. “When I saw you ill, O illustrious Buddha,” said the faithful Ananda, “I was so deeply affected that I could scarcely hold up my head or draw my breath. I always cherished the hope that you would not go to Neibban ere you had preached once more the law to us all.” “Ananda,” replied Buddha, “why are the Rahans so much concerned about my person? What I have preached has no reference to what is within me or without me. Besides me there is no one else to preach the law. Were they not looking upon me as such, it would be perfectly useless to attempt to preach to them. I am now very old; my years number eighty. I am like an old cart, the iron wheels and wood of which are kept together by constant repairing; my earthly frame is kept entire and whole by the force and power of trance. O Ananda, I feel truly happy whenever I consider the state of Arahat, which is the deliverance from all the miseries of this world, whilst at the same time it sets a being free and disentangled from all visible and material objects. As to my disciples, as long as my religion shall last they ought to rely on themselves, and take refuge in the law, for there is no other refuge. They will truly rely on themselves when, by a careful attention, profound reflection, and true wisdom, they will be bent upon the destruction of concupiscence and anger, and engaged on meditating upon the constituent elements of this body.” Such were the instructions he gave to Ananda.
Having spent the season in the village of Welouwa, the most excellent Buddha desired to return by the same way he had previously followed to the country of Thawattie. Having arrived there, he took up his residence in the monastery of Dzetawon.[3] The great disciple Thariputra,[10] having just returned from begging his rice, hastened to render to Buddha the usual services. He swept the place, spread the mat, and washed his feet. These duties being[11] performed, he sat in a cross-legged position, entered into a state of trance for a while, whence having awakened, he thought within himself as follows: Has it been the custom in former ages for the Buddhas to arrive first at the state of Neibban, or for their great disciples to precede them in that way? Having ascertained that the latter alternative always happened, Thariputra examined his own existence, and found that the period of his life was not to extend beyond seven days. He next considered what place was the fittest for him to depart from and go to Neibban. The remembrance of his mother occurred to his mind, and he said to himself, My mother has given birth to seven Rahandas, and she has not as yet taken refuge in the three precious things—Buddha, the law, and the assembly of the perfect. Is she capable of understanding and knowing the four ways to perfection? Yes, she is indeed. But[12] who is destined to preach to her? I am the person who ought to perform such a good office to her. I will go, teach her, and, by my instructions, make her renounce her false belief and embrace the true one. The very room I was born in shall be the spot wherefrom I shall depart for the rest of Neibban. On this day I will ask Buddha’s leave to go to my birthplace. Having come to this resolution, he called the faithful Tsanda, and said to him, “Go and summon my five hundred Rahans to attend at my place.” Tsanda departed forthwith, and said to the Rahans, “The great Thariputra desires to go to the village of Nalanda; be ready to accompany him; arrange everything in your own place, take up your pattas and tsiwarans.” The five hundred Rahans immediately complied with the request, and were ready to follow their master. Thariputra, having disposed everything in his own cell, rose up, and casting an attentive and serious look upon the place he was wont to sit on during the day, he said, “This is the last time I will ever see this place; never will I any more enter into this cell.” Thereupon he left the spot followed by the five hundred Rahans, went to the presence of Gaudama, and humbly requested permission to go and quietly enter into the state of Neibban, and thereby be delivered from the whirlpool of endless existences. Gaudama asked him in what place he intended to obtain Neibban? Thariputra replied: “In the country of Magatha, in the village of Nalanda,[4] in the very room where I was born.” “You[13] alone, O Thariputra,” said Buddha, “know the time of your entering the state of Neibban. As it is difficult, if not impossible, ever to find among all my disciples one like unto you, I desire you to preach once more to the assembly of Rahans.” Thariputra, knowing that Buddha wished him at the same time to show a display of his power, prostrated himself before him, then rose up in the air to the height of one palm-tree, and came down to worship Buddha. He rose seven times in succession, each[14] time higher by the length of a palm-tree than the preceding one. On the last time he stood in the air for a while, and announced the law to the multitude of Rahans and people; then coming down, he submissively requested Buddha to withdraw into the interior of the monastery. Buddha, complying with his wishes, entered into a hall studded with diamonds. Thariputra, having bowed towards the four points of the compass, said: “O most glorious Buddha, a hundred thousands of worlds ago I was prostrated at the feet of Buddha Anaumadathi, and earnestly prayed that I might enjoy the happiness of seeing all successive Buddhas that would appear during the period of my countless existences. My prayer has been heard, and now I contemplate you, O most glorious Buddha, and it is the last time that I will ever enjoy your presence. Now, O Buddha, worthy to be adored by all rational beings, I will soon be free from the thraldom of existences, and this existence shall be the last; this my prostration before you shall be the last. The end of my life is near at hand: seven days hence, like a man who rids himself of a heavy load, I will be freed from the heavy burden of my body.” He raised his joined hands to his forehead, and from the extremities of his ten fingers rays of glory shot forth. In this position he bowed to Buddha, and withdrawing slowly, with his face towards Buddha, he continued bowing down as long as he could see him, because it was for the last time. When Buddha was out of sight he took his departure. At the same time the earth trembled with a tremendous shake. Buddha said to the Rahans that surrounded Thariputra: “Beloved children, your elder brother is departing; accompany him for a while.” The people, too, hearing that Thariputra was going away, came forward, and gathering in large crowds, said to each other: “The great Thariputra, having obtained leave from Buddha, is going to prepare himself for the state of Neibban; let us follow him, that we may still enjoy his presence.” Whereupon taking[15] flowers and perfumes in their hands, they ran in the direction he had taken, with dishevelled hair, crying aloud, with tears and lamentations, “Where is Thariputra?” Having come up to him, they said: “Illustrious Rahan, you have left Buddha; whom do you now intend to join?” Thariputra, full of the most affectionate feelings towards the people, mildly desired them not to accompany him farther, and he added a few last words, enjoining upon them ever to remember Buddha and the Rahans. During the seven days that his journey lasted, Thariputra never ceased to praise and exalt the affection and kindness the people bore to him.
It was a little before dark when the great Rahan arrived at the entrance of the Nalanda village. He went to rest at the foot of a banyan-tree close to that spot. At that time there came a young man, his nephew, named Ooparewata, who, perceiving Thariputra, bowed down before him, and stood in that place. The great Rahan said to him: “Is your grandmother at home?” Having been answered in the affirmative, he continued addressing him: “Go now to her, and tell her to prepare for me the room wherein I was born, and a place for these five hundred Rahans that accompany me. I will stay for awhile in the village, and will go to her house somewhat later.” The lad went in all haste to his grandmother’s house, and said to her: “My uncle is come, and is staying at the entrance of the village.” “Is he alone?” inquired the grandmother, “or has he with him a numerous retinue? For what purpose is he coming here?” The young man related to her all the particulars of his interview with his uncle. Noopathari, the mother of Thariputra, thought within herself, Perhaps my son, who has been a Rahan from his youth, desires in his old age to leave his profession. She, however, gave orders to have the desired room cleaned, and a place prepared for all his attendants.
In the evening, the great disciple went to his mother’s house with all his followers. He ascended to the room[16] prepared for him and rested therein. He bade all the Rahans withdraw and leave him alone. They had scarcely departed, when a most violent disease seized Thariputra, which caused an abundant vomiting of blood, so great, indeed, that the vessel into which it flowed could not hold it. His mother, at the sight of such an awful distemper, did not dare to approach, but retired, with a broken heart, into her own room, and leaned against the door. At that time, four great Nats, a Thagia their chief, and four Brahmas, came to see him, and to minister to him during his painful illness; but he bade them retire. His mother, seeing the coming and going of so many distinguished visitors, and the respect they paid to her son, drew near to the door of his room, and calling the faithful Tsanda, inquired of him wherefore so many distinguished individuals had come. Tsanda explained to her that the great Nats and a chief Thagia had come to visit and assist her son, and enjoy the presence of the great Rahan. Meanwhile he informed the patient that his mother wished to see him. Thariputra replied, that the moment was not a proper one, and he asked his mother the motive of her untimely visit. “Beloved son,” said she, “I am come here to contemplate your ever dear countenance. But who are they that have just come to see you?” Thariputra explained to her how he had been visited by Nats, Thagias, and Brahmas. His mother inquiring of him if he were greater than any one of these, he unhesitatingly replied, that he was more excellent than any of them. His mother thought within herself: If my son be so exalted, how much more must Buddha be! Her heart then overflowed with the purest joy.
Thariputra rightly understood that the moment had come to preach the law to his mother. He said to her, “Woman, at the time my great teacher was born, when he obtained the supreme intelligence, and preached the most excellent law, a great earthquake was felt throughout ten thousand worlds. No one has ever equalled him in the[17] practice of virtue, in understanding, wisdom, and in the knowledge of and affection for the transcendent excellencies of the state of Arahat.” He then went on explaining to her the law, and many particulars relating to the person of Buddha. “Beloved son,” said his mother, delighted with all that she heard, “why have you been so late in acquainting me with such a perfect law?” At the conclusion of the instruction, she attained the state of Thautapan. Thariputra replied, “Now, woman, I have repaid you for all the labours you have bestowed on me in bearing, nursing, and educating me; depart from me and leave me alone.”[5]
Thariputra inquired of the devoted Tsanda whether the moment had come. Having been informed that it was nearly daylight, he requested to be set up. By his order all the Rahans were called to his presence, and he said to them, “For the last forty-four years you have ever been with me; if I have offended any one of you during all that time, I beg to be pardoned.” The Rahans answered him: “Great teacher, we have lived with you during the last forty-four years, and have been your inseparable attendants, following you everywhere, as the shadow follows the body. We have never experienced the least dissatisfaction with you, but we have to request your forbearance with us and pardon for ourselves.”
It was on the evening of the full moon Tatsaongmon (November), when Thariputra went to his mother’s place,[19] and lay down in the room wherein he had been born. During the night he was attacked with the most distressing distemper. In the morning, at daylight, he was habited with his tsiwaran and made to lie on his right side. He entered into a sort of ecstasy, passed successively from the first state of Dzan to the second, third, and fourth, and thence dived into the bottomless state of Neibban, which is the complete exemption from the influence of passions and matter.
Noopathari, bathed in her tears, gave full vent to her grief and desolation. “Alas!” exclaimed she, looking on the lifeless body, “is this my beloved son? His mouth can no more utter a sound.” Rising up, she flung herself at his feet, and with a voice ever interrupted by sobs and lamentations, said, “Alas! beloved son, too late have I known the treasure of perfections and excellencies that was in you. Had I been aware of it, I would have invited to my house more than ten thousand Rahans, fed them, and made a present of three suits of dresses to each of them. I would have built a hundred monasteries to receive them.” Day[6] having dawned, she sent for the most[20] skilful goldsmiths, opened her chests, and gave them a great quantity of gold. By her command, five hundred small piathats and as many dzedis were prepared: the[21] outsides were all covered with gold leaves. The great Thagia sent down on the spot a number of Nats, who made also the same number of religious ornaments. In the middle of the city a high square tower was erected; from its centre a tall spire rose to an immense height. This principal one was surrounded by a great number of smaller ones. Men and Nats mingled together, uniting in their endeavours to do honour to the deceased. The whole place was lined with countless beings, vieing with each other in their efforts to show the utmost respect, joy, and exultation on this extraordinary occasion.
The nurse of Thariputra, named Rewati, came and deposited round the mortal remains three golden flowers. At that very moment the great Thagia made his appearance, surrounded with myriads of Nats. As soon as the multitudes perceived him, they withdrew hastily to make room for him. In the midst of the confusion, Rewati fell down, was trampled upon, and died. She migrated to the fortunate seat of Tawadeintha, became a daughter of Nats, and inhabited a niche made with the most consummate skill, and adorned with the richest materials. Her body shone like a beautiful statue of gold, and was three gawoots tall. Her dress exceeded in richness, variety, and beauty all that had ever been hitherto seen.
On the following day, Rewati came from her glorious seat to the spot where crowds of people surrounded the body of the deceased. She approached with the dignified countenance and majestic bearing of a queen of Nats.[22] No one recognised her, though the eyes of all were riveted on her person, encompassed with the splendour of Nats. While all the spectators, overawed by the presence of that celestial being, remained motionless with a silent admiration, Rewati said to them, “How is it that none of you recognise me? I am Rewati, the nurse of the great Thariputra. To the offering of the three golden flowers made by me and placed at the feet of the mortal remains of the great Rahan, I am indebted for the glory and splendour of my present position.” She explained at great length the advantages procured by doing meritorious actions. Having stood for awhile above the cenotaph, whereupon they had deposited the body of the deceased, she came down, turned three times round it, bowing down each time, and then returned to the blissful seat of Tawadeintha.
During seven consecutive days, rejoicings, dancings, and amusements of every description were uninterruptedly kept up in honour of the illustrious deceased. The funeral pile was made of scented wood; upon it they scattered profusely the most rare and fragrant perfumes. The pile was ninety-nine cubits high. The corpse having been placed upon it, fire was set to it by means of strings made of flowers and combustibles. During the whole night that the ceremony lasted, there was a constant preaching of the law. Anoorouda extinguished the fire with perfumed water. Tsanda carefully and piously collected the remaining relics, which were placed in a filter. “Now,” said he, “I will go to Buddha with these relics, and lay them in his presence.” With his companion Anoorouda, he took, together with the relics, the patta and tsiwaran of the deceased, and returned to Buddha to relate to him all the particulars concerning the last moments of his great disciple.
Tsanda was the younger brother of the great Thariputra. It was to him that the honour belonged of being the person selected to convey to Buddha the precious relics.[23] When, however, he had come to the monastery, he was unwilling to go alone into Buddha’s presence. He went first to Ananda, his intimate friend, and said to him, “My brother Thariputra has obtained the state of Neibban. Here are the patta, tsiwaran, and relics,” exhibiting before him, one after the other, those precious articles. Both went together to Buddha’s place, and laid at his feet the patta, tsiwaran, and relics of the great disciple. Buddha, placing the relics on the palm of his right hand, called all the Rahans and said to them, “Beloved Rahans, this is all that remains of one who, a few days ago, was performing wonders in your presence, and has now reached the state of Neibban, something resembling a pure white shell. During an a thingie and hundred thousands of worlds, he has perfected himself by the practice of virtue. Beloved children, he could preach the law like another Buddha. He knew how to gain friends; crowds of people followed him to hear his instructions. Excepting me, no one in ten thousand worlds was equal to him. His wisdom was at once great and cheerful, his mind quick and penetrating. He knew how to restrain his desires, and to be easily satisfied with little. He loved retirement. He severely rebuked evil-doers. Beloved children, Thariputra renounced all pleasures and gratifications to become a Rahan; he always shunned strifes and contentions, as well as long and idle conversations. His patient zeal for the diffusion of my religion equalled the thickness of the globe. He was like a bull, the horns of which have been broken. My beloved Rahans, look once more at the relics of my wise son, Thariputra.” Buddha in this manner eulogised the virtues of the illustrious deceased in five hundred stanzas.[7]
On hearing all that Buddha had said to honour the memory of Thariputra, Ananda was filled with sentiments of the tenderest emotion. He could not refrain from shedding abundant tears. Buddha quickly remarked all that was taking place in his faithful and loving attendant, and said to him, “Ananda, on former occasions I have, in[25] my preachings, endeavoured to shelter your soul from the impressions caused by such and like emotions. Two things can alone keep us separated from father, mother, brothers, sisters, &c.,—in a word, from all that we most cherish, viz., death and distance. I, though a Buddha, have been exposed to all those changes brought on by distance when I practised the great virtues in the solitude, when I displayed wonders and spent a season in the seat of Tawadeintha. In those circumstances, distance kept me far from all those that were dearest to me. Would it not have been considered as useless, if not unbecoming, to shed tears either on my account or that of others? Can there ever be a time when any, how painful soever, occurrence may warrant wailing and lamenting?” With these and other considerations, Buddha soothed the affliction of Ananda, and filled his soul with consolations.
Buddha, to complete, as it were, the work of praises in favour of his great disciple, caused a dzedi to be erected in his honour near the entrance of the Dzetawon monastery. Having satisfied the sacred duty of gratitude towards the greatest of his disciples, Gaudama resolved to leave the monastery of Dzetawon for the country of Radzagio. Ananda was, as usual, directed to inform the Rahans to hold themselves ready for immediate departure.
The most excellent Phra having reached Radzagio, which he was to visit for the last time, took his abode into the Weloowon monastery. He had not stayed long in that place when the other great disciple, Maukalan, went to Neibban. Here are the particulars respecting the last moments of the illustrious companion of Thariputra. The heterodox Rahans, who lived in a state of complete nakedness, were extremely jealous of the popularity of Buddha, and coveted the abundant alms that were offered to him and his disciples. Maukalan, who was living on[26] the Isigili mountain, in the cave of the dark rock, was supposed, on account of his great attainments and profound science, to be the cause of the great respect the people paid to his master. They resolved to kill him. For that purpose they armed five hundred robbers, and gave them one thousand pieces of silver to perpetrate the horrible crime. The assassins went twice to the cave; but their victim twice escaped their fury. At last, owing to the influence of a former bad deed, Maukalan resigned himself into the hands of the ruffians, who put him to death. They beat him so severely, that his lifeless remains were no more than a heap of mangled flesh, which they threw into the midst of bushes. The news of the appalling murder spread rapidly through the country. King Adzatathat had the murderers arrested. Having known from their own confession that the naked Rahans were the instigators of the murder, he had them likewise arrested. In front of his palace he ordered one thousand holes to be dug; in each hole a criminal was sunk up to his navel. All the ground was then overspread with straw, which being set fire to, all the wretches soon perished.
On hearing such news the disciples were greatly grieved, and asked each other what might have been the cause which had brought the aged Maukalan to such a cruel end. Buddha, appearing suddenly among them, said, “Beloved sons, what is the subject of your conversation?” They replied that they were conversing on the tragical death of their great companion. “I declare unto you,” retorted Buddha, “that Maukalan has met a well-merited death. In one of his former existences, my beloved son, at the instigation of his wife, misled his aged and blind parents into a forest, where, leaving them alone, he went away for awhile. On his return, affecting the manners and voice of a highwayman, he killed his parents, and threw their bodies into a thicket. For this crime he[27] has suffered the torments of hell during one thousand years, and has had to undergo the cruel death that has put an end to his last existence.” Having thus spoken, he ordered that a dzedi should be erected in honour of Maukalan near the gate of the Weloowon monastery.
Voyage to Wethalie—Last temptation of Manh—Causes of earthquake—New instructions to the Rahans—Last meal of Buddha—His painful distemper—His conversation with one of the Malla princes—Sign foreshowing Buddha’s coming death—Arrival in the Kootheinaron forest—Buddha lays himself on his couch—Wonders attending that event—Instructions to Ananda—Eulogium of Ananda by Buddha—Conversion of Thoubat—Last words of Buddha to the Rahans—His death.
Having left Radzagio Buddha intimated to Ananda that he wished to return to Wethalie. On his way to the right bank of the Ganges, he arrived at a place called Oukkatsela, where he preached on the death of his two greatest disciples. Thence he crossed the mighty stream and shaped his course towards Wethalie. On the day that he entered the city he went in quest of his food. Having partaken of what he had received, he called Ananda, bade him take his mat and cushion, and follow him to the Tsapala dzedi, where he intended to spend a part of the day. Complying with the command, Ananda followed Buddha, and with him went to the beautiful site of Tsapala, to the place prepared for his master. Ananda approached Phra, and, respectfully prostrated, said to him, “This is, indeed, a very agreeable place.” Whereupon Buddha, rejoicing, praised the different sites of that country which were in the neighbourhood of the Wethalie city, as well as the dzedis that adorned them, and added, “Ananda, every wise person ought to be earnest in perfecting himself in the four laws of edeipat. Having advanced in the practice of these laws, he can, if he choose to do so, remain in a state of fixity during a whole revolution of[29] nature, and even more. I, the Buddha, have become perfect in those laws, and I may remain as I am now during an innumerable number of years.” Three times the same words were repeated. But Ananda, entangled as yet in the meshes of the tempter Manh Nat, remained prostrated before Buddha. It never came to his mind to entreat him to remain longer on earth for the benefit of mortals, who would derive the greatest advantages from his presence.
At that time Ananda rose up, with his mind troubled by the influence of the evil one, withdrew from Buddha’s presence and went to the foot of a tree at a small distance. He had scarcely left Buddha alone when the Nat Manh, perceiving that Buddha remained alone for awhile, approached near his person, and keeping at a respectful distance, said to him, “Great, illustrious, and glorious Phra, who preachest an excellent law, it is now time for you to enter into the state of Neibban. You said in former times, that as long as your disciples were not much advanced in knowledge, as long as they had not obtained a thorough command over their heart, mouth, and senses, as long as they were still wanting in firmness and diligence for hearing and understanding the law, or unequal to the task of preaching the law, you would not go to Neibban. Now the Rahans, members of the assembly and your disciples, both males and females, are thoroughly instructed in all the parts of the law; they are firm in controlling their passions; they can preach the law to the other mortals; the Nats and Brahmas have heard your preachings, and countless numbers among them have obtained the deliverance; the time, therefore, is come for you to enter into the state of Neibban.” Buddha knowing the wicked one, with his evil dispositions, replied, “Ha! wretched Manh, do not concern yourself about me. Ere long I will go to Neibban.”
Whilst he was near the dzedi of Tsapala, Buddha, in a moment of perfect calmness of mind, entered into a sort[30] of extraordinary state of contemplation, in which, for the first time, he mastered completely the principles of life, and appeared as if he had abandoned life. But it ought not to be understood that he parted with life, as a man lets go a stone that he has in his hands; but he estranged himself from the material life, renounced it, and placed himself beyond the reach of the influence that produces reward in the material or immaterial seats, and above that other influence which, procuring merits or demerits, keeps a being in the whirlpool of transmigration. As a mighty warrior on the battle-field throws down every barrier or obstacle that he meets, so Buddha broke down all the ties that had hitherto linked him to the state of existence.[8] At that very instant the earth trembled with[31] such violence that it caused the hairs of one’s head to stand on end. Then he said to all present, “I am delivered from the influence of the world of matter, of the world of passions, and from every influence that causes the migration from one existence to another. I enjoy now a perfect calm of mind; like the mighty warrior who on the field of battle has conquered all his enemies, I have triumphed over all passions. I have mastered existence itself by destroying the principle that causes it.” These words were uttered by Phra, lest perhaps some people might infer that he entered into the extraordinary state on which he mastered the elements of life, from fear caused by the language of the tempter, inviting him to go forthwith to Neibban.
Ananda, having felt the earthquake, respectfully approached Buddha and prostrated himself before him. Withdrawing then to a becoming distance, he asked him the causes that produce the extraordinary and terrifying phenomenon of earthquakes. “My son,” answered Buddha, “eight causes make the earth tremble: 1st, The earth lies on a mass of water, which rests on the air, and the air on space; when the air is set in motion, it shakes the water, which in its turn shakes the earth; 2d, any being gifted with extraordinary powers; 3d, the conception of Phralaong for his last existence; 4th, his birth; 5th, his becoming a Buddha; 6th, his preaching the law of the wheel; 7th, his mastering and renouncing existence; 8th, his obtaining the state of Neibban. These are the eight causes of earthquakes. Ananda, a little while after having become a Buddha, I was in the solitude of Ouroowela, on the banks of the river Neritzara, under the shade of a banyan-tree planted by some shepherds. The wicked Nat came into my presence and requested me to go forthwith to Neibban. I refused then to comply with[32] his demand, and said to him, ‘Wretched Manh, my disciples, members of the assembly, either males or females, the believers, either men or women, have not yet acquired sufficient knowledge, prudence, and penetration, courage, and resolution. They have not been as yet properly instructed in the most essential and highest articles of the law; they are unable to teach others: my religion is not yet resting on a strong foundation. The time, therefore, is not yet come for me to enter into the state of Neibban. Now, near this very dzedi of Tsapala, he has come anew and told me the same thing. Do not trouble yourself, miserable wretch, have I said to him; three months hence, I will obtain the state of Neibban. On this occasion I have fallen into the state in which I have mastered the principles of life by the means of the four laws of edeipat.’”[9]
Ananda said to Phra: “Illustrious Buddha, please to remain during a whole Kalpa in this world for the benefit of men, Nats, and Brahmas.” “Ananda,” replied Phra, “your present request is too late and cannot be granted.” Three times the faithful disciple begged of his great teacher this favour, and three times he received the same refusal. “Do you believe, O Ananda, that I know the four ways that lead to science and wisdom, and that I am perfect in the four laws of edeipat?” “I do believe it,” answered Ananda. “Do you recollect, O Ananda, that a little while ago I said to you three times that he who was perfect in the laws of edeipat could remain, if he chose, during an entire Kalpa in this world? I added that I was thoroughly acquainted with these four laws; but you remained silent, and made no demand of me to remain longer in this world. The time for making this request is now irrevocably past. The term of my life is for ever fixedly determined. Now, Ananda, let us go to Mahawon Kootagara in the forest of the sala-trees.” Having reached the place and stayed therein for a few days, he desired his faithful attendant to go to Wethalie and assemble all the Rahans in the Gnyipoora hall. When they had all assembled in that place, Ananda informed[34] Buddha that his order had been duly executed. Phra went to the hall, and sat in the place prepared for him. He then, addressing the assembly, said: “My beloved children, the law which my supreme wisdom has discovered, I have announced for your benefit and advantage. You have attentively and perseveringly listened to it, firmly adhered to its tenets, and zealously propagated them. Now my religion shall last for a long period, and prove the source of great blessings to all Nats. But to the end that my religion may last long, shine forth with splendour, and be productive of incalculable benefits, it is necessary that great attention should be paid to the thirty-seven laws from which all good works proceed.[10] These laws you have been acquainted with by my preachings; it is[35] to you to announce them to all beings. Meditate with unremitting attention on the principles of change and mutability. As to me, ere long I will go to Neibban; three months more, and this last drama shall be over.”
In the morning Buddha, putting on his dress, went out to beg his food, carrying the patta on his left arm. When he had eaten his meal, he looked with the steadiness of an elephant over the whole country. The reason why he cast a look like an elephant over Wethalie is, as he explained it to Ananda, the following:—The neck-bone of all Buddhas is not like the links of a chain, but consists of one single solid bone: hence when they wish to consider some object lying behind they cannot turn their heads backwards, but the whole body, like that of the elephant, must follow the same motion. On this and other occasions of this kind, our Buddha had not to make any effort, but the earth turning round, like the wheel of the potter, brought the object to be looked at before him. The great city of Wethalie was within three years to be destroyed by King Adzatathat. As Buddha had always received many marks of respect and attention from the inhabitants of that city, he felt the greatest commiseration for them. His last glance was a sorrowful farewell he bade to the devoted city. This is the motive that induced Buddha to cast a last look over it.
Buddha went to a place called Pantoogama. He passed successively through Hatti, Tsampou, and Appara, and thence to Bauga. In the latter place he preached the four laws of Padesa. Summoning Ananda to his presence, he desired him to inform the Rahans to hold themselves ready to go to the Pawa country. Having reached that district, he went with all his Rahans to live in a monastery built in a grove of mango-trees erected by Tsonda, the son of a wealthy goldsmith. Tsonda had previously seen Buddha, and obtained the state of Thautapan. His gratitude induced him to build a monastery, which, together with the grove, he had given over to Buddha. His[36] arrival at that place happened on the 14th of the waxing moon of Katson.
Informed that Phra had come to the monastery, Tsonda repaired hastily thither, prostrated himself before him, and having taken a seat at a becoming distance, requested Buddha to accept the meal he would prepare for him and all the Rahans. Buddha by his silence acquiesced in the request. Tsonda rose up, bowed down, and turning to the right, left the monastery. During the whole night, all sorts of the choicest dishes were prepared. He had a young pig, neither fat nor lean, killed, and the flesh dressed with rice in the most exquisite manner. The Nats infused into it the most delicious flavour. At daybreak, everything being ready, Tsonda went to the monastery, and invited Buddha and all the Rahans to come and partake of the meal that was ready for them. Buddha rose up, and, carrying his patta, went to Tsonda’s house, where he sat in the place prepared for his reception. He took for himself the pork and rice, but his attendants feasted upon the other dishes. When he had eaten, he desired Tsonda to bury in the earth the remains of the pork and rice, because no one in the Nats’ or Brahmas’ seats but himself could digest such a food. A little while after, Buddha was seized with a violent attack of dysentery, the pain whereof he bore with the greatest patience and composure. He suffered so much, not because of the food he had taken, as he would otherwise have been exposed to the same distemper. The pain was rather alleviated by the eating of the pork and rice, because the Nats had infused therein the choicest flavour.
Buddha desired Ananda to be ready to go to the town of Koutheinaron. While on the way he felt very weak, and retired under the shade of a tree, commanding Ananda to fold his dugout to sit upon. When he had rested a little, he called Ananda and said to him: “Ananda, I am very thirsty; bring me some water.” Ananda replied: “One of the Malla princes, named Poukatha, has just passed through the Kakouda river with five hundred carts,[37] and the water is quite muddy.” The Malla princes ruled by turn over the country. When the time for ruling had not yet come, or had passed, many of them devoted their time to the pursuit of trade. Notwithstanding this objection, Buddha repeated three times the injunction. Ananda at last took up Phra’s patta and went to the stream to fetch water. How great was his surprise when he found the water clear and limpid. He said to himself: “Great indeed is the power of Buddha, who has worked such a wonderful change in this stream.” He filled the patta with water and brought it to his great teacher, who drank of it.
Prince Poukatha had been a disciple of the Rathee Alara. He came to Buddha, and said to him, whilst he was under the shade of the tree: “Great indeed is the peace and calm composure of mind of the Rahans. On a former occasion,” added he, “whilst the Rathee Alara was travelling, he went to rest under the shade of a tree, at a small distance, by the wayside. A merchant with five hundred carts happened to pass by. A man that followed at a distance came to the place where Alara was resting, and inquired of him if he had seen the five hundred carts that had just passed by. Alara replied that he was not aware that any cart had come in sight. The man at first suspected that Alara was unsound in his mind, but he was soon convinced that what he was at first inclined to attribute to mental derangement was caused by the sublime abstraction of the Rathee from all that was taking place.”
Buddha having heard this story, rejoined: “Which is, in your opinion, the more wonderful occurrence, to see a man in his senses and awake not to notice the passing of five hundred carts or even of one thousand, or to see another man, equally awake and in the enjoyment of his mental faculties, who did not hear the violence of a storm, a heavy fall of rain, accompanied with loud peals of thunder and uninterrupted flashes of lightning? In former times, I, the Buddha, was sitting under a small shed. A most[38] violent storm came on; peals of thunder resounded more awfully than the roaring of the sea, and lightnings seemed to rend the atmosphere in every direction. At that time two brothers were ploughing in a field with four bullocks. They were all killed, men and bullocks, by lightning. A man came to me whilst I was walking in front of the shed, and told me that he came to see the accident that had just happened, and asked me some particulars concerning it. I answered him that I was not aware that any storm had raged near this place, nor any accident attended it. The stranger inquired of me whether I was asleep; or if not, whether I was in possession of my senses. I answered him that I was not asleep, and that I was in the perfect enjoyment of my mental and physical faculties. My answer made a powerful impression upon him: he thought within himself that great and wonderful is the power of Thamabat, which procures to the Rahans such an imperturbable calm of mind, which cannot be disturbed by the mightiest convulsions of nature. Now, Prince Poukatha, in whom do you think that the greatest calm of mind has prevailed?” “Most excellent Phra,” replied the prince, “the great respect I bore formerly unto the Rathee Alara has disappeared like the chaff before the wind, and run out like the water of a rapid stream. I am now like a man to whom the true road has been pointed out, who has discovered hidden things, and who has a shining light before him. You have announced to me the true law, which has dispelled the cloud of ignorance and brought happiness and calm to my hitherto disturbed soul. From this moment I believe in Buddha, the law, and the assembly, and to the end of my life I will ever remain a believer.” The Prince called a young man, and directed him to go and bring two beautiful and rich pieces of cloth having the colour of pure gold thread. When they had been brought over, the prince, holding them in his hand, said: “O most glorious Buddha, these pieces of cloth I have occasionally worn: they are in colour like gold, and the[39] tissue is of the finest description; please to accept them as an offering I make to you.” Phra desired him to present one of the pieces to himself, and the other to Ananda, that his merits might be greater, since the offering would be made to Buddha and to the assembly in the person of Ananda. This attention in favour of Ananda was also intended to reward him for his unremitting exertions during the twenty-five years he had served Buddha with the utmost respect, care, and affection, without having received any adequate return for his services. Buddha preached afterwards the law to the prince. When the instruction was over, Poukatha believed in, and firmly adhered to, the three precious things, and became a sincere convert. He rose up, prostrated himself before Buddha, turned on the right, and departed.
Ananda, after the prince’s departure, brought the two dresses to the great Phra, who put one on his shoulders, whilst the other was girded round his waist. His body appeared shining like a flame. Ananda was exceedingly surprised. Nothing of this kind had as yet happened. “Your exterior appearance,” said he to Buddha, “is at once white, shining, and beautiful above all expression.” “What you say, O Ananda, is perfectly true. There are two occasions when my body becomes extraordinarily beautiful and shining: the first was on the night I obtained the supreme intelligence; and the second now, when I am about to enter into the state of Neibban. Doubtless, O Ananda, on the morning after this very night, in a corner, near the Koutheinaron city, that belongs to the princes Malla, in the forest of sala-trees, I will go to Neibban. The shining light emanating from my body is the certain forerunner of this great event.”
Ananda, summoned by Buddha to his presence, received the order to move to the banks of the Kakouda stream.[11] Having reached the place, Buddha descended[40] into the stream, bathed, and drank some water. Thence he directed his steps towards a grove of mango-trees. Ananda had remained to dry the bathing-robes of his[41] master. Phra called the Rahan Tsanda, and directed him to fold in four his dugout, because he wished to rest. The order having been complied with, Buddha sat down, lying on his right side, with the solemn and fearless appearance of a lion. During his short sleep Tsanda watched by his side. Ananda soon came up. Buddha called him, and said, “The meal which the goldsmith’s son has prepared for me, which I have eaten, is my last meal. He is, forsooth, much grieved because of the illness that has come upon me after having eaten at his place.[12] Go now to him,[42] and make him acquainted with the merits he has gained in making an offering to me. Two meals that I have taken during this existence are equally deserving of the greatest rewards. The first was the Nogana, served up to me a little while before I obtained first the Neibban of Kiletha, or the destruction of passions, and subsequently the supreme intelligence; the second is the one just offered[43] to me by the goldsmith’s son, when I ate the dish of rice and pork. That is the last food I will ever take until I attain the state of Neibban, that is to say, the Neibban of Khandas, or the destruction of all the supports of existence. Both these meals were excellent, and are deserving of an equal reward; viz., beauty, a long life, happiness, a large crowd of attendants, the happiness of the Nats’ seats, and all sorts of honours and distinction. Such are the merits reserved to Tsonda, the son of the goldsmith; go and mention them to him, that his sorrow may be assuaged.” Gaudama uttered on this occasion the following stanzas:[13][44] “Alms-deeds can defend from and protect against the influence and the sources of demerits, which are man’s true enemies. He alone who is full of merits and wisdom shuns evil doings, puts an end to concupiscence, anger, and ignorance, and reaches Neibban.” Buddha, calling Ananda, said to him, “Let us now go to the bank of the river Hignarawati, in the forest of sala-trees belonging to the Malla princes.” Attended by a crowd of Rahans, he went to the bank of the stream. The forest was on a tongue of land, encircled on three sides by the river. “Ananda,” said Buddha, “you see those two lofty trees on the skirt of the wood; go and prepare a resting-place for me between those two trees, in such a way that, when reclining thereupon, my head should be turned towards the north. The couch must be arranged in such a manner that one extremity may be near one tree, and the other extremity close to the opposite tree. Ananda, I am much fatigued, and desire to rest.” Though Buddha’s strength was equal to that of a thousand koudes of black elephants, it forsook him almost entirely from the time he had eaten the dish of Tsonda’s rice and pork. Though the distance from the place of Pawa to the forest of sala-trees in the district of Koutheinaron is but three gawots, he was compelled to rest in traversing it twenty-five times, and it was by dint of[45] great exertions that he reached the place after sunset. Four places along the road from Pawa to Koutheinaron became subsequently celebrated by the resort of many pilgrims who visited them.
[Remarks of the Burmese Translator.—It has been often asked why Phra allowed his body to experience fatigue. The reason of his conduct was to convey instruction to all men, and to make them fully prepared to bear pain and sickness. Should any one ask why Buddha exerted himself so much to go to Neibban in that particular place, it should be answered that Buddha saw three reasons for acting in the manner he did. 1st. To preach the great Soodathana. (This is the story of a prince called Maha Soudana, who ruled over the country of Kousawatti. At the conclusion Buddha declares that in that great prince the law of mutability has acted throughout his life with an irresistible force; while, as for himself, he now delights at being emancipated from its thraldom, and longs to be freed from the prison of his body.) 2d. To instruct Thoubat and lead him to perfection. 3d. To secure that the disputes that were to arise on account of the division and possession of his relics should be quieted by the Pounha Dauna, who would fairly and peaceably effectuate the partition of those sacred remains.]
Phra, having reached the couch, lay down on his right side with the noble composure and undaunted fearlessness of a lion.[14] The left leg was lying directly on the right[46] one; but in order to avoid pain and the accompanying trouble, the situation of the two legs was such as to prevent the immediate contact of the two ankles and knees. The forest of sala-trees lies at the south-west of the city of Koutheinaron. Should any one wish to go to the city from the forest, he must first go due east, and then turn north. The place, therefore, where Phra stood was a tongue of land, surrounded on three sides by the river.
When Buddha was reclining on the couch, the two sala-trees became suddenly loaded with fragrant blossoms, which gently dropped above and all round his person, so as almost to cover it. Not only these two trees, but all those of that forest, and also those in ten thousand worlds, exhibited the same wonderful and graceful appearance. All the fruit-trees yielded out of season the best fruits they had ever produced; their beauty and flavour exceeded all that had ever been seen. The five kinds of lilies shot forth from the bosom of the earth, and from every plant and tree; they displayed to the astonished eyes the most ravishing sight. The mighty mountain of Hymawonta, which is three thousand youdzanas in extent, shone with all the richness of the colours of the peacock’s tail. The Nats, who watched over the two ingien or sala-trees, showered down without interruption the most fragrant[47] flowers. From the seats of Nats, the flower Mandarawan, which grows on the banks of the lake Mandawan, and glitters like the purest gold, with leaves expanding like an umbrella, was showered down by the Nats, together with powder of sandal-wood and other odoriferous plants. The Nagas and Galongs, joining the Nats, brought from their respective seats all kinds of flowers and perfumes, which they let drop like dew over and about Buddha’s sacred person. Phra, seeing the wonderful display performed by men, Nats, Nagas, and Galongs, to do him honour, and hearing the sweet accents of Nats’ voices, singing his praises, called Ananda and said to him, “You witness all that display[15] which is intended to do me[48] honour; it is not as yet worthy of me, who possess the knowledge of the most sublime law. No one can be my true follower, or accomplish the commands of the law, by such a vain and outward homage. Every Rahan or Rahaness, every believer, man or woman, who practises the excellent works leading to perfect happiness, these are the persons that render me a true homage, and present to me a most agreeable offering. The observance of the law alone entitles to the right of belonging to my religion. Ever remember this, O Ananda, and let every believer in my religion act up to it.”
Why did Buddha, on this last occasion, lay little stress on the offerings that were made, whilst on former occasions he had much extolled the innumerable merits to be derived from the making of offerings? The reason of his conduct was to give every one to understand that religion could not subsist unless by the practice of all the duties it commands, and that it would soon disappear were it supported only by alms-deeds, offerings, and other outward ceremonies. Alms-deeds are productive of great rewards, but the practice of virtue alone secures to religion a prolonged existence.
At that time an illustrious Rahaness, named[49] Oupalawana,[16] at a single word from Buddha, lowered her fan and went to sit at a certain distance. Ananda, who had seen this Rahaness attending assiduously on Buddha’s person during more than twenty seasons, was surprised at seeing that, without any apparent reason, she had been desired on that occasion to withdraw to a distance. Phra, reading in the soul of Ananda his innermost thoughts, said to him, “Ananda, I am not displeased with Oupalawana; but her body being of a very large size, it prevents the myriads of Nats that have come from ten thousand worlds to see and contemplate me on this supreme moment. The Nats can see through the bodies of the generality of men, but this[50] power falls short with persons much advanced in merits. I therefore desired her to remove a little far, that the Nats might not be angry at not seeing my person.”
Ananda put a great many questions to Buddha, which are related at full length in the Parinibana Thoots.
He asked him, among other topics, how the Rahans were to behave when women should resort to their monasteries.[17] “Ananda,” answered Buddha, “a Rahan, desirous[51] to free himself from the sting of concupiscence and keep his heart firm and steady, ought to have his door shut, and never look at the women coming to the monastery or[52] standing at the entrance; because through the eyes concupiscence finds its way into the heart, and shakes its firmest purposes.” “But,” replied Ananda, “what is to be done when they come over to bring food to the inmates of the monastery?” “Ananda,” said Buddha, “in such a case no conversation is to take place with them. Much safer and better it would be to hold conversation with a man who, sword in hand, would threaten to cut off our head, or with a female Biloo ready to devour us the moment we open the mouth to speak. By conversing with women, one becomes acquainted with them; acquaintance begets familiarity, kindles passion, leads to the loss of virtue, and precipitates into the four states of punishment. It is, therefore, most prudent not to have any conversation with them.” “What is to be done, O Buddha, in cases when women come to the monastery to hear religious instructions, to expose their doubts, to seek for spiritual advice, to learn the practice of religious duties, and render becomingly certain services to the Rahans? Should a Rahan be silent on such occasions, they will ridicule him and say, ‘This Rahan, forsooth, is deaf or too well fed; he therefore cannot speak.’” “Ananda,” replied Buddha, “when on such occasions a Rahan is obliged to speak, let him consider as mothers those who are old enough to be mothers, as elder sisters those who appear a little older than he, as younger sisters or children those that are younger than he. Never, O Ananda, forget these instructions.”
Ananda inquired of Buddha what ceremonies were to be performed on his mortal remains after his demise. “Ananda,” replied Buddha, “do not be much concerned about what shall remain of me after my Neibban, but be rather earnest to practise the works that lead to perfection. Be not over solicitous concerning the affairs of this life, where the principle of change is ever entire; put on those inward dispositions which will enable you to reach the undisturbed rest of Neibban. There are many among the princes, rich men and pounhas who are well disposed towards me, and who will gladly perform all the usual ceremonies on my remains.” “They will,” replied Ananda, “no doubt come to me, and ask advice as to the most suitable mode of arranging everything in a becoming manner.” “Ananda,” answered Buddha, “here are the funeral ceremonies performed after the death of a Tsekiawaday king. When such a monarch is dead, they wrap his body with a new fine cloth of Kathicaritz, surround it with a thick layer of the whitest cotton, wrap it again with a second cloth of the same country, place over it another layer of cotton, and repeat the same process five hundred times. The body, thus prepared, is deposited in an open coffin, gilt outside, and rubbed inside with fragrant oil. Another coffin, also gilt, is turned over it as a covering. The pile is made of sandal and other odoriferous woods; flowers, perfumes, and scented water are profusely spread over it. The coffin having been placed on the pile, fire is set to it. Similar ceremonies shall be performed on my body after my death. On the spot where four roads meet, a dzedi is to be erected. Whoever shall come to that place and make offerings of flags, umbrellas, flowers, and perfumes, shall thereby perform an act of religion, and give a token of his respect and affection for my person.[18] He shall gain many merits; among[54] others, a complete exemption from all troubles and disquietudes during a long period. Ananda, four sorts of persons are deserving of the honour of having dzedis[55] erected after their death: 1. The Buddha who possesses the infinite science; 2. A semi-Buddha; 3. A Rahanda; 4. The Tsekiawaday king. He who builds a dzedi in[56] honour of Buddha, shall, after his death, migrate to a place of rest in the seats of Nats. To him that shall build a dzedi in honour of a semi-Buddha, an inferior honour shall be awarded in a lower seat of Nats, and a similar reward shall be enjoyed by those who erect dzedis in honour of Rahandas and Tsekiawaday kings. It may be asked why the honour of a dzedi is conferred on a king who lives in the world, enjoys its pleasures, &c., whilst it[57] is denied to a Rahan, who has renounced the world, and practised the excellent works. Formerly, in Ceylon, the dzedis erected in honour of deceased Rahans became so numerous that they threatened to cover the superficies of the whole country. It was then resolved that none should be built for Rahans, though it is acknowledged that they deserve such distinction. The same reason does not exist for a Tsekiawaday king, who is alone, and appears in the world at but distant intervals. But all the Rahans that are full of merits are deserving, after their demise, of all honours, except that of a dzedi.”
When Buddha had finished his instruction, Ananda thought within himself: Phra, the most excellent among all beings, has just taught me how to honour dzedis and other religious monuments raised to the glory of religion; he has pointed out to me the source of merits; he has indicated to me the sure way to deal with women, when they resort to our monasteries for the purpose of hearing the preaching of the law, and, finally, he has declared that there were but four sorts of persons deserving of the honour of a dzedi after their death. From the tenor of these instructions, I know with certainty that on this very day Buddha is to enter the state of Neibban. Unwilling to show his profound affliction in the presence of his illustrious master, he retired into the hall of the Malla princes close by, and leaning on the door-bolt, wept bitterly, and said, “Alas! the most excellent Buddha soon shall be no more. By what means shall I obtain the three last degrees of perfection? Who shall be my teacher? To whom shall I henceforth bring water in the morning to wash the face? Whose feet shall I have to wipe dry? For whom shall I prepare the place for sitting, and the couch for sleeping? Whose patta and tsiwaran shall I have to hold ready, and to whom shall I render the ordinary services?” In the midst of sobs and wailings, he was giving vent to his deep affliction.
It was not long ere Buddha, not observing the faithful[58] Ananda among the Rahans, said, “My dear Rahans, where is Ananda?” Having been informed of all that was taking place, he desired a Rahan to go and call Ananda. The message having been conveyed rapidly to Ananda, he hastened to come back into the presence of Buddha, whom he saluted as usual, and then took his seat. Buddha, addressing him, said, “O Ananda, your tears and lamentations are to no purpose; do not give yourself up to disquietude; cease to shed tears. Have I not previously said to you that distance or death must separate us from the dearest objects? In the body there is a principle which causes its existence and its preservation as long as the opposite principle of destruction does not prevail. It is true you have ministered unto me for many years with all your strength and the most perfect devotedness. But you shall reap the reward due for so many good offices. Apply yourself to the exercise of Kamatan, and soon you shall be freed from the world of passions and the influence of mutability.”
Addressing then with a gentle voice all the Rahans present, Buddha began to praise Ananda, saying, “Beloved Rahans, Ananda[19] has been during many years my[59] faithful and devoted attendant. He has served him who is worthy to receive all offerings, and is, moreover, acquainted with all the laws of the physical and moral world. Ananda is a true sage; he is well versed in all that relates to my person; he can show to the male Rahans and female Rahans, as well as to the crowds, the time, the moment, and the place to approach my person and pay the honours due to me. Ananda is graceful and full of amiability amidst all other Rahans. He has heard and seen much; he shines in the midst of the assembly. Rahans will come from a distance, on hearing all that is said of his graces, to see and admire him; and[60] all will agree in saying that what they observe surpasses all that they had heard. Ananda will make inquiries regarding their health; they, on hearing his words, will be filled with joy. He will then keep silent, and they will retire with an increased desire to listen to him. He will say to the female Rahans that will come to see him, ‘Sisters, observe the eight precepts.’ On hearing Ananda, they will be exceedingly glad. He will then remain silent, and his silence will grieve them. The laymen and laywomen on hearing all that is said of Ananda shall come to contemplate him. He will say to them, ‘Adhere to the three precious things; observe the five great commands; keep the four days of worship of each month; pay honour and respect to your father and mother; feed the Rahans and pounhas that observe strictly the law.’ They will all be delighted at hearing his instructions. His silence will leave them earnestly wishing to hear something else from him. Beloved Rahans, Ananda much resembles a Tsekiawaday king. Like him, he is exceedingly beautiful, amiable, and lovely; he can fly through the air; he can teach the people and justly administer the law.”
When Buddha had finished his discourse, Ananda said: “O illustrious Buddha, it is not becoming your dignity that you should go to Neibban near such a small city, and in a place almost surrounded by forests. We are in the neighbourhood of the great countries of Tsampa, Thawattie, Thakila, and Baranathee. The kings, pounhas, noblemen, and people of those countries are full of love and reverence for your person. They could render greater honours to your mortal remains.” “Ananda,” replied Buddha, “do not call the country of Koutheinaron a small country. I have on former occasions often been to this place and extolled its riches and crowded population. This is the place where it is most becoming I should enter into the state of Neibban. Go now to the city and inform the Malla princes that to-morrow morning, at the break of the[61] day, the most excellent Buddha shall go to Neibban. Let them not have reason to complain hereafter that they have not received a timely information of this event, nor say that they had not had a last opportunity to come and see me.” Ananda, putting on his dress and carrying his patta, went alone to the city. At that moment the princes were assembled in the hall to deliberate upon some important affair. As soon as the message was delivered, the princes, with their wives, their sons, and daughters, began to cry aloud, “Alas! the most excellent Buddha is too soon going to Neibban.” Some appeared with dishevelled hair; some lifted their hands to their foreheads; some, crying out and wailing, threw themselves on the ground, rolling and tossing about, as persons whose hands and feet had been cut off. They all set out in haste with Ananda at their head towards the place where Buddha was lying on his couch. All of them were admitted into the presence of Buddha and paid their respects to him.
In the city of Koutheinaron lived a certain personage holding heretical opinions.[20] His name was Thoubat, a[62] pounha of the Oudeitsa race, who wore a white dress. His mind, hitherto uncertain and unfixed, hesitated between the belief in Buddha’s doctrines and his former opinions.[63] Having been informed that there was a Buddha in the neighbourhood, and that he was soon to go to Neibban, he desired to see him, and, in his conversation, to clear up his doubts. His age was not great, but he enjoyed such a renown for learning that he was called the master of masters. Thoubat went at first to Ananda, stated to him that he felt irresistibly a strong attachment to, and a sincere affection for, the great Buddha, that his mind was preyed upon by doubts and uncertainties, and that he hoped a short conversation with the great Gaudama would relieve his mind from its present painful situation. Ananda, fearing that such a conversation might be much protracted, refused to admit Thoubat into the presence of Buddha, representing his extreme weakness and inability to speak much. Thoubat made several entreaties, but with no better success. Ananda persisted in his refusal to introduce him. Buddha, hearing some noise, inquired from Ananda what was the cause of the noise he heard. Ananda related to him all that had taken place between him and Thoubat. “Allow him to come,” said Buddha; “I wish to hear him. Soon he shall be enlightened and convinced. I have come to this spot for the very purpose of preaching to him the most perfect law.” Ananda returned to Thoubat, and said to him, “The most excellent[64] Buddha desires to see you.” Thoubat, full of joy, arrived in the presence of Buddha, saluted him, and, sitting at a becoming distance, said to him, “Do the six celebrated teachers, who are always attended by a great number of disciples, who are famous amidst other doctors, know all laws? Are there some laws they are unacquainted with? or do they teach some doctrines which they but partially understand?” Buddha having gently reminded Thoubat that such questions were not suitable and unprofitable, said, “O Thoubat, I will preach to you the law; listen with attention to my words, and treasure them in your heart. No heretic has ever known the right ways that lead to perfection, and, in the religion of heretics, no one can obtain the state of Thautapan, and become a Rahanda. But in my religion there are found persons that have become Thautapan, Anagam, &c., and finally Rahandas. Except in my religion, the twelve great disciples who practise the highest virtues, and stir up the world to free it from its state of indifference, are not to be met with. They are not to be found among heretics. O Thoubat, from the age of twenty-nine years up to this moment, I have striven to obtain the supreme and perfect science, and I have spent to that end fifty-one years, following the ways of Ariahs, that lead to Neibban.” On hearing these words, Thoubat, overwhelmed with joy, endeavoured, by several similitudes, to express to his great instructor the pleasure he had derived from his preaching. “O most illustrious Buddha,” added he, “now I believe in you, and adhere to all your doctrines; I wish to become a Rahan. But it is a custom with you, not to admit to the dignity of Rahan a heretic who is newly converted, except after a four months’ probation. I wish to remain during that period as a probationer, and beg afterwards to be admitted among the Rahans.” Buddha, who knew the fervour of the new convert, desired to dispense in his case with the four months’ probation. He called Ananda and commanded him to admit Thoubat to the dignity of Rahan.[65] Ananda forthwith led Thoubat into a becoming place, poured water over his head, whilst repeating certain forms of prayer, shaved his head and beard, put on him the tsiwaran, and taught him to repeat the formulas whereby he professed to take refuge in Buddha, the law, and the assembly. When this was done, Thoubat was conducted into the presence of Phra, who desired he should be promoted to the dignity of Patzin, and instructed in the knowledge of Kamatan. Thoubat went into the garden, walked for a while, and soon learnt the forty Kamatans. He was the last convert Buddha made, before he entered the state of Neibban.
Buddha, calling Ananda and all the Rahans, said to them: “When I shall have disappeared from the state of existence, and be no longer with you, do not believe that the Buddha has left you, and ceased to dwell among you. You have the Thoots and Abidama which I have preached to you; you have the discipline and regulations of the Wini. The law, contained in those sacred instructions, shall be your teacher after my demise. By the means of the doctrines which I have delivered to you, I will continue to remain amongst you. Do not, therefore, think or believe that the Buddha has disappeared or is no more with you.”
A little while after, Buddha, addressing the Rahans, gave them some instructions regarding the attention and respect the Rahans were to pay to each other. “As long,” said he, “as I have been with you, you have called one another by the name of Awoothau, but after my demise you will no more make use of such a title. Let those who are more advanced in dignity and in years of profession call those that are their inferiors by their names, that of their family, or some other suitable appellation; let the inferiors give to their superiors the title of Bante. Ananda, let a Rahan Hauna be visited with the punishment of Brahma.” “But what is this punishment?” replied Ananda. “The Rahan Hauna is indiscreet in his[66] speech; he says indiscriminately all that comes into his head. Let the other Rahans avoid speaking with him, or even rebuking him. This is the punishment of Brahma.”
Addressing again all the assembled Rahans, Buddha said to them[21]: “My beloved Bickus, if among you there[67] be one that has any doubt respecting Buddha, the law, the assembly, the ways of perfection, and the practice of virtues, let him come forward and make known his doubts, that I may clear them up.” The Rahans remained all silent. The same question was three times repeated, and three times the Rahans continued silent. Then he added: “My beloved Bickus, if you have any respect for my memory, communicate your dispositions towards my person and doctrines to the other Rahans whom you shall hereafter meet with.” The Rahans still remained silent. Ananda then said to Buddha: “O most exalted Buddha, is it not truly surprising that among so many not one should be found entertaining any doubt respecting your doctrine, but all should feel so strong an attachment to it?” “Ananda,” replied Buddha, “I knew well that doubt and false doctrine could never be harboured in the[68] soul of a true Rahan. Supposing a number of five hundred Rahans, and taking the one who is the last in merits, he is at least a Thautapan, and as such there is no demerit in him that could lead him to one of the four states of punishment; his heart is fixed upon the first way that leads to perfection, and he constantly strives to advance to the three superior ways of perfection. No doubt, therefore, and no false doctrine can ever be found in a true Rahan.”
After a short pause, Buddha, addressing the Rahans, said: “Beloved Bickus, the principle of existence and mutability carries along with it the principle of destruction. Never forget this; let your minds be filled with this truth; to make it known to you, I have assembled you.”
These are the last words Buddha ever uttered. As a man who is about to undertake a long journey takes an affectionate farewell of every one of his relatives and friends, and fondly embraces successively all of them, Buddha likewise wished to visit for the last time the abodes wherein his soul had so amorously dwelt during his long and lofty mental peregrinations. He entered into the first state of dzan, then the second, the third, and the fourth: he ascended therefrom successively to the first, second, third, and fourth immaterial seats. When he had reached the fourth state, which is the farthest boundary of existence, Ananda asked the Rahan Anoorouda whether Phra had completed his Neibban. “Not as yet,” answered Anoorouda, “but he has reached the last stage of existence.” A little while after, Buddha had entered into the perfect state of Neibban.[22]
Thus in the first watch of the night he had preached the law to the Malla princes; at midnight he had converted the heretic Thoubat; and in the morning watch he had instructed the Rahans. It was not quite full dawn of the day when he entered the state of Neibban, in the 148th year of the Eetzana era, on the full moon of Katson, on a Tuesday, a little before daybreak.[23]
Not to leave out a single particular connected with the epochs of Gaudama’s life, the Burmese author sums up all that has already been related on this subject, by stating[71] that he was conceived in his mother’s womb, in the year 67 of the Eetzana era, under the constellation Outtarathan, and born in 68, under the constellation Withaka, on a[72] Friday. He went into the solitude in the year 96, on a Monday. He became a Buddha in the year 103, on a[73] Wednesday (Withaka). In the year 148, on the full moon of Katson, on a Tuesday (Withaka), he expired; on the[74] 12th, after the full moon of the same month, his corpse was laid on the funeral pile.
At the very moment he had yielded up the ghost, a tremendous earthquake was felt throughout the whole world; it took place with such a violence that it filled every one with fear and trembling, and caused their hair to stand on end.
Stanzas uttered after Buddha’s death—Ananda informs the Malla princes of Buddha’s demise—Preparations for the funeral—Arrival of Kathaba at the spot where the body was exposed to public veneration—He worships the body—Wonder on that occasion—The burning of the corpse—Partition of the relics made by a pounha called Dauna—Extraordinary honours paid to the relics by King Adzatathat—Death of that king and of Kathaba.
On the occasion of the Buddha’s Neibban, the chief of Brahmas uttered the following stanzas:—“O Rahans, the great Buddha who has appeared in this world, who knew everything, who was the teacher of Nats and men, who stood without an equal, who was mighty and knew all laws and all the great principles, the most excellent and glorious Buddha, is gone to Neibban. Where is the being who shall ever escape death? All beings in this world must be divested of their terrestrial and mortal frame.”
The chief Thagia, on the same occasion, repeated aloud the following words:—“O Rahans, the principle of mutability is opposed to the principle of fixity. It carries with it the elements of creation and destruction. There is no happiness but in the state of Neibban, which puts an end to all changes.”
The great Anoorouda said in his turn: “O Rahans, the most excellent Buddha, free from all passions, has entered, by this death, into the state of Neibban. He whose soul, ever firm and unshaken, was a stranger to impatience and fear, has gone out from the whirlpool of existences, and is no longer subject to the coming into existence and to the going out therefrom. Passions have no more influence[76] upon him. He is disengaged from the trammels of mutability, and has ended like the light of a lamp, the oil of which is exhausted.”
Ananda added: “O Rahans, when the great Buddha, full of the most transcendent excellencies, attained the state of Neibban, the earth quaked with that violence which fills the soul with fear, and causes the hair of the head to stand on an end.”
After the demise of Buddha, the Rahans that had reached the two states of Thautapan and Thakadagan, lifting to the forehead their joined hands, began to wail and loudly lament. Men threw themselves down on the ground, bitterly lamenting the loss the world had sustained. They all exclaimed, “The glorious and illustrious Buddha has too soon gone to Neibban. He who never spoke but good and instructive words, he who has been the light of the world, has gone too soon to Neibban.” In these and other words they gave utterance to their grief and affliction, with tears and lamentations. The Rahans who had reached the two last states of perfection, the Anagans and Rahandas, more calm and steady in their mind, were satisfied with repeating in solemn tones, “There is nothing fixed in the principle of mutability. Buddha, entering in the current of change, could not but die; his body was to be destroyed.” They remained meditating on this great truth, retaining an unchangeable and calm composure.
Anoorouda, assembling together all the Rahans, said to them, “Cease now to weep and lament; banish sorrow and affliction from your hearts; remember presently what the most excellent Buddha has told us, that all that exists is liable to destruction, which it can never escape. What will become of Nats and men? What will they say when they see the Rahans delivered up to grief, and giving vent to it in loud wailings?”
Ananda inquired from Anoorouda what actually took place among the Nats on the occasion of the death of the great Buddha. He was told that some of them, lifting up[77] the joined hands to the forehead, loudly wept and lamented; but others more wise, bearing in mind what Buddha had said on the subject of the principle of mutability, remained wrapt up in a solemn and resigned composure of mind. Anoorouda spent the remainder of the night in preaching the law. He said to Ananda, “Go now to the city of Kootheinaron, say to the Malla princes that the great Buddha is gone to Neibban; that they ought to dispose everything for the funeral.” At daybreak Ananda put on his tsiwaran, and, taking his patta, went alone to the city. He met the princes assembled in the public hall, deliberating on what was to be done when Phra should have gone to Neibban. He said to them, “O princes of the Wathita race, the great Buddha has gone to Neibban; the moment is come for you to go to the spot where are his mortal remains.” When the princes heard this sad news from the mouth of Ananda, they, with their wives and children, began to wail and lament, and give all the marks of the deepest grief, unceasingly repeating, “The most excellent Buddha, who was infinitely wise and knew all laws, has too soon gone to Neibban.” The princes, now selecting one of their family, directed him to go throughout the city and collect all the richest and rarest perfumes, to keep in readiness the drums, harps, flutes, and all other musical instruments, and have them carried to the place where the remains of Buddha were lying. Having reached the spot, the princes began to make offerings of flowers and perfumes with the greatest profusion, in the midst of dancings, rejoicings, and the uninterrupted sounds of all the musical instruments. A temporary canopy was erected with the finest pieces of cloth, and they remained under it during seven consecutive days. After this lapse of time, eight of the youngest and strongest princes, having washed their heads and put on their finest and best dresses, prepared to carry the corpse to a place situated in the south of the city, where they intended to have it burned. In spite of their united efforts,[78] they could not remove it from the place it was laid on. Anoorouda, consulted on the subject of this extraordinary and unexpected occurrence, said, “O princes, your intent does not agree with that of the Nats. You wish, after having performed all ceremonies about the corpse, to carry it to a certain place in the south of the city; but the Nats will not agree to this; they intend to accompany the corpse with music, dancings, singings, and offerings of flowers and perfumes. They desire that the corpse should be carried to the western side of the city, thence to the northern one, afterwards to re-enter through the northern gate, and go to the middle square; thence to sally forth, through the eastern one, and take the body to the place called Makula-bandan, where the Malla princes are wont to assemble for their festivals and rejoicings.” “Let it be done,” answered all the princes, “according to the wishes of the Nats.”
The funeral procession then set out.[24] The Nats in[79] the air honoured the corpse with their music, singing, and the showering down of flowers and perfumes. Men did the same all round the corpse. The way which the[80] procession slowly moved through was strewed with the finest and choicest flowers. When the cortège had reached the centre of the city, the widow of General Bandoola, named Mallika, hearing of the approach of the funeral[81] procession, took a magnificent piece of cloth, called Mahalatta, which she had never worn since her husband’s death. She perfumed it with the choicest essences, and, holding it in her hands until the procession reached the front of her house, she desired the bearers to wait for a while, that she might offer to the body her beautiful piece of cloth, and extend it over it. Her request was granted. By a very happy chance, the cloth had the desired dimensions in breadth and length. Nothing could equal the magnificent sight of the body; it looked beautiful, like a statue of gold, when covered with that splendid cloth, finely worked and adorned with the richest embroidery. The cortège having reached the place Matulabandana, where the funeral pile was erected, the corpse was lowered down. The princes inquired from Ananda what was to be done to perform in a becoming manner the last rites over Buddha’s remains. Faithful to the last request of Buddha, Ananda said to them that on this occasion they were to observe the same ceremonies as were prescribed for the funerals of a Tsekiawade prince. The body was forthwith wrapt up with a fine cloth, covered with a thick layer of cotton; to which a second succeeded, and then another layer of cloth, and so on, until the same process was repeated five hundred successive times. When this was done, the corpse was placed in a golden coffin, and another of the same form and size was turned over it as a covering. A funeral pile, made with fragrant wood and sprinkled with the choicest perfumes, was prepared. Upon it the coffin was pompously deposited.
At that time, the great Kathaba, attended by five hundred Rahans, was going from the city of Pawa to the city of Kootheinaron. On their way, at noon, the heat was so excessive that the soil appeared to burn like fire under their feet. The Rahans, extremely fatigued, desired to rest during the remainder of the day, intending to enter the city of Kootheinaron during the cool of the night. Kathaba withdrew to a small distance from the road, and, having[82] extended his dugout under the shade of a large tree, rested upon it, refreshing himself by washing his hands and feet with water poured from a vessel. The Rahans followed the example of their chief, and sat down under the trees of the forest, conversing among themselves upon the blessings and advantages of the three precious things. Whilst they were resting, a heretic Rahan appeared, coming from the city of Kootheinaron, on his way to that of Pawa, carrying in his hand a stick, at the extremity of which there was a large flower, round like a broad cupboard, forming as it were an umbrella over his head. Kathaba perceiving the man at a distance with that extraordinary flower, the Mandawara, Erithrina fulgens, thought within himself, “It is very rare ever to see such a kind of flower; it appears only through the miraculous power of some extraordinary personage and on great and rare occasions. It shot forth when my illustrious teacher entered his mother’s womb, when he was born, when he became Buddha, wrought miracles at Thawattie, and came down from the seat of Tawadeintha. Now that my great master is very old, the appearance of this flower indicates that he has gone to Neibban.” Whereupon he rose from his place, wishing to question the traveller; but he desired to do it in such a way as to show his great respect for the person of Buddha. He put on his cloak, and, with his joined hands raised over his forehead, went to the traveller and asked him whether he knew his great teacher, the most excellent Buddha. The ascetic answered that he knew him well; but that seven days ago he had reached the state of Neibban, and it was from the place where this occurrence happened that he had brought the Mandawara flower. He had scarcely said this word, when those among the Rahans who had but entered into the two first ways of perfection began to wail and loudly lament over this untimely occurrence, exhibiting every sign of the deepest grief and greatest desolation. The others that were more advanced in perfection remained calm and composed,[83] remembering the great maxim of Buddha, that everything that has come into existence must also come to an end.
The name of this heretic was Thoubat.[25] He had been previous to his apparent conversion a hermit, leading an ascetic’s life. Subsequently he became a disciple of Gaudama, but retained in his heart an ill feeling towards his spiritual master, which revealed itself in the manner he communicated the sad news to Kathaba and his companions. Seeing them penetrated with the deepest affliction, and exhibiting in an unfeigned manner the grief which weighed on their heart, he said to them: “Why do you weep and cry? You have no reason for doing so; we are now freed from the control of the great Rahan. He was always telling us: Do this, or do not do that. In every way he annoyed and vexed us. Now every one can act as he pleases.”
The Rahan Thoubat bore envy and revenge towards Buddha for the following reason. Formerly he was a barber in the village of Atooma, where he then became a Rahan. At the time we speak of, Buddha was coming to that place, attended by twelve hundred Rahans. Thoubat wished to make an offering to Buddha and his followers and give them food. For this purpose he resorted to the following very questionable expedient for obtaining from the villagers rice and other eatables, and preparing them for the great occasion. Thoubat had two sons who wore the dress of Samane. He gave to each of them a pair of scissors, and desired them to go through the street of the village and shave the head of all the children they might meet with, as a token of their entering into religion. The order was punctually executed. The parents of the lads were then told, that on such an occasion it was customary to make considerable offerings. The offered articles, however, would be on this occasion employed for feeding the great Gaudama, who was expected in the place with a great number of disciples. All the people brought in large offerings of various articles of food, such as rice, oil, butter, and other comestibles. In this manner, by means of such an expedient, the cunning Thoubat, without any cost to himself, was able to make a great display of the choicest dishes to be laid before Gaudama and his disciples on their arrival to Atooma, and earn for himself the reputation of a very liberal and generous man. Buddha, acquainted with his conduct on the occasion, refused to accept the offering, and forbade all his followers to eat of the food prepared by Thoubat. From that time the latter ever entertained ill-feeling towards Buddha, though he did not dare openly to give vent to his passion.
Kathaba was thunderstruck at hearing such an unbecoming language[26] from the mouth of the Rahan Thoubat.[85] He said to himself: “If at this time, when there are only seven days since Buddha entered Neibban, there are to be found people holding such a language, what will[86] happen hereafter? These persons will soon have followers who will embrace the profession of Rahans, and then the true religion shall be totally subverted: the excellent law shall be in the hands of such persons like a heap of unstrung flowers that are scattered by the wind. The only remedy to such an impending misfortune is to assemble[87] a council composed of all the true disciples, who, by their decisions, shall insure stability to religion, and fix the meaning of every portion of the law, contained in the Wini, the Thoots, and the Abidama. I am, as it were, bound to watch over the religion of Buddha because of the peculiar predilection he has ever shown to me. On one occasion I walked with Buddha the distance of three gawots; during that time he preached to me, and at the end of the instruction we made an exchange of our tsiwarans, and I put on his own. He said: ‘Kathaba is like the moon: three times he has obtained the inheritance of the law. His affection to my person, his zeal for my religion, have never been equalled. After my demise, it will behove him to stem the current of evil, to humble the wicked, and condemn their false teachings as subversive of the genuine doctrine. With such energetic means, my religion shall remain pure and undefiled, and its tenets shall not be lost and drowned in the midst of the raging waves of errors.’ Therefore,” said the great disciple, “I will hold an assembly of all the disciples, for the promotion and exaltation of the holy religion.” This design Kathaba kept perfectly secret, and made known to no one.
At that time, four of the ablest Malla princes, having washed their heads, and each put on a fine new dress, tried to set fire to the funeral pile, made of sandal and other odoriferous woods, and one hundred and twenty cubits high. Their efforts proving useless, all the other princes joined them, in the hope that, by their united exertions, they would be able to set fire to the pile. Fans made of palm-leaves were vigorously agitated over the heap of coals; bellows made of leather blew in the same direction; but all the efforts were of no avail. The princes, surprised and disheartened, consulted Anoorouda as to the cause of such a disappointment. Anoorouda said to them, that the Nats did not approve of their proceedings; they wished that the great Kathaba should arrive and venerate the corpse, ere it be consumed by fire.[88] No fire could be lighted before the great Rahan had made his appearance.
The people, hearing the answer of Anoorouda, wondered at the transcendent merit of the great Kathaba, and anxiously waited for his arrival. They said to each other, “Who is this distinguished Rahan? Is he white or black, short or tall?” They took perfumes, flowers, and flags, and went out to meet him and honour him in a becoming manner.
When the great Kathaba arrived in the city of Kootheinaron, he without delay repaired to the place where the funeral pile was erected. He adjusted his clothes in the most becoming manner, and, with his hands joined to the forehead, three times turned round the pile, saying at each turn, “This is the place of the head; that is the place of the feet.” Standing then on the spot opposite to the feet, he entered into the fourth state of dzan for a while. His mind having emerged therefrom, he made the following prayer:—“I wish to see the feet of Buddha, whereupon are imprinted the marks that formerly prognosticated his future glorious destiny. May the cloth and cotton they are wrapped with be unloosened, and the coffin, as well as the pile, be laid open, and the sacred feet appear out and extend so far as to lie on my head.” He had scarcely uttered his prayer, when the whole was suddenly opened, and there came out the beautiful feet, like the full moon emerging from the bosom of a dark cloud. The whole assembly burst into loud applauses and continued cheers on seeing this matchless prodigy. Kathaba, stretching his two hands, that resembled two lilies just blooming, held both feet firmly by the heels, placed them on his head, and worshipped. All his disciples followed his example, and worshipped. Perfumes and flowers were profusely offered by the crowd. When this was done, the feet slowly withdrew into their place, the pile and coffin resumed their natural position. As the sun and the moon disappeared below the horizon, so the feet of Buddha[89] disappeared, buried as it were, in the folds of cloth and cotton. The people, at this moment, wept and loudly wailed: their affection for Buddha was evinced on this occasion more forcibly than when he entered the state of Neibban.
The feet had hardly been concealed from the sight of the people, when, without the interference of any one, fire caught the pile, and soon set it in a blaze of flames. The skin, the flesh, the muscles, the entrails, and liver of the body were all consumed, without leaving any trace of ashes and charcoal; as butter or oil, poured on a great fire, burn and are consumed without anything remaining. Of the body all had disappeared except the relics. All the pieces of cloth that served to wrap up the body, except the outermost and innermost, were all consumed. The relics of former Buddhas, whose lives were very long, resembled a lump of gold. Our Buddha, whose life had been comparatively of a short duration, had said whilst yet alive: “During my lifetime, religion has not been sufficiently diffused; those, therefore, who, after my Neibban, shall obtain of my relics a small portion, be it but of the size of a mustard-seed, and build a dzedi to place them in, and worship and make offerings to them, shall obtain a place of happiness in one of the seats of Nats.” Among the relics were the four canine teeth, the two bones that connect the shoulders with the neck-bone, and the frontal bone. These are the seven great relics. They were in a state of perfect preservation, not at all damaged by fire, and are called Athambinana. Besides these relics there were some others of a smaller dimension, in sufficient quantity to fill up seven tsarouts. Here is the size and shape of those sacred remains: the smallest were of the size of a mustard-seed, and resembled the bud of the Hing-kow; the middle ones equalled the size of a rice-grain, divided into two parts, and looked like pearls; the largest were of the size of a pea, and appeared like gold.
When the pile was consumed by fire, water came down[90] from the sky, as thick as the arm, which soon extinguished the fire. The Malla princes poured also upon it an immense quantity of scented water. During all the while the pile was burning, streams of flames issued from the leaves and branches of the trees, shining forth with uncommon brightness, without burning the trees; insects of every description were seen flying in swarms on those trees, without receiving the least injury.
In the place where the corpse had been exposed during seven days, the relics were deposited during the same length of time, and offerings of perfumes and flowers were incessantly made. Above them, a canopy bespangled with gold and silver stars was raised, and bouquets of flowers and perfumes were hanging therefrom. From that place to the one where the ornaments were deposited, the road was lined on both sides with fine cloth; the road itself was covered with the finest mats. Above the road was spread a splendid canopy bespangled with golden stars and flowers. The interior of the building was richly decorated; perfumes and flowers were seen hanging from the canopy. Around the building, masts were planted, and adorned with the five sorts of flags. Plantain-trees were planted on both sides of the road, and jars of cool water were laid down at a very short distance one from the other. From posts of well-polished wood were suspended lamps to be lighted day and night. The box, containing the relics, was placed on the back of a richly-caparisoned elephant, and the precious remains were honoured in every possible way by offerings of flowers and perfumes; by dancing, singing, music, rejoicings, and loud acclamations. The Malla princes, to insure the safety of the relics, had a line of elephants drawn round the place, then a second line of horses, then a third of chariots, then a fourth of warriors. Such precautions were taken both for insuring the safety of the relics, and allowing time to everybody to come and do honour to them.
At that time the courtiers of King Adzatathat,[27] knowing well the tender affection their royal master bore to Buddha’s person, were reluctant to convey to him the sad[92] intelligence of his demise, for fear of causing in him too great an affliction. They took every possible precaution, and devised various means for preparing the king’s mind to bear with composure the loss he had sustained. As soon as the monarch understood what the courtiers intended to say, he fainted three times in succession. Each time steam baths and an abundant pouring of water over the head restored him to consciousness. When he became sensible, he wailed and lamented for a long time. Recovering from the shock of his deep affliction, he desired to assuage the grief caused by Buddha’s death by procuring some of his relics. For that purpose a messenger was despatched to the Malla princes with the following request: “You are the descendants of the great Thamadat; I too, who rule over the Magatha country, boast of the same noble origin. For this reason, I put forward my claim for obtaining the possession of some of Buddha’s relics, which are now his representatives. I will give directions for the erection of a beautiful and tall dzedi wherein they shall be deposited. I and my people shall have thus an object of worship.” The princes of Wethalie and of the neighbouring states sent a similar request. Those of Kapilawot and Alekapa followed their example. The kings of Rama and Pawa, the pounhas of Withadipa also sent in their reclamations, with a threat of having[93] recourse to the force of arms, if their demands should be disregarded. They soon followed their messengers at the head of their troops.
The Malla princes, on receiving those messages, consulted among themselves as to what was to be done. They agreed that, the relics of Buddha being the most valuable possessions in the world, they would not part with them. Many angry words were exchanged among contending parties. They were almost ready to draw the sword when a celebrated pounha, named Dauna, made his appearance. He stood on an elevated spot, and making a sign with his hand, began to speak in a language calculated to soothe the irritation of the parties. Great was his influence over all, since there was scarcely a man in the island of Dzampoudipa who did not acknowledge Dauna as his teacher. “O kings and princes,” said he, “hear one word that I have to say to you. Our most excellent Buddha always extolled the virtue of forbearance; but you are ready to fight for the possession of his relics. This is not good. Let all of you be now of one mind, with cheerful dispositions. I will divide the relics into eight equal portions. Let every one be ever solicitous to multiply in all directions dzedis in honour of him, who was possessed of the five visions, that many may feel affection for the most excellent one.” Dauna went on explaining more fully the two stanzas he had recited, saying: “O kings and princes, our most excellent Buddha, previous to his obtaining the Buddhaship, whilst he was even an animal, still more a man and a Nat, practised the virtue of patience; he always recommended it in all his subsequent preachings. How could you have recourse to open violence, to warlike weapons, for his relics? You are kings of eight countries; come to a quiet and peaceable arrangement on this subject; speak to each other words of peace and good-will. I will have the relics divided into eight equal parts. You are all equally worthy to receive your share.”
The kings, on hearing the words of Dauna, came to the[94] place where he stood, and entreated him to make eight equal portions of the relics. Dauna assented to their request. They went with him to the place of the relics. The golden coffin that contained them was opened, and there appeared to their regards all the relics beautiful like gold. The princes seeing them said: “We have seen the most excellent Buddha gifted with the six glories, and all the bodily qualifications of the most accomplished person: who could believe that these are the only things that remain of him?” They all wept and lamented. Whilst they were overwhelmed with grief, Dauna abstracted one of the canine teeth and concealed it in the folds of his turban. All the relics were duly apportioned to all the kings. A Thagia, who had seen the doing of Dauna, took adroitly the tooth, and without being perceived carried it into the Nats’ seats, and placed it in the Dzoolamani dzedi. When the partition was over, Dauna was surprised not to find the tooth he had stolen: he did not, however, dare to complain, as his pious fraud would have been discovered. To console himself for such a loss, he asked for the possession of the golden vessel wherein the relics had been kept. His demand was favourably received, and the golden vessel was given to him.
The Maurya princes, who ruled over the country of Pipilawana, hearing what had been done by Adzatathat and other kings, went also with a great retinue to the city of Kootheinaron. The Malla princes informed them that the relics had already been divided, and that there remained nothing but the coals of the funeral pile. They took them away, built a large pagoda over them, and worshipped. The places where the relics were deposited are Radzagio, Kootheinaron, Wethalie, Kapilawot, Allakapata, Rama, Pawa, and Witadipakka.
King Adzatathat ordered a beautiful and well-levelled road, eight oothabas broad, to be made from the city of Kootheinaron to that of Radzagio. The distance is twenty-five youdzanas. He wished to adorn it, in all its length,[95] in the same manner as the Malla princes had done the road leading from the place where the cremation of the corpse had taken place to that where the relics had been deposited. At fixed and proper distances houses were built for resting and spending the night. The king, attended by a countless crowd of people, went to take the relics and carry them into his country. During the journey, singing, dancing, and playing of musical instruments were uninterrupted. Offerings of perfumes and flowers were incessantly made by the people. At certain intervals they stopped during seven days, when fresh honours were paid to the relics in the midst of the greatest rejoicings. In this manner seven months and seven days were employed in going over the distance between the two countries. At Radzagio the relics were deposited in a place prepared for that purpose, and a dzedi was erected over them. The seven other kings built also dzedis over the relics they had obtained. Dauna built one, too, over the golden vessel, and the Maurya princes erected likewise one religious monument over the coals. Thus there were at that time ten dzedis, situated respectively in Radzagio, Kootheinaron, Wethalie, Kapilawot, Allakapata, Witadipaka, Rama, Pawa, the Dauna village, and Papilawana. The partition of the relics happened on the fifth of the waxing moon of Nayon (June). There were altogether eight tsarouts of relics; that is to say, a basketful. Each prince had one tsarout; that is to say, two pyis. The upper right canine tooth was taken to the Nats’ seats; the lower right tooth was carried to the Gandala country; the upper left tooth was removed to Kalingga, and the lower left tooth to the Naga seat. The other teeth and hairs of the head and body were distributed by the Nats in a great number of other worlds.
When the funeral ceremonies were completed, and the distribution of the relics effected in a manner satisfactory to all parties, Kathaba, who was the acknowledged head of the assembly, advised King Adzatathat to do away with the Eetzana era, and establish a new one, that would[96] be called the era of religion, beginning with the year of Buddha’s Neibban, that is to say, on the year 148 of the Eetzana era. The king joyfully assented to the pious request of the Buddhist patriarch, and was exceedingly rejoiced to have this opportunity of affording a fresh token of the great esteem he had for Buddha’s person.
Many years afterwards, the great Kathaba entertained some fear in his mind respecting the safety of the relics, distributed over eight distinct places, viz., Kootheinaron, Radzagio, Kappila, Allakabat, Watadipaka, Rama, Pawa, and Wethalie.[28] He wished to have them all put together in a safe and secure place, where they could be preserved until better circumstances would afford an opportunity to bring them forth, and expose them to the respect and veneration of the true believers all over the Dzampoudipa[97] island. For this purpose, in the year of religion 20, he went to King Adzatathat and said to him that precautions were to be taken for securing the preservation of the relics. The king asked him by what means all the relics could be had from those who now possessed them. Kathaba replied that he would know how to manage such a delicate affair. He went to the seven kings, who gave to him all the principal relics, keeping beside themselves only what was strictly necessary to be deemed an object of worship and good-will towards Buddha’s person. One exception was made in favour of the relics deposited in the village of Rama, because they were in future times to be carried to Ceylon and placed in the great wihara or pagoda. All the relics having been brought to Radzagio, Kathaba took with him those pious articles, and went out of the city. He directed his steps in a south-eastern direction, loaded with this precious burden, which he carried all the way. Having reached a certain spot, he made the following prayer:—“May all the rocks and stones of this place disappear, and there be, in place thereof, a fine sandy soil; may water never issue from this spot.” Adzatathat ordered the soil to be dug very deep. With the earth bricks were made, and eight dzedis were built. This was done for the express purpose of preventing people suspecting the real object that both Kathaba and the king had in view. The depth of the hole was eighty cubits. Its bottom was lined with iron bars. To that bottom was lowered a chapel monastery made of brass, similar in shape and proportions to the great wihara of Ceylon. Six gold boxes containing the precious relics were placed in this chapel monastery. Each box was enclosed in one of silver, the latter in one adorned with precious stones, and so on, until eight boxes were placed one within the other. There were also arranged 550 statues, representing Buddha in 550 preceding existences described in the sacred writings, the statues of the eighty great disciples, with those of Thoodaudana and Maia. There also were arranged[98] 500 lamps of gold and 500 lamps of silver, filled with the most fragrant oil, with wicks made of the richest cloth. The great Kathaba, taking a leaf of gold, wrote upon it the following words:—“In aftertimes a young man, named Piadatha, shall ascend the throne, and become a great and renowned monarch under the name of Athoka. Through him the relics shall be spread all over the island of Dzampoodipa.” King Adzatathat made new offerings of flowers and perfumes. All the doors of the monastery were shut, and fastened with an iron bolt. Near the last door he placed a large ruby, upon which the following words were written: “Let the poor king who shall find this ruby present it to the relics.” A Thagia ordered a Nat to watch over the precious deposit. The Nat disposed around it the most hideous and terrifying figures, armed with swords. The whole was encompassed by six walls made of stone and brick; a large slab of stone covered the upper part, and upon it he built a small dzedi.
Five years afterwards, that is to say, in the twenty-fifth year of the religious era,[29] King Adzatathat died; and,[99] likewise, all those that had been present on this occasion disappeared one after the other from the scene of this world. A small dzedi indicated the place where the sacred relics had been religiously deposited. But in due course of time, the place, being no longer heeded by the people, soon became overgrown with bushes, which screened from sight the modest monument itself. The relics remained buried in that manner in the bosom of the earth, until after a long period of time there was to appear at last a[100] mighty ruler, full of zeal for the promotion of religion, who would be worthy to render a becoming honour to the relics, and to distribute them throughout the length and breadth of the island of Dzampoodipa. This great event shall be narrated in a following chapter.
After Buddha’s death, zeal of Kathaba in upholding genuine doctrines—He selects five hundred elders to become members of a council or assembly—Radzagio is fixed upon for the holding of the council—He repairs thither with a portion of the appointed members—Behaviour of the amiable Ananda previous to his departure for Radzagio—King Adzatathat supports Kathaba in his views—The hall for holding the council is prepared by his orders—Ananda is qualified in a miraculous manner for sitting as a member of the council—Holding of the council under the presidency of Kathaba—Establishment of the religious era—Destruction of Wethalie by Adzatathat—The successors of that prince—In the days of King Kalathoka a second council is held at Pataliputra, under the presidency of Ratha—Causes that provoked the holding of a second assembly.
Having completed the narrative of all that relates to the relics, we have to trace back our steps, and give an account of the development and spread of Buddhism into various countries.
After the cremation of Buddha’s mortal remains and the distribution of the relics, peaceably managed by the Pounha Dauna, Kathaba, on account of the high esteem Buddha ever had for him—esteem which he had manifested in a striking manner when he invested him with his one robe—considered himself as having been thereby especially appointed to provide effectual means for placing the law on an unshaken foundation. As a monarch before his death appoints his son to succeed him, to wield the supreme power and keep it in his family, in a like manner Buddha had appointed his eldest spiritual son to take his place. Being, therefore, the acknowledged head of the assembly, he had but one object in view, the maintenance of the doctrines and institutions of his great master in their original purity, and the establishment of religion on[102] a firm basis. When on his way from the town of Pawa to that of Kootheinaron, to be present at the funeral of Buddha, he had met with a Rahan, who had given him particulars respecting the last moments and death of Gaudama, and at the same time had dared to express feelings of satisfaction on that mournful occasion in the following manner: “Now that our master has gone to Neibban, he will be no longer amongst us, to tell us, ‘You must do this, you have to shun that; such a regulation ought to be observed; such a duty is to be performed.’ We shall hear no longer the reproaches he was wont to address to us. At present we are at liberty to do what we like, and to follow our own inclinations.” Such unbecoming, nay, impious language, stung to the quick the ardent soul of the venerable Kathaba. From that moment he was daily engaged in revolving in his mind, and examining within himself, what would be the best course to be entered upon, in order to keep intact the doctrines he had heard from the mouth of Buddha himself, and establish upon a firm basis the religious institutions he so much valued. “As soon,” said he within himself, “as the funeral of the most excellent Phra shall have been performed with a becoming solemnity, I shall congregate together the most zealous and learned members of the assembly, and, with their united efforts and energy, I will oppose the spreading of false doctrines, which obscure the true ones. I will put down the newly-invented erroneous disciplinary regulations, by setting in a strong light the genuine ones. To prevent, in future, the re-occurrence of similar evils so detrimental to religion, all the preachings of Buddha as well as the disciplinary rules shall be arranged under several heads, and committed to writing. The books containing the above shall be held up as sacred.”[30]
Agreeably to the plan he had fixed upon twenty days after Buddha’s demise, the great Kathaba, profiting by the circumstance that had brought together so many Rahans from all parts to the town of Kootheinaron, communicated his views to all the Rahans congregated in that place. Having received from all his brethren a suitable encouragement, Kathaba selected from among them four hundred and ninety-nine of the most learned. They were all Rahandas, that is to say, they had all reached the last degree of perfection, with the exception of Ananda, who was but a Thautapan, and, therefore, had only entered into the current that was to drift him to perfection.
It may be asked why Ananda was selected as a member of the future council, since, in point of spiritual attainments, he was very inferior to all his brethren upon whom Kathaba’s selection had fallen. Let it not be believed that he owed this distinction to his royal extraction, or to his being first cousin to Buddha and the friend of Kathaba, or to the venerable appearance which grey hairs imparted to his person. His brethren were full of love and esteem for him. They had the greatest regard for all that he said, because, having always attended on Buddha’s person during[104] twenty-five years, lived with him in the greatest intimacy, and followed him as the shadow does the body, he was perfectly conversant with the doctrines of Gaudama, which he had heard expounded on all occasions and to all sorts of people. All the religious were unanimous in declaring him worthy to be associated with those who were to compose the synod. Kathaba was delighted at such an opinion, which agreed so well with his own.
Kathaba examined afterwards what was the most befitting place for holding the council. Having reviewed successively the various cities situated in the neighbourhood of Kootheinaron, he was pleased with none of them. Radzagio appeared to him in every respect the best place that could be selected. The city and its suburbs were very populous; the people lived in affluent circumstances; alms could easily be procured even for a large assembly during any period of time; monasteries about the city were both numerous and of great extent. All these advantages combined together induced Kathaba to give the preference to that city. To this his brethren unanimously assented.
When these preliminaries had been settled, Kathaba, on the fifth of the waxing moon of Nayon, spoke as follows to the members of the future council: “Brethren, you have before you forty days to prepare yourselves, and dispose everything to hold yourselves ready for beginning the great and important affair for which we have to assemble at Radzagio. Let none of you bring forward any pretext for postponing his going to the place that has been fixed upon, such as sickness, or the consideration of parents, friends, relatives, or even teacher. Every one of us must be prepared to forsake everything to promote the great object we have in view, the exaltation of religion.”
When he had spoken in this manner he took with himself two hundred and fifty religious, and shaped his course in the direction of Radzagio. Some while afterwards Anoorouda, attended by nearly a similar number of brethren,[105] went to the same place by following another road. The venerable pounha remained in Kootheinaron with seven hundred brethren. The other religious, not designated by Kathaba, withdrew into various other localities.
Whilst these things were taking place, the ever kind-hearted and affectionate Ananda availed himself of a portion of the forty days allowed by Kathaba to proceed to Radzagio, to give full scope to the feelings of love he entertained for the person of Buddha. He employed a part of that time in revisiting the various places that had been the favourite resorts of his beloved departed master, the Dzetawon monastery in particular. Full of love for the memory of Buddha, he was seen entering into the monasteries where he was wont to serve him daily with a most affectionate regard, his eyes bathed in tears, and doing, out of respect for him, the same humble but devoted services. He swept the room, made the bed, brought the water in the same way as if Buddha had been present. With a low tone of voice, often interrupted by sobs, he was heard repeating, with the accent of a deep sadness, tempered by love, “This is the place where the most excellent Phra sat down; this is the bed upon which he slept; this is the verandah through which he paced to and fro; this is the place where he bathed;” and on each spot he stood awhile and shed abundant tears. At such a sight the people felt their love towards Buddha’s person increasing tenfold. They accompanied his loving disciple, joined him in his pious offices, and with him wept as bitterly, in remembering the person of the great teacher, his manners and his preachings, as they did when they heard of his death. Having performed all these pious duties, Ananda left that place, and hastened to the city of Radzagio.
When all the religious had congregated, the occupants of the eighteen monasteries that were spread in the neighbourhood of Radzagio had to leave them, and make them over to the new-comers. All the five hundred religious spent the festival day of the full moon of Watso together[106] with the occupants of those places. After the performance of the usual devotions they were left alone in the undisturbed possession of the above-named monasteries. But the buildings were found in such a bad order that they required important and immediate repairs. Moreover, they were in a state of unbearable uncleanness, and it was deemed necessary to have them well rubbed and washed. The cause of this disordered state was this: when the occupants of those places heard of the approaching death of their great teacher, they had hastened to Kootheinaron, and there was no one left to take care of the dwellings and keep them in good order. To have the evil remedied, Kathaba, accompanied by a large retinue of his most remarkable brethren, went on the second day after the full moon of Watso to the palace of King Adzatathat, who received him with every mark of respect, and immediately inquired about the object of his visit. Kathaba explained to the monarch the purpose of his coming to Radzagio with five hundred of the most distinguished religious. “I desire,” said he, “to confute error and to proclaim truth. My greatest wish is to promote the sacred cause of our holy religion. For that purpose I have, with the concurrence of all my brethren, resolved to hold a synod composed of the principal members of the assembly. We ask from you, O King, the favour of causing the eighteen monasteries of Radzagio to be repaired for our dwelling, and also to give orders for the erection of a spacious hall, which shall be the place of our meetings for discussing various subjects relating to religion.”
Adzatathat joyfully assented to the proposal and demands of the Buddhist patriarch. He gave full liberty for the holding of the council, saying, “My power and that of the law are now at your command.” He gave immediate orders for putting in perfect order the dwelling-place of the Rahans. On the southern face of Mount Webhara there was a cave which had been a favourite place of resort with Buddha during the seasons that he spent at[107] Radzagio in the Weloowon or bamboo-grove monastery. That spot was fixed upon as the fittest for the holding of the assembly. Adzatathat summoned to his presence the most skilful workmen, and commanded them to exert all their skill and talents in erecting a hall worthy of the assembly that was to meet within its precincts. The ground was first encircled with a fence. A fine flight of steps, made with the utmost care, led from the bottom of the hill to the spot where was built the magnificent hall, decorated with a profusion of the choicest ornaments, and surpassing in beauty and elaborate work the stately dwellings of princes. Five hundred mats for the accommodation of the religious were disposed in the south of the hall. The seat of the president was placed opposite, in the northern part. In the centre, but facing the east, a seat resembling a pulpit was raised; upon it was laid a beautiful fan, made of ivory. When the work was finished, Adzatathat informed Kathaba that the work was completed, and the hall ready for the projected meetings.
It was on the full moon of the Wakhaong (August) that the first conference was to take place and the council to be opened. On the day previous some Rahans made a remark on the circumstance of Ananda being allowed to become a member of the council, though he was but a Thautapan, and had still to ascend the three other steps of Thakadagan, Anagan, and Rahanda before he became an Arahat. This remark, made with very little moderation, greatly affected and grieved the tender heart of Ananda. No time was to be lost; he knew that on the following day the council would be opened, and he could scarcely hope to be tolerated as an exception in the midst of his brethren. He withdrew to a quiet and retired place, and resolved to do his utmost to obtain that which he felt he was in need of. He began to meditate with much attention; but the desired object of his wishes was as yet far from him. He thought of Buddha. Whilst he was continuing his mental labour until midnight, he heard a voice[108] telling him to apply himself to the labour of a higher order, to Kamatan. This was a flash of light that illuminated his mind. The exercise lasted until a little before daybreak. At that time Ananda left the walking place, and went to his room to take a little rest. He sat on his bed. Between the short time that it took to raise his feet from the ground and lay the head over the pillow, Ananda was delivered from the bands that keep a being in the whirlpool of existences, and he became a Rahanda.
On the fifth of the waxing moon of Wakhaong the 499 venerable members, attired in their cloaks and carrying the mendicants’ pots, assembled in the hall at the entrance of the Webhara cave. Each member occupied his own place; Ananda’s alone was without its occupant. On a sudden, by the power of the virtue now inherent in his person, Ananda appeared among his brethren. The appearance of his face resembled a ripe palm fruit. It was beautiful as the moon at its full emerging from the bosom of a cloud; as a newly polished precious stone on a piece of fine cloth; as the water-lily blooming in the rays of the morning sun. It reflected the inward perfection which had just been communicated to him, and exhibited it in unmistakable signs to the assembled religious.
Every arrangement being completed, and the members occupying in silence their respective seats, Kathaba three times praised Buddha. He then asked the fathers of the assembly which of the three parts—the instructions, the discipline, or the metaphysics—deserved the priority in the discussions that were to begin. They answered that the discipline, being the soul and ornament of religion, deserved the preference. He asked them to appoint him whom they thought the fittest to occupy the pulpit. They were unanimous in selecting Oopali, though Ananda was worthy of such a distinction. The reason of the selection is the following: On one occasion Buddha had openly declared that among all the religious, or the members of the assembly, Oopali was the most fervent in observing the regulations[109] of the Wini. Then Kathaba said, “Brethren, since you have given the preference to the venerable Oopali, let him have it.” The venerable Oopali said in his turn, “Brethren, hearken to my words: having been selected by the assembly to answer all the questions relating to the Wini, I accept the honourable task thus imposed upon me.” When he had spoken he rose from his place, threw a part of his cloak upon one shoulder, bowed to the members of the assembly, went to the pulpit, sat down, and held the ivory fan in his hand.
Kathaba, from his own seat, addressed Oopali, and said, “Venerable Oopali, in what place has the most excellent Phra enacted the commandment respecting the first of the four sins, called Paradzika?” Oopali answered, “In the country of Wethalie.” “To whom was allusion made when this commandment was published?” “Allusion was made to Thoudein, the son of Tananda Pounha.” “What was the cause of such an enactment?” “The sin of fornication he had committed.” The president, addressing the assembled fathers, said, “Brethren, you have all heard what regards the circumstances connected with the first Paradzika. Let this article be noted down, and its admission and sanction be proclaimed aloud.” It was done so. All the members accepted it. At that moment an earthquake was felt. The same method was observed as regards the three other Paradzika. They were unanimously accepted by the members of the assembly. Oopali was successively questioned by the president upon the other regulations of the Wini, viz., the 13 Thingaditheit, the 2 Donay-a-niga, the 30 Niseggi Padzeit, the 92 Padzeit, the 4 Walidathani, the 75 Theikkabot, which are named Adikarana-thama; in all, 227 regulations. Moreover, there were added the 80 (Banawara) Khandaca and the 25 Parawira. These several divisions form the collection called Wini Pitagat. When the final sanction had been given to all those points a mighty earthquake was felt a second time. The venerable Oopali laid down the ivory fan, rose up, came down[110] from the pulpit, reverentially saluted all the brethren, and returned to his own seat.
The president, addressing the company, said, “Brethren, hearken to my words. If it be your good pleasure, we shall discuss at present the thoots or the instructions orally delivered unto us by our most excellent master. Whom shall we appoint to answer the questions I shall put him on this subject?” They unanimously elected Ananda, who, having always and on all occasions accompanied Buddha, was better acquainted with his preachings than any other religious. Then the president added, “Brethren, if it be agreeable to you, I will duly question the venerable Ananda.” The latter likewise said, “Brethren, hearken to my words. Since it is acceptable to you, I will answer all the questions on the thoots which our venerable president shall put to me.” Then he rose from his seat, arranged his cloak on one of his shoulders, respectfully bowed to the assembly, and, ascending the steps of the pulpit, he sat down, and held in his hand the ivory fan.
The president, addressing the assembly, said, “Brethren, in the thoots there are several parts or divisions. There is the division called Thingiti, which has also subdivisions. Which shall I fix upon to begin our session?” They answered, “Let us begin with the Diga-thingiti, which contains thirty-five thoots, and out of this the Silakhanda which includes thirteen sermons or thoots.” It was on the first, called Bhramadzala, that the questions were put. The president put the following questions to the venerable Ananda: “In what place was the Bhramadzala thoot preached?” He answered, “In the Mingoon hall, situated in the middle of a grove of mango-trees half-way between Radzagio and the village of Nalanda.” “To whom was allusion made?” “To Thouppya, a holder of false doctrines, and to a young man named Bramada.” “For what reason was such allusion made?” “Because both had been ungrateful to Buddha.” Similar questions were put for each thoot of this division, and suitable answers[111] were given in a like manner. The same mode of proceeding was observed for each sermon or thoot of the following divisions. When all the explanations had been given by the speaker, all the assembled brethren, with a perfect unanimity, assented to all that had been said.
When the work on the thoots was completed, the whole collection was called the Pitagat Thoots. Ananda rose from the pulpit, placed the ivory fan upon the table, respectfully bowed to the assembly, and returned to his own place.
The president, addressing again the assembly, requested them to designate him who, in their opinion, appeared to be best fitted for answering all questions on the third part of the sacred scriptures, the Abidama. They unanimously selected the venerable Anooroudha. When the choice had been fixed upon and agreed to, Anooroudha accepted the honour conferred on him, rose from his seat and saluted his brethren. He then gravely ascended the pulpit, sat down, and held the ivory fan in his hand.
The president questioned him on the seven divisions of the Abidama, following the same order he had observed previously in treating of the two first parts called Pitagat. The occupant of the pulpit having returned due answers, and the assembly having testified their approbation in a unanimous manner, the council was brought to a close. It had lasted seven months, from the full moon of Wakhaong to the full moon of Tabaong.[31]
The first council is called Pitzasatika Sangarana, because it was composed of five hundred religious. It is also named Terika-sangarana, because it was composed of religious of[113] the first order. The soul of Kathaba, at the happy conclusion of this important undertaking, overflowed with the purest joy. He felt that with such a work the religious institutions rested on a strong basis, and would last the whole period of 5000 years assigned to the duration of religion by Gaudama himself.
It was at the conclusion of the council that King Adzatathat, with the concurrence of the Buddhist patriarch, did away with the Eetzana era, and substituted the religious era beginning in the year 148 of the said era; that is to say, on the year of Gaudama’s death, on a Monday, the first of the waxing moon of Tabaong.
Here is inserted, as a genealogical link, the names of the kings who reigned at Pataliputra, from Adzatathat to Kalathoka, under whose reign the second council was held.
Agreeably to the prediction of Gaudama respecting the calamities that were to befall Wethalie on the third year of the religious era, Adzatathat, having contrived to sow, through the instrumentality of a famous pounha, the seed of dissension among the princes of that city, flung himself on a sudden with a large force on the devoted city, possessed himself of it, and totally destroyed it. On his return to his own territories, the conqueror carried away[114] as captives three hundred of the princes and nobles of the conquered state. His reign lasted altogether thirty-five years. He died in the year 25 of the religious era. He was slain by his own son Oudaia-badda, who succeeded him and reigned until the year 40. He was in his turn murdered by his son Anoorouda, who also fell after a short reign by the hand of his son and successor, Manta. This prince reigned until the year 49. He met with a similar tragical end. His son Nagata-saka killed him and ascended the throne. He reigned until the year 53. The people of Pataliputra, justly shocked at the horrible and barbarous murders which incessantly sullied the very steps of the throne, revolted against the race of these bloody princes, and put an end to the line of kings who are aptly called the parricide kings.
Among the three hundred princes and nobles whom Adzatathat had brought over from Wethalie, one of them had a daughter remarkable for the attractions of her person and the accomplishments of her mind. She was by the order of the king raised to the position of a courtezan in Radzagio. Whilst engaged in that course she had a male child, whom, with unnatural feelings, she ordered to be thrown during the night into the midst of bushes, outside the city. A Naga guardian of the place watched over the infant and carefully protected him. On the following morning, the king, happening to pass by, heard the sound thoo-thoo many times repeated. It was the Naga who made this noise in order to attract his attention. The king having sent one of his officers to the spot the sound was coming from, was informed that an infant still alive was lying there under the guard of a Naga. Moved with compassion, he ordered the child to be forwarded to his palace and had him carefully brought up. On account of the sound thoo-thoo which had been heard, and of the Naga that had been met on the spot, the child was named Thoo-thoo-naga. He grew up and became an accomplished prince. The people, who had rid themselves of the line[115] of parricide kings, unanimously proclaimed him king in 63.
That monarch, not unmindful of his mother’s origin, re-established the city of Wethalie, and fixed in it the royal residence. From that time Radzagio lost her rank of royal city, which she never after recovered. He died in 81, and was succeeded by his son Kalathoka, who, as we shall see subsequently, had a long reign of twenty-eight years.
We must show now how there has ever been a regular and uninterrupted succession of eminent doctors, who have successively communicated to each other the genuine doctrine, from Buddha down to the time of the third council, that is to say, during more than two hundred years. The venerable Oopali had learned the Wini at the feet of Buddha himself, and had for his chief pupil the venerable Dantaka, who in his turn became the teacher of the venerable Thaunaka. The latter was the instructor of the venerable Seiggiwa, who also brought up in the knowledge of the true doctrine the venerable and renowned Mauggalipatta. Dantaka belonged, by birth, to the pounha race of Wethalie. Having become a patzin, he attained to so great a proficiency in the religious science, that Oopali appointed him the instructor of a thousand religious in the three Pitagats. Thaunaka was the son of a rich merchant. He became a convert to Buddhism, and entered as a religious at Radzagio. His remarkable mental attainments induced his superior to give him the charge of initiating others into the knowledge of the sacred doctrines. Seiggiwa was the son of a nobleman of Pataliputra. On a certain day he went with many companions into the monastery of Thaunaka, and found him in a state of trance. The young visitor wondered at what he saw. From admiration he passed to respect and love, and wished to become a disciple under him. He succeeded so well in his studies that he merited to become the master of the most celebrated of all, Mauggalipatta. Previous to his present existence, the latter was in one of the seats[116] of Brahmas. He was incarnated in the womb of a pounha woman. When he was born, he grew up and showed a decided inclination to become a Buddhist, and tread in the footsteps of Gaudama. It was in 163 that the future president of the third council became a patzin.
In the 20th year of the reign of Kalathoka, in the year 100, there happened a sort of schism amongst the Rahans of Wethalie. Those of the Weitzi district, little regarding the positive injunctions of the Wini, indulged in certain practices openly at variance with them. This occasioned strong remonstrance on the part of the Rahans living in the western district, called Pawera. The dispute among the religious was soon noised abroad and caused some scandal. It was the following incident which revealed all the peril.
The venerable Ratha was then living in the monastery, situated in the Mahawon, in the district of Wethalie. Chancing to travel through the Weitzi district, he heard that on festival days the Rahans were wont to place near the entrance of their monasteries certain vessels half full of water, and advised the people to put therein, each of them, a piece of silver, saying that the produce would be employed in purchasing dresses and the other utensils required by the Rahans. They also allowed as lawful the use of spirits, and were not very particular respecting the observance of the law of celibacy. Ratha was greatly scandalised at all that he saw. He boldly told the people that it was not good to make offerings of money, because it was unlawful for religious to possess any. He made similar observations respecting the other trespassings.
On the following festival day no money was offered. The Rahans were much incensed at such a neglect. Ratha said to the people: “Laymen, because of such irregularities, the beauty of the days of worship is fading, the glory of religion is darkened. Buddha in his days forbade the offering of money, the use of liquors, and several other practices which are now introduced in this place. By the[117] innovators I am held up as a reviler of the Rahans, and as one deficient in benevolence towards you. I, as well as the Rahans of the royal race, attend only to the prescriptions of the Wini, such as they have been laid down and published by Buddha.” The people replied to him: “Venerable Ratha, you are a true Rahan, and you follow the right way. Pray stay with us and be our teacher; we will abundantly supply you with the necessaries of life.” Ratha, going on his way, was always followed by the people, who, in token of their respect and love, accompanied him to the Kootagara monastery, in the midst of the forest of sala trees.
The guilty Rahans, hearing of all that had been said and fearing the paramount influence of the venerable Ratha over the people, said to them: “We shall not join with the Rahans of the royal race. We shall hold no intercourse with them. We shall expel Ratha from this district.” With these dispositions they encouraged each other in the determination to offer a most decided opposition and maintain their newly invented practices.
On his side, the venerable Ratha, anxious for the safety of the genuine practices, and zealous for the exaltation of religion, hastened to Kothambi to warn the religious of that and the neighbouring districts against the evil practices of the Weitzi Rahans. To those whom he could not meet in person he sent letters and messengers to say to them: “Brethren, before the evil-doers succeed in their iniquitous efforts to subvert religion, and render doubtful and uncertain the genuine regulations of the Wini, ere they have time to set up false tenets, let us assemble, and with our united efforts give strength and confidence to the good and righteous, and crush the wicked and the impious.”
At that time there lived on a mountain, in the Upper Ganges, a celebrated religious, named Samputa-kami. He was 120 years old, and had been a disciple of Ananda. To him the zealous Ratha applied in order to have the questions at issue with the Weitzi Rahans finally settled.[118] He minutely explained to him the ten points of discipline on which they were at variance with the Wini. Samputa-kami fully agreed with the proposal, and was of opinion that there should be held a general assembly, in which the points in dispute should be examined and the schism put an end to.
Some religious, about sixty in number, appeared to have a leaning towards the schismatical party. They resolved to go to Thaurya, where lived the celebrated Rewati, whose extraordinary wisdom equalled the quickness and flash of the lightning. The venerable Rewati, hearing of their wicked design, would not, in his abhorrence for their opinions, meet them on any account. He left his own place, and went from Thaurya to the town of Sankasa. When he had heard that they were following him, and were already close to the place he lived in, he removed to Kaiinna-goutra, then to Oudampara, subsequently to Eggalamoura and to Tharaudzati.
At the same time, it happened that Ratha, with the venerable Tsamputa, wished to go and have a meeting with Rewati, in order to place him on his guard and to bring him over to their party. They met him at Tharaudzati in the evening, and during the whole night made him acquainted with all the doings of the Weitzi Rahans, and begged him to declare openly which of the two parties was in the right. Rewati at once pronounced in favour of the Pawera Rahans, and condemned the opposite party on each of the ten points in dispute, and looked upon them as innovators and schismatics.
During that time the schismatic Rahans were not idle. They wished also to draw Rewati to their party. Having ascertained that he lived in Tharaudzati, they went by boat and ascended the river as far as that place. They carried with them many presents suitable for religious. Having landed, they took their quarters under a large tree. Rewati, knowing their wicked intent, would not receive their presents, nor hold communion with them.[119] Undismayed by this first check which they had received, they tried to obtain access to the master by means of the disciple. They offered him some presents, which in his simplicity he accepted. Meanwhile they urged him to prevail upon his teacher to give them a favourable hearing. He only once made the attempt to introduce the subject with the greatest caution. Rewati, however, was on his guard: he administered to his imprudent disciple such a rebuke as to deter him from making any further attempt. His name was Outtara. He and all the Rahans went to Wethalie.
To calm the heat of discussion, and bring the question at issue to a complete settlement, the Walikarama monastery in Wethalie was selected as the fittest place for holding a general assembly, where both parties would attend, and endeavour to come to a mutual understanding. Out of an immense number of religious, 700, the most conspicuous for their learning were selected by Ratha and Rewati to be members of the assembly. But to render the discussion clearer and easier, it was agreed that each of the ten points should be first discussed by eight Rahans, four from each party. Rewati, Samputa, Ratha, and Thoumana represented the western or orthodox party: Samputa-kami, Thala, Koudyabantaka, and Wathakami acted for the opposite party.
It was evident that in this dispute the question was not about the Pitagat itself; this was admitted by both parties. The difficulty affected certain points of discipline, ten in number, which were to be settled by the authority of the Kambawa and Patimauk. The eight delegates having met in a private hall of the monastery, Rewati was desired to question the venerable Samputa-kami on the ten points on which there was disagreement. He said: “Is it lawful to add to the food that is received some salt or other condiments?” Samputa-kami answered: “It is not lawful.” “In what place was that point settled?” “In Wethalie, as being contrary to the spirit of the Wini.”[120] “What sin is entailed on him who does such a thing?” “The sin of Patzeit.” Questions of a similar import were put as regards the drinking of milk in the afternoon, the use of waters half-fermented, the drinking of spirits, the receiving of gold and silver. Answers were given agreeably to the tenor of the Wini regulations.
When the eight delegates had come to a decision upon the ten points of discipline, they went into the great hall where the 700 Rahans were assembled. Ratha was the president of the assembly. Samputa-kami was desired to ascend the pulpit and hold the fan. The president said to the assembled Rahans: “Brethren, if it be pleasing to you, I will interrogate the venerable Samputa-kami on the Wini, and on the ten points in discussion.” He followed the same order that had been observed in the first meeting of the eight Rahans. The answers were unanimously received and approved of by the whole assembly. Then the president said: “All discussion concerning the ten points is now over; let every one accept the decisions of the assembly and act agreeably to them.”
This second council is called Thattasakita, or the assembly of the 700 Rahans. It was held in 102, under the reign of Kalathoka. That prince appears to have favoured the party of the Weitzi Rahans. The assembly lasted eight months. The canon of scriptures was likewise arranged and determined as it had been done by Kathaba in the first council.
Among the principal members of the assembly were Samputa-kami, Thala, Koudzasambita, Rewati, Thauna, and Samputa, who had been disciples of Ananda. Thoumana and Wauthabakami had been disciples of the venerable Anoorouda.
Partly from the countenance given by the king to the condemned party, and partly from the obstinacy shown by the easterners in resisting the decisions of the council, the Buddhistic society was divided into two great factions. The latter, that is to say the Weitzi Rahans, established[121] the great school called the Maha Thingika. The Tera-thaka was that of the orthodox; it never changed in doctrine or in discipline. Until the third council, that is to say, during the space of more than a century, eighteen different schools branched off.[32] Of these, seventeen offered[122] the sad spectacle of important changes in points of discipline and of doctrine. But the Terawada never changed: it retained both doctrine and discipline in their original purity. All the different schools received their denomination from their respective founders.
Kalathoka is succeeded by his eldest son, Baddasena—And finally by the youngest, Pitzamuka—This prince is killed and succeeded by a chief of robbers, named Ouggasena-nanda—King Tsanda-gutta—King Bandasura—Miraculous dreams of Athoka’s mother—King Athoka—His conversion—His zeal for Buddhism—Finding of the relics—Distribution of them—Third council held under the presidency of Mauggalipata—Preaching of religion in various countries, and particularly in Thaton—Voyage of Buddhagosa to Ceylon—Establishment of religion in Pagan—Various particulars relating to the importation of the scriptures in Burmah.
At the conclusion of the synod, Samputa-kami and several of the most distinguished members of the Buddhistic assembly, astonished at the progress of schism and dissension which the united voices of seven hundred religious had not been able entirely to root up, endeavoured to divine, as far as human wisdom could reach, what would be in after times the fate of religion. They foresaw that one hundred and twenty years hence, there would be at Pataliputra a mighty ruler full of love for religion, and zealous for its propagation, who would do much to promote its exaltation. But before the reign of that pious monarch they saw distinctly that there would appear many heretics, fond of their own will, coining doctrines of their own invention, and that they would thereby inflict the most serious harm on religion. They had, however, the consolation to know that this was to come to pass after their death. But who was the fortunate being who was destined to check effectually the coming evil? They saw him in one of the seats of Brahmas. His name was Teissa. In due time he would come down to[124] the seat of man, operate his incarnation in the womb of a pounha female, named Maugali, and would afterwards become a famous religious under the name Mauggalipatta. This vision filled their souls with the purest joy, which was increased by the view of the expansion and development which religion would receive through the zeal of that great personage.
After a reign of twenty-eight years, King Kalathoka died, leaving nine sons, the eldest of whom was named Baddasena. They all reigned one after the other through a period of thirty-three years. The last of them, Pitzamuka, was the youngest. During his reign a gang of robbers desolated the country of Magatha. On a certain day a man named Ouggasena, having fallen in with that gang, inquired of them what pursuit they followed in order to obtain their livelihood. They plainly told him that they knew nothing about the tillage of the fields, and were unacquainted with the business of trade; they had no other way left for maintaining themselves but to seize by force whatever they chanced to meet. Ouggasena, taken up with the boldness of these desperadoes, offered to join their company with his eight brothers. The offer was gladly accepted. It happened afterwards that in one of their depredatory expeditions their chief was slain. Ouggasena was appointed by common consent to take his place. Being of a bold and lofty daring, he said to his associates: “Friends, it does not suit brave and enterprising men as you are to confine your attacks to petty villages and small towns: you ought to aim higher.” He then represented to them in forcible language that King Pitzamuka was deficient in courage, and neglected entirely the duties of a king. “The moment is favourable,” added he, “to attack Pataliputra itself.” His opinion was universally accepted. The king, fonder of pleasure than of business, offered little resistance. He was killed at the taking of his capital, and Ouggasena sat on the throne, under the name of Ouggasena-nanda.
He was succeeded by his eight brothers. They reigned successively during the short period of twenty-two years. The last of them was called Dzananda. These princes were not followers of Buddha, but they supported the party of the pounhas, to which they adhered. Their generosity towards the pounhas was very great. They fed daily a great number of them in their own palace.
Among the pounhas who were maintained by the king’s liberality, there was one named Dzanecka, who was much versed in the science of astrology. Being once in the country, he saw in himself certain signs indicating that one day he would become a king. Having communicated this intelligence to his mother, she wisely advised him to ignore such dangerous signs, which would inevitably bring the king’s anger upon him, and expose him to great perils. Dzanecka was wise enough to comply with his mother’s wishes.
On a certain day Dzanecka returned to Pataliputra, from the country place where his mother lived. On his arrival, he, in company with his brethren, went to the palace to receive alms, that were to be distributed in the king’s presence in a large hall, fitted for that special purpose. He occupied the foremost rank. The king, who saw him, could not help remarking something extraordinary in his person. Suspicions arose in his bosom respecting the fidelity of that pounha. He instantly felt angry with him. Unable to control his passions, he ordered one of his officers to turn him out of the palace without giving him anything. The pounha had but to obey the unwelcome summons. Stung to the quick by shame and rage, he rose from his place. When he was just crossing the threshold of the hall’s entrance, he took off his caste’s string, and cut it in pieces; he likewise broke his mendicant’s pot, and flung all against one post of the door of the hall, uttering at the same time imprecations, and praying that the king might never from that day enjoy rest. He ran away as far as he could, and under a disguise he[126] eluded the pursuit of those that had been sent to arrest him. He escaped into Tekkaso. There he plotted the destruction of the king.
In one of his rambles through the country, Dzanecka met by chance a child, whom he knew to belong to a royal race. He at once adopted him, and brought him up with the greatest care and attention. It was not long, however, ere he found out that the signs prognosticating promotion to royalty were rather doubtful and somewhat insufficient. He could not rely on him for the execution of the important and long-cherished design he had in his heart. He had now to look out for some other one, who could afford him a greater subject for hope and confidence. Chance soon served him admirably well, to the utmost of his wishes.
After the destruction of Wethalie by Adzatathat, the princes that had escaped from the massacre had fled in an eastern direction, and built a city called Maurya. New misfortunes having befallen them, they were obliged to search for safety in precipitate flight. One of the wives of those princes, being in the family way, was led to the city of Pouppaya. Having been delivered of a son, she had the barbarity to order the little creature to be put into a jar, which was cast in a neighbouring cow-pen. The Nats watched over the child, and the bull of the herd, stationing itself near the infant, kept, with his horns and feet, at a distance any animal that came near. The cow-keeper, observing what was taking place, took the child and gave it to his wife Tsanda to bring him up as if he were their own child. He was called from the name of his adopted parents, Tsanda-gutta.
When the lad had come to the age to play the cowherd, he assumed among his fellow-herdsmen all the ways and manners and deportment of a king. He appointed some of them his ministers; others were invested with other mock dignities. He would sit on a tribunal, decide small cases, and strictly enforce the execution of his sentences.
The Pounha Dzanecka, who was living in the neighbourhood, hearing all this, wished to see the extraordinary boy. He recognised at a glance in the lad the sure signs foreshadowing his coming greatness. He purchased him for the sum of one thousand pieces of silver, and brought him up along with his other adopted son. Each of the boys had a splendid necklace of gold. On a certain day, Dzanecka ordered Pouppata, for such was the name of the first adopted son, to take a sword and go to Tsanda-gutta whilst asleep, and take from him his necklace of gold, without, however, cutting the thread, or even unloosing it. Pouppata, agreeably to his father’s order, went near the place where his brother was sleeping. He stood over him, and examined attentively by what means he could execute his father’s order. After many fruitless combinations, finding it impossible to do so, he went back to his father and related his disappointment. Dzanecka, without addressing him a word of blame, remained silent.
A few days afterwards, Dzanecka called Tsanda-gutta, and commissioned him to take a sword, and during his brother’s sleep to steal away from him his gold necklace, carefully avoiding either to cut the string or to untie it. Tsanda-gutta went to the place where his brother was sleeping. After a few moments of reflection, seeing but one way to obey his father’s order, he cut off at once his brother’s head, and brought entire the necklace of gold, which he placed at his father’s feet. The latter, without giving a sign of approbation or displeasure, remained silent.
Dzanecka gave all his treasures to Tsanda-gutta. Having pointed out to him and minutely explained the course he had to follow for obtaining the high station he was destined to, the pounha repaired to some other place, bidding him remember him after he became a king. With the treasures left at his disposal, Tsanda-gutta levied men, and went on from success to success, until he possessed himself of Pataliputra and killed Dananda. He received[128] the water of consecration, and began his reign in 163. That monarch seems to have been accustomed to the use of poisons. For it happened that, on a certain day, his first queen, belonging to the Maurya race, tasted a mouthful of a dish prepared for the king. This caused her death. At the time of that fatal occurrence she was far advanced in pregnancy. The king, without a moment’s delay, ordered her belly to be opened; the infant was taken out and put in the belly of a goat freshly slain. The child lived, and was called Bandasura.
Tsanda-gutta, after a reign of twenty-four years, died in 187, and was succeeded by his son Bandasura, only sixteen years old. Both the father and the son were supporters of the pounhas, and fed daily an immense number of them in their palace. Bandasura reigned twenty-seven years, that is to say, until the year 214. He had altogether 101 sons. His first queen, called Damma, had become the mother of two sons, called Athoka and Teissa. When she was pregnant of the first, she had five dreams: First, she thought she was stretching her two feet, one resting on the sun, and the other on the moon; second, it appeared to her that she was devouring the stars; third, she fancied she was eating the clouds; fourth, she imagined she was eating the worms’ dunghills; fifth and finally, she imagined she was eating the leaves of all the trees. According to the prediction of the soothsayers, the five dreams meant that the son whom she had in her womb would rule over the whole of the island of Tsampoudipa; that he would destroy all his brothers, who would unite to dispute the throne with him; that he would disperse all the heretics or upholders of false tenets, who, like clouds, obscure the glory of religion; that he would possess all above the earth to the height of one youdzana, and all below the earth to an equal depth.
When Athoka was sixteen years old, his father sent him to Outzeni to govern that city, and the territories[129] annexed to it. On his way to that city, Athoka had to pass through Wedika, distant fifty youdzanas from Pataliputra, in an eastern direction. The town had been founded by the princes of Kapilawot, when that city had been almost destroyed in the days of Buddha. In that place he married the daughter of a rich man, named Dewa. After his arrival at Outzeni, Athoka’s wife presented him first with a son, who was named Maheinda, and subsequently with a daughter, called Seingamitta. Athoka remained nine years at Outzeni. At the end of that period, hearing that his father lay dangerously ill, he hastened to Pataliputra, to assist him and render all the services dictated by filial love. On his return, having to pass through Wedika, he left in that place his wife and his two children. A little while after his arrival at his father’s capital, the king breathed his last, and Athoka was proclaimed king.
The new monarch, however, found himself soon surrounded by many enemies. With the exception of Teissa, who was born from the same mother, all his brothers conspired against him. The oldest of all, named Thoumana, was the originator and leader of the rebellion. After a protracted struggle, Athoka’s good fortune prevailed. His rebellious brother Thoumana was overcome and made a prisoner; soon after, he was put to death. The same sad and cruel fate befel the other ninety-eight brothers. But it took three years before Athoka could free himself from all his enemies. On the fourth year after his accession to the throne, that is to say, in 218, he received the royal consecration, and in honour of his mother took the name of Dammathoka. He obtained a universal sway all over Dzampoudipa.
Up to the period of his consecration, Athoka had always favoured the pounhas. In imitation of his father’s conduct, he fed daily an immense number of them in his palace. They all dressed in white clothes. It was only after he had received the royal consecration that he became[130] a convert to Buddhism, through the instrumentality of his own nephew, the Rahan Nigrauda. A few particulars respecting this celebrated religious may not be unacceptable to the reader.
After Thoumana’s death, his wife Thoumana-dewi was near the moment of her confinement. Under disguise, she contrived to baffle the snares of her husband’s enemies and elude their pursuit. She went to the neighbourhood of the village of Dountsanka, a little distant from Pataliputra in an eastern direction, and rested under a banyan tree. A small shed was provided for her, and the head man of the village, who looked upon her as his daughter, supplied her with food. She was delivered of a son, whom she named Nigrauda. When he was about seven years old he was confided to the care of the venerable Varuna, who instructed him in his monastery, and taught him the Kamatan. He became a religious, and was made a patzin. The monastery of the venerable Varuna was not very distant from the southern gate of the city.
On a certain day the young religious Nigrauda rose up at an early hour, and having paid his respects to his great instructor, put on his cloak, and, taking under his arm the mendicant’s pot, left his monastery, entered the city by the southern gate, and shaped his course towards the eastern one, with the intention of going to visit his mother. At that very moment King Athoka was standing over the lion’s gate of his palace enjoying the cool of the morning breeze. He saw the young religious passing with a grave and steady step. All was graceful and dignified in his deportment. A placid joy, a serene modesty, and a majestic appearance beautified his countenance to such an extent that, at the first look, the king felt an irresistible affection for the young Samane. Without a moment’s delay he despatched an officer to call him. With a kind and affectionate tone the king invited him to ascend the steps of his palace, and insisted on serving him with his[131] meal. When the repast was over, Athoka said: “Young Samane, do you know well all the doctrines taught by your instructor?” “I am somewhat acquainted with them,” replied Nigrauda modestly. “If such be the case, will you be pleased to explain them to me?” He then said in reply: “He who is diligent in practising the duties that procure merits enjoys true happiness; he shall be exempt from death. He who neglects the duties that procure merits is unhappy, and is in a state of death.” The king, delighted with the instruction delivered to him by the young Samane, offered him several presents suitable to the religious profession. But Nigrauda would not accept them, except in the name and for the benefit of his instructor; because it was he who had the charge of teaching people to avoid evil, to do good, and to practise the religious duties. As to him, he was but a disciple. Athoka was greatly pleased with the modesty and disinterestedness of the young Samane.
On other occasions the king sent for Nigrauda, and heard his instructions with such a good result that he gradually became a perfect convert. By the advice of his spiritual guide, Athoka made daily presents to a certain number of religious of the Buddhistic persuasion. The number of the religious who every day attended the court to receive presents gradually swelled to the amount of 60,000. Nigrauda instructed his royal pupil on the three Saranans and the five precepts. He infused into his soul a tender love for Buddha and his religion. The great change in the king’s dispositions happened on the fourth year after his coronation. Up to that time he had favoured the party of the pounhas, as his father and grandfather had done. He was in the habit of daily affording food and maintenance to sixty thousand pounhas wearing the white dress.
Not satisfied with the liberal offerings of every day, the king said to the Rahans: “My intention is to build a great number of dzedis in all the cities of Dzampoudipa.[132] But where are to be found the relics of the most excellent Buddha, that they may be divided and enshrined in the principal dzedis?” By his order the relics were searched for in every direction. The dzedis already built in Wethalie, Kapilawot, Allakappa, Pawa, and Koutheinaron were all demolished. An exception was made in favour of the dzedi in the village of Rama. The Nagas, guardians of the place, would not allow that monument to be touched. In vain did the workmen strive with pickaxes to demolish the dzedi. Their instruments broke in pieces as soon as they came in contact with the building. But in none of them could the precious deposit be found. The king commanded that the demolished sacred monuments should be rebuilt precisely in the same shape and form as they stood previously. Athoka, disappointed but undismayed by his want of success, directed his steps towards Radzagio, and resolved not to relax in his exertions until he had found the precious object of his eager desires. Having arrived at that place, he assembled all the Rahans and people, and inquired if there was no person who could lead him in the way to discover the relics. In the crowd there was a Rahan one hundred and twenty years old, who said that when he was a Samane about seven years old, his superior directed him to take some flowers and perfumes, and, leading him to a retired place, said to him, “You see that dark bush in the middle of which there is a small stone dzedi; let us prostrate ourselves before it and make our offering.” When this was done he added with a solemn tone of voice, “Young Samane, observe well this spot, and ever remember it.” He said nothing more, and we returned to our home. “This is doubtless,” said the king, “the very spot I am searching after, without having ever been able hitherto to discover it.” The king and his people hastened to the indicated place. Great offerings were made to the guardian Nat in order to propitiate him. The Nat, assuming the shape of a young man, removed all the obstacles that obstructed the way to the[133] place. When the king was near the first door, he discovered the ruby whereupon was seen the above-related inscription. On touching the bolt the door was suddenly opened, when, to the great surprise of all present, the lamps that had been lighted two hundred and eighteen years ago were found burning and full of oil; the flowers, without the least sign of withering, were as fresh and beautiful as those in the gardens; the smell of the perfumes seemed to be even more exquisite than that of new ones. The king, taking the gold leaf, read the inscription concerning him. He took all the relics, except a few that he left therein, replaced and arranged everything as he had found it. The finding of the relics happened in 218.[33]
All that has been herein above related respecting the partition of the relics by Dauna, &c., has been extracted from the book called Nibana Thoot. But he who wishes[135] to know all the particulars concerning the places where the relics have been deposited, &c., must have recourse to the books called Data Win and Nalatadata Win.
On a certain day a likeness of Buddha was placed before the eyes of Athoka. The king was delighted with it. He wished to multiply the number of statues, so that they could be seen in every part of his dominions. He gave orders for the building of monasteries in the 84,000 towns of his immense dominions. This happened in 220 of the religious era. It was but three years afterwards, that is to say, in 223, that the dedication or consecration of the dzedis took place, in which portions of the relics were to be enshrined. Throughout his realm the king issued a proclamation inviting all the people to attend to the observance of the eight precepts. The royal mandate was duly attended to, and the religious festival celebrated with the greatest solemnity. On that occasion the king made abundant donations to the religious, and strove to display his zeal for the promotion of religion.
Delighted with all that he had done, the king said to the venerable Mauggalipata: “I have endeavoured to labour for the exaltation of religion by every means in my power. I have built religious monuments through the length and breadth of my dominions; I have made offerings on the grandest scale. May I now consider myself as entitled to the inheritance of religion?” The venerable Mauggalipata replied: “Great prince, you have indeed done much towards the advancement of the good cause. But something else more excellent still is to be performed that you may acquire a right to the inheritance of religion.” “What is that?” asked the king. “It is most perfect and meritorious,” replied Mauggalipata, “that you should consecrate your son Maheinda and your daughter Singameitta to the service of religion.” Athoka immediately asked his son, who was eighteen years old, whether he would like to become a religious. Maheinda answered in the affirmative. He was forthwith ordained Samane.[136] Mauggalipata acted on the occasion as president, and Mahadewana as master of the ceremonies. Singameitta was similarly ordained. The president was Dammapata, and the person acting in the ceremony was Oopali. This happened in 223. Maheinda learned the Pitagat under the immediate superintendence and tuition of Mauggalipata himself. His proficiency both in the study of religious science and in the practice of virtue was so great that his teacher placed him at the head of a thousand Rahans, whom he was commissioned to instruct.
The great liberality of the king towards the Buddhists, the efforts that he made for the promotion of the new religion he had embraced, alarmed those who belonged to the opposite party. The pounhas saw themselves without support, and unable to provide for their maintenance. They had recourse to the following expedient to secure their livelihood, and also a well-concerted plan to weaken their enemies. They all assumed the yellow dress, entered into the Buddhistic monasteries, and affected to be converts, without being so in reality. They retained their own opinions, and even as regards regulations they refused to comply with some of the ordinances of the Wini. Some of them fed large fires; others exposed themselves to various degrees of excessive heat; others affected the mania of fixing their eyes upon the sun in the morning, and following it in its course during the whole day.[34] Many appeared to lay little stress on several portions of the Pitagat. As a matter of course, the true religious[137] were much scandalised at such a conduct, and refused to hold communion with them on the days of worship. This state of things, after having lasted seven years, produced an irritation that could be no longer tolerated. Mauggalipata, disgusted at such a perturbation, left Maheinda at the head of the community, and withdrew to the Ahan Ginga mountain to enjoy some tranquillity.
King Athoka was informed of the prevailing disorder. With the view of pacifying the inmates of the monasteries, he sent an officer of his household with stringent orders to oblige the two parties to come to an understanding, to communicate with each other, and to worship in common on the festival days. The officer went to one of the monasteries, explained the royal order, and drew his sword, threatening to cut off the head of the first Rahan who would dare to offer opposition. One of the orthodox party came forward, and having explained the true state of things, concluded by firmly stating that he would not hold communion with heretics. The officer in vain expostulated, and entreated the religious not to be so tenacious in his views, but rather to show a willingness to obey the king’s orders, for the sake of peace. The latter persisted in his refusal. The officer, carried away by passion, struck off the head of the refractory Rahan. An immense uproar followed this tragical occurrence. All hopes of bringing about a pacification were then at an end. The officer withdrew from the monastery, and related to the king all the particulars as they had occurred.
Athoka bitterly deplored the murder that had been committed on a saintly personage, and reproached the officer with having outstepped the orders he had received. His religious feelings were grievously hurt, and his conscience greatly alarmed. He sent for several religious, and consulted them as to whether he was responsible for the murder committed by his officer. The spiritual advisers did not agree in their decision. Some of them were of opinion that the king was answerable for the doing of his[138] messenger; others declared that the king, having given no order to the effect of using violence, the officer alone was responsible for the murder. Such conflicting opinions increased the king’s perplexities, and threw him in a state of great anxiety and uneasiness.
Some courtiers, grieved at the sadness which overspread their master’s mind, advised him to send for the celebrated Mauggalipata, and abide by the decision of that eminent man, whose knowledge was unsurpassed. The king gladly accepted the proposal. A messenger with a great retinue was at first sent to the place of Mauggalipata. The king’s desires were respectfully explained. But the old ascetic refused to quit his abode of peace. A second messenger was despatched, but with no better success. At last a third one was sent on the same errand, with several religious. The latter, who knew the great zeal of Mauggalipata for promoting the cause of religion, represented to him the imminent dangers religion was threatened with, and entreated him to come, and by his presence save it from an approaching ruin. On hearing this sad news the old man no longer hesitated. He immediately left his abode, went in the boat prepared for him, and gently sailed down the mighty stream to Pataliputra. The news of his coming down was spread in a moment. When the boat was reported to be near the city, the king, with his whole court, hastened to the banks of the Ganges. On her nearing the bank, Athoka went knee-deep into the stream, and helping the venerable Mauggalipata with his royal hand out of the boat, led him into a garden, where a suitable place had been prepared for his residence. There he sat at his feet, and rendered to him the same humble services which a disciple is wont to tender to his teacher.
The king, anxious to alleviate his scruples and relieve his much-troubled conscience, related the particulars of the case of the Rahan’s murder, and concluded by asking whether he was to be considered as responsible for the[139] death of the religious. Mauggalipata said, “O king, had you, when you despatched the officer, the intention of having any refractory Rahan put to death?” “No,” replied the king. “Since you gave no such order to your officer, and you had no intention that any disobedience to your orders should be visited with capital punishment, the murder of the religious can in no way be imputed unto you, because intention is the thing that makes actions good or bad, and entails merits or sin on the perpetrator.” Athoka recovered at once his peace and tranquillity of mind. Meanwhile he entreated the venerable Mauggalipata to labour for the extinction of schism and the exaltation of religion.
Seven days after the arrival of the great religious, a vast hall was erected in the grove where Mauggalipata was living. At the end of it a fine pavilion made of cloth of various and bright colours was prepared for the accommodation of the monarch. Each religious had then to be examined separately in the presence of Mauggalipata on the doctrines and practices he held as genuine and good. Those whose doctrines and observances were found to be at variance with the Pitagat were expelled from the assembly, stripped of the canonical robe, and compelled to resume the white dress, that is to say, the one befitting the pounhas. The presence of the king silenced all murmurs, and rendered any attempt at resistance impossible. In this manner the orthodox Rahans were separated from the heterodox ones.
To heal the wounds inflicted on religion by schism, to restore purity of doctrine, and confirm the genuineness of the canon of scriptures, such as had been done by Kathaba in the first council, and by Ratha in the second one, Mauggalipata, with the concurrence of the pious Dammathoka, resolved to hold a third council. From the Rahans then present at Palibotra he selected a thousand, and with them he regulated the Pitagat. The council was opened in the year 235, and ended in 236 = to 307 B.C. It was[140] presided over by Mauggalipata, who was seventy-two years old.[35]
At the conclusion of the council, the president, who[141] was acknowledged the head of the Buddhists, thought of extending the sway of the new religion through the whole of Dzampoudipa. Hitherto it had been confined within the limits of Magatha. Now the time had come to extend it far and wide among the nations and tribes of the whole world. To carry out such a bold and comprehensive plan, Mauggalipata made an appeal to the ablest and most zealous members of the council, and charged a certain number of them to go and preach the true law in the countries beyond the boundaries of Magatha. The venerable Mitzaganti with four companions, was directed to proceed to the country of Kashmera-gandara. Rewati was ordered to go to Mahithakan-pantala. Gaunaka-damma Reckita went to Aparanta. Maha-damma Reckita was sent to the Mahrata country. Damma Reckita received a mission to proceed to Yaunaka, which is the country inhabited by the Pantsays. The venerable Mitzi directed his steps, in company with several brethren, towards some parts in the Himalayas. Thauna and Outtara proceeded in a south-eastern direction to the country of Souwana-boumi. Finally Maheinda, Ittia, Outtia, Thamala, and Baddathala went to establish religion into the island of Tappapani (Ceylon).[36]
Great success attended the preachings of the Buddhist heralds. If credit can be given to all that is related in the books on this subject, religion must have taken deep root in the heart of the people dwelling in those distant lands.
As regards Ceylon, there is an important fact to be stated. It appears that until the year of religion 454, the knowledge of the Pitagat was transmitted by means of oral tradition. The heads of monasteries required from[142] their pupils to know the whole collection by heart. It is probable that one portion of the scriptures was learned by one section of the community, and another by another. In this manner the whole Pitagat was known in each monastery, and could be rehearsed in full by the inmates. This state of things lasted two hundred years. The great inconvenience necessarily attending it was soon felt so keenly that some means had to be devised in order to render the study of the sacred books surer and easier. In the reign of King Watakamani five hundred religious assembled in the village of Mallaya, and wrote the whole Pitagat in Sanscrit, and with the Sanscrit characters. Under the reign of that monarch a great dearth prevailed all over the island. Numerous Buddhist religious crossed over to the continent, and established religion in many parts of the southern portion of the peninsula. That prince also built the famous Bayagiri monastery. With the Mahawihara already existing, and the Dzetawon monastery subsequently erected, there sprung up three distinct schools. The latter was erected in 811, in the time of King Mathena of Ceylon. But the teaching of the Mahawihara was the only one truly orthodox. After a protracted existence, they were all merged in the Mahawihara school, under the reign of Thiri Singa-bodiparanna-maba, in the year of the Pouppa-dzau era (Pagan era), 522; of religion, 1714 = to 1161 A.D.
The venerable Thauna and Outtara of the pounha race came to the district of Thaton,[37] which is called Souwana-boumi,[143] in the country of Ramagnia, for the purpose of establishing religion in that distant land, which lies south-east of Mitzima. Thiri-mathauka was the king who at that time reigned at Thaton. Previous to the arrival of the Buddhist messengers of peace, the town was desolated by the ravages of Biloos, who, coming from the sea, devoured all the newly-born infants. A great consternation and panic had seized the inhabitants when they saw[144] the two strangers, clothed in yellow robes, setting their feet upon the shore. They mistook them for monsters of a new description, who were coming to increase their misfortune. They ran to arms, and were preparing to attack the two religious. The latter, perceiving the danger that threatened them, said with a meek tone of voice to the infuriated mob, “Why do you attack us? We are not Biloos, nor are we come hither with any hostile intention. Know ye that we profess a religion which forbids us to take away intentionally the life of even the smallest insect, to rob, to commit adultery, and to use spirituous and intoxicating liquors. By our regulations we are allowed to eat rice but once in a day.” On hearing the explanations given by the two strangers, the people of Thaton were quieted. They received them with kindness, and treated them with great respect. By the power inherent in the two religious, the sea-Biloo was put to flight, and was seen no longer. The king and the people, grateful for the service they had received, and delighted with the new doctrine preached to them, accepted joyfully the five precepts, and promised to observe them. An immense number of men and women were converted. Among the new converts, a great many embraced the religious life.
King Thiri-mathauka was informed that, a little while after Gaudama’s death, a Rahan, named Gambawatti, had brought thirty-three teeth of Buddha, and deposited them in a dzedi upon the mount Inda-danoo, which lies north-east of Thaton. Moreover, he had heard that after the eighth season, Gaudama had gone to Mitila. Whilst he dwelt into that place, it happened that a certain Rahan came to remember of some of his relatives whom he had known during a former existence. He saw them living in Thaton. He then earnestly supplicated his great master to condescend to go to that place and preach the law to his relatives. Gaudama, complying with the request, resorted thither through the air, attended by a great retinue. He preached the law, and previous to his[145] departure, gave to the ruler of Thaton eight hairs of his head. Relying on the accuracy of the information, Thiri-mathauka felt a great desire to find out the precious relics, in order to have them distributed in eleven towns of Henzawatti, in eleven towns of Kouthein, and in eleven towns of Mouttama. These three countries constitute what is called Ramagnia. All happened agreeably to his wishes. The relics were duly found on mount Inda-danoo, in the very dzedi in which they had been enshrined, and were distributed in the various towns, as above mentioned. It is probable that there occurred at Thaton the same curious fact which we know to have taken place in Ceylon, viz.: Religion was propagated at first by the means of oral tradition.
The first one who made an attempt to possess himself of a copy of the sacred scriptures was Buddhagosa, a religious of Thaton, of the pounha race. That man embarked at Thaton, which was then on or near the sea. That place is in the Ramagnia country, and is inhabited by a people called Moun. He sailed to Ceylon in the year of religion 943,[38] under the reign of King Mahanama. He resided three years on that island, wrote the Pitagat on palm leaves with the Burmese characters which was found written in the language and characters of Ceylon. In another manuscript we read that he translated into Pali the scriptures which were in the language of Ceylon. Buddhagosa remained three years in Ceylon, in order to complete the work he had undertaken. During his stay in that island the people were so much pleased with him that they made him many and costly presents on his leaving their country. He brought over with him to Souwana-boumi, which is in the Ramagnia country, a complete collection of the scriptures.
In or about the year of the Pagan era 419,[39] the forty-second, some say, the forty-fourth king of Pagan, named[146] Anaurata, having invaded the Ramagnia country, possessed himself of the Moun’s territories and entered triumphant into the venerable city of Thaton. He took away from that place the collection of scriptures brought over from Ceylon by Buddhagosa, as well as the most learned among the Rahans. With the aid of these distinguished Rahans, religion was then firmly established in Pagan. He became master of the whole of the Ramagnia country, which includes Henzawatti, Mouttama, and Kouthein.
We have alluded briefly to the reconciliation that has taken place in Ceylon between the three great schools. Two of them, the Bayagiri and the Dzetawon, merged into the great Mahawihara school, which had always held up the orthodox doctrines. In the year that followed that event—that is to say, in the year of religion 1714 of the Pagan’s era 522[40]—many Rahans, natives of Thaton, Pagan and other places in Ramagnia, attended by a large retinue, crossed over to Ceylon for the express purpose of worshipping the relics and the Bodi tree, and making themselves perfectly acquainted with the genuine doctrine and discipline. As a matter of course, they joined the Mahawihara school. They remained on that island during nearly one year. One of the party, named Tsapada, who was but a young Samane, was raised to the dignity of Patzin, according to the rules and regulations adopted by the Mahawihara. The party, having performed their devotions, and penetrated themselves with the spirit of the community in which they had spent a year, returned to their countries. The young religious, who had been but recently ordained, applied to his superior and obtained permission to remain behind in Ceylon for the purpose of studying the Pitagat and mastering its contents.
After ten years of unwearied application he went back with four companions, named Maheinda, Thiwali, Ananda, and Rahula. After their landing in the neighbourhood of Cape Negrais, they spent a year in Kouthein, and finally reached Pagan in the eighth year of the reign of King Narapati-sisoo of the Pagan era 534 = to 1173 A.D. In this manner, by the exertions of those five religious, the religion of Ceylon was firmly established and set up in Pagan. In this manner the doctrines and institutions preached and set up in Ceylon by Maheinda and his companions were blended with the doctrines and institutions which the venerable Thauna and Outtara had established in Thaton. Both flourished in Pagan and were much extended.[41]
The brilliant and glorious reign of Narapati-sisoo was soon followed by a series of misfortunes, which contributed to the weakening of his great empire, and finally brought on its total overthrow. Pagan was taken by foreign invaders. In the midst of such calamities three noblemen, named Radzasingian, Asinkara, and Sihasoo, set themselves up as kings, the first in Miyntsain, the second in Pekkara, and the third in Pinlay, in the year 662 = to 1301 A.D. The King of Miyntsain, having treacherously enticed Kiantza, the king of Pagan, to visit him in his new capital, detained him under various pretexts, and finally had him murdered. Thaunit, the son of Kiantza, hearing of his father’s detention, ascended the throne of[148] Pagan, and reigned twenty-two years. He was succeeded by his brother Mouhnit, who reigned forty-three years. With him ended the line of Pagan kings in 730 = to 1369 A.D.
Sihasoo, the King of Pinlay, reigned in that place twelve years, and in 684 removed the seat of royalty to Panya. In that place there were successively five kings, whose aggregate number of years on the throne amounts to fifteen.
One son of Sihasoo, named Athinkara-dzau-goun, established royalty in Tsitkain in 684 = to 1323 A.D. Under the reign of his son and successor, named Thirimega, a canine tooth of Gaudama was brought to Tsitkain. The king had the precious relic placed in a golden casket, and enshrined in a turret of his palace. He daily worshipped it.
Thirimega having died, his two sons Dzeta and Tissa quarrelled about the crown. Neither of them ever had the title of king; both of them oppressed the country during nine years. The son of Dzeta, named Budadasa, became king, and reigned during twenty-nine years. It was under the reign of that monarch that five venerable religious, who were well versed in the science of the Pitagat, translated the whole compilation, which was in Sanscrit, into the language of Ceylon (Pali).[42]
Tsitkain ceased to be a royal residence in 725 = to 1364 A.D., and in the following year the city of Ava was founded on the sixth of the waxing moon of Tabaong, on a Tuesday at noon, under the constellation Pounna-pha-shou.
On the following year, Mouhnit, king of Pagan, died at the age of sixty-four, after a reign of forty-three years, with whom ended the line of the Pagan monarchs. In the great city of Ava religion greatly flourished, and in 1134[149] = to 1773 A.D., this book was composed[43] in the province of Dybayen.
For the purpose of creating and increasing feelings of affection towards the most excellent Buddha,[44] who is[151] greater than the three rational beings, towards his glorious perfections, as well as the law and the assembly, I have, to the best of my abilities, endeavoured to translate from the Pali into Burmese the sacred book called Malla-linkara-wouttoo, or history of the most excellent flower.
The writer has thought that it would not be without interest to the reader to make a few remarks respecting the five hundred and ten Dzats so famous amongst the Burmese, and to give as a specimen of those compositions the abbreviated translation of some of those fabulous accounts. We will begin with a few of the small Dzats, and end with the compendious summaries of two of the great ones, known under the names of Nemi and Dzanecka. The Buddhists of these parts maintain that all the Dzats contain a short and concise narrative of some of the circumstances attending certain existences of Gaudama, when he was born in the state of animal, man, prince, nobleman, poor, rich, Nat, &c. The narrator is no other than Gaudama himself, who is supposed to have condescended to make his disciples and the crowds of hearers acquainted with certain particulars relating to his person whilst he was passing through the slow process of metempsychosis and gradually gravitating towards the perfection he had at last reached. In fact, each of these pieces is prefaced with these words: When the most excellent[154] Buddha was in such a monastery, surrounded with his disciples, he spoke as follows, &c.
It is not improbable that some of these stories may have been told by Gaudama for the two following purposes: First, to impress his hearers with a profound respect for his incomparable wisdom, which enabled him to penetrate into the deep recesses of the past, and to bring to light some events hitherto buried in its dark bosom. The second and principal object he had in view was to give some important lessons to his disciples, to correct some of their defects, and stir up others to the practice of the highest deeds which he had himself performed during former existences. On his respect Gaudama followed the practice of all Eastern sages, who had recourse to the use of parables, similitudes, apologues, &c., in order to convey, under a gentle, amiable, graceful, and interesting form, the most important instructions, designed to enlighten the mind and correct the heart.
The collection or compilation comprises most of those fables that are to be met with amongst most of the Asiatic nations, whence they have found their way to Europe, first among the Greeks, and next the Western nations. The writer has been not a little surprised to find in that collection a number of fables the very same as those so inimitably narrated by the great French fabulist, the good La Fontaine. This is another confirmation to the old adage, There is nothing new under the sun.
These stories have certainly an Indian origin; at least the Burmans have received them, as almost all the things that are connected with their religion, from that quarter. Under despotic governments, the plain and naked truth cannot show itself, or make its voice to be heard, without exposing its friends to the most imminent dangers on the part of those tyrants who practically maintain that their will must ever stand above truth and reason. Stories nicely told were the pleasing and innocent but necessary dress which that sacred goddess was obliged to wear in[155] order to make her presence supportable to the despots, and help her friends to find favour with those whose absolute and uncontrollable sway made everybody bow the head in their awful though detested presence.
The first five hundred stories have, it seems, no historical value whatever. They are most of them short and concise. But the last ten may very likely contain many facts or allusions to individuals and places that might afford a clue to some parts of the history and geography of India in days of a remote antiquity. A complete translation of the ten Dzats might not be without interest, provided such a work be accompanied with copious notes, made by a competent person, well acquainted with the ancient history of India.
All the stories end with a most important disclosure made by Gaudama himself. The personage that has played the most important and praiseworthy rôle is, as a matter of course, our Buddha himself. Those who befriended him, assisted him, and rendered him any services, are those who subsequently became his favourite and most distinguished disciples and hearers; whilst those who acted in any reprehensible manner, who opposed him and did him harm, afterwards became the individuals who were in his days heretics or holders of false doctrines, and in particular his arch enemy, the notoriously wicked Dewadat.
The compilation of all these stories is prefaced as follows:—In the country of Amarawadi lived a pounha named Thoumeda. After the death of his father he became the owner of a considerable estate. Having enjoyed it during many years, he began to reflect on the many and various accidents attending human life, and came to the resolution of leaving the world. He therefore distributed in alms all his riches, and withdrew into solitude, to lead an ascetic life. He soon reached a high degree of perfection. At that time Deipinkara, one in the series of the twenty-eight Buddhas, came to that country, attended by 400,000 Rahans, to beg his food. Our Rathee[156] Thoumeda, having nothing to offer to the great Buddha and the assembly, came, threw himself at his feet, and delivered himself up soul and body to his service. In another compilation it is stated that Thoumeda had volunteered his services to level a portion of a road that Deipinkara was to follow. The work was finished, with the exception of a small gap that was not yet filled, when the Buddha made his appearance. The hermit, without a moment’s hesitation, flung himself on the ground, and bridged the place with his own body.
It was at the sight of such a perfect abnegation of self that Buddha gave to Thoumeda the assurance that one day he would become a Buddha. On that occasion great wonders took place.
From that time he began to practise with a fervent earnestness the great virtues and perfections prescribed by the law. The whole period of time that elapsed from the time Gaudama was the pounha Thoumeda to the time he became Prince Wethandara—that is to say, reached that existence which immediately preceded the last one, when he became Buddha—is of four thingies and one hundred thousand worlds or revolutions of nature. A detailed account of the most meritorious and interesting actions performed by him during several existences that illustrated that almost incalculable period is to be found in the great dzedi of Ceylon.
The accounts must be short and concise, otherwise the dzedi above referred to, how large soever we may suppose it to have been, could never have held them.
1. When the most excellent Buddha was in the Dzetawon monastery, surrounded by his disciples, desiring to correct a religious who was in the habit of keeping bad company, he narrated the following story: At the time that the Princes Bramanas reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was then a lion, father to two little ones, one male and the other female. The first was named Menandza. The lion’s household, when Menandza was grown up and had married, was composed in all of five individuals. Menandza, strong and bold, went out every day in quest of prey for the support of his four relations that remained in the den. One day, in the middle of one of his predatory excursions, he happened to meet with a fox, which was lying on his belly, in a most respectful posture. On being asked by the proud lion, with a terrific voice, heightened by a threatening glance, what he was doing, the fox respectfully answered: “I am humbly prostrated here to do homage and pay my respects to your majesty.” “Well,” said Menandza; and he took him alive to his den. As soon as the father saw the fox, he said to his son: “My son, the fox is an animal full of cunning and deceit, faithless, without honour, addicted to all wicked practices, and always engaged and embroiled in some bad affairs; be on your guard; beware of such a companion, and forthwith send him away.” Unheeding his father’s wise advice, Menandza persisted in his resolution, and kept his new friend with him.
On a certain day the fox intimated to Menandza that he longed to eat the flesh of a young colt. “Where is the[158] place these animals are wont to graze?” asked Menandza. “On the banks of the river of Baranathee,” replied the fox. Both started immediately for the indicated spot. They saw there a great number of horses bathing in the river. Menandza, in an instant, pounced upon a young one, and carried it to his den. “It is not prudent,” said the old father, “to eat those animals which belong to the king. One day he will cause you to be shot from a distance with arrows, and kill you. No lion that eats horse-flesh has ever lived long. From this day cease to attack those animals.” Deaf to such wholesome warnings, Menandza continued to carry destruction among the horses. News was soon conveyed to the king that a lion and a fox were making great havoc among his horses. He ordered the animals to be kept within the town. The lion, however, contrived to seize some and carry them away. Orders were given to keep them in an enclosure. Despite this precaution, some horses disappeared. Enraged at this, the king called a bowman and asked him whether he could transfix a lion with his arrows. The bowman said that he could do it. Hereupon, leaving the king, he went and hid himself behind a post, waiting for the offender. It was not long ere he made his appearance; but the cautious fox had remained somewhat to the rear, hidden in a drain. In one start, the lion, with the quickness of lightning, was on the wall, and straightway he went to the stable. The bowman said within himself: “The lion’s movements are very quick; I will wait until he come back loaded with his prey.” He had scarcely revolved this thought in his mind, when the lion was already on his way back carrying a horse. The bowman, all ready, shot an arrow that transfixed the fierce animal. The lion made a start, crying with a terrific voice, “I am wounded.” The fox, hearing his friend’s accents, and the sharp whistling of the bow-string, knew at once what had happened. He said to himself, shaking his head: “There is no friendship, forsooth, with the dead; my friend has[159] fallen under the bowman’s arrow; my life is safe; I will go back to my former place.”
The wounded lion, making a last effort, went back to his den, and dropped dead at its entrance.
Menandza’s relatives, perceiving the wound and the blood gushing out of it, understood at once that he had been shot through with an arrow, and that the fox was the cause of his miserable and untimely end. His mother gave vent to her grief as follows: “Whoever associates with the wicked shall not live long; behold my Menandza is no more, because he followed the fox’s advice.” The father, in his turn, bewailed the loss of his son: “He who goes in company with the wicked shall meet with some evil fate; witness my son, whom his desolate mother sees weltering in the very blood she gave him.” His sister cried aloud: “He who does not follow the advice of the good shall repent of it; he is mad, and, like my brother, shall come to an untimely and cruel end.” Menandza’s wife exclaimed: “He who belongs to a superior rank ought to beware to associate with those of a rank inferior to his own, otherwise he soon becomes as despicable as those he associates with. He loses his position, and becomes the laughing-stock of all.”
Buddha concluded his discourse with this reflection, that no one ought to keep company with those that are wicked and of an inferior position. The religious profited so well by the lecture that he broke at once with his former friends, and soon reached the state of Thautapan. The fox has been since Dewadat, Menandza, the religious, the object of the lecture, Menandza’s sister, Oopalawon; his wife, Kema; his mother, Yathaudara; his father, Phralaong.
2. When the most excellent Phra was in the Weloowon monastery, alluding to Dewadat, who aimed at harming him, he spoke as follows: “At the time the Princes[160] Bramanas reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was then a jackal, presiding over 500 other jackals of his own tribe. His dwelling-place was in a cemetery. One day it happened that the inhabitants of Radzagio made a great feast, where every one ate and drank as much as he liked. The repast was nearly over when some one asked for a last piece of meat, to give the finishing-stroke to his appetite. He was told that not the smallest morsel remained. On hearing this unwelcome news, he rose up, laying hold of a wooden club, and went straight to the cemetery. Then stretching himself on the ground, he lay down as if dead. Phralaong, cautiously drawing near to the pretended dead body, smelt it from a becoming distance, and soon discovered the snare laid for him. Coming up close to him, he suddenly seized the club with his teeth, pulling it with all his might. The young man did not let go his hold. The animal, withdrawing, said to the hunter: “Young man, I perceive now that you are not dead.” The hunter, goaded with shame and anger, rose up, and with more energy than dexterity flung his club at the jackal; but he missed him. “Go away,” said he, “wretched beast; you may boast that you have escaped this time.” “Yes,” mildly replied the jackal; “I have been saved from your club; but no one shall ever be able to preserve you from the punishment in the eight great hells.” Having thus spoken, he soon disappeared. The young man, having washed away in the ditch the dust that covered him, walked back, quite disappointed, into the town. The hunter was the same that subsequently became Dewadat. As to the jackal, he is the same that has since become Buddha.
3. When Phra was in the Dzetawon monastery, desiring to give instruction to the young son of a nobleman, named Ootara, he spoke as follows. At the time the Princes Bramanas[161] reigned at Baranathee, Phralaong was a pigeon. There was then a man in that country who was wont to catch pigeons, bring them to his house, and carefully feed them until they became fat, when he then sold them at a high rate. Together with other pigeons, Phralaong was caught and brought over to the house. But he would not peck the grain that was spread before him. “Should I eat,” said he to himself, “I will soon get fat, and then be sold like others.” He soon became wretchedly thin. Surprised at this, the hunter took the pigeon out of the cage, placed it on the palm of his hand to examine it more closely and find the cause of its great leanness. Phralaong, watching the opportunity of a favourable moment when the attention of his guardian was called to some other object, flew away to his own old place, leaving the hunter quite vexed at and ashamed of his confiding simplicity. The hunter is in these days Dewadat; and the pigeon is now Buddha himself.
Here is the abridgment of two stories, well known to the readers of fables.
4. When Phralaong was a deer, he became intimate friend with the bird khaoukshia and a turtle. On a certain night it happened that a hunter having laid down his net, the deer was caught. A tortoise that was near to the place came and bit the net; the deer then soon made his escape from the dangerous position he was in. Whilst this was going on the friendly khaoukshia, perceiving the danger his friend was in, amused the hunter by flying right and left close to him, to retard his progress towards the place where the net was laid. Mad at the escape of the deer, he seized the turtle and thrust her into his bag. But the wily bird contrived by its peckings to make a large hole in the bag, and the tortoise too made her escape.
5. One day Phralaong, being then a husbandman, observed once, to his great surprise, that a lion of an uncommon size paid frequent visits to his rice field, and[162] ate and destroyed many of the young plants. On a certain occasion he examined closely the intruder, and perceiving the extremities of his feet, he discovered that the pretended lion was but a colt that had clothed himself in a lion’s skin.
When the most excellent Buddha was in the country of Mitila, he went, attended by a great many Rahans, to the monastery of Meggadawa, situated in the middle of a beautiful grove of mango trees. He spoke as follows to the assembly: “Beloved Bickus, in former times I lived in this very place where we are now congregated, and was the ruler of the country of Mitila.” He then remained silent. Ananda respectfully entreated him to condescend to narrate to them some of the principal events that happened at that time. Buddha assented to the request, and said: “Formerly there reigned at Mitila a prince named Minggadewa. During 82,000 years he remained a prince, and spent all his time in the enjoyment of all sorts of pleasure; he was crown prince of that country during the same space of time, and reigned as king during a similar period.”
On a certain day the barber of the king having detected a grey hair on the royal head, exhibited it to his astonished regards. The king, struck at such a sight, soon understood that this object was the forerunner of death. He gave up the throne, and resolved to become a Rahan. Having put into execution his resolve, he practised with the greatest zeal the highest virtues, and after his death migrated to one of the fortunate seats of Brahmas. The 82,000 princes who succeeded him followed his footsteps, inherited his virtues, and after their demise obtained a place in the same seat.
Prince Minggadewa, who had opened the way to such a succession of pious monarchs, perceiving that his race[163] was near being extinct, left the seat of Brahmas and took flesh in the womb of the queen of the king who then governed Mitila. On the tenth month the queen was delivered of a son, who received the name of Nemi. The pounhas who were invited to the palace to tell the horoscope of the royal child assured the king that this child would follow the example of all his predecessors who had left the throne and embraced the profession of Rahans.
From his tender age the young prince displayed the most liberal and pious dispositions in making abundant alms, and fervently observing all the religious practices. All the inhabitants of that kingdom followed his example, and when some one died, he migrated to one of the Nats’ seats. During those happy times, hell seemed to have become quite unnecessary.
On a certain day Nemi appeared to be most anxious to know which was the most excellent practice, the bestowing of alms, or the observance of the precepts. The great Thagia came down from his glorious seat, encompassed with an incomparably shining brightness, and went to the place where the prince was busy revolving this thought in his mind. The angelical visitor told him that the bestowing of alms could only procure an admittance into the seats of Nats, but that a perfect compliance with the ordinances of the law opened the way to the seats of Brahmas. As soon as he had given his decision, he returned to his blissful seat. On his arrival he found crowds of Nats given up to rejoicings. The Thagia gave them a detailed narrative of all that he had seen on earth during his errand, and in particular eulogised at great length the religious dispositions of Prince Nemi. Enraptured with the heart-moving description they heard, all the Nats at once exclaimed that they wished to see in their seats so accomplished and virtuous a prince. The Thagia commanded a young Nat, named Matali, to have his carriage ready, depart for the country of Mitila, and[164] bring to this fortunate seat the ruler of that country. Matali, bowing before the Thagia, forthwith left the seat of Nats in a magnificent chariot. It was then the day of the full moon, when all the inhabitants of Mitila were busily engaged in discharging their prescribed religious duties. On a sudden there appeared, issuing from the east, the magnificent and bright equipage of the Nat, splendidly emerging from the bosom of clouds at the same time as the moon in its full. Surprised at such an unexpected sight, all wondered, and believed that two moons were miraculously rising on that occasion. They were soon undeceived by the nearer approach of Matali’s carriage. The messenger went to the king, and conveyed to him the intelligence that the Nats were exceedingly anxious to see him. Without a moment’s hesitation the king stepped into the carriage, and abandoned himself to the guidance of his heavenly guide. “Two roads are now opened before us,” said Matali, “the one through the dismal dungeons, where the wicked are consigned to undergo punishment for their offences, and the other through the blissful seats, where the good are enjoying the rewards allotted to them for their virtues. Which of the two do you wish to follow?” The prince said that he wished to visit both places. Matali answered in a mild tone of voice that his request should be complied with.
The celestial guide directed his rapid course through the regions of desolation, where dwells an eternal horror. The first object they met with was a broad and deep river, filled with frightful whirlpools, where the water seemed as if boiling. It was glowing like a flame, and the whole mass of water appeared like a lake of fire. The river is called Wattoorani. On the banks of that river stand the infernal ministers, armed with all sorts of sharp-edged instruments, cutting, wounding, piercing the unfortunate wretches, who try to get out of that horrible and burning water. They are forcibly pushed again into the same place of torments, and tumble over pointed darts, whence[165] they are taken up and roasted on living coals. Nothing is heard but the horrifying howlings and yells of those unfortunate beings, who are waiting with the greatest impatience the moment of their deliverance. “What are the crimes,” asked the terrified prince, “that have committed the unfortunate inhabitants of this place to undergo such unheard-of sufferings?” “They are,” replied Matali, “the persecutors of the weak, the heartless oppressors of the poor, &c., who are doomed to undergo such punishments.” Thence the guide drove rapidly to another place, where dogs, each with five hideous heads, famished eagles, and devouring crows, fed with a ravenous hunger on the bodies of unfortunate victims, the flesh of which is incessantly reproduced to afford a continual prey to these never-satiated ferocious animals. “These,” said Matali, “suffer for having done no good to their fellow-creatures, for preventing others to do some, and for having borne envy to their neighbours.”
Here follows a long description of the other places of hell, given to Nemi by his celestial guide. We omit it, lest its tedious and revolting particulars tire and disgust the reader. Suffice it to mention that the torments of Tantalus are described here with a horrifying correctness, such as almost casts into the shade the description given to us by the Latin poet.
Having ranged the various regions of hell, and heard all the particulars given to him by Matali, Nemi was suddenly brought over to the beautiful, smiling, and blissful seats of the blessed. He soon descried at a distance the celebrated palace, made of diamonds, disposed in an immense square of twelve youdzanas on each side, and five stories high; then the garden, the tank, and the padetha tree. In that palace Biranee occupied a splendid apartment; she was then lying on a soft sofa, surrounded by more than a thousand beauties. “What good works,” asked Nemi, “has Biranee practised, to deserve such a magnificent reward?” Matali replied, “This daughter of[166] Nats was formerly a slave in the house of a pounha. She was always very attentive to all the duties of her position, and at the same time regularly observed the precepts of the law. On a certain day her mistress, who was wont to feed eight Rahans daily, fell into a fit of anger, and said that she was unable to bear any longer the fatigue attending the maintenance of these religious. But the young slave, full of religious zeal, took upon herself the labour of feeding the Rahans. For this good and meritorious work she is enjoying the happiness of her present position.”
Nemi was successively led into the various seats of the inhabitants of those blissful regions, and his guide explained at great length the good works that had procured to each of them the respective happy situation which they enjoyed, and occasionally mentioned the period of time they were allowed to dwell in those abodes of unparalleled happiness. He was finally introduced to the presence of the great Thagia, who is the chief of all Nats. Having finished the survey of all the seats of Nats, Nemi was brought back to the seat of men in his own capital by the same celestial guide.
On his return Nemi saw himself surrounded by his pious subjects, who eagerly inquired of him all the particulars respecting his journey. He minutely explained to them all that he had seen both in the region of hell and in those of Nats, and concluded by exhorting his people to be liberal in bestowing alms, that they might hereafter be admitted to share in the enjoyment of the Nats’ happiness.
Nemi, perceiving that his hairs were turning grey, became still more zealous in the practice of alms-deeds, and resolved to embrace the profession of Rahans. But previous to his taking such a step he had his son Ralaradzana appointed to succeed him. With that prince terminated the long succession of kings who in the decline of their lives became Rahans.
This is one of the best written Dzats possessed by the Burmese. The writer has translated it from beginning to end; but he will give here only an outline of its contents. The narrator, as usual, is our Buddha himself, when he was in the Weloowon monastery, surrounded by the members of the assembly and a crowd of hearers.
In the country of Mitila there reigned a king named Dzanecka, who had two sons called Arita Dzanecka and Paula Dzanecka. After a long and prosperous reign he passed to another existence. Arita Dzanecka, having celebrated his father’s obsequies and made the usual purifications, ascended the throne. He confirmed his younger brother in the situation of commander-in-chief, which he had hitherto held.
On a certain day a vile courtier, by a false report, awakened in the king’s breast sentiments of jealousy and suspicion against his brother’s fidelity. The innocent prince was cast into a dungeon; but in the virtue of his innocence he found means to make his escape, went to a part of the country where he had powerful supporters, and soon found himself in a condition to bid defiance to his brother. The king assembled his troops; a battle ensued, in which the king was slain, and Paul Dzanecka ascended the throne.
The queen, who was with child, on hearing the news of such a disaster, went to the treasury, took some ornaments of the purest gold and the most valuable precious stones, and placed the whole in a basket. She then spread out rice so as to cover the treasure, and extended an old and dirty cloth over the opening of the basket. Putting on the dress of one of the meanest women, she went out of the town, carrying the basket over her head. She left the city through the southern gate and passed into the country without being noticed by the guards.
Having gone to a certain distance from the place, the queen did not know which way to direct her steps. She sat in a dzeat during the heat of the day. Whilst in the dzeat she thought of the country of Tsampa, where some of her relatives lived, and resolved to go thither. She began to make inquiries at the people that were passing by respecting the route she would have to follow.
During this time the attention of a Nat was suddenly attracted by the inspiration of Phralaong, who was in the queen’s womb, to the sad position his mother was in. He, leaving forthwith his blissful seat, assumed the appearance of an old man guiding a carriage along the road. He came close to the dzeat and invited the queen to ascend his carriage, assuring her that he would convey her safely to Tsampa. The offer was accepted. As the queen was far advanced with child, she had some difficulty in getting into the conveyance, when that portion of the earth which she was standing upon suddenly swelled and rose to the level of the carriage. The queen stepped into the chariot and they departed. During the night they arrived at a beautiful place close to the neighbourhood of Tsampa. The queen alighted in a dzeat. Her celestial guide bade her to wait until daybreak before she ventured into the city, and returned to the seat of Tawadeintha.
During that very night a famous pounha, attended by five hundred of his disciples, had left the town at a late hour, to take a walk by moonlight and enjoy the cool of the night and a bath in the river. Pamaouka, for such is the name of the pounha, came by chance to the very place where the queen was seated. His disciples continued their walk and went on the bank of the river. She appeared full of youth and beauty. But by the virtue of Phralaong the pounha knew that she was in the family way, and that the child she bore was a Phralaong. Pamaouka alone approached close to the queen and entreated her to entertain no fear whatever; that he looked upon her as his sister. The queen related to him all the particulars of her misfortune.[169] The great pounha, moved with compassion, resolved to become her supporter and protector. At the same time he recommended her to say that he was her brother, and when his disciples should come back, to shed tears in token of the tender emotion she felt at meeting with him. Everything having been arranged, Pamaouka called his disciples, told them how happy he was at having found his sister, from whom he had parted many years ago. Meanwhile he directed them to take her to his house, and recommended her to the special care of his wife. As for him, he would be back soon after having performed the usual ablutions. The queen was welcome in the pounha’s house, and treated with the greatest care and tenderest affection. A little while after she was delivered of a beautiful child, resembling a statue of gold. They gave him the name of Dzanecka.
Having reached the years of boyhood, he was one day playing with boys of his own age, when, by way of teazing, they called him the son of the widow. These keen tauntings made him urge his mother to reveal to him the name of his father. It was then that he knew the author of his birth. Pamaouka taught him all the sciences known in those days, such as medicine, mathematics, &c. At the age of sixteen years young Dzanecka had completed all his studies.
Dzanecka resolved to devote himself to trade, and acquire thereby ample means to reconquer one day the throne of his ancestors. With a part of the treasure his mother had brought with her, he was in a position to fit out a ship in company with several other merchants. He resolved to sail for a place called Caumawatoura. He had scarcely been at sea two days when a mighty storm came on. The vessel, after having held out some time against the roaring and raging billows, at last gave way, and was broken in pieces. All the crew and passengers, amounting to 700, miserably perished in the sea, without making the least effort to save themselves. Our Phralaong, on[170] the contrary, seizing the extremity of a log of wood, swam with all his strength, resolved to struggle to the last against adversity. Mighty were his efforts for several days. At last a daughter of Nats, whose duty it was to watch over the sea, saw his generous and courageous behaviour, took pity on him, and came to his assistance. There followed a sort of dialogue between her and Dzanecka. The latter displayed his undaunted courage and firm purpose. The former admired the more his determined resolution. She resolved to save him from the dangerous position. Taking him in her arms, she carried him, according to his wishes, to the country of Mitila, in the garden of mango-trees, and placed him on the very table-stone where his ancestors were wont to enjoy themselves with a numerous retinue. Phralaong immediately fell asleep. The daughter of Nats, having enjoined the Nat, guardian of the place, to watch over the prince, returned to her blissful seat.
On the very day that the vessel was wrecked the ruler of Mitila died, leaving one daughter, named Thiwalee. Previous to his giving up the ghost and ascending to the seats of Nats, the king had ordered his ministers into his presence, and enjoined on them to select for the husband of his daughter a man remarkable for the beauty and strength of his body, as well as by the acuteness and penetration of his mind. He was to be able to bend and unbend an enormous bow, a feat which the united efforts of a thousand soldiers could scarcely achieve, and find the place where he had concealed sixteen golden cups. On the seventh day after his death, the ministers and pounhas began to deliberate among themselves about the choice of a match worthy of the princess. Several competitors offered themselves for the hand of Thiwalee, but they were all rejected. At last, not knowing what to do, they resolved to leave to chance the solution of the difficulty. They sent out a charmed chariot, convinced that by the virtue inherent in it they would find out the fortunate[171] man whose destinies were to be united to those of the princess. The chariot was sent out attended by soldiers, musicians, pounhas, and noblemen. It came straight forward to the mango-trees garden, and stopped by the side of the table-stone Phralaong was sleeping upon. The pounhas, on inspecting the hands and feet of the stranger, saw unmistakable signs foreshowing his elevation to the royal dignity. They awakened him by the sound of musical instruments, saluted him king, and begged of him to put on the royal dress, mount on the chariot, and proceed triumphantly to the royal city. He entered the palace through the eastern gate. Having been informed of the king’s last intentions, he forthwith bent and unbent the bow, found out the sixteen golden cups, and was duly united to the beautiful and youthful Thiwalee. All the people showed signs of the greatest rejoicings; the rich made him all sorts of offerings; the pounhas in white costume, holding the sacred white shell, adorned with flowers and filled with water, with their bodies bent forward, poured respectfully the water, imploring blessings on the new monarch.
When the rejoicings were over, the king rewarded the pounha Pamaouka, who had been as a father to him during his exile. He applied himself to do as much good as he could in relieving the poor, and promoting the welfare of all. He delighted in mentioning to his courtiers his misfortune, and the great efforts he had made to extricate himself from difficulties. He praised the reward which attended generous efforts, and exhorted them never to flinch under difficulties, but always to exhibit a strong and unconquerable resolution under all trials, because it must sooner or later be crowned with success.
During the 7000 years that he reigned over Mitila with the queen Thiwalee, he faithfully practised the observances of the law, governed justly, fed the Rahans and Pitzega-buddhas, and gave abundant alms to the poor.
On the 10th month Thiwalee was delivered of a son,[172] whom they called Digaout. On a certain day, the king, having received from his gardener some mangoes full of flavour and beauty, wished to go to the garden to see the tree that yielded such delicious fruits. When he arrived at the place, he saw two mango-trees, one with a luxuriant foliage, but without fruits, the other loaded with fruits. The monarch approached the tree, riding his elephant, and plucked some mangoes, which he ate and found delicious. Thence he proceeded further to inspect the other parts of the extensive garden. The courtiers and the people that followed plucked fruits from the same tree, and did it with such eagerness that they left neither fruits nor leaves on the tree.
On his return the king was surprised to see the fruitful tree destitute of both leaves and fruits, whilst the barren one had a beautiful appearance. The monarch, after a lengthened dialogue with his courtiers, concluded as follows: “The riches of this world are never without enemies; he who possesses them resembles the fruitful mango-tree. We must look out for goods that excite neither envy, jealousy, nor other passions. The Rahans and Pitzega-buddhas alone possess such riches. I will take a lesson from the barren mango-tree. That I may cut off and eradicate the troubles, vexations, and anxieties of life, I will renounce everything and embrace the profession of Rahan.”
With this idea strongly impressed on his mind, Dzanecka came back to his palace. He forthwith sent for the general of his troops, and directed him to place a strong guard in front of his apartment, and allow no one for four consecutive months to come into his presence, not even the queen, but only him who would bring his daily meal. He gave orders to his ministers to judge with impartiality, agreeably to the law. Having thus arranged everything, he withdrew alone to the upper apartment of his palace. Here follows a stanza in praise of the prince, who had separated from his queen, concubines, and all the pleasures and honours attending royalty.
Dzanecka alone began to meditate on the happiness of the life of pounhas and Pitzega-buddhas; he admired their poor diet, their zeal in practising the observances of the law, their earnest longings after the happiness of Neibban, their disengagement from the ties of passions, the state of inward peace and fixity which their souls enjoyed. In his enthusiasm he venerated them with a holy fervour, called them his masters and preceptors, and exclaimed: “Who will teach me to imitate their lives, and help me to become similar to them?” In ten stanzas Dzanecka reviews successively all that had belonged to him, his capital with its stately edifices, fine gates, the three walls and ditches, the beautiful and fertile country of Wintzearitz, the palace with its lofty domes and massive towers, the beautifully ornamented throne, the rich and magnificent royal dresses, the royal garden and tank, the elephants, horses, and chariots, the soldiers, the pounhas, the princes, his queen and concubines. He then concludes each stanza with the following words: “When shall I leave all these things, become poor, put on the humble habit of Rahans, and follow the same mode of a perfectly retired life?” With these and similar reflections Dzanecka endeavoured to sunder one after the other many threads of passions, to pull down successively the branches of the impure tree, until he could give a final stroke to the roots.
At the conclusion of four months’ retirement, Dzanecka sent for a faithful servant, and directed him to procure for him the various articles of the dress of a Rahan. He had his head and beard shaved; put on the cherished habit, and placing a staff in his hand walked out of his apartments, and directed his course towards the gate, with the dignified deportment of a Rahan of sixty years’ profession.
Queen Thiwalee was tired of having been so long deprived of her husband’s company. She summoned seven hundred of the handsomest damsels of the palace to go with her to the king, and by the efforts of their united charms entrap him in the net of passion and prevail upon[174] him to come back to their society. When they ascended the stair-case, they met with Dzanecka in his new attire. None recognised him; but all paid him due reverence as some holy personage that had come to give instructions to the king. Having reached the apartment and seen the royal dress set aside, and the beautiful and long black hairs laid on one of the sofas, the queen and her attendants soon understood the sad and heart-rending intimation which these objects were designed to convey. She ran in all haste with all her retinue down the stairs and overtook the new Rahan at the moment he was crossing the outer gate of the palace. Every means that could be devised to make impression on the king’s heart were resorted to by the queen and the damsels, in order to prevail upon him to forego his resolution. Tears, cries, wailings, striking of the breast, display of the most graceful and seducing forms, supplications, entreaties, were all used in vain; the new Rahan, unmoved and firm, continued his course, protesting that passions and concupiscence were dead in him, and that what could be said or done to engage him to change his resolution was in vain. During his progress towards the solitude of Himawonta, he was comforted and encouraged by the advice and instruction of two Rathees, who from their solitude flew through the air to witness the beautiful struggle between passions and virtue, and help him not to flinch before the repeated obstacles the queen put in his way, to retard, impede, and prevent the execution of his holy design. The names of these two instructors were Narada and Migalzein; they were clothed in the skins of panthers. They instructed him in the duties of his new calling, and exhorted him to root out of his heart with perseverance all passions, and in particular concupiscence and pride.
Comforted with such timely instructions, the new Rahan felt himself more than ever fixed in his resolution. On his way to the solitude, Dzanecka arrived one evening at the gates of a town called Daunu. He passed the night under a tree, at a distance from the queen and the crowd[175] that followed her. On the morning he entered the town, and went, as usual, along the streets to beg his food. He happened to stop for a while at the shop of a man that was fabricating arrows. Dzanecka, seeing the workman shutting one eye and looking with the other to see if the shaft of the arrow was straight, asked him the reason of his doing so, as he would see better with both eyes than with one. The workman told him that it was not always good that each object in this world should have a match. “Should I,” said he, “look on this shaft with both eyes, my sight, distracted by several objects, could not perceive the defects of the wood, &c., but by looking on it with only one eye the least irregularity is easily detected. When we have a work to perform, if there be two opposite wills in us, it cannot be regularly made. You have put on the habit of Rahan; you have apparently renounced the world; how is it that you are followed by such a large retinue of women and other attendants? It is impossible to attend well to the duties of your profession, and at the same time keep such a company.” This cutting remark made a deep impression on Dzanecka. He had gone over a little distance, when he met a number of little girls playing together. One of them had a silver bangle on each hand, with one of gold on the right hand. When she agitated the right hand, the two bangles hitting each other produced a sound. Dzanecka, willing to try the wit of the little creature, asked her the reason why the movement of one hand produced a sound, whilst that of the other did not. She replied, “My left hand, that has but one bangle, is the image of the Rahans who ought to be alone. In this world, when an object has its match, some collision and noise inevitably result. How is it that you, who have put on the habit of Rahan, allow yourself to be followed by that woman who is still full of freshness and beauty? Is she your wife or sister? Should she be only your sister, it is not good that she should be with you. It is dangerous for Rahans to keep the company of women.”
This sharp lecture, from the mouth of a little girl, produced[176] a deep impression on our Rahan. He left the city. A large forest was in the vicinity: he resolved to part company with the queen at once. At the entrance he stopped awhile, and paused for a moment. There, on a sudden, stretching his arm, he broke the small branch of a tree, and showing it to Thiwalee he said, “Princess, you see this small branch; it can never be reunited to the stem it has been taken from. In like manner, it is impossible that I should ever go back with you.” On hearing the fatal words the queen fainted. All her attendants crowded round her, to afford her some relief. Dzanecka himself, in the tumult and confusion that was going on, stole away with rapidity and disappeared in the forest. The queen was then carried back to Daunu by her attendants, whence they all returned to Mitila. Alone in the solitude, Phralaong enjoyed the sweets of perfect contemplation during a period of three thousand years. Thiwalee, on her part, resolved to renounce the world and follow the example of her husband. She became a Rahaness, in one of the royal gardens, during the same period of years, and subsequently migrated to one of the seats of Brahmas, called Brahma-parithitsa.
At the conclusion of the narrative Buddha added: “Mani-megala, the daughter of Nats, who saved me in the midst of the sea, is now my beloved fair disciple of the left, Oopalawon. The little girl who gave me such a wholesome instruction, at the gate of the town of Daunu, is now Kema, my fair disciple of the right. The Rathee Narada has since become my great disciple Thariputra, whose wisdom is second only to my own. The other Rathee Miga-dzein is now my disciple Maukalan, whose power for displaying wonders yields only to mine. The arrow-maker has since become Ananda, my faithful and dutiful attendant. Queen Thiwalee has become the Princess Yathaudara. As to Prince Dzanecka, he is now the Phra who is before you and addresses you, who is perfectly acquainted with all the laws and principles, and who is the teacher of men, Nats, and Brahmas.”
The identification of the places mentioned in the course of the Life of Gaudama is certainly a great desideratum. This difficult and laborious task has been boldly undertaken by several government servants of both services. Great and important successes have attended their efforts. One of the most successful among them has been Major-General Cunningham, the archæological surveyor to the government of India. The sphere of his laborious and scientific researches has extended over north and south Behar, the cradle of Buddhism, and some parts of the Punjaub and Peshawar. Under his direction excavations have been made, inscriptions found and deciphered, the nature and dimensions of old ruined monuments correctly ascertained. In his valuable reports may be found important elements for reconstructing the history and geography of ancient India. He has been greatly assisted by the history of the voyages of the Chinese pilgrim, Hwen Thsang, who spent sixteen years in travelling throughout India, and visiting all the places rendered famous by the actions connected with the life of Buddha, and the spread of his doctrines and institutions. The voyage began in 629 and ended in 645 of the Christian era. The itinerary[178] begins with the starting of the traveller from a city on the banks of the Hoang-ho. He shaped his course through the centre of Tartary, entered by the northern extremity of the plateau of Panin into what is called now Independent Tartary, visited Samarcand, where there were no Buddhists, but only fire worshippers. Thence he passed over to Balk, where he found religion in a flourishing condition. He ascended the mighty Hindu Kush mountains, penetrated into Cabul and Peshawar, crossed the Indus at Attock, and turning abruptly to the north, visited Oudiana, where he found dzedis and monasteries on the grandest and most magnificent scale, and came back to Attock, following the western bank of the Indus. He then proceeded through the Punjaub to Mathura, and minutely examined all the Buddhistic monuments to be found in the territories situated between the Ganges, the Gunduck, and Nepaul. He went to Benares, Pataliputra, and all the places in Magatha, or south Behar, where his religious curiosity could be satisfied. Thence he shaped his course in an eastern direction, and visited the whole of Bengal. He passed to Orissa, visited many places in Central India and a portion of the Upper Deccan. He went to Molwa and Guzerat, returned to Magatha, and began his homeward voyage. He recrossed the Indus at Attock, followed up the valley of the Cabul river, and with unheard-of difficulties and dangers passed over the Hindu Kush range. His route across Chinese Tartary led him back through Kashgar, Yarkand, and Khotan, to his native place.
It is a matter of surprise to see how acute in his observations, correct in his descriptions, and exact in his measurements, our pilgrim has been. With his book in hand, the above-named eminent archæologist was enabled, in many instances, to identify at once mere mounds of ruins, and satisfy himself that they were the remnants of the monuments described by our pilgrim. When he entertained any doubts in his mind, he had recourse to excavations,[179] which, in most instances, demonstrated the perfect accuracy of Hwen Thsang.
Nearly two hundred years previous to the voyage of Hwen Thsang, another Chinese pilgrim named Fa-hian had undertaken a similar journey. Impelled by a purely religious zeal, he came to India for the sole purpose of visiting the places rendered famous and venerable by the birth, life, doings, and death of Foe, the same personage who is known in these parts under the name Buddha Gaudama. His object was also to make a complete collection of all the religious books acknowledged as genuine in India, and carry them with him to China. The errand of Hwen Thsang had a similar object.
Our worthy traveller, according to his account, passed through Southern Thibet, Little Tartary, and visited successively Cabul, Cashmere, Candahar, and the Punjaub. Following a nearly south-eastern direction, he reached Mathura on the Upper Jumna, crossed the Ganges at Kanouj, at the confluence of the Kali with that river, travelled almost in an eastern direction through Oude, and crossed the Gogra near the Fyzabad. Keeping close to the eastern bank of that stream, he struck in a slightly northern direction, passing the Rapti south of Goruckpore, and followed the same course, nearly to the western bank of the Gunduck. From thence he shaped his course in a south-easterly direction, parallel to the course of that river, which he crossed a little higher up the place where it empties into the Ganges. Following then a southern direction, he crossed the Ganges near the place where the city of Patna is now. From thence our pilgrim travelled in a south-easterly direction, crossed successively the Morhar and the Fulgo, examined all the places in the neighbourhood, south and south-west of Behar, which are so celebrated in Buddhistic annals. After having spent three years in India, busy in mastering the Pali language and collecting copies of the religious works, he then embarked on the Ganges. Near its mouth he went on[180] board of a ship bound to Ceylon. After having visited that celebrated island, Fa-hian sailed in the direction of the Malayan Archipelago, called at Java, and safely arrived at his country, after having performed one of the most extraordinary and difficult journeys any man could have undertaken in those ancient times. It was in the beginning of the fifth century that this feat was performed in the space of more than seven years. He spent three years in India, and two at Ceylon.
The Chinese original of Fa-Hian has been translated into French by A. Remusat. The English version from the French is accompanied by the annotations of Remusat and those of other celebrated Orientalists. The book of Hwen Thsang has been translated by M. Julien. For the loan of these two works the writer is indebted to the ever-obliging kindness of the worthy and learned Chief Commissioner of British Burma, Col. A. P. Phayre. From these works we have extracted the above and following particulars.
1. The name given by northern Buddhists to Buddha is Thakiamuni, which means the religious of the Thakia family. He belonged to the Kshatria, or the warriors’ caste. The name Gaudama, according to the opinion of the late E. Burnouf, is the name of the religious instructor of his family, which members of families of that caste often adopted. This instructor might have been a descendant of the celebrated philosopher Gotama, mentioned in certain writings, but distinct from our Buddha.
2. Kapila, or Kapilawot, the birthplace of Buddha, was situated on the left bank of the Gogra, straight north of Benares.
It was a heap of ruins when Fa-Hian visited it, and the country almost a desert. Some are of opinion that it was situated near the mountains that separate Nepaul from Goruckpore, on the river Rohini, a mountain stream, feeder of the Rapti. But this assertion has very few supporters, and appears improbable.
3. The river Anauma cannot be the Amanat in Behar, south of Patna. It is probably one of the feeders of the Gogra, and to be met with half-way between Kapila and Radzagio, the site of which city, as will be subsequently seen, lies close to modern Behar. The legend bears out this supposition. Buddha travelled thirty youdzanas from Kapila to the river Anauma, thence thirty to Radzagio. The youdzana of those times in Magatha is supposed to have been equal probably to seven miles.
4. Oorouwela was one of the mountains famous for the number of the hermits that withdrew thither for the purpose of meditation. It is not far from Gaya Buddha.
5. The river Neritzara, in Mongol, Nirandzara, is a considerable stream flowing from the south-west. It unites with the Monah and forms the Fulgo.
6. Baranathee is beyond doubt the famous city of Benares. The Burmans call it by name of Baranathee, or rather Varanasi. The town is so named from its situation between the small river Varana and the Asi, a mere brook. The solitude of Migadawon, whither Buddha went to preach the law to the five Rahans that had served him during the six years of mortification which he spent in the forest of Oorouwela, lies in its vicinity. Benares is famous in the Buddhistic annals, because in its neighbourhood the law of the wheel, or rather the super-excellent law of the four sublime truths, was announced for the first time. Migadawon means the deer-forest. It lies three and a half miles from Benares in a northern direction. It is said that, after having travelled nine miles from the Bodi tree, Buddha had to go over a distance of eighteen youdzanas ere he reached Benares, making a total of about 120 miles.
7. Radzagio, or Radzagihra, was the capital of Magatha or South Behar. Its situation is well ascertained. Its ruins have been minutely described by several travellers. It was situated on the left bank of the same small river as Behar, but a few miles south of that place. The mountains or peaks surrounding that ancient city are full of[182] caves, tenanted in former ages by Buddhist ascetics. The mountain Gayathitha, where Buddha preached his famous sermon, lies in the neighbourhood. It is perhaps the same as the Gridrakuta, or the Vulture’s Peak.
8. The Buddhist annals often mention the country of the middle or Mitzima-desa. It comprised the countries of Mathura, Kosala, Kapila, Wethalee, and Magatha; that is to say, the provinces of Agra, Delhi, Oude, and South Behar.
Magatha, south of the Ganges, had for capital at first Radzagio, until Kalathoka, a hundred years after the death of Gaudama, transferred the seat of his empire to Pataliputra, or Palibothra. The celebrated Weloowon monastery was situated in the neighbourhood of Radzagio, and was offered to Buddha by King Pimpathara, the ruler of that country.
9. Kosala is the same as the kingdom of Ayodya, now called Oude. Thawattie, or Crawastu, was the capital of a district of that country. It was situated nearly at the same place where at present stands the modern town of Fyzabad. According to the legend, the distance from Radzagio to Thawattie is forty-five youdzanas of about seven miles. Twelve hundred paces from that city was to be met the renowned monastery of Dzetawon, or the grove of the victorious. Many ruins that have been visited and examined leave no doubt regarding the certain position of Thawattie.
10. Thing-ka-tha, or Tsam-pa-tha, lies in an eastern direction between Mathura and Kanouj, near the site occupied by the town of Ferruckabad. Captain A. Cunningham has met with the ruins of that place in the village of Samkassa, on the left bank of the Kalinadi, twelve cos from Ferrukabad. According to a popular tradition, it was destroyed in 1183 by the King of Kanouj, at the instigation of the Brahmins, who endeavoured by every means in their power to sweep all the remnants of Buddhism from those parts of the peninsula. It was in that[183] place that Buddha arrived on his return from the seats of Nats, whither he had gone to preach the law to his mother. According to the legend, the distance from Thawattie to Thing-ka-tha is thirty youdzanas in a westerly direction. Fa-Hian says that he saw in one of the temples of that place the ladder Buddha had used when he came down from the seats of Nats.
11. The village of Patali is the very place where was subsequently established the renowned city of Palibothra, capital of Magatha. The place had reached the height of its glory when Megasthenes, the ambassador of Seleucus, visited it in the reign of Chandragupta. In the time of Buddha it was but an insignificant place. There was, however, a sort of fort to arrest the inroads of some troublesome neighbours. Buddha, when he passed through that place, predicted that it would become a flourishing town. The prediction began to have its accomplishment one hundred years after his death, when King Kalathoka left Radzagio, and removed the seat of his empire to Palibothra near the place where the modern city of Patna stands.
12. The town of Wethalie is supposed to have stood north of Patna on the Gunduck, not far from the place where that river joins the Ganges. The large village of Besarh, twenty miles north of Hajipur, occupies a portion of the place on which stood Wethalie. In the seventh century Buddhism was there on its decline; false doctrines, as says one of the Chinese pilgrims, were much prevailing. Nothing was to be seen at that time but a ruined town and many monasteries, almost deserted, and also falling into decay. Many signs of ancient ruins are also to be met with between Besarh and Bakra; they belong to the same city, which was both populous and wealthy. Its circumference was about twelve miles, including the two modern places of Bakra and Besarh. All the mounds of ruins have been carefully searched and described by A. Cunningham, and the sites of ancient tanks exactly laid down. There[184] is a curious episode in the legend connected with the name of Wethalie. A courtesan, who, despite her dishonourable calling, occupied a brilliant position in the country, courted the favour of feeding Buddha with all his followers. The latter accepted her invitation, and received a beautiful grove, which she presented to him and to the assembly. It does not appear that her avocation was looked upon as a disgraceful one. It is probable that persons of this description were as much for the intellectual as for the sensual enjoyments of their visitors. There existed in Greece and at Rome something similar to what is here alluded to. According to Plutarch, Aspasia at Athens was courted by Pericles on account of her high literary attainments and political abilities. Socrates visited her sometimes in company with his disciples. Visitors took occasionally their wives to her place, for the purpose of enjoying the charms of her highly refined and instructive conversation. The same philosophical biographer does not scruple to quote sometimes the sayings of the celebrated Roman courtesan, named Flora.
13. Nala or Nalanda was a Brahmin village about seven miles north of Radzagio. It was the birthplace of the great disciple Thariputra. It seems that there was there a sort of Academia, whither the learned of Radzagio resorted to discourse on moral and philosophical subjects. The magnificent ruins, which subsist up to this day in that locality, have been minutely examined, measured, and described by several visitors. The great temple must, in the opinion of A. Cunningham, have been built in the sixth century of our era.
14. Kootheinaron is the place in the neighbourhood of which Buddha entered into the state of Neibban, or died. Some antiquarians, laying much stress on the name of a village up to this day called Kushia, have placed the position of Kootheinaron on the road between Betiah and Goruckpore. On that spot is to be seen a pyramidical-looking mound of bricks, over which spreads a large banyan[185] tree. But, from the narrative of the legend, we must look for the site of Kootheinaron nearer to the river Higniarati or Gunduck, since the spot where Gaudama died was near to the city, and is described as surrounded on three sides by the river. Kootheinaron was situated a little north or north-west of Betiah, on or near the banks of the Gunduck. There too ruins are to be seen, which doubtless will prove to be those of Kootheinaron. The name may have subsequently migrated to the locality above mentioned.
15. Papilawana, the capital of the Mauria princes, was situated between the Rapti and the Gunduck, nearly east of Goruckpore. South of that place Fa-Hian visited the dzedi of the coals. The Mauria princes, agreeably to the text of the legend, having come too late for sharing in the partition of the relics, took with them the coals that remained after the cremation of Buddha’s remains, carried them into their country, and built a dzedi over them. It was not far from that place that the Brahmin Dauna built another dzedi over the vessel that had contained Buddha’s relics.
16. The village of Rama is the same as the Ramaganio of the Cingalese collection. The two Chinese pilgrims in their relations call that place Lan-mo. Can it be that the modern Ramnagar is indicative of the ancient Ramaganio? At all events we would not be far from the truth if we place it between the Gogra and the Rapti, but nearer to the latter, almost due west of Goruckpore.
17. The Pawa town is supposed by A. Cunningham to have occupied the same site as the large village of Padarawana, twelve miles to the west of the river Gunduck, and forty miles north-north-east of Goruckpore. A large mound of more than 200 feet in length by 120 in breadth exists in that locality. From the excavations made on the place, it is supposed that there was a courtyard, with cells for monks, on each side, the centre being, as was often the case, occupied by a dzedi. The people of Pawa obtained one-eighth of the relics, after the cremation of Buddha’s remains, and built one dzedi over them.
18. Kapilawot, or Kapilawastu, was situated between Fyzabad and Goruckpore, but a little nearer to the latter place. It was on or near the banks of the Gogra. The small river Rohini formed the boundary between the territory of Kapilawot and that of Kaulia.
19. Gaya and Buddha-Gaya are two distinct places. The first is well known as the town of Gaya. The second lies six miles southward, and is famous as the locality of the Pipal or Bodi tree, under which Gaudama obtained the Buddhahood. A tree of the same description is still to be seen on the same spot. The present one was in full vigour in 1811, when Dr. Buchanan saw it. He describes it as not being more than a hundred years old. A. Cunningham says that it is now much decayed. One large stem with three branches on the westward side are still green; but the other branches are barkless and rotten. Hwen Thsang, in his itinerary, speaks of an early renewal of that tree by King Purna Varmma, after its destruction by King Sasangka, who, with a true Brahminical and inimical feeling, dug up the very ground on which it had stood, and moistened the earth with sugar-cane juice, to prevent its renewal. The same eminent archæologist describes a massive brick temple, standing east of the Bodi tree, and with great plausibility maintains that it is the same which has been described by the above-named Chinese pilgrim. As Fa-Hian is silent respecting that temple, A. Cunningham concludes that it was erected during the sixth century of the Christian era, when Buddhism, under the favour of King Amara-sinha and some of his successors, regained a vigorous ascendancy at least in Magatha. It is probable that all the temples, the ruins of which have been examined at Buddha-Gaya, Nalanda, and Behar, having a similarity in architectural plans and ornaments, were erected during the sixth and a part of the seventh century of our era. The inference therefrom is that Buddhism was flourishing in Magatha at that period. Hwen Thsang, who has visited and described those monuments[187] in or about 625, speaks of them in the highest terms. How long lasted the prosperous days of Buddhism in those parts? It is difficult to state with any degree of accuracy. But it seems probable that it maintained itself in a satisfactory condition until the beginning of the tenth century. It had then to give way before the irresistible and triumphant ascendancy of Brahminism.
To the south-east of the great temple is a small tank which is probably that of the Naga, who protected Buddha during one of the several stations that he made round the Bodi tree.
20. Anawadat is the name of a lake famous in Buddhist sacred history. Its etymological meaning is, agreeably to some savans, exempt of tumult, and, according to others, not brightened. This last appellation is owing probably to the high peaks that surround it and prevent its being brightened by the rays of the sun. This is certainly the famous and extensive lake, which covers a portion of the high table-land of Pamir. It has been visited and described by Lieutenant Wood. What he states from a careful observation on the spot agrees well with what is found in the itineraries of the Chinese travellers. From that high plateau which embosoms the lake flows in an eastern direction one of those small streams that form the river Ganges; whilst, in an opposite direction, the Oxus, issuing from the western slope, shapes its course nearly towards the west.
21. Udiana is a country the position of which is fixed on the banks of the Indus, between Cabul and Cashmere, west of the latter country. Gandara is, it appears, the country called Candahar by the Mussulmans, lying between the Swat and the Indus. The Burmese author mentions always Kashmera along with Gandara. This would indicate that the two places are in the vicinity of each other, and that they formed primitively one and the same state. Yaunaka is perhaps the peninsula of Guzerat. But the writer entertains serious doubts on this subject.[188] It might be the countries situated west of the Hindu Kush, that is to say, the ancient Bactriana. The Burmese author states that Yaunaka was inhabited by a people called Pantsays. What people were they? Is it an allusion to the Greeks that had settled in Bactriana? It is not without interest to hear our Chinese traveller stating that religion was flourishing in the above-mentioned countries, whilst in the Punjaub he met with religious with whom he declined holding intercourse, and of whom he speaks in rather unfavourable terms. Hence we may conclude that heretical opinions were then prevailing in that country, and that doctrines at variance with those of Buddha had already taken a deep root, and in their growth almost choked genuine Buddhism, if it had ever been the prevailing creed in the land of the five rivers.
22. On his way down the Ganges, our pilgrim does not appear to have left his boat for any considerable time; he contents himself with mentioning a fact that to some may appear somewhat doubtful, viz., the flourishing condition of the Buddhist religion as far as the neighbourhood of the present metropolis of India. He speaks of the kingdom of Champa. Campapuri, or Karnapura, was the capital of that state. It was situated on the site of the present Bhagulpore, or not far from it. Thence Fa-Hian came to the state of Tamaralipti. The town which bore that name is the modern Tumlook, on the right bank of the Hoogly, not far from Calcutta. It was at that port that he embarked on board of a ship bound to Ceylon. Tamaralipti must have been a famous sea-port several centuries before Fa-Hian’s days. We are informed that Maheinda and his companions, who were appointed to proceed to Ceylon to preach Buddhism to the people of that island, embarked at the same place.
This is an abridgment of all the principles that constitute the system of Buddhism. In the Legend of Buddha the reader has become acquainted with the life of the founder of Buddhism, the establishment of his religion, and the promulgation of his chief doctrine. In the following pages he will find compressed within narrow limits the several observances to be attended to in order to reach the goal of quiescence. As it is chiefly and principally by the help of meditation and contemplation that such a point can ever be attained, the reader must be prepared to wade up to his very chin in the somewhat muddy waters of metaphysics if he has a wish to penetrate into the very sanctuary of Buddhism.
To encourage the reader, and console him in the midst of his fatiguing journey through such dreary tracts, the writer would remind him that he has first borne up the fatigues of such a journey, and that, impelled by friendly feelings, he has endeavoured to smooth the rugged path in behalf of those that would follow him on the same errand. How far he has succeeded in his well-meant efforts he will not presume to state. But he will say this much, that if his success be commensurate with his exertions he may entertain a well-founded hope that he will not be altogether disappointed in his anticipation, and feel somewhat confident that he has afforded to the uninitiated some help to go over the difficult ground of metaphysics.
Following, in this instance, the line of conduct he has adopted through the foregoing pages of this book, the writer will allow the Buddhist author to speak for himself and explain his own views on the different subjects under consideration. His sole aim will ever be to convey as faithfully and as succinctly as possible the meaning of the original he has under his eyes. The task, however simple it may appear, is far from being an easy one, as the Burmese are utterly incapable of fully understanding the metaphysical portion of their religious system. Their ignorance is calculated to render even more obscure what is per se almost beyond the range of comprehension, because they must have frequently put an erroneous interpretation on many Pali words, the meaning of which is far from being accurately determined.
Our Buddhist doctor begins his work with enumerating the advantages to be derived from a serious and constant application to the earnest study of these seven ways. “Such an exercise,” says he, “has the virtue to free us from all evils; it expands the intelligence in the highest degree, and leads straight to Neibban. Man, through it, is delivered from all errors, is happy, and becomes during his life an honour to the holy religion of Buddha.”
The various subjects he intends to treat of in this work are arranged under seven heads, which are laid down in his own original way as follows:—The observance of the precepts and the practice of meditation are the two-fold foundation of the spiritual edifice. The consideration of the nature and form of matter shall be the right foot of the sage; the investigation about the causes and principles of living beings shall be as his left foot; the application of the mind to find out the four high-roads to perfection, and the obtaining the freedom from all passions, shall be as his right and left hands; and the possession of the perfect science or knowledge shall be as his head. The happy man who shall have reached so far will be certain to obtain the deliverance.
This summary is thus divided by our guide into seven distinct parts, which will be condensed into six articles.
It is as well to add that this work, an abridged translation of which is now set before the reader, was composed at first in the Siamese language at Bangkok, and has been subsequently translated into Burmese. We find, therefore, that all the principles expounded throughout are received as genuine on the banks of the Irrawaddy as well as on those of the Meinam, and may be looked upon as a faithful exposition of the highest tenets of Buddhism, such as they are held in both countries. This observation confirms a notion which has been denied by many, viz., that the chief doctrines of Buddhism are pretty nearly the same in all the places where it has become the dominant creed. The discrepancies to be met here and there relate principally to practices and observances which present to the eyes of the observer an infinite variety of hues and forms. When Buddhism was established in several countries, it did not destroy many observances and practices that were found deeply engrafted on the customs and manners of the people; it tolerated them, and made with them a tacit compromise. As, for instance, the worship of Nats existed among the tribes of the Irrawaddy valley long before the introduction of Buddhism. Most of the superstitious rites now prevailing in Burmah originate from that belief. With the Chinese the worship of ancestors continues to subsist side by side with Buddhism, though the latter creed has nothing to do with it. In Nepaul and at Ceylon, Hindu superstitions obtrude themselves on the view of the observer to such an extent that it is not easy to state which of the two creeds obtains the preference.
Our author, in a truly philosophical spirit, at first puts to himself the three following questions: What is the[192] origin of the law? What is man, the subject of the law? What is the individual who is the promulgator of the law? The three questions he answers in the following manner: 1st. All that exists is divided into two distinct parts, the things which are liable to change and obey the principle of mutability, such as matter, its modifications, and all beings which have a cause;[45] and those which are eternal and immutable, that is to say, the precepts of the law and Neibban. These have neither author nor cause; they are self-existing, eternal, and placed far beyond the reach of[193] the influence that causes mutability. 2d. As to the publisher of the law, Buddha, he is a mere man, who during myriads of centuries has accumulated merits on merits, until he has obtained the Neibban of Kiletha, or the deliverance from all passions. From that moment till his death this eminent personage is constituted the master of religion and the doctor of the law. Owing to his perfect science he finds out and discovers all the precepts that constitute the body of the law. Impelled by his matchless benevolence towards all beings, he promulgates them for the salvation of all. He is not the inventor of those precepts; he merely discovers them by the power of the supreme intelligence, in the same manner as we perceive clearly during the night, by the help of a light, objects hitherto wrapped in utter darkness. 3d. Man, who is to be subjected to the observance of the law, is distinguished by the following characteristics. He possesses more knowledge than the animals and other beings, except the Nats and Brahmas; his intelligence and thoughts reach farther than those of other beings; he is capable of reflecting, comparing, drawing inferences, and observing freely the rules of life;[46] despite the allurement of his passions, he can free himself from the three great passions, concupiscence, anger, and ignorance; finally, he is a descendant from those Brahmas who, in the beginning of this world, came from their seat,[194] lived on earth, and, by their eating the rice Tsale, lost all their glorious privileges, and became beings similar to those who are known to us under the denomination of men.
The great end to be aimed at in the observance of the precepts of the law and the exercise of meditation is the obtaining of a state of complete indifference to all things. The state of indifference alluded to does not consist in a stupid carelessness about the things of this world. It is the result of a knowledge acquired with much labour and pain. The wise man who has possessed himself of such science is no longer liable to the influence of that vulgar illusion which makes people believe in the real existence of things that have no reality about them, but subsist only on an ephemeral basis, which incessantly changes and finally vanishes away. He sees things as they truly are. He is full of contempt for things which are at best a mere illusion. This contempt generates a complete indifference for all that exists, even for his own being. He longs for the moment when it shall be given to him to cast away his own body, that he may no longer move within the circle of endless and miserable forms of existence. In this sense must be understood the state of perfect quietism or indifference, which is the last stage the wise man may reach by the help of the science he possesses. The religious of the Brahminical creed have professed the same indifference for all the accidents of life. Hence our Buddha, when he became a perfected being, looked on the wicked Dewadat with the same feelings as he did on the great Maia, his mother. Numberless Rathees or anchorites have ever been eulogised for having allowed themselves to be devoured by ferocious beasts or bit by venomous snakes, rather than offer the least resistance that could exhibit a sign of non-indifference. Entire was their unconcern towards their very body, which they knew well is, as everything else, a compound of the four elements, a mere illusion, totally distinct from self.
Five commandments constitute the very basis whereupon[195] stand all morals, and are obligatory on all men without exception. They include five prohibitions. (It is not a little surprising that the five precepts obligatory on all men are merely five prohibitions designed not to teach men what they have to do, but warning them not to do such things as are interdicted to them. This supposes that man is prone to do certain acts which are sinful. The Buddhist law of the five precepts forbids him to yield to such propensities, but it does not teach him particular duties to perform. It does not elevate man above his original level, but it aims at preventing him from falling lower.) The five prohibitions are: Not to destroy the life of any being; not to steal; not to commit adultery; not to tell lies; not to drink any intoxicating liquors or beverages.
Our author seems to be a perfect master in casuistry, as he shows the greatest nicety and exactness in explaining all the requisite conditions that constitute a trespassing of those precepts. We will give here but a few samples of his uncommon proficiency in this science. As regards the first prohibition, he says, five things are necessary to constitute an offence against the first commandment, viz., a being that has life, the intention and will of killing that being, an act which is capable of inflicting death, and the loss of life of that being consequent on the inflicting of that action. Should but one of these conditions be wanting, the sin could not be said to have taken place, and therefore no complete trespassing of the first prohibition.
Again, as regards the second precept, five circumstances or conditions are necessary to constitute a trespassing, viz., an object belonging to another person, who neither by words nor signs showed any intention to part with it; the knowing that the owner intends to keep possession of it; having the actual intention to take away secretly or forcibly that object; an effort to become possessed of the thing by deceiving, injuring, or by mal-practices causing the owner or keeper of the thing to fall asleep; and,[196] finally, removing the thing from its place, however short may be the distance, should it be but that of the length of a hair of the head.
For the infraction of the third precept the following conditions are required: the intention and will of sinning with any person of another sex, which comes within the denomination of Akamani-jathan, that is to say, persons whom it is forbidden to touch; acting up to that intention and the consummating of such an act. Women that fall under the above denomination are divided into twenty classes. The eight first classes include those that are under the guardianship of their parents or relatives; the ninth class comprises those affianced before they be of age; the tenth, those reserved for the king. Within the ten other classes come all those who, owing to their having been slaves, or from any other cause, have become concubines to their masters, or married their seducers, &c.
The fourth prohibition extends not only to lies, but likewise to slander, coarse and abusive expressions, and vain and useless words. The four following conditions constitute a lie, viz., saying a thing that is untrue; the intention of saying such a thing; making manifest such an intention by saying the thing; and some one’s hearing and clearly understanding the thing that is uttered. That the sin of medisance may be said to exist, it is required that the author of it should speak with the intention of causing parties to hate each other or quarrel with each other, and that the words spoken to that end should be heard and understood by the parties alluded to.
The fifth precept forbids the drinking of Sura and Meria, that is to say, of distilled liquors and of intoxicating juices extracted from fruits and flowers. The mere act of putting the liquor in the mouth does not constitute a sin; the swallowing of it is implied.
Besides these five general precepts, obligatory on all the faithful without exception, there are three other precepts, or rather counsels, that are strongly recommended to the[197] Upasakas, or pious laymen. They are designed as barriers against the great propensity inherent in nature which causes men to exceed in all that is used, through the senses of taste, hearing, seeing, smelling, and feeling. They are so many means that help to obtain a sober moderation in the daily use of the things of the world.
The first counsel regulates all that regards eating. It forbids using any comestible from noon to daybreak of the following morning. The second interdicts the assisting at plays, comedies, and the use of flowers and essences with the intention of fondly handling and smelling them. The third prescribes the form and size of beds, which ought never to be more than one cubit high, plain and without ornaments. The use of mattresses and pillows, filled with cotton or other soft substances, is positively prohibited. The very intention of lying upon these enervating superfluities, and a fortiori reclining on them, constitutes the breaking of such a command.
These three latter precepts are to be observed chiefly in the following days, on the 5th, 8th, 14th, and 15th of the waxing moon, and on the 5th, 8th, and 14th of the waning moon, as well as on the new moon. The pious Upasakas sometimes observe them during the three consecutive months of the season of Lent.
In the opinion of our author those men and women are deserving of the respectable title of Upasakas who have the greatest respect for and entertain a pious affection towards the three precious things, Buddha, the law, and the assembly of the perfect. They must ever view them as the haven of salvation and the securest asylums. They must be ready to sacrifice everything, their very life, for the sake of these three perfect things. During their lifetime, under all circumstances, they must aim at following scrupulously the instructions of Buddha, such as they are embodied in the law and preached by the Rahans.
Five offences disqualify a man for the honourable title of Upasaka, viz., the want of belief and confidence in the[198] three precious things, the non-observance of the eight precepts, the believing in lucky and unlucky days,[47] or in good and bad fortune, the belief in omens and signs, and keeping company with the impious, who have no faith in Buddha.
We now come to the rules which are prescribed to all the Buddhist religious. They are 227 in number, and are found in a book called Patimauk. This book is the vade mecum of all religious. They study it and often learn it by heart. On certain days of each month the religious assemble in the Thein. The Patimauk is then read, explained, and commented upon by one of the elders of the fraternity. It is an abridgment of the Wini, the great book of discipline. It teaches the various rules respecting the four articles offered by the faithful to the religious; that is to say, vestments, food, mats, and the ingredients for mastication. These rules likewise regulate all that relates to the mode of making prayers, devotions, walking, sitting, reclining, travelling, &c. Everything is described with a minute particularity.
Here, if any interest could be awakened, would be the place to enter into the system of casuistry carried by Buddhist religious to a point of nicety and refinement[199] truly astonishing. Suffice it to state that they have gone over the boundless field of speculative conjectures respecting all the possible ways of fulfilling or trespassing the precepts and regulations that concern the body of religious.
Every law and precept must have a sanction. This essential requisite is not wanting in the Buddhist system. Let us examine in what consists the reward attending a regular and correct observance of the precepts, and what is the punishment inflicted on the transgressors of these ordinances. As usual, we will follow our author and allow him to make known his own opinions on this important subject. It is often inquired of us, says he, why some individuals live here during many years, whilst others appear but for a short time on the scene of this world. The reason of the difference in the respective condition of these persons is obvious and evident. The first, during their former existence, have faithfully observed the first command and refrained from killing beings, hence their long life; the second, on the contrary, have been guilty of some trespassings of this precept, and therefore the influence of their former crimes causes the shortness of their life. In a similar manner we account for all the differences that exist in the conditions of all beings. The observance or trespassing of one or several precepts creates the positions of happiness and unhappiness, of riches and poverty, of beauty and ugliness, that chequer the lives and positions of mortals in this world.
In addition to the rewards bestowed immediately in this world, there are the six seats of Nats, where all sorts of recompenses are allotted, during immense periods, to those who have correctly attended to the ordinances of the law. There are likewise places of punishment in the several hells, reserved to the transgressors of the precepts. The conditions of animal, Athoorikes and Preittas, are other states of punishment.
A lengthened account of all that relates to the blissful[200] regions of Nats and the gloomy abodes of hell is found in one of the great Dzats, or accounts of the former existences of Gaudama, given by himself to his disciples, when he was a prince under the name of Nemi. The writer has read and partly translated this work, which delightfully reminded him of the fine episodes on similar subjects he had read in the sixth book of the Æneid. The wildest, most fertile, and inventive imagination seems to have exhausted its descriptive powers, on the one hand, in multiplying the pleasures enjoyed in the seats of Nats, and beautifying and adorning those delightful regions; and, on the other, in representing with a dark and bloody pencil the frightful picture of the numberless and horrid torments of the regions of desolation, despair, and agony.
All that is so abundantly related of the fortunate abodes of Nats in their sacred writings supplies the Buddhist religious with agreeable and inexhaustible topics of sermons which they deliver to their hearers, to excite them more effectually to bestow on them abundant alms. The credulous hearers are always told that the most conspicuous places in those regions are allotted to those who have distinguished themselves by their great liberalities. We think it idle and superfluous, uninteresting and fatiguing to repeat those fabulous accounts of the seats of Nats and abodes of hell, as given at great length by Buddhist authors. The only particulars deserving to be attended to are these: the reward is always proportionate to the sum of merits, and punishment to that of demerit. There is no eternity of reward or of punishment.[48]
This first article shall be concluded by an important remark bearing upon the system under consideration. The seats of happiness, as already mentioned, are divided into two great classes; the one including the superior, and the other the inferior seats. The latter are the six seats of Nats, and are tenanted by beings as yet under the influence of concupiscence and other passions. Those who observe the five general precepts have placed, and, as it were, established themselves on the basis whereupon stands perfection, but not yet in perfection itself; they have just crossed the threshold thereof. They are as yet imperfect; but they have prepared themselves for entering the way that leads towards perfection; that is to say, meditation, or the science of Dzan. The very reward enjoyed in those seats is, therefore, as yet an imperfection. The superior seats can only be reached by those who apply themselves to mental exercises. These exercises are the real foundation of the lofty structure of perfection and the high-road to it.
This and the following articles contain subjects of so abstruse and refined a nature, that it would require one to possess the science of a Buddha to come to a right understanding of them. The difficulties arising from this study are due to the confused and very unsatisfactory ideas of the Buddhist philosophers respecting the soul and its spirituality, and perhaps to the inability of the writer to understand the vague and undefined terms employed to convey their ideas on these matters. The field of Buddhist metaphysics is, to a European, in a great measure a new one; the meaning of the terms is half-understood by the Burmese translators; definitions of terms do not convey explanations such as we anticipate, and ideas seem to run in a new channel; they assume, if we may say so, strange forms: divisions and subdivisions of the various topics have no resemblance to what a European is used to in the study of philosophy. The student feels himself ushered into a new region; he is doomed to find his way by groping. Finally, the false position assumed by the Indian philosophers, and the false conclusions they arrive at, contribute to render more complicated the task of elucidating this portion of the Buddhist system. That the difficulties may be somewhat lessened, and the pathway rendered less rugged and a little smooth, the writer proposes to avoid as much as it is in his power overcharging with Pali terms the explanations he is about to afford, under the guidance of the Buddhist author.
In the preceding article we have treated of meritorious actions that are purely exterior, and briefly alluded to the nature of the rewards bestowed on earth and in the six seats of Nats upon those who have performed these good actions. Now we leave behind all the exterior good deeds, and turn the attention of our mind to something more[203] excellent, to those acts that are purely interior, and are performed solely by the soul and the right exercise of its faculties; that is to say, by meditation and contemplation.
The root of all human miseries is ignorance. It is the generating principle of concupiscence and other passions. It is the dark but lofty barrier that encircles all beings and retains them within the vortex of endless existences; it is the cause of all existences, and of all those illusions to which beings are miserably subjected; it causes those continual changes which take place in the production of all beings. This great cause once found and proclaimed by Buddha, it was necessary to procure a remedy to counteract the action of ignorance, and successfully oppose its progress. Another antagonistic and opposite principle had to be found, adequate to resist the baneful agency of ignorance and stem its sad and misfortune-creating influence. That principle is science or knowledge. Ignorance is but a negative agent: it is only the absence of science. Let knowledge be, and ignorance shall vanish away in the same manner as darkness is noiselessly but irresistibly dissipated by the presence of light.
All beings in this universe, says our author, are doomed to be born and die. We quit this place to go and live in another; we die here to be born elsewhere. We can never be freed from pain, old age, and death. Whether we like it or not, we must suffer and always suffer. But why is it so? Because we do not possess the perfect science. Were we blessed with it, we would infallibly look towards Neibban, and then, escaping from the pursuit of pain and miseries, we would infallibly obtain the deliverance from those evils which now incessantly press upon us. It rests with us only to perfect our intelligence, so that we might gradually attain to the perfect science, the source of all good. But by what means is so desirable an end to be obtained? By the exercise of meditation, answers, with a decided tone, our philosopher. This word implies, besides, our intellectual operations of a superior order, such as[204] contemplation, visions, ecstasy, union, &c., which are the more or less complete results of that intellectual exercise.
The act of meditating can take place but in the heart, where resides the mano, or the faculty of knowing. Its object can never be but the nam-damma, literally the name of the thing; or, in other terms, the things of a purely intellectual nature. But it can by no means happen in the seats of the other senses or organs, such as the eyes, the ears, &c., which are only channels to communicate impressions to the faculty of mano.
The constitutive parts of meditation are five in number. Witteka, the action of raising the mind to an object; Witzara, the attentive consideration of that object; Piti, the bringing of the soul and body to a state of satisfaction; Suka, the pleasure enjoyed in the thing considered; Ekatta, the perseverance or stability of the mind in that object. There is also Upekka, which implies a greater and more intense degree of fixity of the mind, extending not only to one object in particular, but to all things.
It may be called the absolute quietism of the soul, and the net result of a complete course of general meditation on the universality of things. It is the last and highest point that can ever be reached.
To explain more fully the nature and definitions of the two first parts, our philosopher has recourse to the following comparison. Let us suppose a man that has to cleanse a rusty copper vessel. With one hand he grasps the vessel, and with the other he rubs it up and down, right and left. This is exactly what is done by the means of Witteka and Witzara. The first gets hold of the object of meditation, and the second causes the mind to pass and repass over it, until it has perfectly seen it in all its particulars.
The third stage in the exercise of meditation is that of Piti, which consists in a sort of transitory delectation, experienced by him who has reached that third step of mental labour. It produces on the whole frame the following[205] effects:—It seems to him that is engaged in that exercise that the hairs of his head stand on an end, so strong is the sensation he then feels; at other times it produces in the soul sensations similar to that of the lightning that rends the atmosphere. Sometimes it is in a commotion resembling that of mighty waves breaking on the shore; at other times the subject is, as it were, carried through the air, or only raised above the ground, and occasionally it causes a chill running throughout all the limbs. When these results have been, through persevering efforts, repeatedly experienced with an ever-increasing degree of intensity, the following effects are attained:—The body and the soul are completely restrained, subdued, and composed; they are almost beyond the influence of concupiscence. Both acquire a remarkable lightness, so that the exercise of meditation offers no further trouble or labour; the natural repugnance or opposition to self-recollection is done away with, then the exercise of meditation becomes pleasing from the pleasurable state of the soul and body, and finally both parts are in a true and genuine condition, so that what there was previously in them either vicious or opposed to truth disappears at once and vanishes away. Such are the various effects experienced by the soul that has reached the degree of Piti, or mental satisfaction.
When the soul and body have thus been perfectly subdued, and freed from all that could wrongly affect them, the soul then reaches the state of Suka, that is to say, of perfect and permanent pleasure and inward delight. The effects or results thereof are called Samati, or peace or quiescence of the soul. As a matter of course, that state of inward peace has several degrees both as regards the time it lasts and the intensity of the affection. It lasts sometimes for a moment, or for a period of uncertain duration, as it happens when we reflect on some subject, or we listen to a sermon. At other times its duration is longer; when, for instance, we are about to enter into contemplation[206] or ecstasy, and it lasts as long as we are in one of these states.
From Piti originates the Samati-tseit, the idea or consciousness of inward quiescence. It is the secondary cause of the real joy and delight, and is followed by an unshaken resolution to adhere to all the precepts of the law. It produces in the soul a certain freshness, expansion, and ravishment in the practice of virtue. Such a state is illustrated by the following comparison. A traveller has to go over a very difficult road; he is exposed to an intense heat, and tormented with a burning thirst. Let us imagine the intensity of his delight when he finds himself on the brink of a rivulet of clear and cool water; such is precisely the state of the soul under the influence of Piti. The state of Suka follows it very soon. It is exemplified by the condition of the traveller who has been perfectly refreshed and relieved from thirst and fatigue, and enjoys the delightful and pleasurable effects resulting therefrom.
The last state or the crowning point to be arrived at by the means of meditation is that of Upekka, or perfect fixity, whence originates an entire indifference to love or hatred, pleasure or pain. Passions can no more affect the soul in that happy condition. But in this, as well in the preceding states, there are several degrees, according to the various objects it refers to. In the Upekka, relating to the five senses, man is no more affected by beautiful or unseemly objects, by harsh or melodious sounds, &c. As to what refers to creatures, man has neither love nor dislike for them. Man obtains the state of Upekka, relating to science or knowledge, by examining and considering all things through the medium of the three great principles, aneitsa, duka, anatta, that is to say, change, pain, and illusion. There is also the uirya upekka; as when a man, after great struggles and efforts to obtain a certain object, sees that he cannot reach it, he becomes indifferent to it, and without trouble or the least disquiet gives up the[207] undertaking. There are many other effects of the Upekka mentioned by our author, the enumeration of which would prove tedious. What has been just stated is sufficient to afford a correct idea of the nature of the highest state of meditation that the human mind can ever reach. The last and most transcendent result of the condition of Upekka is this: when an individual, by successful exertions, has ascended to the top of the spiritual ladder, there is a certain virtue that attracts everything to him. He becomes a centre to which all appear to converge. He is like the central point of our planet, that ever remains distinct from the bodies it incessantly draws to itself. Seated in the centre of the most complete quietism, the sage contemplates, without the least effort, the unclouded truth that indefinitely unfolds itself before him. Hence, as our author observes, the sage that has reached the state of Upekka has no more to pass successively through the four preceding stages to be enabled to meditate; that is to say, he no more requires the help of thought, reflection, satisfaction, and pleasure. He is in the middle of the cloudless atmosphere of truth which he enjoys, and therein remains as unmoved as truth itself.
As stated in the previous article, the observance of the precepts, or the performance of exterior good actions, draws abundant rewards upon those who faithfully comply with them. These rewards are bestowed either in the seat of man or in the six abodes of Nats, which we will agree to call the six inferior heavens, where concupiscence as yet holds its empire.
The inward good deeds produced by the operation of the intellectual faculties of the soul being of an incomparably greater value than the external ones, the recompense of the former is of a higher order than that of the latter. Hence there are twenty superior heavens reserved to the sages that have made progress in meditation.[49] The[208] accounts of the Buddhists respecting the extent of these seats, their respective distance in a perpendicular direction, the myriads of centuries to stay in each of them, &c., are puerilities not worth attending to, and in no way belonging to the genuine and original Buddhism. They are the inventions in subsequent ages of individuals who wished to emulate their neighbours and rivals, the Hindus, at a time when the latter substituted the gross and revolting idolatry of the Puranas for the purer doctrines of the Vedas. But what is directly to our purpose is the distinction of these twenty seats into two classes. The[209] first comprises sixteen seats, under the designation of Rupa, or matter; the second includes four seats, called Arupa, or immaterial abodes or conditions. Here are located on a grand and immense scale, according to their respective proficiency in science and meditation, the beings that have striven to advance in knowledge by the exertion of the mental faculties. The general appellation given to each class bears a great meaning, and therefore deserves explanation. In the sixteen seats of Rupa are placed the contemplatives who have as yet a body, and have not been hitherto able to disengage themselves from some affection to matter. The subjects of their meditations are still the beings inhabiting this material world, together with some of the Kathain, or coarser portion of their being. But in the four seats called Arupa, which terminate the series of Buddhist heavens, the contemplatives are destitute of shape and body; they are almost brought to the condition of pure spirits. In their sublime and lofty flight in the regions of spiritualism, they seem to have bid a last farewell to this world, and to be no longer concerned with material things.
Let us glance rapidly over these various seats, and pay a visit to the beings that have been rewarded with a place in them, owing to their great proficiency in the mental exercise of meditation. We will begin with the lowest seat, and from it successively ascend to the loftiest. We must bear in remembrance that there are, as above stated, five degrees of meditation or five parts, viz., perception, reflection, satisfaction, happiness, and fixity. He who has been much exercised in the first degree shall inhabit one of the three first seats of Rupa. Those who, leaving aside the first degree, shall delight in the second and third, shall inhabit, according to their respective progress, one of the three following seats. Those who take delight only in the fourth degree, having no further aid of the three first parts, perception, consideration, and satisfaction, shall be located in the seventh, eighth, and ninth seats. When[210] the fifth degree of Dzan, or meditation, has been attained, that is to say, when a privileged contemplative is able to meditate and contemplate, without having recourse to the representation and consideration of the object, without allowing himself to be influenced by pleasures or joy, then he has attained to the state of fixity and indifference; he occupies the tenth and eleventh seats. The five remaining seats bear the collective name of Thoodawata, or abodes of the pure or perfect, that is to say, the dwelling-place of those who have entered into the current of perfection. They are inhabited by the Kaliana Putadzans, and the four sorts of contemplatives called Thautapan, Thakadagan, Anagan, and Rahandas. The latter have entered into the Thoda, or current of perfection. The Thautapans and Thakadagans are pure and exempt from all influence of demerits; the Anagans are delivered from the five concupiscences. The Rahandas are enjoying a perfect indifference for all. They are strangers to such language as this: I am great, I am greater, I am greatest. Such terms of comparison are but mere illusions; they are deceitful sounds that confuse, distract, and bewilder the ignorant.
Above the Thoodawata seats are the four called Arupa, or immaterial. The denizens of these places first recognise that the miseries attending man in this world have their origin in the body. They then conceive the utmost disgust and horror for it; they long for the dissolution of this agent to all wickedness. So great is their horror for bodies and matter, that they no longer select them for subjects of meditation; they endeavour to cross beyond the limits of materiality, and launch forth into the boundless space, where this material world does not seem to reach. The inhabitants of the first seat have assumed for their subject of meditation the Akasa, the air, the fluid of the atmosphere, or the space. Those of the second meditate on the Winiana, or the spirit, or life of beings, taken in an abstract sense; those of the third contemplate the[211] Akintzi, or immensity; those of the fourth, Newathagnia, lose themselves in the infinity.
By what mental process has the sage to pass in order to reach the first degree of sublime contemplation? He will have to begin with the consideration of the form of some material object, say one of the four elements. Let him afterwards set aside those Kathain, or material portions of the element brought under consideration, and occupy his mind with the ether, or fluid, or space; the former, that is to say, the kathain, shall disappear to give place to something divested of all those coarser forms, and the mind shall be fixed only on the akatha. The sage then shall repeat ten hundred thousand times these words,—The space or air is infinite, until there will appear at last the first tseit, or idea of arupa. In a similar manner, the tseit akan, or the idea of conformity with purpose, disappears; then begins the science of upekka, or indifference, with its four degrees; the idea that then succeeds is precisely that of akasa ananda, or infinite ether, or space. This unintelligible mental process is explained by a comparison. If they shut with a white cloth the opening of a window, the persons inside the room, turning their eyes in the direction of the opening, see nothing but the white cloth. Should the cloth be suddenly removed, they perceive nothing but that portion of the space corresponding with the extent of the window. The piece of cloth represents the material forms, that are the subjects of meditation, or contemplation, of those living in the seats of Rupa; the free opening of the window exemplifies the subjects of contemplation reserved to the first class of arupa. Having reached so far, the contemplative soon feels the utmost disgust for all material forms, and is entirely delivered from the three Thagnia, or false persuasions, supplied by matter, by the action of the senses, and by the result of merits and demerits. He is displeased with all the coarser forms of beings. The action of the contemplative has its sphere in the mano, or seat of knowledge. The ideas[212] originating from the action of the senses have no share in that purely intellectual labour. In that state, the sage has fallen into a condition of so perfect abstraction, that all the accidents on the part of the elements can produce no effect over him. The action of the senses is completely suspended during all the time that the contemplation lasts. In fact this is nothing else but thamabat, or ecstasy.
The same course of meditation must be followed by the sages inhabiting the other three seats; only the object to be contemplated will be different.
Having explained the important subject of meditation, endeavoured to show the different parts or degrees of that intellectual exercise, and given a faint outline of the recompenses bestowed on those that have distinguished themselves by proficiency in that exercise, we have now to follow our author, and, with him, make ourselves acquainted with the principal subjects that attract the attention of the contemplative.
The Buddhist philosopher, in his earnest prosecution after the antidote of ignorance, that is, science, rightly states that all beings, and man, in particular, must ever be the first and most interesting subject the sage has to study. The knowledge of man in particular constitutes a most important portion of the science he must acquire, ere he can become a perfect being, and be deemed worthy to be admitted to the state of Neibban. In the very limited sketch of this part of the work under consideration, the attention of the reader will be directed on man as the most interesting of all beings. With our Buddhist author, therefore, he will take human beings as the subject of his[213] investigations. Provided with the philosophical dissecting knife, he will anatomise all the component parts of that extraordinary being, whose nature has ever presented an insoluble problem to ancient sages. What is to be said on this subject will be sufficient to convey a correct idea of the mode of reasoning and arguing followed by Buddhist philosophers, when they analyse other beings and select them for the subjects of their meditations.
At the very beginning, our author proclaims this great maxim: All beings living in the three worlds, heaven, earth, and hell, have in themselves but two things or attributes, Rupa and Nam, form and name. Accustomed as we are to a language that expresses clear and distinct notions, we would like to hear him say, in nature there are but two things, matter and spirit. But such is not the language of Buddhists, and I apprehend that were we giving up their somewhat extraordinary, and, to us, unusual way of expressing their ideas, we could not come to a correct knowledge of the notions they entertain respecting the nature of man. Let us allow our author to speak for himself, and, as much as possible, express himself in his own way. By rupa, we understand form and matter; that is to say, all that is liable per se to be destroyed by the agency of secondary causes. Nam, or nama, is the thing, the nature of which is known to the mind by the instrumentality of mano, or the knowing principle. In the five aggregates constituting man, viz., materiality or form, the organs of sensation, of perception, of consciousness, and those of intellect, there is nothing else to be found but form and name. We are at once brought to this materialist conclusion, that in man we can discover no other element but that of form and that of name.
To convey a sort of explanation of this subject, our author gives here a few notions respecting the six senses. I say six senses, because with him, besides the five ordinary senses, he mentions the mano, or the knowing principle that resides in the heart, as one of the senses. The[214] organs or faculties of seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, smelling, and knowing, he calls the inward senses. These same organs, as they come in contact with exterior objects, are called exterior senses. The faculty inherent in each of the senses whereby is operated the action between the organ and its object is designated by the appellation of the life of the senses, as, for instance, the eye seeing, the ear hearing, &c. In this treble mode of considering the senses, what do we meet with but form and name, ideas and matter? Supposing the organ of seeing to exist, and an object to be seen, there will necessarily result, as an essential consequence, the perception or idea of such a thing. Even as regards the mano, where there exists the heart on one side, and truth on the other, there will follow immediately the idea or perception of truth.
This materialist doctrine, if the meaning of our author be accurately understood, is further confirmed by the method he proposes for carrying on the investigation respecting the nature of things. He who desires to penetrate deeply into such a sublime science must have recourse to the help of meditation. Having selected an object, he considers it by the means of witekka. He passes successively through the ideas and impressions he derives from the contemplation of such an object. He then says to himself: the ideas obtained by means of witekka, or the first degree of dzan, or meditation, are nothing but nam-damma, since their nature is to offer themselves to the arom, as the thought to its object. But where is the seat of that arom? It resides in the substance of the heart, which, in reality, affords asylum both to it and to the nam-damma. It is nowhere else to be found. But what is the heart? Whence does it come? By what is it formed? To these three questions we answer, that the heart is composed of the four elements. It is but one and the same thing with them. This startling doctrine is explicit, and excludes at once the idea of a spiritual substance.
Our author has now reached the elements of the parts[215] constituting all that exists with a form. He boldly asserts that all that has an existence is but an aggregate of earth, water, fire, and air; all the forms are but modifications and combinations of the four elements. The bare enumeration of this general principle is not sufficient to satisfy our philosopher. He wishes to know and explain the reason of everything. Here begins an analysis entirely unknown to our chemists and philosophers of the west. The body is divided into thirty-two parts, which are often enumerated in formulas of prayer by pious Buddhists. Each of these thirty-two parts is subdivided into forty-four. The hair, how slender soever it appears, is submitted to that minute analysis. The result of this subtle division is to show what is the proportion of each element that enters into the formation of these atomical parts. We have not the patience to write down these uninteresting details, nor do we believe that the reader will be displeased if we spare him the trouble of going over such worthless nomenclature. There is another division of matter, or body, into forty-two parts, called akan. This is based upon the distinction of the four elements that enter unequally into the formation of the body; twenty parts belong to the earth, twelve to water, six to fire, and six to wind. Then again the body is divided into sixty parts; the division is based upon the distinction of the ten constitutive parts belonging to each of the senses, as it will be hereafter explained. The object which Buddhist philosophers have in view in entering into so many divisions and subdivisions of the forms of the body is to prove, in their opinion to demonstration, that, by the nicest analysis of every part of the body, we find in the end nothing but the primary elements that are called the supports of all that exist.
We have now to follow our author through a path more difficult than the preceding one, and hear him explain the theory of ideas and their various modifications. These, says he, are known, not by their forms, since they have none, but only by their name. Through the practice of[216] reflection and meditation we become acquainted with them. We call them arupa damma, things without a form or shape. They are designated under the name of tseit and tsedathit,[50] that is to say, ideas and the result of ideas. Where are these ideas to be met? Where have they their seat? In the six senses and nowhere else, is the answer. Having already become acquainted with the organs of the senses, it will be easy to find out the ideas that are as the tenants of the senses.
All the tseits inhabiting the organs of sense are called[217] loki tseit, that is to say, ideas of the world, because they are to be met with in all the beings as yet subjected to concupiscence. They are distinct from lokoudra tseits, which belong properly to the beings free from passions, and who have entered into the four megga, or ways to perfection. The tseits of this world are eighty-one in number, classified as follows: the perception of each of the five organs, and the perception of the respective faculties of those organs. This gives ten tseits. There are three for the sense of the heart, the perception of the substance of the heart, of its faculty of knowing, and of the object of its knowledge.
Each of the six senses has ten constitutive forms or parts, viz.: earth, water, fire, air, colour, odour, taste, fluid, life, and the body attached primitively thereto. Now there is an action from each of these forms upon the subject. Thence ten tseits to each of the six senses.
There are no words so ill defined and so ill understood by our philosopher as the two words Tseit and Tsedathit. The first in a moral sense means idea, thought, perception, etc.; in a physical sense it means that secondary cause created by kan, producing the living being, the senses wherein reside the moral tseit. Tsedathit, being the result of ideas, must, of course, have likewise two meanings. In the first place it will designate the impressions made upon us by ideas; in the second, it will mean the secondary cause or life in the body, or the modifications of the principles of corporeal life.
This being premised, we may a little understand our author when he says: There are seven tsedathits existing at the same time as the eighty-one above-mentioned tseits, viz.: pasa tsedathit, so called because it is the real effect of the tsedathit to attain its object, and, as it were, to touch it. We may call it the agreement between the idea and its object. Wedana tsedathit, the feeling of the impression of an idea; thagnia tsedathit, the comprehension of the object; dzetana tsedathit, the inclination for the object;[218] eketa tsedathit, the fixity on the object; dziwi-teindre tsedathit, the observance of what relates to form and name; and mana sikaramana tsedathit, consciousness. It is evident, therefore, that the tsedathit is neither the idea nor the object of the idea, but the result from the idea that has come in contact with an object. These seven results are, if we may say so, the third part of the idea. They do not give occasion to modifications of ideas. But those which really give rise to the greatest variety of results are the akuso tsedathit, or the results of evil thoughts and ideas, and their opposite, or kuso tsedathit, or the consequence of good and virtuous thoughts. To mention here all the kuso and akuso tsedathit would be but a dry exposition of the nomenclature of the vices and virtues, such as is met with in the catalogues of Buddhist moralists. They are all enumerated in the preceding note.
The duty of our intelligence is to investigate the cause of all the modifications of forms and names. This being effected, we are delivered from all doubts and disquietude.[219] When we perceive such a form, such an idea, &c., we are able forthwith to account for its causes. In this study we must copy the conduct of the physician, who, when attending a patient, sits by his bedside, closely examines the nature of the distemper and the causes that have given rise to it, in order to find out counteracting agents or remedies to check its progress at first, and gradually to[220] uproot it from the constitution. In the moral order, the philosopher too has to examine the nature of all moral distempers, ascertain the principles or causes they spring from, and thereby become qualified to cure those disorders.
The beings that inhabit the three worlds, says our author, must have a cause. To say that they exist of themselves and without a cause is an absurdity. The very dissimilarity we observe among them indicates that their mode of existence results from certain causes. We, however, cannot agree with our antagonists, the Brahmins, who maintain that Maha Brahma is the cause of all that exists. This being is not out of the circle of Rupa and Nam; he is himself a compound of Nam and Rupa, that is to say, effect but not cause. In vain our opponents will add that all that is distinct of Maha Brahma is subjected to a cause, but that the Rupa and Nam, constituting his essence, are without a cause. This is removing the difficulty a little further, without advancing a step towards its solution; our answer must ever be the same.
Before expounding the opinions of our philosopher on this important subject, it is necessary to state the views entertained by that class of philosophers whose doctrines appear to have taken root in these parts. It is easy to perceive that they are modifications of the opinion of the Hindus on the same subject, and akin to that respecting the Adi Buddha, or supreme Buddha.
Some doctors maintain that there is a first cause or being that has made matter and spirit. Others, admitting the eternal co-existence of matter and of the supreme being, say that he is the remote cause of the organisation of matter, as we at present see it. But all agree in this, that no one can ever come to the knowledge of that first cause, and it is impossible ever to have an idea of it. Hence it is the height of folly and rash presumption to attempt to come to the knowledge of what is placed beyond the range of human investigation. It behoves us to apply[221] all the powers of the mind to discover the immediate cause that certainly produces existence.
The sage, to be worthy of his sublime calling, must remain satisfied with striving to find out that immediate cause which brings into action the form and name, and causes the appearance of all those modifications which we call beings or forms of existence. He ought to strive to account for the organisation of matter and all its modifications, by discovering the hidden spring that effectually sets all in motion, in action, in combination of existences.
Now, our author puts this important question: What thing is to be considered as the mover of the forms and ideas? We know, says he, that the human body has its beginning in the womb of the mother; we are acquainted with its position in that fœtid and narrow prison; its being surrounded with nerves, veins, &c., having above it the new elements, and under it the old ones. The manner in which the body originates in the womb much resembles the process by which worms and insects are formed in rotten substances, and in putrid and stagnant water. But this is not accounting for the real cause of living bodies. The real causes, according to some doctors, are five in number, viz., ignorance, concupiscence, desire, kan (the influence of merits and demerits), and ahan (the aliments). They concur together in the formation of the living body in the following manner. Ignorance, concupiscence, and desire give asylum to the body, as the mother supplies the infant with a refuge in her womb. Kan, like the father, is the cause productive of the body. Ahan affords nourishment to the body.
The ideas are but the result of the formation of the organs of senses. Let us suppose, for instance, the organ of seeing. The Tsekkou Wignian, that is to say, the life of the eyes, or the ideas connected with the use of that sense, presupposes two things, the organ and a form or an object on which the organ acts. These existing, there necessarily result the idea of vision, the perception, &c.,[222] in a word, all the ideas arising from the action of the eyes upon various objects. The same mode of arguing is employed relatively to the other five senses.
Other philosophers argue in the following way. The primary causes of all ideas and thoughts are disposed under two heads, that of ideas which have a fixed place, and that of those that have no fixed place. Under the first head are comprised the six Ayatana, or seats of senses, and the six Arom, or the objects of senses. Thence flow all the ideas and consequences that relate to merit and demerit. Under the second head are placed the causes or agents that produce ideas and thoughts, the exercise of the intellect holding the first rank. He who applies his mind to the meditation of what is good, such as the commands and other parts of the most excellent law, and labours to find out that all that is in this world is subjected to change, pain, and illusion, opens at once the door to the coming in of the tseit, or ideas connected with merit. On the other hand, the application of the mind to things bad and erroneous, contrary to the prescriptions of the holy law, generates the idea of demerit. Such are the causes of the ideas and thoughts. As to the cause of form, they assert that kan, tseit, fire, and ahan are the sole agents in the formation of the living body. Kan, as the workman, makes the body and sets in it all that relates to its good and bad qualities. The tseit, seventy-five in number, are also principles of the existence of the body, of which forty-four are called Kamawatzara tseit; they relate to the demerit and merit of those who are still under the influence of concupiscence; fifteen rupa watzara tseit, relating to beings in the seats of rupa; eight arupa watzara tseit, relating to those in the seats of arupa; eight lokoudara tseit, relating to the beings that have entered on the four ways of perfection. The Tedzo-dat, or the element of fire, contributes its share by the head and rays of light, and ahan by supplying the required aliments.
Some other philosophers account for the causes of form[223] and ideas following this course of argument. The form and ideas that constitute all beings are liable to miseries, old age, and death, because there is generation and death. Generation exists because there are worlds, worlds exist because there is desire, desire exists because there are organs, organs exist because there are form and name, form and name exist because there are concepts, concepts exist because there is merit and demerit, merit and demerit exist because there is ignorance. The latter is, indeed, the real cause of all forms and ideas. There is no doubt but this latter opinion is the favourite one with our author. It is based upon the theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects, and appears to be the orthodox opinion, and bears the stamp of great antiquity.
Having thus accounted in the best way he could for the existence of all that relates to the beings in the three worlds, our author fondly dwells on the benefits that accrue from the knowledge of causes. It dissipates all the doubts that had previously darkened the mind; it quiets all the anxieties of the heart, and affords perfect peace. For want of it, the impious fall from one error into another; the disciples of Buddha are chiefly perfected by its help.
We read in the Buddhist scriptures that a Brahmin went to consult Buddha on some points that much perplexed his mind. He said to him, “I am beset with doubts respecting the past, the present, and the future. Respecting the past, I ask myself, Have I passed through former generations or not? What was my condition during those existences? My answer is, I am ignorant on all those points. What was my position previous to those generations? I know it not. As to the present, is it true that I exist? or is my existence but an illusion? Shall I have to be born again or not? What are those living beings that surround me at present? Are they but so many illusions which deceive me by their appearance of reality? On these points I am sunk in complete ignorance. The future is likewise full of doubts[224] and most perplexing uncertainties. Shall I have other generations or not? What shall be my condition during these coming existences? A thick veil hides from my eyes all that concerns my future destiny. What are the means to clear up all those doubts that encompass me on all sides?”
Buddha said to him, “Reflect first on this main point, that what we are wont to call self, or moi, is nothing but name and form—that is to say, a compound of the four elements, which undergoes perpetual changes under the action or influence of Kan. Having acquired the conviction of the truth of this principle, it remains with you to investigate carefully the causes which produce both name and form. This simple examination will lead you at once to the perfect solution of all your doubts. Behold the difference that exists between the holders of false doctrines and the true believers. The former, whom we may almost call animals, never take the trouble to examine the nature of beings or the causes of their existence. They are stubbornly attached to their false theories, and persist in saying that what the ignorant, delivered up to illusion, are used to call an animal, a king, a subject, a foot, and a hand, &c., is really an animal, a king, a subject, a foot, and a hand, &c.; whilst all living beings and their component parts are nothing else but name and form—that is to say, a compound made up of the four elements. Those impious are delivered up to error; hence it happens that they follow all different ways. We reckon among them more than sixty different sects, all at variance among themselves, but all uniting in a common obstinacy to reject the true doctrine of Buddha. They are doomed to move incessantly within the circle of endless and wretched existences.
“How different is the condition of the true believers, our followers! They know that the living beings inhabiting the world have a beginning. But they are sensible of the folly of attempting to reach this beginning or first cause. This is above the capacity of the loftiest intelligence. It[225] is evident, for instance, that the seeds of plants and trees, which are continually in a state of reproduction, have a beginning; but what that beginning is, no one presumes to determine. So it is with man and all living beings. They know well, too, that what is vulgarly called man, woman, eyes, mouth, are all illusory distinctions, vanishing away in the presence of the sage, who sees nothing in all that but name and form, the production of Kan and Wibek, that is to say, of the first and second causes. These two things are not the man and the woman, &c., but they are the efficient causes of both. What we say respecting man and woman may be applied to animals and to all other beings. They are all the productions or results of Kan and Wibek, quite as distinct from these two agents as effect is distinct from its cause. To explain this doctrine, Buddhists have recourse to the comparison of a burning-glass. When there is such an instrument in one hand, and the rays of the sun pass through it to the other, fire is then produced; but fire is quite distinct from the two causes that have concurred jointly in producing it. Our disciples, too, are aware that the five khandas, or aggregates constituting a living being, succeed each other at each generation, but in such a way that the second generation partakes or retains nothing of the khandas of the first. But the causes producing them—such as Kan and Wibek—never change; they ever remain the same. Let us suppose lamps lighted up. If they burn always, it is owing to the action of individuals that supply them with oil, and light them as soon as they are extinguished. Such is the condition of the khandas. Those which belong to one existence have no more in common with those of the following one than the fire of the lamp just lighted anew has with that of the fire of the lamp that has just died away. As to the way beings are reproduced, we say that when a man is dying, the last tseit having appeared and soon disappeared, it is succeeded forthwith by the patti tseit or the tseit of the new existence; the interval between[226] both is so short that it can scarcely be appreciated. This first tseit has nothing in common with the last one. It is, let it be well remembered, the production of kan, or of the influence of merits and demerits, as well as the khandas above alluded to.”
This article is by far the most important of all. The latter part, in particular, elucidates in a distinct manner the genuine opinions of Buddhism on points of the greatest concern. We may sum up the whole as follows:—
1. There is a first cause that has acted in bringing into being all that exists; but that first cause is unknown, nor can we ever come to the knowledge of it.
2. The immediate causes of all the modifications of beings, or states of being, are ignorance and kan.
3. All beings are but compounds of the four elements. The intellectual operations are carried on by the instrumentality of the heart, in the same manner as vision is obtained by the means of the eye and of an object to act upon.
4. Each succeeding existence is brought on and modified by the action of Kan, or the influence of merits and demerits.
5. The component parts of a new being are in no way connected with those of the previous being. This is the key to the difficulty many persons find in accounting, in a Buddhistic sense, for the process of metempsychosis. A new term ought to be coined to express that doctrine.
6. The question respecting Neibban may be theoretically resolved without difficulty, by application of the principles contained in this and the preceding article. There is no doubt that the solution forced upon the mind from what has been above stated is that the end of the perfected being is annihilation. Horrifying as this conclusion is, it is not, after all, worse than that which is the terminus of the theories of some modern schools. What an abyss is the poor human mind liable to fall into when it ceases to be guided by Revelation!
The subject under consideration is a very important one. It comprehends and comprises a summary of many particulars already alluded to in the foregoing two articles. The reader will find the path he has to follow less rugged, and the ground he will have to go over not so arid.
Our author seems to lay great stress on this special point. The sage, says he, who is desirous to arrive at the supreme perfection, must apply all the powers of his mind to discern the true ways from the false ones. Many are deceived in the midst of their researches after wisdom. The real criterion between the true and false ways is this: when, in considering an object, and making a philosophical analysis of it, the sage finds it somehow connected with concupiscence and other passions so far that he cannot, as it were, dissolve it by the application of the three principles of aneitsa, duka, and anatta—that is to say, change, pain, and illusion, then he must conclude that he is out of the right ways; the high road to perfection is barred before him. But on the contrary, whenever, by the appliance of the three great principles, he sees that all the objects brought under his consideration are nothing more or less than the mere compound of the four elements, divested of these illusory appearances which deceive so many, then he may be certain that he is in the right position, and is sure of making progress in the way to perfection.
To facilitate the study of the Meggas, Buddhists have classified all real and imaginary beings under a certain number of heads. The sage, to complete his laborious task, has to examine separately each of these subjects and submit them to the following lengthened, difficult, and complicated process. He takes up one subject, attentively[228] considers its exterior and interior compound parts, its connection and relation with other things, its tendency to adhere to or part with surrounding objects. Pursuing his inquiries into the past, he endeavours to make himself acquainted with the state and condition of that object during several periods that have elapsed; when his mind is satisfied on this point he follows up in future the same object, and calculates from the experience of the past what change it may hereafter become subjected to. This study enables him to perceive distinctly that it is subjected to the three great laws of mutability, pain, and illusion. This conviction once deeply seated in his soul, the sage holds that object in supreme contempt; far from having any affection for or attachment to it, he feels an intense disgust at it, and longs for the possession of Neibban, which is the exemption from the influence of mutability, pain, and illusion.
What we have now stated is tolerably clear and intelligible; but what follows is less evident. It partakes of that obscurity and complication so peculiar to Buddhist metaphysics. This state of things is created and maintained chiefly by a mania for divisions and subdivisions that would have puzzled even the schoolmen of the middle ages. We have to listen to what our author says respecting the method to be observed in carrying on the great examination of all subjects of investigation. If that labour be patiently and perseveringly prosecuted until all the objects of inquiry be exhausted, ample and magnificent shall be the reward for such labours. The sage will be in possession of the perfect science; Neibban will appear to him; he will long for it, and unremittingly shape his course in its direction: in a word, he shall have reached the acme of perfection. Seated on that lofty position, enjoying a perfect calm in the bosom of absolute quietism, the sage is beyond the reach of passions; there is no illusion for him; he has cut the last thread of future generations by the destruction of the influence of merits[229] and demerits; he has obtained the deliverance from all miseries; he has reached the peaceful shores of Neibban. But such a prize is not easily obtained; it is to be purchased only at the expense of an immense amount of lasting and strenuous mental exertion.
The sage, agreeably to the old and always true saying, Know thyself, very properly begins his mightily difficult task with the examination of the five aggregates constituting a living being, the organs of the six senses, and all that relates to them. Then he applies himself to the studies of the five Dzan, or the parts of meditation and contemplation, and to all that is connected with the seats of Rupa and Arupa. All the objects of examination ranged on that scale are 600 in number. We shall rapidly glance over this table, indicating but the heads of the principal divisions.
We ought not to forget that the five aggregate, or khandas, constituting a living being, are form, sensation, perception, consciousness, and intellect. Supposing that we take the first of those attributes as subject of examination. We must represent it to the mind, carefully examine it in all its bearings and properties, respecting the past, the present, and the future. We must proceed on and bring it in contact with the three great principles of aneitsa, duka, and anatta, and inquire whether form be changeable or not, passive or impassive, transient or permanent. We thereby acquire the knowledge of the following great truth; viz., form is essentially liable to change, pain, and illusion. The examination of each of the four other attributes is proceeded on in a like manner, and a similar result ensues.
The six organs of the senses come next under consideration. These are the eyes, the ears, the nose, the tongue, the body, or rather the skin that envelops it, and the heart in a physical sense, and mano in a moral one. Each of the six senses partakes of the eleven conditions or attributes we are about to describe; and each of these[230] eleven attributes being brought successively into relation with each of the six senses, must be considered, as above stated, under the treble relation to mutability, pain, and illusion. This will supply the inquirer with a good amount of information. But to shorten this long enumeration, we will mention now successively those eleven attributes the senses may be affected by, and make the application of all to one of the senses, the eye. The same process may be easily repeated for each of the other senses. Nothing is to be changed but the name of the sense that has become the subject of examination.
1. Ayatana, the door, the opening of each of the senses. Applied to the eye, it is the opening through which exterior sensations are communicated to the heart by the organ of seeing.
2. Arom, the object of each of the senses. With regard to the eye, it is the appearance or form perceived by the eye; with respect to the ear, it is the sound.
3. Winian, the action of perceiving and knowing. Applied to the eyes, it is the eye seeing and perceiving, or the sight.
4. Phasa, literally the feeling or coming in contact with objects, applied to each of the senses. With the eye, it is the passive and active impression it derives from the objects it considers, and which it conveys to the heart. With the ear it is the impression it receives, and similarly communicates to the heart.
5. Wedana, the sensation of pain or pleasure obtained through the senses. With the eye it is the sensation created by the sight of objects perceived by the eye, and communicated to the heart.
6. Thangia, the idea or persuasion resulting from the six senses, or, according to some doctors, the identity of the appearance with reality. With the eye, it is the conviction we have that such an object, perceived by the eyes, is round or square, &c., according to the impressions received by that organ.
7. Dzetana, the inclination or rather adhesion to good or bad, consequently to the impressions received from each of the six senses.
8. Tahna, concupiscence originating from the impressions of agreeableness communicated by the six senses.
9. Witeka, the idea or representation of objects to the mind through the agency of the senses.
10. Witzara, the consideration of the objects offered to the mind by the instrumentality of the senses.
11. Dat, the matter or elements of the six senses, or, to speak the language of our author, that on which the organs rest, that which supports them.
After the examination of the senses and of the eleven subjects just related, we find the almost boundless field of inquiry to expand in proportion as we appear to make rapid progress. Then come successively for examination: 1. The ten Kasaings, or the ten parts or elements to be found in each part of a living being, viz., earth, water, fire, colour, odour, flavour, and grease, to which we add the Dziwa or life, and that of the organ to which belongs the part under consideration. 2. The thirty-two Akan, or thirty-two parts of the living body, of which the first are the hairs, the beard, the nails, the teeth, &c. 3. The twelve Ayatana, or seats of the six senses. Each sense is double, as far as it is considered in a double capacity, that of receiving and that of transmitting the impressions. 4. The eighteen Dat, or matter of the six senses. The organs afford six Dat; the objects that act upon the organs supply six other Dat; and the last six are afforded by the objects submitted to the action of the senses. 5. The twenty-two indre, or faculties or capabilities of the organs. Each organ has three. The eye, for instance, is capable of receiving an impression and of transmitting it; the eye really receives and transmits impressions. The mano, or heart, being a double organ, has six faculties; three if it be considered physically, and three if morally or intellectually. 6. The nine Bon, or seats[232] occupied by the Brahmas. 7. The five Rupa Dzan, or degrees of contemplation proper to the Brahmas who have a form. 8. The four Megga, or ways that lead near to Neibban. They are followed by the Brahmas occupying the four superior seats of Rupa. 9. The Arupa Dzan, or contemplation proper to those who inhabit the four immaterial seats. 10. The nineteen Damma. This word means what we know as certain by the use of our mental faculties. When the mano, by a right use of its three faculties, has freed itself from the principle of illusion and error, then there will be the sixteen virtues or good qualities, known by the name of Phola and Megga. 11. Finally, the twelve Patan, or elements that are in the mano, which constitute the memory, and enable man to remember, and silently repeat the impressions transmitted by the senses.
Such is the immense extent of observations the sage has to range for obtaining the perfect science. This task is truly an Herculean one; very few can perform it.
Before coming to the last article, the writer will make a remark tending to show that there is more of the analytic spirit in all what is told us by Buddhist philosophers respecting those abstruse subjects than one may be tempted to give them credit for. We have seen that the number of precepts and counsels is almost countless, yet it is agreed by all doctors that the five general precepts are the basis of all, and that he who observes them in all their bearings is as much advanced in the path of righteousness as can be expected. Again, Buddhists can never exhaust the stores of all that they have to say about the mental operations and meditation. Yet all is summed up in the comparatively short doctrine of tseit and tsedathit. The living beings are by them infinitely modified, yet after all we find everything condensed in two words, Nama and Rupa. The theory respecting the generation of beings and their mutual dependence upon each other is a boundless field. We find, however, that, after all, kan, or the influence of merits and demerits, is the sole cause of and agent[233] in the existence and modification of all beings. Mental operations are numbered by hundreds, but the six senses are, after all, the foundation on which that enumeration is raised. The general principles and primary ideas of all these metaphysical theories doubtless belong to genuine and early Buddhism. But such plain and elementary principles having been got hold of by heads of philosophical schools, and worked upon in their intellectual laboratory, there have come out therefrom at various periods those theories which have given to the doctrines of Buddhism so many different hues, and at the same time contributed so much to puzzle and torment the European student.
In the preceding article we have reviewed the whole scale of beings, and analysed summarily some of them, merely to show the way to the general analysis of all others. The ultimate result of such an investigation is to acquire the conviction that all beings are subjected to mutability, pain, and illusion. This conviction, once seated in the soul, generates a generous contempt for such miserable objects. In this article we must see by what means this philosophical sentiment may be firmly rooted in the soul, and man may finally entertain a thorough disgust for all creatures, even for his own body. This loathsomeness for all that exists is immediately followed up by an ardent desire of becoming free and disentangled from all the ties and trammels that encompass other beings. When a man has become familiar with such a conviction to the extent that his thoughts, desires, and actions are entirely regulated by its immediate influence, he is free from the errors that deceive almost all other beings; he sees things as they are in their nature, and appreciates them by their real value.[234] He estranges himself from them. He is in mind in the state of Neibban, until death will complete outwardly what was already existing inwardly in his mind.
We are all aware, says our author, that the principle of instability pervades all that exists in hell, on earth, and in the superior seats. But this important science is with many too superficially and but imperfectly understood. Our great object is to root it deeply in our mind, so that we might ever be preserved from those false impressions which too often tempt us to believe that mutability and changes are not affecting all beings. What are the obstacles that oppose in us the progress to true science? There are three. The first is Santi, or duration of existence. We allow ourselves to be lulled into the opinion that our life shall be much longer prolonged; that we have as yet many days, months, and years to spend in this world. This groundless supposition prevents us from attending to the principle of mutability. To counteract this dangerous impression, let us examine how all things are born only soon to die, and therefore let us have always death present to our mind. Let us consider the short duration and vanity of our being, then we will soon be convinced that the form of the body is like the waves of the sea, that swell for a moment and soon disappear; that sensation is produced like froth from the dashing of the waves; that the Thangia, or persuasion we acquire, has no more stability or reality than lightning; that the Sangkara, or concept, or production, is like the plantain-tree without strength, and that the view of objects through our senses deserves no more credit than the words of a quack. Let us reason in a similar manner on the ephemeral existence of all the beings that are in this world; we will easily come to a similar conclusion, that they are the victims of mutability, incessantly tossed about as a piece of wood by the billows of the sea.
A second obstacle to our perceiving the great principle that pain is heavily weighing on all creatures is the iriabot,[235] or the four situations or positions which the body assumes, viz., sitting, standing, lying, and walking. If a man enjoys good health, he owes it chiefly to the change of situation. Were he doomed to occupy always the same place, or remain in the same situation, he would feel quite miserable. He momentarily relieves himself from his temporary afflictions by a change of situation. This relief makes him forgetful of the great principle of duka. But in truth our body is like a patient that requires the constant attendance of the physician. We must feed it, refresh it, wash it, clothe it, &c., to save it from hunger, thirst, dirt, and cold. What is all that but a sad and constant proof that we are slaves to pain? There is nothing but pain and affliction in this wretched world. The same fate awaits all other beings; they are all in a state of endurance and suffering, proclaiming aloud the irresistible action of duka.
A third obstacle to our being convinced that all is illusion in this world is that false persuasion which makes us to say, This is a foot, a hand, a woman, &c.; whilst these things have no reality, no consistence, but are mere shades, ready at any moment to vanish and disappear. These and like expressions being always used, impart at last a sort of conviction that they are true; but, after all, what are all these things but a compound of the four elements, or more simply nama and rupa?
In addition to this examination, the sage considers also our ideas and the operations of our mental faculties. Here he sees these ideas appearing for a moment and then disappearing; he concludes that ideas are likewise subjected to the great law of mutability. He finds as much misery in his own mind as he has met with in the exterior objects; all around his mind is only illusion. When he has reached this point, he is delivered at once of the three Nimeit that make one believe that there is something real in birth, existence, and action. The destruction of all beings, of all things, is ever present to his mind. In such a state, the sage is free from all erroneous doctrines; he is disgusted[236] with life; the exercise of meditation is easy to him, and almost uninterrupted. He is free from all passions.
Our author has another chapter devoted to the consideration of the miseries attending all living beings. To make us better informed on this subject, he desires the sage to meditate upon the miseries attending birth, existence, old age, and death; he wishes him to examine attentively the condition of all creatures, that he might never be seduced by the dazzling appearance that encompasses them. He insists at great length upon the dangers surrounding the wise man, as yet compelled to remain in contact with this material world. To make us better understand this subject, he makes use of the following similitude. A man worn out with fatigue enters a cave wherein he longs to enjoy a refreshing rest. He is just lying down in the hope of abandoning himself to the sweet delight of undisturbed repose, when, on a sudden, he perceives close by him an infuriated tiger. At that moment all idea of rest, of sleep, of happiness, vanishes away; he is taken up solely with the imminent danger of his position. Such is the position of the sage who, living among creatures, may be tempted to allow himself to look on them with an idea of enjoyment. But when he has come to that state, to be disgusted with all the modifications matter is subjected to, he is likened to the pure swan who never sets his feet in low and dirty places, but delights to rest on the bosom of a beautiful lake, of limpid and clear water. Our sage, who has in abhorrence all the filth of this miserable world, is delighted only in the consideration of truth. He is displeased with the world and all things that are therein. His mind is busily engaged in finding out the most effectual means to break with this world, and rend asunder the ties that retain him linked to it. He is like a fish caught in the net, or a frog seized by a snake, or a man shut up in a dungeon. All three strive, to their utmost, to escape the danger that threatens them and regain their liberty. Such is the condition of the perfect who has attentively[237] considered the many snares that are around them. He, too, has but one object in view, that of freeing himself from them and obtaining the deliverance.
The best and surest means to save himself from the dangers attending existence is a profound and unremitting meditation on the three great principles: aneitsa, duka, and anatta. We will select among many reflections supplied by our author, a few on each of these principles, to convey to the reader some ideas respecting the subjects that engross much of the attention of the Buddhist sage. Most of these reflections are strikingly true, and could as well find place in the mind of a Christian as in that of a Buddhist.
Speaking of aneitsa, our author says: Let us reflect on this, that there is nothing permanent or stable in this world. We hold all things as a sort of borrowed property, or on tenure; we are by no means proprietors of what we possess. We acquire goods but to lose them very soon. All in nature is subjected to pain, old age, and death; everything comes to an end, either by virtue of its own condition, or by the agency of some external cause. Shall we ever be able to find in this world anything stable? No; we leave one place, but only to go and occupy another, which, in its turn, is soon vacated. No one is able to enumerate the countless changes that incessantly take place. What exists to-day disappears to-morrow. In fact, all nature is pervaded from beginning to end by the principle of mutability, which incessantly works upon it.
On the miseries of this world our philosopher speaks as follows: Pain is the essential appendage of this world. Survey, if you can, the whole of this universe, and everywhere you will find a heavy load of pain and afflictions, so harassing and oppressing that we can scarcely bear them with a tolerable amount of patience. Look at birth, examine existence during its duration, consider senses, the organs of our life. In every direction our eyes will meet with an accumulation of pain, sufferings, and miseries; on[238] every side we are beset with dangers, difficulties, and calamities; nowhere lasting joy or permanent rest is to be found. In vain we may go in quest of health and happiness; both are chimerical objects nowhere to be met with. Everywhere we meet with afflictions.
In speaking of the anatta, or illusion in which we are miserably rocked as long as we stay in this world, our philosopher is equally eloquent. If we consider with some attention this world, we will never be able to discover in it anything else but name and form; and, as a necessary consequence, all that exists is but illusion. Here is the manner we must carry on our reasoning. The things that I see and know are not myself, nor from myself, nor to myself. What seems to be myself is in reality neither myself nor belongs to myself. What appears to me to be another is neither myself nor from myself. The organs of senses, such as the eyes, the ears, &c., are neither myself nor to myself. They are but illusions, or as nothing relatively to me. The form is not a form; the attributes of a living being are not attributes; beings are not beings. All that is an aggregate of the four elements, and these again are but form and name, and these two are but an illusion, destitute of reality. In a being, then, there are two attributes, form and sensation, that appear to have some more consistency than other things. Yet they have no reality; their nature and condition is to be destitute of all reality and stability.[52] Penetrated with the truth of[239] these and like considerations, the sage declares at once that all things are neither himself nor belong to himself. Nothing, therefore, appears worthy his notice. He at once divorces himself from the world and all the things that are therein. He would fain have nothing to do with it; he holds it in supreme contempt and utter disgust.
He who has reached this lofty point of sublime science is at once secure from the snares of seduction and the path of error. He will escape from the whirlpool of human miseries, and infallibly reach the state of Neibban. The most perfect among the perfect are so much taken upon with and deeply affected by the view of Neibban, that they tend in that direction without effort. Others, somewhat less advanced in the sublime science, discover, it is true, the state of Neibban at a distance, but its sight is as yet dimmed and somewhat obscured. They want as yet to train up their mind to and perfect it in the exercise of that meditation of which we have given an abbreviated analysis.
In the foregoing pages we have first given a sketch of the life of the founder of Buddhism, and in the accompanying notes endeavoured to explain the more important particulars respecting the extraordinary religious system he has established. Subsequently, in the way to Neibban, we have laid down, in as few words as possible, the great metaphysical principles upon which is raised the great structure of Buddhism, and pointed out the way leading to the pretended perfection, or rather the end of perfection, Neibban. It seems to be necessary to devote a particular notice to the religious Order which forms the most striking feature of that religion, which has extended its sway over so many nations. The association of devotees holds the first rank among the followers of Buddha; it comprises the élite of that immense body. The system of[242] discipline to which the Buddhist religious are subjected, is the highest practical illustration of the doctrines and practices of Buddhism. We may see reflected in that corporation the greatest results that the working of these religious institutions can ever produce. All that Buddha, in his efforts, has been able to devise as most fit to lead man to the perfection, such as he understood it, will be found in the constitutions of that order. It is a living mirror in which we may contemplate the masterpiece of his creation. The Buddhist religious constitute the thanga, or assembly of the perfect, that is to say, of the disciples who have left the world, conformed their life to that of their teacher, and striven to acquire the science that will qualify them for entering into the way leading to perfection. They are the strict followers of Buddha, who, like him, have renounced the world, to devote themselves to the two-fold object of mastering their passions and acquiring the true wisdom which alone can lead to the deliverance.
The best method for obtaining correct information respecting the Buddhist religious is not, it seems, to consider their order from an abstract point of view, but rather in connection with the religion it has sprung from, as affording a perfect exemplification of its highest practices, maxims, and tendencies, as well as of the real nature and true spirit of that creed.
Buddhism is evidently an off-shoot of Brahminism. We find it replete with principles, practices, observances, and dogmas belonging to the great Hindu system. Gaudama, being himself a Hindu, reared in a Hindu society, trained up in the Hindu schools of philosophy, could not but imbibe, to a great extent, the opinions and observances of his contemporaries. He dissented from them, it is true, in many important points, but in the generality of his teachings he seems to have agreed with them. He found existing in his times a body of religious and philosophers, whose mode of life was peculiar and quite distinct from[243] that of the people. When he laid the plan for the religious institution he contemplated to establish, he found around him most of the elements he required for that work. He had but to improve on what he saw existing, and make his new order agree with the religious tenets he innovated.
In the hope of tracing up the ties of relationship that must have existed between the religious of the Brahminical order, and those of the Buddhist one, the writer will begin this notice with establishing a short parallel between the former, such as they are described in the Institutes of Menoo, and the institution of the latter, such as it is explained in the Wini, or Book of discipline. Afterwards the nature of the Buddhist order and the object its members have in view in embracing it will be examined; next to that, the constituent parts of that body and its hierarchy shall receive a due share of attention. We will describe at the same time the ceremonies observed on the solemn occasion of admitting individuals into the religious society, and expound briefly the rules that direct and regulate the whole life of a professed member as long as he remains in the brotherhood. It will not be found amiss to inquire into the cause and nature of the great religious influence undoubtedly possessed by the members of the order, and examine the motives that induce the votaries of Buddhism to show the greatest respect and give unfeigned marks of the deepest veneration to the Talapoins or Phongyies. This will be concluded with a short account of the low and degraded state into which the society has fallen in these parts, particularly in what has reference to knowledge and information.
It has been stated, on apparently incontrovertible grounds, in the foregoing pages, that Buddhism has originated to a considerable extent from Brahminism. The following remarks will corroborate the statement, and give an additional weight to the reasons already brought forward. In fact, both systems have the same objects in view, viz., the disentangling of the soul from passions and the influence of the material world, and its perfect liberation from metempsychosis and the action of matter. The final end to be arrived at is, however, widely different. The perfected Brahmin longs for his absorption in the infinite being; the perfect Buddhist thirsts after a state of complete isolation, which is nothing short of total annihilation. But the means for obtaining the ardently coveted perfection are in many respects the same. The moral observances enforced by both creeds differ so little from each other that they appear to be almost identical. In both systems, moreover, we find a body of individuals who aim at a complete and perfect observance of the highest injunctions, striving to reach the very summit of that perfection pointed out by the founders of their respective institutions: these are the Brahminical and Buddhist religious. To glance over the regulations enjoined on the Brahmins, such as we find them in the Institutes of Menoo, and those prescribed by the Wini to the Talapoins, cannot fail to be truly interesting. A summary comparison will enable the reader to perceive at once how closely allied are the two creeds, and how great is the resemblance between them both. He will see on the clearest evidence that to Buddha is not to be ascribed the merit of having originated so many fine moral precepts[245] and admirable disciplinary regulations, but that he found in his own country, in the schools where he studied wisdom, already well-known, pure moral precepts, actually discussed, studied, and by many strictly observed, together with the disciplinary regulations. He was brought up in a society which beheld with astonishment and admiration a body of religious men entirely devoted to the great work of securing the triumph of the spiritual principle over the material one, and endeavouring by dint of the greatest and severest austerities, the most rigorous penances, and the most entire renouncing of all this material world, to break down the material barriers that had hitherto kept the soul captive, and prevented her from taking her flight into regions of blissful freedom and perfect quiescence. There is, however, a remarkable difference between the sacerdotal caste of Brahmins and the members of the Buddhist monkish institution. The position of the former is hereditary; he is rendered illustrious by his lineage and descent. That of the second is personal, and ends with him; it is the result of his own free choice; he derives all the glory that shines round him from his virtuous life and a strict adherence to the institutions of the Wini. The Brahmin owes everything to religion and to birth. The Buddhist religious is indebted for all that he is solely to religion; the monk’s title to distinction is the holy mode of the saintly life that he has embraced. Both are the greatest and most distinguished in their respective societies; but merit and intrinsic worth alone elicit veneration and respect in behalf of the humble religious, whilst the casual birth of the Brahmin from individuals belonging to the highest caste centres upon his person the reluctant homage of men belonging to inferior castes, who, in virtue of the prejudices in which they are reared, consider themselves obliged to do homage to him. The person of both is sacred and looked upon with awe and veneration, but from somewhat opposite and different motives.
Notwithstanding these and many other differences and[246] discrepancies, it is not the less striking to find in the Brahminical body, such as it is constituted by the regulations of the Vedas, the germ of all the principal observances enjoined on the Buddhist that leaves the world, to follow the path leading to perfection.
The life of a Brahmin, not as it is now, but as it originally was, and now ought to be, if the regulations of the Vedas had not been partly set aside, is one of laborious study, austerity, self-denial, and retirement. The first quarter of his life is spent in the capacity of student. His great and sole object is the study of the Vedas, and the mastering of their contents. Worldly studies are not to be thought of. He is entirely under the control of his preceptor, to whom he has to yield obedience, respect, and service in all that relates to his daily wants. He must, moreover, daily beg his food from door to door. The Buddhist novice likewise withdraws from his family, enters the monastery, lives under the discipline of the head of the house, whom he obeys and serves in his daily necessities, and devotes all his undivided attention to the study of religious books. He pays no regard to worldly knowledge. He has likewise to go out every morning to beg the food that he will use during the day.
The second quarter of the Brahmin’s life is thus employed. He marries and lives with his family, but he must consider his chief employment to be the teaching of the Vedas and a zealous discharge of the religious observances and of all that relates to public worship. He must sedulously abstain from too sensual and worldly enjoyments, even from music, dancing, and other amusements calculated to lead to dissipation. The Buddhist monkish institution being not hereditary, and its continuance and development having not to depend upon generation, its members are bound to a strict celibacy, and to an absolute and entire abstinence from all sensual and worldly enjoyments inconsistent with gravity, self-recollection, and self-denial.[247] Their chief occupation is teaching to children the rudiments of reading and writing, that they might read religious books, which are the only ones used in schools. He must pay a strict regard to devotional practices, and take care that the religious observances and ceremonies be regularly attended to in his monastery.
The third quarter of his life is spent by the Brahmin in solitude as an anchorite. He dwells in the forests, where he must procure what is necessary for food and raiment. The latter article is looked after when he thinks it to be a requisite to cover his nakedness. With many of them fanaticism has so far prevailed over reason and the sense of decency that they live in a state of disgusting nakedness. The roots of plants, the fruits and leaves of wild trees, will supply the needful for the support of nature. That time too must be devoted to the infliction of the severest penances and to the practice of the hardest deeds of mortification. To the Buddhist monk solitude and retirement must ever be dear. Ascetic life is much recommended, and praised as most excellent. It was formerly much in use among religious Buddhists. In Burmah several places are pointed out with respect as having been sanctified by the residence of holy anchorites. Now in our days a few zealots, to bear, as it were, witness to this ancient observance, retire into solitude during a portion of the three months of Lent. The spirit of mortification and self-renouncing is eminently Buddhist; but from the very days of Gaudama we remark a positive tendency on the part of his religious to give up and renounce those unnatural and ultra-rigorous penances regularly observed by their brethren of the opposite creed. The principle is cherished by them, but the mode of carrying it into practice is more mild, and more consonant with reason and modesty.
The last portion of the Brahmin’s life is devoted likewise to meditation and contemplation. He is no more subjected to the ordeal of rigorous penances; nature has been subdued; passions silenced and destroyed; the soul has[248] obtained the mastery over the body and the material world. She is free from all the trammels and obstacles that impeded her contemplation of truth. She is ready to quit this world, as the bird leaves the branch of the tree when it pleases him. The Buddhist religious, having likewise crushed his passions and disentangled his soul from affection to matter, delights only in the contemplation of truth. As the mighty whale sports in the bosom of the boundless ocean, so the perfected Buddhist launches forth into abstract and infinite truth, delights in it, completely estranged from this world, which meditation has taught him to consider as a mere illusion, as destitute of reality. He is then ripe for the so ardently coveted state of Neibban.
When Buddha originated the plan of a society of religious, and framed the regulations whereby it was to be governed, he had but to look around him for patterns of a religious life. The country where he had been born, the society in which he had been brought up, swarmed with religious following the different systems of philosophy prevailing in those days. He saw them, conversed with them, and for some time lived in their company under the same disciplinary institutions. He was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with all that in his days constituted a religious life. But the same bold and enterprising spirit which made him dissent from his masters and contemporaries on many important questions of morals and metaphysics, and induced him to improve, as he thought, and perfect theories in speculative and practical philosophy, impelled him also to do something similar respecting the disciplinary regulations to which his religious were to be hereafter subjected. We freely confess that on this latter point he was eminently successful. The body of Buddhist religious is infinitely superior in most respects to the other societies of Indian religious. The regulations of the former breathe a spirit of modesty, mildness, and unaffectation, which in a striking manner contrasts with those disgusting exhibitions[249] of self-inflicted penances so fondly courted by Brahmins, where immodesty seems to dispute the palm with cruelty. Buddha opened the door of his society to all men without any distinction or exception, implicitly pulling down the barriers raised by the prejudices of caste. Did he in the beginning of his public career lay down the plan of destroying all vestiges of caste, and proclaiming the principle of equality amongst men? It is, to say the least, very doubtful. The equalising principle itself was never distinctly mentioned in his discourses. But he had sown all the elements constitutive of that principle in his instructions. Every member put on the religious dress of his own free choice, and set it aside at his pleasure; no hereditary right, therefore, could be thought of; the dying religious could bequeath to his brethren but the example of his virtues. His complete separation from the world had broken all the ties of relationship. The double vow of strict poverty and of celibacy, cutting the root of cupidity and sensual enjoyments, precluded him from aiming at the influence and power which is conferred by wealth and rank. With the Brahminical religious the case is the very reverse. His sacerdotal caste, exclusive of his personal merits, confers on him an almost divine sacredness, which is to be propagated by generation. He may possess riches and have a numerous posterity. He is, therefore, almost irresistibly impelled to seize on a power which is forced on him by the treble influence of birth, religion, and wealth.
The subject of the comparison between the two societies of religious might receive further developments, but what has been briefly stated appears sufficient to bear out the point it was intended to establish, viz., the close resemblance subsisting between the two religious orders in both systems, and the necessary inference that the order of Buddhist religious is an improvement on the orders of religious subsisting in India in the days of Gaudama.
There is another characteristic of the religious order of[250] Buddhists which has favourably operated in its behalf, and powerfully contributed to maintain it for so many centuries in so compact and solid a body that it seems to bid defiance to the destructive action of revolutions. We allude to its regularly constituted hierarchy, which is as perfect as it can be expected, particularly in Burmah and Siam. The power and influence of him whom we may call the general of the order in Burmah, and who is known under the appellation of Tha-thana-paing, when, as was very often the case, backed by the temporal power, was felt throughout the whole country, and much contributed to maintain good order and discipline in the great body of religious. The action of the provincial or superior of the religious houses of a province is more directly and immediately felt by all the subordinates. It does not appear that the religious of the Hindu schools, at least in our days, possess such an advantage that they may well envy their brethren of the Buddhist sect. The members of the Brahminical body are not kept together by the power and government of superiors, but by regulations that are so deeply rooted and firmly seated in the mind of individuals that they are faithfully observed. The superiority of caste, connected too with a certain amount of spiritual pride, has been hitherto sufficient to maintain that body distinct and separate from all that is without itself. The religious spirit that pervades that body in our days seems to have abated from its original fervour and energy. The Brahmin has maintained with the utmost jealousy the superiority that caste confers upon him, but appears not to have been so particular in keeping up the genuine spiritual supremacy, which a strict adherence to the prescriptions of the Vedas must have ever firmly secured to him.
He who has not seriously studied the religious system of Buddhism, nor acquired accurate notions of its doctrinal principles, is scarcely capable of forming a correct opinion of the religious order of those austere recluses, whom Europeans, with a mind biassed by educational influence, denominate priests of Buddha. Were we to apply to the members of that order the notions generally entertained of a priesthood, we would form a very erroneous conception of the real character of their institution. For in every religious system admitting of one or several beings superior to man, whose providential action influences his destinies either in this or the next world, persons invested with a sacerdotal character have always been considered as mediators between men and the acknowledged deity, offering to the supreme being on all public occasions the prayers and sacrifices of the people, and soliciting in return his gracious protection. When in the early ages of the world the sacerdotal dignity was coupled with the patriarchal or regal ones, when in the succeeding ages there existed a regular and distinct priesthood, such as subsisted under the Mosaic dispensation, or among the Greeks, Romans, Gauls, &c., the priests were looked upon as delegates of the people in all that related to national worship, carrying on in the name of the Deity the mysterious intercourse that links heaven to earth. Priesthood, therefore, necessarily implies the belief in a being superior to man and controlling his destinies. The moment such a belief is disregarded, the very idea of priesthood vanishes. Buddhism, such at least as it is found existing in Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, and other places, is a purely atheistical religious system, and presents the solitary instance, at least as far as my information goes, of a religious creed,[252] admitted by various nations, the doctrines of which are not based upon the notion of a supreme being controlling more or less the affairs of this world. In support of an assertion that may appear to many somewhat hazardous, we will briefly lay down the leading tenets of the Buddhistic doctrine.
According to that system, matter is eternal. The existence of a world, its duration, destruction, and reproduction, all the various combinations and modifications matter is liable to, are the immediate results of the action of eternal and self-existing laws. Through life man is subjected to the continual but successive influences of his good and bad deeds. This double influence always attends him through his numberless existences, and inevitably awards him happiness or misfortune, according as the respective sum of good or evil predominates. There exists an eternal law, which, when obliterated from the memory of men, can be known again, and, as it were, recovered only and thoroughly understood by the incomparable genius and matchless wisdom of certain extraordinary personages, called Buddhas, who appear successively and at intervals during the various series or successions of worlds. These Buddhas announce that law to all the then existing rational beings. The great object of that doctrine is to point out to those beings the means of freeing themselves from the influence of passions, and becoming abstracted from all that exists. Being thereby delivered from the action of good or evil influence, which causes mortals to turn incessantly in the whirlpool of never-ending existences, men can obtain the state of Neibban, or rest, that is to say, according to the popular opinion, a situation wherein the soul, disentangled from all that exists, alone with herself, indifferent to pain as well as to pleasure, folded, as it were, upon herself, remains for ever in an incomprehensible state of complete abstraction and absolute rest. I say that such is the popular opinion, fortunately unbiassed by scholastic theories. But the opinion of the Buddhist doctors respecting[253] Neibban is that it means the negation of all states of being; that is to say, a desolating and horrifying annihilation. A Buddha is a being who, during myriads of existences, slowly and gradually gravitates towards this centre of an imaginary perfection by the practice of the highest virtues. Having attained thereto, he becomes on a sudden gifted with a boundless genius, wherewith he at once discovers the wretched state of beings and the means of delivering them from it. He thoroughly understands the eternal law which alone can lead mortals in the right way, and enable them to come out of the circle of existences, wherein they have been unceasingly turning and moving in a state of perpetual agitation, opposite to that of fixity or rest. He preaches that law whereby man is taught the practice of those virtues which destroy gradually in him all evil influences, together with every affection for all that exists, and brings him at last to the end of existence, the possession of Neibban. His task fulfilled, Buddha dies, or rather, to use the language of Buddhists, he enters into the state Neibban. In that situation, which is truly inexplicable, he knows nothing of and enters no wise into the affairs of this world. He is as if he was not or had never been. He is indeed annihilated.
Buddhists venerate three precious things—Buddha, his law, and the assembly of the just or perfect—in the same sense as we venerate and admire what is morally good and beautiful, such as virtue considered abstractedly, and the acts originating from it. The statues of the last Buddha Gaudama are honoured by his followers, not with the idea that certain powers or virtues are inherent in them, but solely because they are the visible representations of Buddha, who, according to Buddhists, desired that the same honours should be paid to them as would be offered to his person, were he yet living among them. This faint outline of the Buddhistic creed is sufficient to bear out the above assertion, that it is in no wise based on the belief in a supreme being, but that it is strictly atheistical,[254] and therefore that no real priesthood can ever be found existing under such a system. It may prove, too, of some assistance for better understanding what is to be said regarding the subjects of this notice.
The Talapoins are called by the Burmese Phongyies, which term means great glory: or Rahans, which means perfect. They are known in Ceylon, Siam, Thibet, under different names, conveying nearly the same meaning and expressing either the nature or the object of their profession.
What induces a follower of Buddha to embrace the Talapoinic state? What is the object of his pursuit in entering on such a peculiar and extraordinary course of life? The answer to these questions will supply us with accurate notions of the real nature of this singular order of devotees. A Buddhist on becoming a member of the holy society proposes to keep the law of Buddha in a more perfect manner than his other co-religionists. He intends to observe not only its general ordinances obligatory on every individual, but also its prescriptions of a higher excellency, leading to an uncommon sanctity and perfection, which can be the lot of but a comparatively small number of fervent and resolute persons. He aims at weakening within himself all the evil propensities that give origin and strength to the principle of demerits. By the practice and observance of the highest and sublimest precepts and counsels of the law, he establishes, confirms, and consolidates in his own soul the principle of merits, which is to work upon him during the various existences he has as yet to go through, and gradually lead him to that perfection which will qualify him for and entitle him to the state of Neibban, the object of the ardent desires and earnest pursuit of every true and genuine disciple of Buddha. The life of the last Buddha Gaudama, his doctrines as well as his examples, he proposes to copy with a scrupulous fidelity and to follow with unremitting ardour. Such is the great model that he proposes to himself for[255] imitation. Gaudama withdrew from the world, renounced its seducing pleasures and dazzling vanities, curbed his passions under the yoke of restraint, and strove to practise the highest virtues, particularly self-denial, in order to arrive at a state of complete indifference to all that is within or without self; which is, as it were, the threshold of Neibban.
The Talapoin, fixing his regards on that matchless pattern of perfection, would fain reproduce, as far as it lies in his power, all its features in his own person. Like Buddha himself, he parts with his family, relatives, and friends, and seeks for admission into the society of the perfect; he abandons and leaves his home, to enter into the asylum of peace and retirement; he forsakes the riches of this world to practise the strictest poverty; he renounces the pleasures of this world, even the lawful ones, to live according to the rules of the severest abstinence and purest chastity; he exchanges his secular dress for that of the new profession he enters on; he gives up his own will, and fetters his own liberty, to attend, through every act and all the particulars of life, to the regulations of the brotherhood. He is a Talapoin for himself and for his own benefit, to acquire merits which he shares with nobody else. On the occasion of certain offerings or alms being presented to him by some benevolent admirers of his holy mode of life, he will repay his benefactors by repeating to them certain precepts, commands, and points of the law; but he is not bound by his professional character to expound the law to the people. Separated from the world by his dress and his peculiar way of living, he remains a stranger to all that takes place without the walls of his monastery. He is not charged with the care of souls, and therefore never presumes to rebuke any one that trespasses the law, or to censure the conduct of the profligate.
The ceremonies of the Buddhistic worship are simple and few. The Talapoin is not considered as a minister[256] whose presence is an essential requisite when they are to be performed. Pagodas are erected, statues of Buddha are inaugurated, offerings of flowers, tapers, and small ornaments are made, particularly on the days of the new and full moon, but on all those solemn occasions the interference of the Phongyie is in no way considered as necessary, so that the whole worship exists independently of him. He is not to be seen on the particular occasions of births and marriages. He is, it is true, occasionally asked to attend funerals; but he then acts, not as a minister performing a ceremony, but as a private person. He is present for the sake of receiving alms that are profusely bestowed upon him by the relatives of the defunct.
The Buddhists have three months of the year, from the full moon of July to the full moon of October, particularly devoted to a stricter observance of the practices and ceremonies of the law. Crowds of people of both sexes resort to the pagodas, and often spend whole nights in the buildings erected close to those places. The most fervent among them fast and abstain from profane amusements during that period; they devote more time to the reading of their sacred books and the repetition of certain formulas calculated to remind them of certain important truths, or intended to praise the last Buddha Gaudama and the law he has published. Alms pour more abundantly into the peaceable dwellings of the pious recluses. During all the time the Talapoin quietly remains in his place, without altering his mode of life, or deviating in the least from his never-changing usages and ordinary habits. By the rules of his profession he is directed to pay, during that time, a particular regard to religious observances, to join his brethren from time to time in the recital of certain formulas, and in the reading of the book embodying the regulations of the profession. He enjoys, as usual, the good things which his liberal co-religionists take pleasure in proffering to him. On two occasions the writer has seen, and on many has heard of Talapoins withdrawing[257] during the three months of Lent to some lonely place, living alone in small huts, shunning the company of men, and leading an eremitical life, to remain at liberty to devote all their time to meditations on the most excellent points of the law of Buddha, combating their passions, and enjoying in that retired situation a foretaste of the never-troubled rest of Neibban.
In many respects the Talapoinic institutions may be likened to those of some religious orders that appeared successively in almost every Christian country previous to the era of the Reformation, and that are, up to this day, to be met with amidst the Churches of the Latin and Greek rites. Like the monk, the Talapoin bids a farewell to the world, wears a particular dress, leads a life of community, abstracts himself from all that gives strength to his passions, by embracing a state of voluntary poverty and absolute renunciation of all sensual gratifications. He aims at obtaining, by a stricter observance of the law’s most sublime precepts, an uncommon degree of sanctity and perfection. All his time is regulated by the rules of his profession, and devoted to repeating certain formulas of prayers, reading the sacred scriptures, begging alms for his support, &c.
These features of exterior resemblance, common to institutions of creeds so opposite to each other, have induced several writers, little favourable to Christianity, to pronounce without further inquiry that Catholicism has borrowed from Buddhism many ceremonies, institutions, and disciplinary regulations. Some of them have gone so far as to pretend to find in it the very origin of Christianity. They have, however, been ably confuted by Abel Remusat, in his Memoir entitled “Chronological Researches into the Lamaic Hierarchy of Thibet.” Without entertaining in the least the presumptuous idea of entering into a controversy entirely foreign to his purpose, the writer will confine himself to making one or two remarks calculated to show that the first conclusion is, to say the[258] least of it, a premature one. When in two religious creeds, entirely opposed to each other in their ultimate object, there are several minor objects equally set forth by both, it will necessarily happen that, in many instances, means nearly similar will be prescribed on both sides for effectually obtaining them, independent of any previously concerted plan or imitation. The Christian system and the Buddhistic one, though differing from each other in their respective objects and ends, as much as truth from error, have, it must be confessed, many striking features of an astonishing resemblance. There are many moral precepts equally commanded and enforced in common by both creeds. It will not be deemed rash to assert that most of the moral truths prescribed by the Gospel are to be met with in the Buddhistic scriptures. The essential, vital, and capital discrepancy lies in the difference of the ends to which the two creeds lead, but not in the variance of the means they prescribe for the attainment of them. The Gospel tends to reunite man to his Maker, points out to him the way he must follow for arriving at the possession and enjoyment of Him who is the great principle and end of all things, and teaches him, as a paramount duty, to conform his will and inclinations to His commands. Buddhism tends to abstract man from all that is without self, and makes self his own and sole centre. It exhorts him to the practice of many eminent virtues, which are to help him to rise to an imaginary perfection, the summit of which is the incomprehensible state of Neibban. It is the mildest expression which the writer can command when he has to speak of so sad a subject, the final end of a Buddhist. It would be more correct to say at once that the pretended perfect being is led, by the principles of his creed, into the dark and fathomless abyss of annihilation.
If the end aimed at by the followers of Buddha is widely different from that which the disciples of Christ strive to obtain, the means prescribed for the attainment[259] of these two ends are, in many respects, very much similar to each other. Both creeds teach man to combat, control, and master the passions of his heart, to make reason predominate over sense, mind over matter, to root up from his heart every affection for the things of this world, and to practise the virtues required for the attainment of these great objects. Is there anything surprising that persons, having, in many respects, views nearly similar, resort to means or expedients nearly alike for securing the object of their pursuit, without having ever seen or consulted each other? He who intends to practise absolute poverty must of course abandon all his earthly property. He who proposes renouncing the world ought to withdraw from it. He who will lead a contemplative life must look out for a retired place, far from the gaze and agitation of the world. To control passions, and particularly the fiercest of all, the sensual appetite, it is required that one should keep himself separate from all that is calculated to kindle its fires and feed its violence. Every profession has its distinctive marks and peculiar characteristics. Hence peculiarity of dress, manners, and habits in those who have adopted a mode of life differing from that of the rest of the community. He who has bound himself to the daily recitation of certain prayers or devotional formulas a certain number of times will have recourse to some instrument, or devise some means for ascertaining the number of times he has complied with his regulation in this respect. He, too, who is eager to acquire self-knowledge and to carry on a successful war with himself will apply to a guide to whom he will lay open his whole soul, and ask spiritual advice that will enable him to overcome the obstacles he meets on his way to perfection.
These and many other points are common to all those that intend to observe not only the precepts but also the mere counsels of their respective creeds. Causes being the same, in many instances, in both systems, consequences almost analogous must inevitably result therefrom. Religious[260] institutions always bear the stamp of the religious ideas that have given rise to them. They, together with their rules and regulations, are not the principle, but the immediate consequence or offspring of religion, such as it is understood by the people professing it. They exemplify and illustrate religious notions already entertained, but they never create such as are not yet in existence. When the learned shall have collected sufficient materials for giving an accurate history of the origin, progress, spread, and dogmatical revolutions of Buddhism, it will not be uninteresting to inquire into the causes that have operated in communicating to two religious systems essentially differing in their respective tendencies so many points of resemblance. But that study is yet to be made. We know very little on all those points. The best informed are compelled to acknowledge that in the present state of information we are still in the dark, the thickness of which is occasionally relieved by a few transient and uncertain glimpses which are insufficient to enlighten the mind, and enable the searcher after truth to guide safely his steps. In reading the particulars of the life of the last Buddha Gaudama, it is impossible not to feel reminded of many circumstances relating to our Saviour’s life, such as it has been sketched out by the evangelists. The origin of the close affinity between many doctrinal points and maxims common both to Christianity and Buddhism having been ascertained, it will not be difficult to find out and explain how the votaries of both have come to adopt so many practices, ceremonies, observances, and institutions nearly similar.
Having endeavoured to explain the nature of the institution of the Talapoins, and the object aimed at by its professed members, we will now proceed to examine its systematical organisation, or sacred hierarchy.
It is somewhat surprising to find in the middle of half-civilised nations, such as the Burmese, Siamese, Cingalese, and Thibetans, a religious order, with a distinct and well-marked hierarchy, constitutions and regulations, providing for the admission of members, determining their occupations, duties, obligations, and their mode of life, and forming, as it were, a compact, solid, and perfect body, that has subsisted, almost without change, during several centuries, and survived the destruction of kingdoms, the fall of royal dynasties, and all the confusion and agitation produced by political commotions and revolutions. It is in Thibet that the order is found existing in the greatest perfection, under the fostering care of the Grand Lama, or High Priest, who combines in his own person the regal as well as the sacerdotal dignity and power. In the city of Lassa, a pontifical court, an elective sacerdotal chief, and a college of superior Lamas impart to the order dignity, decency, respectability, and stability, which insure its continued existence, and more or less extend its influence over its members living in distant countries. The period of the introduction of Buddhism from India into Thibet is very uncertain, if not quite unknown. Buddhist annals mention that after the holding of the third council, 236 years after Gaudama’s death, some missionaries were deputed by the president of that assembly to go and preach religion in some parts of the Himalayan range. We may suppose that this had reference to the southern slopes of the mountains. Be that as it may, it appears certain that the establishment of a pontifical chief or sovereign, with royal prerogatives, was set up by one of the grandsons of the great Tartar warrior Gengis in or about the middle of the thirteenth century. In other countries, where the order[262] has no connection whatever with the civil power, we can scarcely expect to see it surrounded with an equal splendour, or subsisting in the same state of splendour and regularity. Though this is the case in Burmah, it is impossible not to acknowledge the fact that the regulations of the Wini are more carefully attended to in this country than in Thibet. The conduct of the monks here is incomparably more regular. The public could not bear an open dereliction of the duties imposed by the vows of poverty and chastity. But, if credit be given to the narratives of travellers, the Thibetan monks do not scruple to forsake occasionally those duties, without appearing to fear the rising of a popular cry of indignation, on account of their misbehaviour in points considered of such vast importance. Extraordinary, indeed, would be its vital energies, were the remotest parts of this great and far-spread body to receive the same impulse and exhibit the same symptoms of vitality as those nearest to the heart or principle of life. Having never met with any detailed particulars regarding the Thibetan monks, we must remain satisfied with laying before the reader an account of all that relates to the constituent parts of the order, such as they are found existing in Burmah and developed in the sacred writings.
The whole fraternity is composed, 1st, of young men who have put on the Talapoinic dress without being considered professed members of the fraternity, or having hitherto passed through a certain ordeal somewhat resembling an ordinary; they are called Shyins; 2d, of those who, having lived for a while in the community in a probationary state, are admitted professed members with the ceremonies usually observed on such occasions, whereby the title and character of Phongyie are solemnly conferred; they are denominated Patzins; 3d, of the heads of each house or community, who have the power to control all the inmates of the house; 4th, of a provincial, whose jurisdiction extends over all the communities spread in the[263] towns and villages of the province or district; 5th, of a superior general, residing in the capital or its suburbs, called Tsaia-dau, or great master, having the general management and direction of all the affairs of the order throughout the empire. He is emphatically called by the name of Tha-thana-paing, which means that he has the power over religion. Let us say something upon each of these five degrees of the Buddhistic hierarchy.
It is an almost universal custom among the Burmese and Siamese to cause boys who have attained the age of puberty, or even before that time, to enter for a year or two one of the many Talapoinic houses, to put on the yellow dress, for the double purpose of learning to read and write, and of acquiring merits for future existences. On the occasion of the death of certain persons, it happens sometimes that a member of the family will enter the community for six months or a year. When a young lad is to make his first entrance into a house of the order, he is led thereto, riding on a richly caparisoned pony, or sitting in a fine palanquin carried on the shoulders of four or more men. He is allowed to use one or several gold umbrellas, which are held opened over his head. During the triumphal march he is preceded by a long line of men and women, attired in their richest dresses, carrying a large quantity of presents destined for the use of the inmates of the Kiaong (such is the general name given to all the houses of the brotherhood in Burmah) which the young postulant is to reside in. In this stately order the procession, attended with a band playing on various musical instruments, moves on slowly and circuitously through the principal streets of the town towards the monastery that has been fixed upon. This display of an ostentatious pomp is, on the part of the parents and relatives, an honour paid to the postulant who generously consecrates himself to so exalted a calling, and on the part of the youth a last farewell to worldly vanities. He has no sooner descended from his splendid conveyance and crossed[264] the threshold of the kiaong than he is delivered by his parents into the hands of the superior, and placed under his care. His head is instantly shaved; he is stripped of his fine secular dress, and habited in the plain and humble yellow garb; he must lay aside every sort of ornament, and remain contented with the unassuming simplicity becoming his new position. The kiaong is to become his home, and its inmates are substituted in the room of his father and mother, brothers and sisters.
The duty of the young shyin is to minister to the wants of the elders of the house, to bring and place before them at fixed times the usual supply of water, the betel-box, and the daily food; to attend them on some pious errand through the town or the country. A portion of his time is devoted to acquiring the art of reading and writing, and occasionally the elements of arithmetic. There are five general precepts obligatory on all men; but the shyin is bound to the observance of five additional ones, making ten altogether, by which he is forbidden—1st, to kill animals; 2d, to steal; 3d, to give himself up to carnal pleasures; 4th, to tell lies; 5th, to drink wine or other intoxicating liquors; 6th, to eat after mid-day; 7th, to dance, sing, or play on any musical instrument; 8th, to colour his face; 9th, to stand on elevated places, not proper for him; 10th, to touch or handle gold or silver.[54][265] The trespassing of the five first precepts is visited with expulsion from the kiaong; but that of the five last may be expiated by a proper penance.
The young shyins, as before observed, do not remain in the kiaong beyond the period of one or two years; they generally leave it and return to a secular life. There are, however, some of them, who, fond of the easy and quiet life of Talapoins, or actuated by other motives, prefer remaining longer in those places of retirement. They betake themselves to the study of the duties, rules, and obligations of the professed members of the society; they pay more attention to the reading of religious books, and endeavour to obtain the required qualifications. Being sufficiently instructed on all these points, and having attained the age of twenty years, they are solemnly admitted among the professed members of the brotherhood under the name of Patzin. The interesting ceremonies observed on the occasion will hereafter be fully described. The state of Patzin is, therefore, properly speaking, that of Phongyie, though that name is sometimes reserved for him who is the head of a monastery. Every other step or promotion in the hierarchy is purely honorary, in so far that it does not impose upon him who[266] is so promoted any new duty or obligation different from what is obligatory on every professed member; but it confers a power or jurisdiction for commanding, controlling, and governing all the brethren under his care. In virtue of such distinctions, a superior, how high soever his rank may be, is bound to the observance of the same rules, duties, and obligations as the last Patzin; his sacred character is not enlarged or altered; he is only entrusted with a certain amount of jurisdiction over some of his brethren.
The Talapoin is bound to his community, so that in every kiaong or house of the order there are ordinarily to be met several Patzins and a good number of shyins. Each kiaong has a chief who presides over the community, under the appellation of Tsaya, or, as is more often the case, under that of Phongyie. He is, in most instances, the nominee of the individual who has built the monastery, and who is vested with a kind of right of patronage to appoint whom he likes to be the head of the house he has erected. He who is the head of the house has power over all the inmates, and every one acknowledges him as his immediate superior. He has the management of all the little affairs of the community, enforces the regular observance of the rules and duties of the profession, corrects abuses, rebukes the trespassers, spurs the lazy, excites the lukewarm, keeps peace and maintains good understanding amongst his subordinates. He receives, in his official character, the pious visitors who resort to his monastery, either for the sake of making voluntary offerings in token of their respect for and admiration of his eminent sanctity, or for conversing with him on some religious subjects, which, let it be said quietly, out of deference to human frailty, sometimes make room for those of a worldly character. If the alms-givers or advice-seekers belong, as often happens, to the fair and devout sex, they must remain at a distance of six or twelve cubits, as the place may allow, from their pious adviser.[267] It is supposed that a nearer proximity might endanger the virtue of the holy recluse.
In every town a considerable number of kiaongs are found, either in the suburbs or within the walls, in a quarter reserved for the purpose. In every village the kiaong is to be met with, as the parson’s house in our villages of Europe. The poorest place is not without a small and often very humble house for the Phongyie who resides there, if not during the whole year, at least during the rainy season. One or several dzedis, a sort of flagstaff painted, and with some of its parts gilt, bearing the emblem of the sacred bird henza, or Brahminical duck, at three-fourths of its height, from which hang down gracefully several streamers, amid a grove of fruit trees, indicate to the traveller the habitation—sometimes humble, sometimes stately—with its superposed three roofs, where the Rahans dwell. The kiaong is also a place where the traveller is well received, and can stay for a day or two. During the dry season, when there are few boys remaining with the Phongyies, it is a place much safer than the dzeats. The inmates are generally very glad to receive strangers, who by their conversation afford them some moments of pleasant diversion which relieve the habitual monotony of their life. These various communities are placed under the jurisdiction of a general superior, or a provincial named Tsaia-dau, or great master; they form, under his authority, a province of the order; a division much similar to that of several religious orders in Europe. He enjoys a large share of public respect and veneration. His kiaong outshines the others in splendour and decorations. The first and wealthiest inhabitants of the place are proud to call themselves his disciples and supporters, and to supply him liberally with all that he may require. His chief duty is to settle disputes that not unfrequently arise between rival communities. The demon of discord often haunts these abodes of peace and retirement. The authority of the provincial interferes to put down feuds[268] and contentions, which envy and jealousy, the two great enemies of devotees, not unfrequently excite. When a Talapoin is accused of incontinence or other serious infringement of the vital rules of the profession, he is summoned to the tribunal of the Tsaya-dau, who, assisted and advised by some elders, examines the case and pronounces the sentence. Superior intellectual attainments do not appear to be the essential qualifications for obtaining this high dignity. The writer has met with two or three of these dignitaries who, in his opinion, were vastly inferior to many of their subordinates in talents and capacity. They were old and good-natured men, who had spent almost all their lives within the precincts of the monastery. Their dress, manners, and habits were entirely similar to those of their brethren of inferior grade.
In the capital, or its suburbs, of the kingdom of Ava, where is the key-stone of the Talapoinic fabric, the superlatively great master resides. His jurisdiction extends over all the fraternity within the realm of his Burmese majesty. His position near the seat of government, and his capacity of king’s master or teacher, must have at all times conferred upon him a very great degree of influence over all his subordinates. He is honoured with the eminent title of Tha-thana-paing, meaning that he has power and control over all that appertains to religion. It does not appear that peculiarly shining qualifications or high attainments are required in him who is honoured with such a dignity. The mere accidental circumstance of having been the king’s instructor when he was as yet a youth is a sufficient, nay, the only necessary recommendation for the promotion to such a high position. Hence it generally happens that each king, at his accession to the throne, confers the highest dignity of the order on his favourite Phongyie. In that case the actual incumbent has to resign the place to his more influential brother, and becomes an ordinary member of the fraternity, unless he prefers leaving the society altogether, and re-entering the[269] lay condition. Great indeed is the respect paid by the king to the head Phongyie. When on certain days of worship he is invited to go to the palace and deliver some instructions to his majesty, the proud monarch quits the somewhat elevated place he occupies, and takes one almost on a level with that of the courtiers, whilst the venerable personage goes to sit on the very same carpet just vacated by the king. When he happens to go out and visit some monasteries or places of worship, he is generally carried on a gilt litter, in great state, attended by a large number of his brethren and a considerable retinue of laymen. During the passage, marks of the greatest respect are given by the people. The monastery he lives in is on a scale of splendor truly surprising. Its form and appearance are similar to that of other religious houses, but in variety and richness of decorations it surpasses them all. It is entirely gilt both inside and out; not only are the posts covered with gold leaves, but often they are inlaid with rubies, which I suppose are of the commonest description and of little value.
To confer an additional sacredness to his person and position, the Tha-thana-paing lives by himself, with but one or two Phongyies, whom we may consider as his secretaries or major-domos, who remain in an apartment near to the entrance, to receive visitors and usher them into the presence of the great personage. Besides, there are lay guardians who take good care that not the least noise should ever disturb the silence of the place.
When the writer first visited that dignitary, he was much amused, on his approach to the place, to meet with those mute guardians, who by all sorts of signs and gestures were endeavouring to make him understand that he must walk slowly and noiselessly, and beware to speak aloud. When admitted to the presence of the Tsaya-dau, he was not a little surprised to find a man exceedingly self-conceited, who thought that to him alone belonged the right of speaking. His language was that of a master[270] to whom no one was expected to presume to offer the least contradiction. He appeared quite offended when his visitor was compelled to dissent from him on certain points brought forward during the conversation. He was then about fifty years old. He was, for a Burman, of a tall stature, with regular and handsome features. The face was a little emaciated, as becomes a monk. His spiritual pride cast a darkish and unpleasant appearance on his person. He spoke quickly and sententiously; appearing all the while scarcely to notice his interlocutor. Admiration of self and vanity pierced through the thin veil which his affected humility spread over his countenance. The writer left him with an impression very different from that which a worthy English envoy, in the end of the last century, entertained of a similar personage, whose mild, benign, and pious exterior captivated him to such an extent as to elicit from him a request to be remembered in his prayers.
In our days, the power of the Tha-thana-paing is merely nominal; the effects of his jurisdiction are scarcely felt beyond his own neighbourhood. Such, however, was not the case in former times. Spiritual commissioners were sent yearly by him, to examine into and report on the state of the communities throughout the provinces. They had to inquire particularly whether the rules were regularly observed or not, whether the professed members were really well qualified for their holy calling or not. They were empowered to repress abuses, and whenever some unworthy brother, or black sheep, was found within the enclosure of a monastery, he was forthwith degraded, stripped of the yellow garb, and compelled to resume a secular course of life. Unfortunately for the welfare of the order, those salutary visits no more take place; the wholesome check is done away with. Left without a superior control, the order has fallen into a low degree of abjectness and degradation. The situation of Talapoins is often looked upon now as one fit for lazy, ignorant, and[271] idle people, who, being anxious to live well and do nothing, put on the sacred dress for a certain time, until, tired of the duties and obligations of their new profession, they retire and betake themselves anew to a secular life. This practice, as far as my observation goes, is pretty general, if not almost universal. There are, however, a few exceptions. Though labouring under many serious disadvantages, the society continues to subsist with all its exterior characteristics; the various steps of its hierarchy are as well marked and defined now as they were before under more favourable circumstances. Its framework remains entire, but the materials composing it are somewhat imperfect and unsound.
There is in that religious body a latent principle of vitality, that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength and energy that have hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, revolutions, and political convulsions of all descriptions. Whether supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and unchanged. It is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such an extraordinary vitality; a cause independent of ordinary occurrences, time, and circumstances; a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the populations, that exhibit before the observer this great and striking religious feature. That cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm faith that pervades the masses of Buddhists. The laity admire and venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to their maintenance and welfare. From its ranks the religious body is constantly recruited. There is scarcely a man that has not been a member of the fraternity for a certain period of time.
Surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long, unless it were maintained by a powerful religious conviction. The members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of their profession. The[272] rules and regulations are tolerably well observed; the grades of hierarchy are maintained with a scrupulous exactitude. The life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual control. He is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. How could such system of self-denial be ever maintained, were it not for the belief which the Rahans have in the merits that they amass, by following a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to nature? It cannot be denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the religious, but divested of faith and of the sentiments inspired by even a false belief, their action could not produce, in a lasting and persevering manner, the extraordinary and striking fact we witness in Buddhistic countries.
We will now explain rather minutely, and describe as accurately as possible, the various ceremonies performed on the occasion of the promotion of a shyin to the rank of patzin, or professed member. It must be borne in mind that this ordeal through which he has to pass, or ordination, as we may aptly perhaps term it, which he has to receive, does not confer any peculiar character, or give any special spiritual power to the admitted candidate; but it merely initiates him to a more perfect course of life, and makes him the member of a society composed of men aiming at a higher degree of sanctity or perfection. The incumbent must be provided for the ceremony with a dress such as is used in the community; he must be found exempt from certain moral and physical defects that would render him unworthy of being admitted a member of the order; he must pledge himself to a rigorous[273] observance of certain regulations which form the constitutions of the society.
The place where the ceremony is to be performed is a hall measuring at least twelve cubits in length, not including the space occupied by the Rahans whose presence is required on the occasion. The assembly of Phongyies, or Rahans, must include ten or twelve members at least if the ceremony be performed in towns, and four or six if it be in the country. He who presides over the ceremony is called Upitze, meaning master or guide; he has an assistant, named Cambawa Tsaia, whose office it is to read the sacred Cambawa, or book of ordination, to present the candidate to the Upitze and his assembled brethren, to put to him the requisite questions as prescribed by the ritual, and to give him instructions on certain points, the ignorance of which would prove highly prejudicial to and greatly offensive in a professed member of the order. All the regulations prescribed and the ceremonies observed on the occasion are contained in a book written in Pali, the sacred language. This book may be aptly termed the ritual of the Buddhists. It is held in great respect, and some copies written on sheets of ivory with gilt edges are truly beautiful, and bespeak the high value Buddhists set on the work. The copyists have retained the use of the old square Pali letters, instead of employing the circular Burmese characters. All the ordinances and prescriptions in this book are supposed to have been promulgated and sanctioned by no less an authority than Gaudama himself, the last Buddha and the acknowledged originator and founder of the Talapoinic order. Hence the high respect and profound veneration all Buddhists bear to its contents. The candidate, previously to the beginning of the ceremony, must be provided, as aforesaid, with his patta, or mendicant’s pot, and a tsiwaran, the clerical dress or monkish habit. The patta is an open-mouthed pot of a truncated spheroidal form, wherein each member of the[274] brotherhood must receive the alms which every morning he goes to collect in the streets.
The tsiwaran or yellow[55] garment, the only dress becoming a Rahan, is composed first of a piece of cloth bound to the loins with a leathern girdle, and falling down to the feet; second, of a cloak of a rectangular form, covering the shoulders and breast and reaching somewhat below the knee; and, third, of another piece of cloth of the same shape, which is folded many times and thrown over the left shoulder, the two ends hanging down before and behind. Another article always required for completing the full dress of the Rahan is the awana, a sort of fan made of palm leaves, set in light oval-shaped wooden frame, with a serpentine handle, somewhat resembling in appearance the letter S.
The Burmese translator of the Pali text has interpolated his work with many remarks tending to elucidate the text, and to show the various motives and reasons that have induced Gaudama to decree and publish as obligatory the regulations laid down in the sacred Cambawa. It must be borne in mind, too, that the omission of some essential parts of the ceremonies annuls de facto the ordination, whilst the non-compliance with others of minor importance, though not invalidating the act of admission into the sacred family, entails sin upon all members of the brotherhood assembled ex officio for the ceremony. The reader must be prepared to observe many points of close resemblance between the ceremonies observed at the reception of a monk, or the ordination of a priest, and those performed in these parts on the solemn occasion of admitting a candidate to the dignity of Patzin.
The preparations for the solemnity being completed, and the assembled fathers having occupied their respective[275] seats under the presidence of the Upitze, the candidate is introduced into their presence attended by the assistant or reader of the Cambawa, and carrying his patta and yellow garments. He is enjoined to repeat distinctly thrice the following sentence to the Upitze, kneeling down, and his body bent forward, with his joined hands raised to the forehead: “Venerable President, I acknowledge you to be my Upitze.” These words having been three times repeated, the assistant, addressing himself to the candidate, says: “Dost thou acknowledge this to be thy patta, and these thy sacred vestments?” To which he audibly answers, “Yes.”
Upon this the translator remarks that, on a certain day, a Rahan that had been ordained without being supplied with either patta or tsiwaran went out quite naked, and received in the palms of his joined hands the food offered to him. So extraordinary, one would have said so unedifying, a proceeding having been mentioned to Gaudama, he ordered that henceforward no Rahan should ever be ordained unless he had been previously interrogated regarding the patta and the vestments. Any disobedience to this injunction would entail sin on the assembled fathers.
The assistant having desired the candidate to withdraw from the assembly to a distance of twelve cubits, and the latter having complied with his request, he turns towards the assembled fathers and addresses them as follows: “Venerable Upitze, and you brethren herein congregated, listen to my words. The candidate who now stands in a humble posture before you solicits from the Upitze the favour of being honoured with the dignity of patzin. If it appears to you that everything is properly arranged and disposed for this purpose, I will duly admonish him. O candidate, be attentive unto my words, and beware lest on this solemn occasion thou utterest an untruth or concealest aught from our knowledge. Learn that there are certain incapacities and defects which render a person[276] unfit for admittance into our order. Moreover, when before this assembly thou shalt be interrogated respecting such defects, thou art to answer truly, and declare what incapacities thou mayest labour under. Now this is not the time to remain silent and decline thy head; every member of the assembly has a right to interrogate thee at his pleasure, and it is thy bounden duty to return an answer to all his interrogations.”
“Candidate, art thou affected with any of the following complaints: the leprosy, or any such odious maladies? Hast thou the scrofula or other similar complaints? Dost thou suffer from asthma or coughs? Art thou afflicted with those complaints that arise from a corrupted blood? Art thou affected by madness or the other ills caused by giants, witches, or evil spirits of the forests and mountains?” To each separate interrogation he answers: “From such complaints and bodily disorders I am free.” “Art thou a man?” “I am.” “Art thou a true and legitimate son?” “I am.” “Art thou involved in debts?” “I am not.” “The bounden man and underling of some great man?” “No, I am not.” “Have thy parents given consent to thy ordination?” “They have given it.” “Hast thou reached the age of twenty years?” “I have attained it.”[56] “Are thy vestments and sacred patta prepared?” “They are.” “Candidate, what is thy name?” “My name is Wago,” meaning, metaphorically, a vile and unworthy being. “What is the name of thy master?” “His name is Upitze.”
The assistant, having finished the examination, turns his face towards the assembled fathers, and thus proceeds: “Venerable Upitze, and ye assembled brethren, be pleased to listen to my words. I have duly admonished this candidate, who seeks from you to be admitted into our order. Does the present moment appear to you a meet and proper time that he should come forward? If so, I shall order him to come nearer.” Then turning to the candidate, he bids him come close to the assembly and ask their consent to his ordination. The order is instantly complied with by the candidate, who, having left behind him the distance of twelve cubits that separated him from the fathers, squats on his heels, the body bending forward and the hands raised to his forehead, and says: “I beg, O fathers of this assembly, to be admitted to the profession of Rahan. Have pity on me; take me from the state of layman, which is one of sin and imperfection, and advance me to that of Rahan, a state of virtue and perfection.” These words must be repeated three times.
The assistant then resumes his discourse as follows: “O ye fathers here assembled, hear my words. This candidate, humbly prostrated before you, begs of the Upitze to be admitted into our holy profession; it seems that he is free from all defects, corporal infirmities, as well as mental incapacities, that would otherwise debar him from entering our holy state; he is likewise provided with the patta and sacred vestments; moreover, he has asked, in the name of the Upitze, permission of the assembly to be admitted among the Rahans. Now let the assembly complete his ordination. To whomsoever this seems good, let him keep silence: whosoever thinks otherwise, let him declare that this candidate is unworthy of being admitted.” And these words he repeats three times. Afterwards he proceeds: “Since, then, none of the fathers object, but all are silent, it is a sign that the assembly has consented; so, therefore, be it done. Let therefore this candidate pass out of the state of sin and imperfection into the perfect[278] state of Rahan, and thus, by the consent of the Upitze and of all the fathers, let him be ordained.”
And he further says: “The fathers must note down under what shade, on what day, at what hour, and in what season the ordination has been performed.”
This being done, the reader of the sacred Cambawa adds: “Let the candidate attend to the following duties, which it is incumbent on him to perform, and to the faults hereafter enumerated, which he must carefully avoid.
“1. It is the duty of each member of our brotherhood to beg for his food with labour, and with the exertion of the muscles of his feet; and through the whole course of his life he must gain his subsistence by the labour of his feet. He is allowed to make use of all the things that are offered to him in particular, or to the society in general, that are usually presented in banquets, that are sent by letter, and that are given at the new and full moon and on festivals. O candidate, all these things you may use for your food.” To this he replies, “Sir, I understand what you tell me.”
The assistant resumes his instructions: “2. It is a part of the duty of a member of our society to wear, through humility, yellow clothes, made of rags thrown about in the streets or among the tombs. If, however, by his talents and virtue one procures for himself many benefactors, he may receive from them for his habit the following articles, cotton and silk, or cloth of red[57] and yellow wool.” The elect answers, “As I am instructed, so I will do.”
The instructor goes on: “3. Every member of the society must dwell in houses built under the shade of lofty trees.[58] But if, owing to your proficiency and zeal in[279] the discharge of your duties, you secure to yourself powerful supporters who are willing to build for you a better habitation, you may dwell in it. The dwellings may be made of bamboo, wood, and bricks, with roofs adorned with turrets or spires of pyramidal or triangular form.” The elect answers: “I will duly attend to these instructions.”
After the usual answer, the instructor proceeds: “4. It is incumbent upon an elect to use, as medicine, the urine of the cow, whereon lime and the juices of lemon or other sour fruits have been poured. He may also avail himself, as medicines, of articles thrown out of bazaars and picked up in corners of streets. He may accept, for medicinal purposes, nutmegs and cloves. The following[280] articles may also be used medicinally—butter, cream, and honey.”
Now the assistant instructs the new religious on the four capital offences he must carefully avoid, under penalty of forfeiting the dignity he has just attained to, and solemnly warns him against committing one of them. Those sins are fornication, theft, murder, and spiritual pride. The committing of one of these sins by religious after their ordination, in the days of Gaudama, induced him to declare those excluded de facto from the society who had been guilty of such offences; and he enjoined that the assistant should immediately after the ceremony solemnly admonish the newly ordained Patzin carefully to shun such odious offences.
The assistant, without delay, proceeds as follows: “O elect, being now admitted into our society, it shall be no longer lawful for you to indulge in carnal pleasures, whether with yourself or animals. He who is guilty of such sin can no longer be numbered among the perfect. Sooner shall the severed head be joined again to the neck, and life be restored to the breathless body, than a Patzin who has committed fornication recover his lost sanctity. Beware, therefore, lest you pollute yourself with such a crime.
“Again, it is unlawful and forbidden to an elect to take things that belong to another, or even to covet them, although their value should not exceed about six annas (one-fourth of a tical). Whoever sins even to that small amount is hereby deprived of his sacred character, and can no more be restored to his pristine state than the branch cut from the tree can retain its luxuriant foliage and shoot forth buds. Beware of theft during the whole of your mortal journey.
“Again, an elect can never knowingly deprive any living being of life, or wish the death of any one, how troublesome soever he may prove. Sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than he who kills any[281] being be readmitted into our society. Cautiously avoid so heinous a crime.
“Again, no member of our brotherhood can ever arrogate to himself extraordinary gifts or supernatural perfections, or, through vainglory, give himself out as a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary places, and, on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the Ariahs, afterwards presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. Sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy station. Take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an excess.” The elect replies as before: “As I am instructed, so I will perform.” Here ends the ceremony. The elect joins the body of Rahans, and withdraws in their company to his own kiaong.
It has already been mentioned that this ceremony or ordination does not impart any spiritual character inherent in the person of the elect; but it is a mere formality he has to go through, to enter into the family of the perfect. The admitted member is not linked indissolubly to his new state; he is at liberty to leave it when it pleases him, and re-enter secular life. He may, moreover, if inclined, apply for re-admission into the order, but he must go through the same ceremonies that were observed on his first ordination. It is not very common to meet among the Burmese Rahans men who from their youth have persevered to an old age in their vocation. Those form the rare exceptions. They are very much respected, and held in high consideration during their lifetime, and the greatest honours are lavished upon their mortal remains after their demise. They are often designated by the honourable denomination of “pure from their infancy.”
The obligations inherent in the dignity of Patzin, and the multifarious duties prescribed to the Buddhist monks, are contained in a book called Patimauk, which is, properly speaking, the manual of the order, and the Vade Mecum of every Talapoin, who is obliged to study it with great care and attention. It is even ordered that on festival days a certain number of recluses shall meet in a particular place called Thein, to listen to the reading of that book, or at least a part of it; that every brother should have always present to his mind the rules and regulations of his profession, and be prompted to a strict observance of all the points they enforce. This injunction is a very proper one, since it is a fact confirmed by the experience of ages that relaxation and dissipation find their way in all communities at the very moment the rules are partially lost sight of. So attentive to this duty are some Phongyies that they can repeat by heart all the contents of the Patimauk. We have read the book with a good deal of attention. Many wise and well-digested rules are to be met with here and there, but they are merged in a heap of minute, not to say ridiculous and childish, details, not worth repeating. In order, however, to give a correct and distinct outline of the mode of life, manners, habits, and occupations of the Talapoins, we will extract from it all that has appeared to be interesting and calculated to attain the above purpose, leaving aside the incongruous mass of useless rubbish.
Every member of the order, on his entering the profession, must renounce his own will and bend his neck under the yoke of the rule. So anxious indeed has been the framer of its statutes to leave no room or field open to the[283] independent exertions of the mind, that every action of the day, the manner of performing it, the time it ought to last, the circumstances that must attend it, have all been minutely regulated. From the moment a Rahan rises in the morning to the moment he is to go to enjoy his natural rest in the evening, his only duty is to obey and follow the ever-subsisting will and commands of the founder of the society. He advances in perfection proportionately to his fervent compliance with the injunctions of, and to his conscientiously avoiding all that has been forbidden by, the sagacious legislator. The trespassing of one article of the rule constitutes a sin. The various sins a Rahan is liable to commit are comprised under seven principal heads. 1st, the Paradzekas; 2d, the Thinga-de-ceits; 3d, the Patzei; 4th, the Toolladzi; 5th, the Duka; 6th, the Dupaci; and 7th, the Pati-de-kani. These seven kinds of sins are subdivided and multiplied to the number of 227, which constitute the total amount of sins either of commission or omission that a Phongyie may commit during the time that he remains a member of the holy society. The Paradzikas are four in number: fornication, theft, killing, and vainglory in attributing to one’s self high attainments in perfection. A recluse, on the day of his admission, is, as before related, warned never to commit these four sins, under the penalty of being excluded from the society. They are irremissible in their nature. The meaning of this is, He who has had the misfortune of yielding to temptation, and committing one of these four offences, is no longer to be considered as a member of the Thanga, or of the assembly of the perfect. He is de facto excluded from the society. He may exteriorly continue to be a member of the Thanga, but inwardly he really no longer belongs to it. All other offences are subjected to the law of confession, and can be expiated by virtue of the penances imposed upon the delinquent after he has made a public avowal of his sins.
The reader will no doubt be startled by the unexpected[284] information that the practice of confession has been established among the Talapoins, and is up to this day observed, though very imperfectly, by every fervent religious. Some zealous Patzins will resort to the practice once, and sometimes twice a day. Here is what is prescribed on this subject in the Wini, or book of scriptures, which contains all that relates to the Phongyies, the Patimauk being but a compendium of it: when a Rahan has been guilty of a violation of his rule, he ought immediately to go to his superior, and, kneeling before him, confess his sin to him. Sometimes he will do this in the Thein, the place where the brothers assemble occasionally to speak on religious subjects or listen to the reading of the Patimauk in the presence of the assembly. He must confess all his sins, such as they are, without attempting to conceal those of a more revolting nature, or lessening aggravating circumstances. A penance is then imposed, consisting of certain pious formulas to be repeated a certain number of times during the night. A promise must be made by the penitent to refrain in future from such trespasses. This extraordinary practice is observed now, one would say, pro forma. The penitent approaches his superior, kneels down before him, and having his hands raised to his forehead, says: “Venerable superior, I do confess here all the sins that I may be guilty of, and beg pardon for the same.” He enters upon no detailed enumeration of his trespasses, nor does he specify anything respecting their nature and the circumstances attending them. The superior remains satisfied with telling him: “Well, take care lest you break the regulations of your profession; and henceforward endeavour to observe them with fidelity.” He dismisses him without inflicting any penance on him. Thus an institution, so well calculated to put a restraint and a check upon human passions, so well fitted to prevent man from occasionally breaking commands given to him, or at least from slipping into the dangerous habit of doing it, is now, by the want of fervour[285] and energy in the hands of that body, reduced to be no more than an useless and ridiculous ceremony, a mere shadow of what is actually prescribed by the Wini.
The punishments inflicted for the repeated transgressions of one or several points of the rule are, generally speaking, of a light nature, and seldom or never corporeal, as flagellations, &c. The superior sometimes orders a delinquent to walk through the courtyard during the heat of the day for a certain time, to carry to a distance a certain number of baskets-ful of sand, or a jug of water. Meekness, being a virtue most becoming a recluse, forbids the resort to penances of a more severe nature.
Humility, poverty, self-denial, and chastity are to him who has received the order of Patzin cardinal and most essential virtues, which he ought to practise on all occasions. He must, in all his exterior deportment, give unequivocal marks of his being always influenced by the spirit they inspire. The framer of the rules and regulations of the order seems to have had no other object in view than that of leading his brethren by various ways and means to the practice of these virtues, and inculcating on their minds the necessity of attending to the observances prescribed for this purpose. It is from this point we must view the statutes of the fraternity in order to understand them well and rightly, and appreciate them according to their worth and merit. We would indeed form a very erroneous opinion of institutions of past ages if we were to examine them, to praise or blame them, without a due regard being paid to the spirit that guided the legislator, and to the object he aimed at when he laid them down. Our own ideas, customs, manners, and education will often dispose us to disapprove at first of institutions made in former ages, amongst nations differing from us in all respects, under the pretext that they are not such as we would have them to be now, making unawares our own prejudices the standard whereby to measure the merit or demerit of all that has been established[286] previously to our own times. The institutions of the middle ages, a celebrated modern historian has said, are intelligible to him that has entered into the spirit of those days, and who thinks, feels, and believes as did the people of those bygone centuries. This observation holds good to a certain extent, and, mutatis mutandis, in respect to Buddhistic institutions. The whole religious system must be understood, the object which the founder of the order had in view ought to be distinctly remarked and always borne in mind, ere we presume to pronounce upon the fitness or unfitness of the means he has employed for obtaining it.
For humility’s sake every Talapoin is bound to shave every part of his body. In complying with this regulation he must consider that the hairs that are shaved off are useless things, serving merely for the purposes of vanity, and he ought to be as unconcerned about them as a great mountain which has been cleared of the trees on its summit. Influenced by the same spirit, the religious must always walk barefooted, except in case of his labouring under some infirmity, or for some other good reason; he is then allowed to use a certain kind of plain and unornamented slipper, the shape, colour, and dimensions of which are carefully prescribed by the rule. When the Rahans travel from one place to another, they are allowed to carry with them the broad fan, made of palm-leaves, and a common paper umbrella to protect their bare head from the inclemency of the weather, or screen it from the heat of the sun. Their dress, consisting, as above mentioned, of three parts, is as plain as possible. According to the Patimauk, each separate part must be made of rags picked up here and there, and sewed together by themselves. This regulation, though disregarded by many, is to a certain extent observed by the greater number, but in a manner rather contrary to the spirit, if not to the letter, of the rule. On their receiving from benefactors a piece of silk or cotton, they cut it into several small square parts,[287] which they afterwards contrive to have stitched in the best way they can, so as to make their vestments according to the prescription of the statutes. The vestment ought to be of one colour, yellow in those countries in which Mahometanism does not prevail. The yellow colour is a mark of mourning, as the black is amongst most of the nations of Europe.
Seven articles are considered as essential to every member of the holy family, viz., the kowot, thin-bain, dugout (the three pieces constituting his vestment), a girdle, a patta, a small hatchet, a needle, and a small apparatus for straining the water he drinks. The entire number of articles he is permitted to use and possess amounts to sixty. They are all plain, common, almost valueless, offering no incentive to cupidity and leaving him who is only possessed of them in the humble state of strict poverty.
The possession of temporal goods is strictly forbidden to the Rahans, as calculated to hinder them from meditating upon the law and attending to the various duties of the profession. Nothing indeed opposes a stronger barrier to the attainment of the perfect abnegation of self and a thorough contempt for material things, than the possession of worldly property. Hence a true Rahan has no object which he can, properly speaking, call his own. The kiaong wherein he lives has been built by benefactors, and is supplied by them with all that is necessary or useful to him. Food and raiment are procured for him without his having to feel concerned about them. The pious liberality of his supporters assiduously provides for his wants. But it is expected that he shall never concern himself with worldly business or transactions, of whatever nature they may be. He can neither labour, plant, traffic, nor do anything with the intent of deriving profit therefrom. Agreeably to the maxim, “Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof,” the Rahan cannot make any stores for the time to come. He must trust in the never-failing[288] generosity and ever-watchful attention of his supporters for his daily wants. Now, let it be said to the praise of the Buddhists, that he is seldom disappointed in the reliance he places on them.
That he may be more effectually debarred from a too easy and frequent use of the things of first necessity, a Talapoin is bound to go through a tedious ceremony, called Akat, or presentation, before he can lawfully touch anything. When he has occasion for food, drink, or anything else, he turns to his disciples and tells them to do what is lawful. Whereupon one of them, or several, as circumstances may require, rises from his place, and, taking the thing or things he wants with both hands, approaches him respectfully, and presents to him the articles, saying, This is lawful. Then the Rahan takes the things into his own hands, and uses them or lays them by, as may suit his convenience. When a thing is presented, the disciple must be at a distance of some cubits, otherwise the recluse is guilty of a sin; and if what he receives is food, he commits as many sins as he eats mouthfuls. Gold and silver being the two greatest feeders of covetousness, the rule forbids the Phongyies to touch them, and a fortiori to have them. But on this point, however, human covetousness has broken through the strong barriers the framer of the statutes has wisely devised for effectually protecting recluses from its dangerous allurement. Gold and silver are not indeed touched by the pious devotees, but the precious and dazzling metals are conventionally handed to the disciples, who put them into the box of the superior, who, whilst bowing obsequiously to the letter of the rule, disregards its spirit. Sometimes an innocent ruse is resorted to by a greedy religious for silencing the remorse of his conscience; he covers his hands with a handkerchief, and without scruple receives the sum that is offered to him. It would be unfair to pass a general and sweeping sentence of condemnation for covetousness upon all the members of the fraternity. There are some whose hands[289] have not been polluted by the handling of money, and whose hearts have always been, we may say, strangers to the cravings of the auri sacra fames; but it cannot be denied that many among them are insatiable in their lust for riches, and not unfrequently ask for them.
No Rahan can ever ask for anything; he is allowed to receive what is spontaneously offered to him. In this point too the spirit of the rule is frequently done away with. The recluse will not ask an object he covets (I beg his pardon for making use of such a term) in direct words; but by some indirect means or circuitous ways he will give significantly to understand that the possession of such an object is much needed by him, and that the offering of it would be a source of great merits to the donor. In this manner he moves the heart of his visitor, and soon kindles in his breast a desire to present the thing, almost as eager as his own is to receive it.
Celibacy is strictly enjoined on every professed member of the society. On the day of his reception he is solemnly warned by the instructor never to do anything contrary to that most essential virtue. The founder of the order and the framer of its statutes has entered, on this subject, into the most minute details, and prescribed a multitude of regulations tending to fortify the Rahans in the accomplishment of the solemn vow they have made, and to remove from them all occasions of sin, even the most distant. We must give him credit for an uncommon acquaintance with the weakness of human nature, as well as with the violence of the fiercest passion of the heart, since he has laboured so much to strengthen and uphold the former, and bridle the latter by every means his anxious mind could devise. He was deeply read in the secrets of the human heart, and knew well that the surest tactics for carrying on successfully the warfare between the spirit and the flesh consist in rather avoiding carefully the encounter of the enemy, and skilfully manœuvring at a distance from him, than in boldly encountering him in[290] the open field. Hence the repeated injunctions to shun all the occasions of sin.
The Phongyies are forbidden to stay under the same roof, or to travel in the same carriage and boat, with women; they cannot receive anything from their hands. To such a height are precautions carried that the religious are not permitted to touch the clothes of a woman, or caress a female child, however young, or even handle a female animal.[59]
When visited in their dwellings by women, who resort thither for the purpose of making offerings, or listening to the recital of a few passages of the sacred books, they must remain at a great distance from them, and be surrounded by some of their disciples. The Phongyies are to look upon the old ones as mothers and upon the young as sisters. The conversation must be as short as decency allows, and no useless or light expressions be ever uttered. On the festival days, when crowds of people, men and women, go to the kiaongs to hear the tara, or some parts of the law repeated, the Rahans, arrayed in front of the congregation, keep their fans before their faces all the while, lest their eyes should meet with dangerous and tempting objects. Much greater precautions are still required in their intercourse with the Rahanesses, a sort of female recluses, whose institute is greatly on its decline in almost all parts of Burmah. For better securing the observance of continence, a Phongyie never walks out of his monastery, or enters a private dwelling, without being attended by a few disciples. Popular opinion is inflexible and inexorable on the point of celibacy, which is considered essential to every one that has a pretension to be called a Rahan. The people can never be brought to look upon[291] any person as a priest or minister of religion unless he live in that state. Any infringement of this most essential regulation on the part of a Rahan is visited with an immediate punishment. The people of the place assemble at the kiaong of the offender, sometimes driving him out with stones. He is stripped of his clothes; and often public punishment, even that of death, is inflicted upon him by order of government. The poor wretch is looked upon as an outcast, and the woman whom he has seduced shares in his shame, confusion, and disgrace. Such an extraordinary opinion, so deeply rooted in the mind of a people rather noted for the licentiousness of their manners, certainly deserves the attention of every diligent observer of human nature. Whence has originated among corrupted and half-civilised men such a high respect and profound esteem for so exalted a virtue? Why is its rigorous practice deemed essential to those who professedly tend to an uncommon degree of perfection? Owing partly to the weight of public opinion, and partly to some other reasons, the law of celibacy, externally at least, is observed with a great scrupulosity, and a breach of it is a rare occurrence. As the rule, in this respect, binds the Phongyie only as long as he remains in the profession, he who feels his moral strength unable to cope successfully with the sting of passion prefers leaving the fraternity and returning to a secular life, when he can safely put an end, by a lawful alliance, to the internal strife, rather than expose himself to a transgression which is to entail upon him consequences so disgraceful.
The sagacious legislator of the Buddhistic religious order, pre-occupied with the idea of elevating the spiritual principle above the material one, and securing to reason a thorough control over bodily appetites, has prescribed temperance as a fundamental virtue essential to every Rahan. In common with all their fellow-religionists, the Rahans are commanded to abstain from the use of spirituous liquors and of intoxicating substances. Such a prohibition[292] is the wisest step that Gaudama could have adopted to preserve his followers from the shameful vice of drunkenness. All uncivilised people make use of spirits for the sole purpose of creating in them the effects of intoxication. Were it not for such an excellent regulation, the members of the Thanga would soon become, by their excesses, the laughing-stock of the laity. The time allotted for taking their meals extends from daybreak to the moment the sun has reached the middle of its course; but as soon as the luminous globe has passed the meridian, the use of food is strictly interdicted. A stomach, more or less loaded with nutritive substances taken in the evening, weighs down the body, enervates the energies of the soul, clouds the intellect, and renders a man rather unfit to devote himself to the high exercises of study, meditation, and contemplation, which ought to be the principal occupations of a fervent Rahan. He is allowed to make two meals in the forenoon, but it is expected that he will eat no more than is required to support nature. He must always take his meals in company with the members of his community. To stifle the craving of gluttony and eradicate immoderate desires, he ought to repeat frequently within himself the following sentence: “I eat this rice, not to please my appetite, but to satisfy the wants of nature;” just as he says when he puts on the habit, “I dress myself, not for the sake of vanity, but to cover my nakedness.” Rice and vegetables are, according to the statutes, the staple food of the Phongyies; the use of fish and meat is tolerated, and now it has become a daily prevailing custom which has rendered the practice a lawful one. Strictly speaking, a Talapoin must remain satisfied with rice and various sorts of boiled vegetables which he has received in his patta during his morning perambulations through the streets of the place.
As it happened among the Romans that the law repressing convivial sumptuousness and luxury proved an ineffectual barrier against gluttony and other passions, so[293] amidst the Rahans the strict regulations prescribing a poor and unsavoury diet have been obliged to yield before the tendencies to satisfy the ever-increasing demands of appetite. Most of the Phongyies give to dogs, or to the boys who live in the monastery, the vulgar food they have begged in the streets, and feed on aliments of better quality supplied to them regularly by some persons in easy circumstances, who call themselves supporters of the kiaong and of its inmates. The ordinary fare consists of rice and several small dishes for seasoning the rice, in which are some little pieces of flesh, dressed according to the culinary abilities of the cooks of the country, which are not certainly of the highest order. To this are added some of the fruits of the season accompanied by sweetmeats, which female devotees are wont everywhere so carefully to prepare and so fondly to offer to those who are the objects of their pious admiration and respect. The aliments supplied to the humble recluses are of the best description for the country they live in. One would say that they live on the fat of the land. The most delicate rice and the finest fruits invariably find their way to the monasteries. But withal, the Phongyies are not to be charged with the sin of intemperance or gluttony.
The quantity of food they may take is also an object of regulation, as well as the very mode of taking, and even of swallowing it. Each mouthful must be of a moderate size; a second ought not to be carried to the mouth before the first has been completely disposed of by the masticatory process, and found its way down through the œsophagus. The contrary would be considered gluttony, and an evident sign that the eater has something else in view besides appeasing the mere wants of nature. It is rather an amusing sight to gaze at the solemn indifference of a Talapoin taking his meal. One would be tempted to believe that he is reluctantly submitting to the dire necessity of ministering to the wants of a nature too low and material. The rule forbids Talapoins to eat human flesh,[294] or that of the monkey, snake, elephant, tiger, lion, and dog.[60] As a mitigation of the severity of the disciplinary regulation prohibiting the recluses from taking any food from twelve o’clock in the day until the next morning, the use of certain beverages is permitted during that time, such as cocoa-nut water, the juice of the sugar-cane, and other refreshing draughts.
The rule being silent regarding the consumption of the betel-leaf and other ingredients constituting the delicious mouthful for masticatory purposes, the Talapoins avail themselves largely of the liberty left to them on this subject. The quantity of betel and other accompanying substances which they consume is truly enormous. These articles hold a pre-eminent place amongst the objects that are presented to the inmates of monasteries. The dark-red substance adhering to the teeth and occasionally accumulating at the corners of the mouth, the incessant motion of the lower jaw, the stream of reddish spittle issuing frequently from the lips of the Talapoins, are unquestionable proofs of both their ardent fondness and copious consumption of that harmless narcotic. Except[295] during the short moments allotted for taking meals, a Rahan’s mouth is always full of betel, and the masticating or chewing process is incessantly going on.
A great modesty must distinguish a member of the family of the perfect from a layman; that virtue must shine forth in his countenance, demeanour, gait, and conversation. Any sign on his face indicating the inward action of anger or any other passion is found unbecoming in a person whose composedness and serenity of soul ought never to be disturbed by any inordinate affection. He never speaks precipitately or loudly, lest it might be inferred that passion rather than reason influences him. Worldly or amusing topics of conversation are strictly interdicted, either with his brethren or laymen. The rule requires him to walk through the streets with affected simplicity, avoiding hurry as well as slowness, keeping his eye fixed on the ground in front, looking not further than ten or fifteen cubits.
Curiosity tends to expand the soul on surrounding objects; but a Rahan’s principal aim being to attend diligently to himself, to prefer the care of self before all other cares, and to concern himself very little about all that takes place without, he assiduously labours to keep his soul free from vain inquiry, from eager desire of hearing news, and from an idle or unnecessary interference in things or matters strange to him. It seems that he has the wise saying always present to his mind, “Where art thou when thou art not present to thyself? And when thou hast run over all things, what profit will it be to thee if thou hast neglected thyself?” During his perambulations he never salutes or notices the persons he meets on his way; he is indifferent to the attentions and marks of the highest veneration paid to him by the people; he never returns thanks for offerings made to him, nor does he repay with a single regard the kindness proffered to him. Objects most calculated to awaken curiosity by their novelty and interest ought to find him cold, indifferent,[296] and unconcerned. His self-collection accompanies him everywhere, and disposes his soul to an uninterrupted meditation on some points of the law. It is a counsel of the Wini to observe particularly the four cleannesses, viz., great modesty in the streets and public places, the confession of all failings, the avoiding of all occasions of sins, and the keeping oneself free from the seven kinds of sin. Such a wise injunction can only be attended to and observed by keeping a vigilant watch over the senses, which are the very gates leading into the sanctuary of the soul. We could enter into fuller and more particular details regarding the regulations of the Talapoinic order, but they would prove little interesting, and only corroborate what has been previously stated, that every action of a brother, even the most common, such as the manner of sitting, rising up, sleeping, eating, &c., has become the object of the legislative attention of the founder of the order. Nothing seems to have escaped his clear foresight, and he has admirably succeeded in leaving no room for the exercise of individual liberty. The rule is as a great moral being whose absolute commands must be always obeyed. Every individual is bound to lay aside his own self, and unconditionally follow the impulse of his guiding influence.
The whole life of a recluse being confined within a narrow compass, we will have very little to say regarding his daily occupations. As soon as a Talapoin has left at an early hour the sleeping horizontal position, he rinses his mouth, washes his face, and recites a few formulas of prayers, which he lengthens or shortens according to his devotion. He attires himself in his professional costume, gets hold of his mendicant’s pot, and sallies forth, in company[297] with some brethren or disciples, in quest of his food. He perambulates the streets in various directions, and, without any solicitation on his part, receives the rice, curry, vegetables, and fruits which pious donors have been preparing from two to three o’clock in the morning, watching at the door of their houses the arrival of the yellow-clad monks. Having received what is considered sufficient for the day, he returns to the monastery, and sets himself to eat either what he has brought, or something more delicate and better dressed which his supporter, if he has any, has sent to him.
On the principal festivals, or on extraordinary occurrences, abundant alms are brought to his domicile. Sometimes he is called by a pious donor to come and receive them in the pagodas, or in large temporary sheds erected for the purpose reserved for the occasion. They consist chiefly of mattresses, pillows, betel-boxes, mats, tea-cups, and various articles he is allowed to make use of. On these occasions he repays his benefactors by repeating to them the five great precepts, and some of the principal tenets of the Buddhistic creed, and the chief points of the law. He enumerates at great length the numerous merits reserved to alms-givers. On this point it must be confessed that he is truly eloquent, and his language flowing and abundant: his expressions are ready at hand and most glowing, calculated to please the ears of his hearers and warm their souls to make fresh efforts in procuring him more copious alms. Occasionally he will recite long praises in honour of Gaudama, the last Buddha, for having during his previous existence practised eminent virtues, and thereby qualified himself for the high dignity of Phra. The sermon goes on sometimes in Pali or sacred language, which neither he nor his hearers can understand.
The Phongyies are sometimes requested to visit the sick, not so much for the purpose of ministering to the spiritual wants of the sufferer as for affording him some relief by his presence. It is believed that the appearance of a holy[298] personage may have some effect in freeing the diseased from his distemper, and frightening the evil spirits that may be the mischievous agents in harming patients. The visitor repeats over them some points of the law that are intended to act as antidotes against the agency of the wicked one. Phongyies are very particular on the point of etiquette. When one of them has to enter into upper-storied houses, the yellow-habited religious, previous to his venturing into the lower story, will make it sure that there is no one, and particularly no woman, in the upper apartments, as it would be highly unbecoming that any man, and a fortiori a woman, should have their feet above his head. To avoid such an indecorous contingency, in case the sick person lies in a room upstairs, the Phongyie has recourse to an expedient few, I presume, would have thought of. By his direction a ladder is brought, the lower part of which rests on the street, and the upper leans on one of the upper windows; up goes the pious visitor, who by such a contrivance reconciles the observance of etiquette with the compliance to his duty. The writer confesses that he was much amused the first time that he witnessed such a feat performed at Penang by a Siamese Phongyie. The little crowd, attracted by this novelty, exhibited a curious mixture of feelings. Some laughed; many remained silent; but their deportment was evidently indicative of the respect and admiration that seemed to them to inspire the scrupulously tender conscience of the religious.
We must allow that the Talapoins confer a truly invaluable benefit upon the people of these countries by keeping up schools, where the boys resort for the purpose of learning to read, write, and acquire the rudiments of arithmetic. In this respect they are eminently useful, and the institution, though to a certain extent burthensome to the people, in this respect deserves well of the country. The many abuses that at present attend it are almost fully atoned for by the great service its members gratuitously render[299] to their countrymen. There are no other schools than those under their management. The tyrannical governments of Siam and Burmah do not take any steps to propagate instruction among their subjects, whom they look upon as slaves, fit only for bodily labour. The houses of Talapoins are so many little seats of elementary learning; and as they are very numerous throughout the country, every facility is afforded to male children to learn to read and write. The female children are excluded from partaking of this great boon by the strictness of the monastic regulations. It is a great misfortune, much to be lamented, as one half of the population is thus doomed to live in perpetual ignorance. Owing to the gratuitous education given by the Buddhist monks, there are very few men throughout the breadth and length of Burmah who are not able to read and write. It is true that too often the knowledge thus acquired is very superficial and incomplete. But as regards the other half of the population, it may be stated that scarcely a woman among thousands can be found capable of spelling one word.
The Talapoins being much addicted to sloth and indolence, the schools are undoubtedly miserably managed. The boys are often left to themselves without regular control or discipline. When a boy enters the monastery as student, his teacher places into his hands a piece of blackened board, whereupon are written the first letters of the alphabet. The poor lad has to repeat over and over the name of the letters, crying aloud with all the powers of his lungs. He is left for several weeks at the same subject, until his instructor is satisfied that he knows his letters. In the next step the boy is directed to study the symbols of the vowels which are to be joined with consonants so as to form syllables and words. When this is done he is initiated into the art of uniting together and articulating properly the several consonants with the symbolic characters. He slowly shapes his course through the apparently much-complicated system of all the combinations[300] of letters, so as to be able to spell correctly all the words of the language. Owing to the lack of order and method on the part of the teachers, boys spend a long time, sometimes one or two years, in mastering those difficulties, which, if properly explained, would much shorten the time usually devoted to such a study.
The Burmese alphabet, with the various combinations of letters and symbols for making words, is based on a most perfect and scientific methodical and simple process, borrowed from the Sanscrit. The method is plain and easy, as soon as it is understood. Any person that has received some education, and whose mind is somewhat developed, will be able, with the occasional assistance of an intelligent master, to go all over the various combinations in less than two months. The results derived from the method adopted by the Burmans are so great and complete that, after having gone over the general alphabet with attention, the beginner is able to read all the Burmese words he may meet with. We do not mean, of course, to say that he will be able to pronounce every word correctly. This is another thing altogether. But it is no less evident that the system used by Burmese in the combinations of letters leads to results infinitely more satisfactory than those obtained through the system of elementary reading and spelling used in Europe.
Unacquainted with the rules of grammar, the teachers are incapable of imparting any sound knowledge of the vernacular language to their numerous pupils. Hence writing, as far as orthography goes, is extremely imperfect; the spelling of words, having no fixed standard, varies to an indefinite extent. As soon as the scholars have mastered the difficulties of the long and complicated alphabet, some portions of the sacred writings are put into their hands for reading. The result is that the Burmese in general acquire some knowledge, more or less extensive, of their religious creed. Though none among them can be found who understands comprehensively the Buddhistic[301] system, yet most of them are possessed of a certain amount of more or less limited information concerning Buddha and his law. In this respect they are perhaps ahead of many nominal Christians in several countries of Europe, who dwell in large manufacturing towns and remote country districts and belong to the lower classes, and who live without even a slight acquaintance with the essential tenets of the Christian creed.
In addition to the eminently useful task of teaching youth, the Buddhistic recluse devotes occasionally some portion of his time to the useful labour of copying manuscripts on palm-leaves, either for his personal use or to increase the small library of his monastery. The work is considered as a very excellent one, deserving of great merits, and much recommended by the rules of the society. It is a matter of regret that the native laziness of the Phongyies, as well as their total want of order in acquiring knowledge, thwart to a great extent the practical working of the wise provisions made by the framer of the rules. Were it not for such causes, copies of all the best and most interesting works on the religious system of Buddhism would be greatly multiplied, and could be easily procured; whilst now they are exceedingly scarce and hardly to be had at all. The few copies to be had with much difficulty are to be paid for very high. All the books are made of palm-leaves. The leaves are about twenty inches in length, and from three to four in breadth. On each face of the leaf from seven to nine or ten lines are written. A copyist uses a style of iron by way of pen. With the sharp point he scratches the epidermis of the leaf to form the letters. In order to render the letters perfectly visible, he rubs over the page just written with a piece of rag some petroleum, which, penetrating into the parts scratched by the style, causes the letters to become quite distinct and apparent.
The Talapoins spend the best part of the day sitting in a cross-legged position, chewing betel and conversing with[302] the many idlers that are always to be found in great numbers about their dwellings. When tired of the vertical position, they adopt the horizontal one, reclining the head on pillows and gently submitting to the soporific influence of good Morpheus. They have always in their hands a string of beads, on which they are wont to repeat certain devotional formulas. The most common is the following, “Aneitsa, duka, anatta;” meaning that everything in this world is subjected to the law of change and mutability, to that of pain and suffering, and to that of entire and uninterrupted illusion. There is, indeed, an immense field opened to a reflecting mind by these three very significative expressions for carrying on serious and prolonged meditation; but none of the Talapoins, at least of those I have been acquainted with, are capable of understanding comprehensively their meaning. They often repeat the forty great subjects of meditation, and the rule enjoins them to be zealously addicted to contemplation, which is pronounced to be the chief exercise of a true follower of Buddha. But how can there ever be expected from weak and ignorant persons the habitual practice of so high an exercise, requiring an intellectual vigour of the very first order? They must repeat on their beads at least a hundred and twenty times a day the four following considerations on the four things more immediately necessary to men, food, raiment, habitation, and medicine: “I eat this rice, not to please my appetite, but to satisfy the wants of nature. I put on this habit, not for the sake of vanity, but to cover my nakedness. I live in this kiaong, not for vainglory, but to be protected from the inclemency of the weather. I drink this medicine merely to recover my health, that I may with greater diligence attend to the duties of my profession.”
When we speak of the great influence possessed by the religious order of Buddhist monks, we do not intend to speak of political influence. It does not appear that in Burmah they have ever aimed at any share in the management or direction of the affairs of the country. Since the accession of the house of Alomphra to the throne, that is to say, during a period of above a hundred years, the history of Burmah has been tolerably well known. We do not recollect having ever met with one instance when the Phongyies, as a body, have interfered in the affairs of the State. They also seem to remain indifferent to family or domestic affairs. The regulations they are subjected to, and the object which they have in view in entering the religious profession, debar them from concerning themselves in affairs that are foreign to their sacred calling. But in a religious point of view alone, their influence is a mighty one. Upon that very order hinges the whole fabric of Buddhism. From it, as from a source, flows the life that maintains and invigorates religious belief in the masses that profess that creed. We may view the members of the order as religious, and as instructors of the people at large, and principally of youth. In that double capacity they exercise a great control and retain a strong hold over the mind of the people.
There is in man a natural disposition and inclination to admire individuals who, actuated by religious feelings, are induced to leave the world and separate from society in order to devote themselves more freely to the practice of religious duties. The more society is corrupted, the more its members value those persons who have the moral courage to[304] estrange themselves from the centre of vice, that they may preserve themselves from contamination. In fact, religious are esteemed in proportion to the extent of the contempt they have for this world. The Phongyies occupy precisely this position in the eyes of their co-religionists. Their order stands in bold relief over the society they belong to. Their dress, their mode of life, their voluntary denial of all gratification of sensual appetites, centre upon them the admiring eyes of all. They are looked upon as the imitators and followers of Buddha; they hold ostensibly before ordinary believers the pattern of that perfection they have been taught so fondly to revere. The Phongyies are as living mementoes, reminding the people of all that is most sacred and perfect in practical religion. No one will deny that the view of a body of religious existing in a community, keeping an intercourse with its members, must ever have a powerful tendency to foster religious feelings in the mind of a half-civilised people as the Burmese are. It is in this manner that the Phongyies command the respect and veneration of the people, and exercise a considerable amount of religious influence over the masses.
But in the capacity of instructors of the people, the members of the order act as yet more directly and actively upon the people. In Burmah there are no schools but those kept by the religious. The monasteries are as so many little seminaries where male children receive elementary instruction. The knowledge that is imparted to them by their masters is not secular, but purely religious. It is a point upon which the undivided attention of a keen observer must be centred in order to understand the full meaning of the following remarks. We do not mean to say that the instructor has always present to his mind, as a professor, the direct teaching of religious tenets; but the fact is that no information is conveyed to the pupils except that which comes from religious books. No other books are ever used in schools.
As soon as boys are able to read, religious books are put into their hands. During all the time they remain at school they go over books that have a direct reference to religion. Without even being aware of it, they imbibe religious notions, and become acquainted with some parts of the religious creed, particularly with what relates to Gaudama’s preceding and last existence. When they grow up to manhood, if they happen to read, they have, as a general practice, no other books but such as have a reference to religion. When people assemble together, either in the dzeats on the occasion of festival days, or at home on other public occasions, particularly in the days following the death of some relatives, one or several elders read some passage of their scriptures, and thereby supply topics for conversation of a religious turn. This state of things originates almost entirely in the early education received in the monasteries at the hands of their masters, the Phongyies. It powerfully contributes to popularise and foster religious notions, whilst it indirectly heightens and brightens in the eyes of the people the position of the religious.
Moreover, the early intercourse between the youth and their masters tends to bring into closer contact and union both the religious and the laity. It draws nearer the ties that bind together these two fractions of the Buddhist society. The relation thus established between the teachers and the taught is further strengthened by the fact that the greatest number of the male portion of the community become affiliated, during a longer or shorter period, to the society, and subjected to its rules and regulations; they are cast in the mould of religious, and retain during the remainder of their life some of the features that have been at an early period stamped on their young minds. Their memory remains loaded with all that they learned by heart during the days they spent in the monasteries as students or members of the society.
Though the Phongyies or Talapoins are not remarkable[306] for their zeal in delivering instructions or sermons to the people, they discharge occasionally that duty on the eve of and during festival days, and on all occasions when considerable offerings are brought to them in their monasteries. Sometimes, too, they are requested to go to certain places prepared for that purpose, to deliver instructions and receive offerings tendered to them by some pious laymen. The preaching never consists in expounding the text of the religious books, and developing certain points of the law; it is a mere rehearsal and repetition of the precepts of the law or of regular formulas in praise of Gaudama, and an enumeration of the merits to be gained by those who bestow alms on them. These and similar circumstances much contribute to keep up the position of the religious, and aid them in retaining a powerful religious hold over their respective communities. We repeat it as our deliberate opinion, that upon the religious association under consideration principally rests, as on a strong basis, the great fabric of Buddhism. Were such an institution to give way and crumble to the dust, the vital energies of that false creed would soon be weakened and completely paralysed. Buddhism would yield before the first attack that would be skilfully and vigorously directed against it.
In Burmah the Phongyies are highly respected by every member of the community. When they appear in public, walking in the streets, they are the objects of the greatest attention. The people withdraw before them to leave a free passage. Women are seen squatting on both sides of the way, through respect for the venerated personages. When visited in their dwellings, even by persons of the highest rank, the etiquette is that every visitor should prostrate himself three times before the head of the monastery, uttering the following formula:—“To the end of obtaining the remission of all the faults I have committed through my senses, my speech, and my heart, I make a first, second, and third prostration in honour of the three precious things—Phra, his law, and the assembly[307] of the perfect. Meanwhile, I earnestly wish to be preserved from the three calamities, the four states of punishment, and the five enemies.” To which the recluse answers:—“For his merit and reward, may he who makes such prostrations be freed from the four states of punishment, the three calamities, the five sorts of enemies, and from all evil whatsoever. May he obtain the object of all his wishes, walk steadily in the path of perfection, enjoy the advantages resulting therefrom, and finally obtain the state of Neibban.” On the visitor withdrawing from his presence, the three prostrations must be repeated; he then stands up, falls back to a distance of ten feet, as it would be highly unbecoming to turn the back suddenly on the holy man, wheels round on the right, and goes out. This usage is doubtless very ancient, and is at the same time looked upon as a very important one. In the Life of Gaudama we have seen it mentioned on all occasions when visitors went to pay their respects to him. Princes and nobles observed the ceremony with the utmost punctuality.
The best proof of the high veneration the people entertain for the Talapoins is the truly surprising liberality with which they gladly minister to all their wants. They impose upon themselves great sacrifices, incur enormous expenses, place themselves joyfully in narrow circumstances, that they might have the means to build monasteries with the best and most substantial materials, and adorn them with all the luxury the country can afford.[61][308] Gold is often profusely used for gilding the posts, ceiling, and other parts of the interior, as well as several trunks or chests for storing up manuscripts. Two or three roofs superposed upon each other (a privilege exclusively reserved to royal palaces, pagodas, and kiaongs) indicate to the stranger that the building is a monastery. The recluse’s house is well supplied with the various articles of furniture becoming the pious inmates. The individual who builds at his own expense such a house, assumes the much-envied title of Kiaong-taga, or supporter of a monastery. This title is for ever coupled with his name: it is used as a mark of respect by all persons conversing with him, and it appears in all papers or documents which he may have to sign. The best, finest, and most substantial articles, if allowed by the regulations as fit for the use of the Talapoins, are generously and abundantly afforded by benevolent persons. When the king is religiously inclined, the best and most costly presents he receives are deposited in the monasteries, to adorn the place or hall where the principal idol is.
Government does not interfere or give any assistance in building pagodas or kiaongs; nor does it provide for the support of the pious Rahans; but the liberality of the people amply suffices for all contingencies of the kind. When a man has made some profit by trading, or any other[309] way, he will almost infallibly bestow the best portion of his lucre in building a kiaong, or feeding the inmates of a religious house for a few months, or in giving general alms to all the recluses of the town. Such liberality, which is by no means uncommon, has its root, we believe, in a strong religious sentiment, and also in the insecurity—nay, the danger—of holding property to a large amount.
When a Talapoin is addressed by a layman, the latter assumes the title of disciple; and the former calls him simply Taga, or supporter. The attitude of the layman in the presence of the Phongyie is indicative of the veneration he entertains towards his person. He squats down, and he never addresses the yellow-dressed individual without joining his hands in token of respect, and raising them up with a little motion indicative of intended prostration. As there is in Burmah a court language, so there is a language, or rather a certain number of expressions, reserved to designate things used by Talapoins, as well as most of the actions they perform in common with other men, such as eating, walking, sleeping, shaving, &c. The very turn of the commonest sentence is indicative of respect when speaking to a Rahan. He is called Phra, the most honourable term the language can afford. His person is sacred, and no one would dare to offer him the least insult or violence. The influence of the Talapoin upon the people is considerable, in proportion to the great respect borne to his sacred character. So extraordinary has it been on certain occasions, that Phongyies have been seen rescuing forcibly from the hands of the police culprits on their way to the place of execution. No resistance, then, could be made by the policemen without exposing themselves to the danger of committing a sacrilege, by lifting their hands against them when such an occurrence takes place. The liberated wretches are then forthwith led to the next monastery. Their heads having been shaved, they are attired in the yellow garb, and their persons become at once sacred and inviolable.
The veneration paid to Talapoins during their lifetime accompanies them after their death. Their state is considered as one of peculiar sanctity. It is supposed that their very bodies too partake of the holiness inherent in their sacred profession. Hence their mortal remains are honoured to an extent scarcely to be imagined. As soon as a distinguished member of the brotherhood has given up the ghost, his body is opened, the viscera extracted and buried in some decent place without any particular ceremony, and the corpse embalmed in a very simple manner by putting ashes, bran, and other desiccative substances into the abdominal cavity. It is then swathed with bands of linen, wrapped round it many times, and a thick coat of varnish laid upon the whole. On this fresh varnish gold leaves are sometimes placed, so that the whole body is gilded over from head to feet. When the people are poor and cannot afford to buy gold for the above purpose, a piece of yellow cloth is considered as the most suitable substitute. The body, thus attired, is laid in a very massive coffin, made, not with planks, but of a single piece of timber hollowed in the middle for receiving the earthly frame of the deceased. A splendid cenotaph, raised in the centre of a large building erected for the purpose, is prepared to support a large chest wherein the coffin is deposited. The chest is often gilt inside and out, and decorated with flowers made of different polished substances of various colours. Pictures, such as native artists contrive to make, are disposed round the cenotaph. They represent ordinarily religious subjects. In this stately situation the body remains exposed for several days, nay several months, until preparations are completed for the grand day of the obsequies. During that period festivals are often celebrated about it, bands of music play, and people resort in crowds to the spot for the purpose of making offerings to defray the expense to be incurred for the funeral ceremony. When the appointed day for burning the corpse at last arrives, the whole population of[311] the town will be seen flocking in their finest dresses to witness the display of fireworks which takes place on the occasion of burning the corpse. A funeral pile of a square form is erected on the most elevated spot. Its height is about fifteen feet, and it ends with a small room made for receiving the coffin. The corpse having been hoisted up and laid in the place destined for its reception, fire is set to the pile in a rather uncommon way. An immense rocket, placed at a distance of about forty yards, is directed towards the pile by means of a fixed rope guiding it thereto. Sometimes the rocket is placed on a huge cart, and pushed in the direction of the pile. In its erratic and uncertain course it happens occasionally that it deviates from its course, and plunges into the ranks of the crowd, wounding and killing those it meets. As soon as it comes in contact with the pile, the latter immediately takes fire by means of combustibles heaped for that purpose, and the whole is soon consumed. The few remaining pieces of bones are religiously collected, and buried in the vicinity of some pagoda. Here ends the profound veneration, amounting almost to worship, which Buddhists pay to their recluses during their life and after their demise.
Two chief motives induce the sectaries of Buddha to be so liberal towards the Talapoins, and to pay them so high a respect; viz., the great merits and abundant rewards they expect to derive from the plentiful alms they bestow upon them, and the profound admiration they entertain for their sacred character, austere manners, and purely religious mode of life. The first motive originates from interested views; the second has its root in that regard men naturally have for persons who distinguish themselves from others by a more absolute self-denial, a greater restraint and control of their passions, a renouncement of permitted pleasures and sensual gratifications from religious motives. According to the fundamental dogma of Buddhism, any offering made to, or indeed any action done for the benefit of, a fellow-man is deserving of reward[312] during future existences, such as digging a well, building a resting-place, a bridge, &c.; but far more abundant are the merits resulting from presenting a Talapoin with one or several articles necessary to his daily use, as they increase proportionately to the dignity of the person to whom the things are offered. We may judge from the following instance of the plentiful harvest of merits which a supporter of Phongyies is promised to reap hereafter: He who shall make an offering of a mendicant’s pot or Thabeit shall receive as his reward cups and other utensils set with jewels; he shall be exempted from misfortunes and calamities, disquietude and trouble; he shall get without labour all that is necessary for his food, dress, and lodging; pleasure and happiness shall be his lot; his soul shall be in a state of steadiness and tranquillity, and his passion for the sex shall be considerably weakened. The offering of other objects secures to the donor wealth, dignity, high rank, pleasure, and an admittance into the fortunate countries or seats of the Nats, where all the things are to be met with and enjoyed that are calculated to confer on man the greatest sum of happiness. The people believe unhesitatingly all that is said to them in this respect, and they gladly strip themselves of many valuable things in order to obtain and enjoy, during coming existences, the riches and pleasures promised to them by their Rahans. The insecurity of property under tyrannical rulers may operate to a certain extent in determining people to part with their riches, and consecrate them to religious purposes, rather than see themselves violently deprived of them by the odious rapacity of the vile instruments of the avarice, tyranny, and cruelty of their heartless princes and governors.
It can scarcely be a matter of wonder that Buddhists so much honour and respect a Talapoin, when we consider that, in their opinion, he is a true follower of Buddha, who strives to imitate his great prototype in the practice of the highest virtues, particularly in his incomparable mortification[313] and self-denial, that he might secure the ascendancy of the spiritual principle over the material one, weaken passions which are the real causes of the disorder that reigns in our soul, and finally disengage her from their baneful influences, and from that of matter in general. He is exceedingly reserved and abstemious regarding food, the use of creatures, and the enjoyment of pleasures, in order to secure to reason the noblest faculty of an intelligent being, a perfect control over the senses. He is indeed in the right way leading to Neibban, the summit of perfection. In the opinion of a Buddhist, nobody can be compared to a true and fervent Rahan in sterling worth and merit. His moral dignity and elevation cast into the shade the dazzling splendour that surrounds loyalty. He is a pious recluse, a holy personage, a true member of the holy Thanga, and deserving, therefore, of the highest admiration and respect.
As a consequence of the profound veneration in which Talapoins are publicly held, they are exempted from contributing to public charges, tribute, corvées, and military service. It is an immense favour, particularly among the nations of Eastern Asia, where the rulers look upon their subjects as mere slaves and tools under their command for executing the absolute orders of their capricious fancy. Under the present ruler of Burmah, the fathers and mothers of Phongyies are benefited by the fact of their sons being in a monastery. They are exempted from paying taxes, and are treated with some attention by the officials who wish to ingratiate themselves in the favour of his most Buddhist majesty. They have often the honorary affixes joined to their names.
In concluding this notice, we will briefly sketch the actual situation of the Talapoinic order in those parts where we have had the opportunity of observing it, and will allude to the causes that have operated in seducing it into vices, abuses, and imperfections which are lowering[314] it greatly in the opinion of all foreigners and of a few well-informed natives.
The first and principal cause that has brought the Society into disrepute and opened the door to numberless abuses is the total absence of discernment in the selection of the individuals that seek for an admittance therein. Every applicant is indiscriminately received as a member of the brotherhood. No previous examination takes place for ascertaining the dispositions, capacity, and science of the postulant. No inquiry is ever made regarding the motives that may have induced him to forsake the world and take so important a step. His vocation is exposed to no trial. He has but to present himself and he is sure to be immediately received, provided he consent to conform exteriorly to the usual practices of his brethren. No account is taken of his former conduct. The very fact of his applying to be admitted into the society of the perfect atones amply for all past irregularities. The only respectability inherent in the modern Talapoins is that derived from the sacred yellow dress he wears. It may aptly be said of him that he is monk by the fact of his wearing the canonical dress. The houses of the order are, in many instances, filled with worthless individuals totally unfit for the profession, who have been induced by the basest motives to enter into them, chiefly by laziness, idleness, and the hope of spending quietly their time beyond the reach of want, and without being obliged to work for their livelihood. In confirmation of this, I will mention the following instance. During the second year of my stay in Burmah, I had with me, in the capacity of servant, an old stupid native. On a certain day he gravely told me that he intended to leave my service and become a Phongyie. I laughed at first at what I considered to be very presumptuous and impertinent language. The old man, however, kept his word. Having left my house a few days after our conversation on the subject of his new vocation, I heard no more of him till it happened a few months after that I met him in[315] a monastery, attired in the full dress of a Phongyie, and so proud of his new position that he hardly condescended to put himself on a footing of equality with his former master.
Ignorance prevails to an extent scarcely to be imagined among the generality of the Phongyies. I have met with a great number of laymen who were incomparably better informed, and far superior in knowledge to them. Their mind is of the narrowest compass. Though bound by their profession to study with particular care the various tenets of their creed and all that relates to Buddhism, they are sadly deficient in this respect. They have no ardour for study. While they read some book, they do it without attention or effort to make themselves fully acquainted with the contents. There is no vigour in their intellect, no comprehensiveness in their mind, no order or connection in their ideas. Their reading is of a desultory nature, and the notions stored up in their memory are at once incoherent, imperfect, and too often very limited. They possess no general or correct views of Buddhism. I never met with one who could embrace the whole system in his mind and give a tolerably accurate account of it. The only faculty that they cultivate with great care is memory. It is surprising to hear them repeating by heart the contents of a book they have studied. As the number of books is very limited in countries where the art of printing has not been introduced, the pupils of the monasteries are compelled to commit to memory the greatest portion of the books they study. He who has lived in Burmah must have often heard, to his great surprise, laymen repeating, during sometimes a whole hour, formulas in Pali, or religious stories in Burmese, which they had learned in the school, or when they had put on the monkish habit.
Phongyies are fond of exhibiting their knowledge of the Pali language, by repeating from memory, and without stammering or stumbling, long formulas and sentences; but I have convinced myself that very few among them[316] understood even imperfectly a small part of what they recited. Those who enjoy popularly a reputation for uncommon knowledge affect to speak very little, show a great reserve, despising as ignorant the person that approaches their abodes or holds conversation with them. But silence, which in a learned man is a sign of modesty, is too often with them a cloak to cover their ignorance, and a cunning device for disguising pride under the garb of humility. The latter virtue, though much recommended in the Wini, is not a favourite one with the Talapoins. It is indeed impossible that they could ever understand or practise it, since they are unacquainted with the two great ways that lead to it, viz., a profound knowledge of God and a thorough knowledge of self. Talapoins, who are distinguished among their brethren for their great austerity of manners and more perfect observance of their regulations, are the most unpleasing beings the writer has ever met with.
They are cold, reserved, speaking with affected conciseness: their language is sententious, seasoned with an uncommon dose of pretension. Sentences falling from their lips are half finished, and involved in a mysterious obscurity, calculated to fill with awe and admiration their numerous hearers; a certain haughtiness and contempt of others always shows itself through their affected simplicity and humble deportment. Vanity and selfishness, latent in their hearts, force themselves on the attention of an acute observer. In their manners they are occasionally so affected by a ridiculous reserve that one might be tempted to think that their brain is not quite sound. Talapoins, in general, entertain a very high idea of their own excellence; and the great respect paid to them by the people contributes not a little to foster it, and make them believe that nobody on earth can ever be compared to them. To such a height has their pride reached that they believe it would be derogatory to their dignity to return civility for civility, or thanks for the alms people bestow on them.
The most striking feature in the character of the Talapoins is their incomparable idleness. We may say that, in this respect, they resemble their countrymen, who are very prone to that vice. Two causes of a very different nature seem, in our opinion, to act together on the people of these countries to produce such a result. The first is a physical one; the heat of the climate, coupled with a perpetual uniformity in the temperature, producing a general relaxation in the whole system, which is never combated or counteracted by an opposite action or influence. The second cause is a moral one, the tyranny of the despotic governments ruling over the populations of Eastern Asia. Property is everywhere insecure. He who is suspected of being rich is exposed to numberless vexations on the part of the vile satellites of tyranny, who soon find out some apparent pretext for confiscating a part or the whole of his property, or depriving him of life, should he dare to offer resistance. In such a state of things every one is satisfied with the things of first necessity. Want forms the strongest tie that binds together individuals and races, and at the same time holds out the most powerful incentive to exertion. The people of these parts have but few wants, and therefore they lack inducement to labour for acquiring anything beyond what is strictly necessary. Emulation, ambition, the desire of growing rich, which are the main springs that move man to exertion, disappear and leave him in an abject and servile indolence, which soon becomes his habitual state, and the grave wherein is entombed all his moral energy.
Like their countrymen, Phongyies are exposed to the influence of the above causes, but their mode of life is a third additional reason why they are more indolent than others. They have not to trouble or exert themselves for the articles required for their subsistence and maintenance; these are abundantly supplied to them by their co-religionists. They are bound, it is true, to read, study, and meditate; but their ignorance and laziness incapacitate[318] them for such intellectual exercises. They remain during the best part of the day sitting in a cross-legged position, or reclining, or sleeping, or at least attempting to do so. They occasionally resume the vertical position to get rid of ennui, one of their deadliest enemies, and by repeated stretchings of arms and legs, and successive yawnings, try to free themselves from that domestic foe. The teaching of their scholars occupies a few of them for a short time in the morning and in the evening. They are often relieved from their mortal ennui by visitors as idle as themselves, who resort to their dwellings to kill time in their company.
To keep up respectability before the public, the Rahans assume an air of dignity and reserve. They avoid all that could lead them into dissipation. Exterior continence is generally observed, and though there are occasional trespasses, it would be unfair to lay on them generally the charge of incontinence. Their life so far may be considered as exemplary. Though partly divested of that open-heartedness which is a peculiar characteristic of their countrymen, they are tolerably kind and affable with strangers. They, however, cannot relinquish in their conversation with them a certain air of superiority, inspired by the admiration of self and the high opinion they entertain of their exalted profession and sacred character. They are unwilling to see them sitting unceremoniously close to themselves; and when this cannot be avoided, they seek for an opportunity of removing to another place a little more elevated than that occupied by the visitor, as it would be highly unbecoming that laymen should ever presume to sit on a level with a recluse. Such a step would imply a sort of equality between them both, which is never to be dreamt of. Their smooth and quiet countenance, their meek deportment, are, as it were, slightly fretted with a certain roughness and rudeness peculiar to individuals leading a retired life, and estranging themselves, to a certain extent, from the place of society.
In the foregoing pages we have endeavoured to give a[319] faithful account of the great religious order existing in countries where genuine Buddhism is the prevailing creed. We have been obliged, for the sake of truth, to mention many abuses that have slowly crept into it; but we never entertained the slightest intention of casting a malignant contempt or a sneering ridicule upon its members. Most sincerely we pity those unfortunate victims of error and superstition who are wasting their time and energies in the fruitless pursuit of an imaginary felicity. No language can adequately express the ardour and intensity of our desires, sighs, and prayers to hasten the coming of the day when the thick mist and dark cloud that encompass their souls shall be dissipated, and the Sun of Righteousness shall shed into them his vivifying beams. However deplorable their intellectual blindness may be, we always felt that they have a right to be fairly and impartially dealt with. The religious order they belong to is, after all, the greatest in its extent and diffusion, the most extraordinary and perfect in its fabric and constituent parts, and the wisest in its rules and prescriptions, that has ever existed either in ancient or modern times without the pale of Christianity.
Many persons have often put to the writer the following question:—Is it credible that the founder of Buddhism established from the beginning a body of religious, with so perfect an hierarchy and so complete an organisation as to elicit the wonder and astonishment of all those who contemplate it with a serious attention? No doubt, Buddhists attribute to Gaudama all the regulations contained in the Patimauk, or the book of the enfranchisement; they maintain that the contents of Cambawa, or book for the ordination of Patzins, have been arranged by the same hand. But the absurdity of such an assertion cannot fail to strike the eyes of even a superficial observer. These two books, with their elaborate divisions and subdivisions, must have been gradually prepared and arranged at an epoch when Buddhism had taken deep root and spread its branches far and wide, and had become the dominant religion in the countries where it is flourishing. To confer splendour on the admittance of individuals into the body of monks, the rules of the Cambawa were enacted. To render the life of religious an object of greater veneration in the eyes of the community, the regulations of the Patimauk were devised, and were very likely brought, by a slow process, to the state of completeness we see them at present.
Though Gaudama had nothing to do with the redaction of the books under examination, he is, nevertheless, the author of the principal and most important regulations.[322] It is in the Thoots or instructions he has delivered on different occasions that we must search for discovering the germ and origin of the principal points contained in the Patimauk and the Cambawa. At the conclusion of many of his instructions we find some hearers believing in him, and applying for admittance into the society of his disciples. When he approved of their dispositions, the applicants had but to renounce the ordinary pursuits of life, exchange their dress for the one regularly prescribed, and engage to live in a state of strict chastity: they then became at once members of the Thanga, without having to go through a prescribed ordeal. Faith in Buddha on the one hand, and on the other willingness to live in poverty and chastity, were the only requisites for obtaining admittance into the spiritual family of Buddha. The applicants were obliged to live in poverty, and depend for their food on the alms they could procure by begging. Hence they were called Bickus, or mendicants. They had to wear a dress made with rags picked up in cemeteries and stitched together. They placed themselves under the guidance of Gaudama, and denied to themselves all sensual gratifications. Such were the first and principal obligations imposed on the new converts who embraced a religious life. The Bickunies, or women who had embraced the holy profession, were gradually subjected to the same regulations. The minor details of the rule were introduced as consequences flowing from the general principles. This has been the work of time, and perhaps of one of the councils.
It does not appear from the instructions of Gaudama that the steps of the hierarchy were defined and fixed by him, as they have subsequently been. We remark in the assembly, the Bickus, or mendicants, constituting the great mass of the religious, then the Thera, or, as the Burmans write it, Mathera, the ancients, or members of the assembly distinguished by their age and proficiency in learning and virtue, and the Aryias, or those who had made the greatest[323] progress in meditation and contemplation, and had entered into the current of perfection.
It has been asked also whether those who had reached one of the four Meggas—that is to say, who had become a Thautapan, a Sakadagam, &c.—were always members of the Thanga, and could not live in the world. From the tenor of certain passages in the life of Gaudama we see that many pious laymen became Thautapan, Sakadagam, and even Anagam; that is to say, followed the three first Meggas, though they continued to live in the world. The father of Buddha, King Thoodaudana, the father of Ratha and many others, reached one of the above-mentioned states, though they continued to follow the ordinary pursuits of life. This fact deserves attention, because it shows that the institutions of Gaudama rested on a broad basis, and that a life in the world was not an obstacle to following the ways of perfection.
In a note on the Nats, the writer, having expressed the opinion that the word “Nat,” used by Burmans, was derived from the Sanscrit term Nath, which means lord, Major Phayre gave it as his decided opinion that the expression was a purely Burmese one, not at all derived from the Sanscrit. Leaving aside the etymological question, of which it may be said that adhuc sub judice lis est, we are happy to communicate to the reader the following reflections that have come from the pen of that distinguished scholar, who is so intimately acquainted with all that relates to Buddhism.
“The modern Burmans acknowledge the existence of certain beings which, for want of a better term, we will call ‘almost spiritual beings.’ They apply to them the name Nat. Now, according to Burmese notions, there are two distinct bodies or systems of these creatures. The one is a regularly constituted company, if I may say so, of which Thagya Meng is the chief. Most undoubtedly that body of ‘Nat’ was unknown to the Burmans until they became Buddhists. Those are the real Dewah or Dewata.
“But the other set of Nats are the creatures of the indigenous system, existing among all the wild tribes bordering on Burmah. The acknowledgment of these[325] beings constitutes their only worship. On these grounds I consider that the Burmese acknowledged and worshipped such beings before they were converted to Buddhism.
“Now, if they acknowledged such beings, they, no doubt, had a name for them, similar in general import to the ‘fairy, elf,’ and so on among the inhabitants of Britain for beings of a quasi-spiritual nature. I may observe there is a complete analogy in the state of Burmese belief in the existence of such beings and that which prevailed formerly in Europe, and some remnants of which may be found even now existing among the uneducated. I mean that before the Anglo-Saxon tribes were converted to Christianity the belief in fairies and elfs was universal. With Christianity came a belief in a different order of spiritual beings, and with that a new name derived from the Latin, angel. This is somewhat analogous to the state of things among the Burmese before and after their conversion to Buddhism.
“But to return to the Burmese. They, when they received Buddhism, appear to have generally retained their vernacular name for the beings called in Pali Dewa. Why this should be done is certainly not apparent. Why have the English and all Teutonic nations retained the ancient name Evil, and spirits, though they adopted with Christianity a new term for good spirits generally? I allude to the term Devil, which, there is no doubt, is philologically connected with that Pali word Dew-a or Dev-a.
“Regarding the meaning of the word Nat in Pali, I have no Pali dictionary, but I have the ordinary Oordoo Dictionary, which includes all ordinary Sanscrit words. I find there the Sanscrit word ‘Nath,’ and the meaning rendered ‘master, husband, lord.’ There is nothing to show that it refers to any supernatural being, but is only a term of respect. As such it might in Pali be made applicable to Nats. In Burmese, the people who believe in[326] Nats seldom use that word, but some honorific phrase. Some fishermen I knew quarrelled about their shares in a pool of water. In the case they constantly referred to the share of the ‘Ashing-gyee,’ who was no other than the presiding Nat of the said pool.”
[1] The first particular related at length by the compiler of this work is one of peculiar interest. Buddha summons the Rahans to his presence, through the ever faithful and dutiful Ananda, and addresses to them instructions which form the basis of the duties and obligations of all true disciples. He styles them Bickus—that is to say, mendicants—to remind them of the spirit of poverty and of the contempt of worldly things which must ever be dear to them. The epithet “beloved” is always prefixed to the word Bickus, as conveying an idea of the true and pure affection the master bore to his disciples, or rather his spiritual children. Buddha charges them at first to be always diligent in holding assemblies, where religious subjects should be discussed, controversies settled, and unity of faith secured. This obligation has long been held as a binding one by the primitive Buddhists, as mention is always made in their books of the three great assemblies held during the three first centuries of the Buddhistic era, when the sacred writings were carefully revised, amended, and, as it were, purged of all spurious doctrines. It was during the last council that the canon of scriptures was adopted, which has ever since been maintained by orthodox Buddhists. Nothing can be wiser than the desire he so strongly expresses that no one should ever presume to alter the true and genuine nature of the precepts, by making, according to his whim, light what is heavy, or obligatory what is but a matter of counsel. He expresses the strongest wish to see them always united among themselves, and fervent in the observance of the precepts of the law. He establishes as a fundamental principle the obedience to superiors. There is no society of a religious character among heathens where the various steps of the hierarchy are so well marked and defined as in the Buddhistic institution. The whole body of religious has a general superior in each province, exercising a thorough control over all the houses within the limits of the province; he may be looked upon as a regular diocesan. In each house of the order there is a superior, having power and jurisdiction over all the inmates of the place. Under him we find the professed members of the society, then those who may be called novices, and last of all the postulants and disciples allowed to wear the clerical dress, or yellow garb, without any power or authority, and being looked upon merely as students in the way of probation. In his charge to his disciples, Buddha lays much stress upon the necessity of destroying in themselves the principle of passion, and in particular concupiscence. The general tendency of all his preachings is to teach men the means of freeing themselves from the tyrannical yoke of passions. No one, indeed, can obtain the state of perfect quiescence or Neibban unless he has annihilated in himself all passions, and thereby qualified himself for the practice of all virtues. The character of the great body of religious Buddhists is clearly set forth in the exhortations their great master directs to them to love retreat and solitude. The noise, tumult, and bustle necessarily attending the position of a man living in the world are entirely opposed to the acquirement of self-knowledge, self-possession, and self-control, so much required in a religious. As long, concludes Buddha, as you shall remain faithful to your regulations you will prosper, and secure to yourselves and your order the respect and admiration of all. He winds up his speech by exhorting them to act in a manner ever becoming their sacred calling. The greatest moralist, possessing the most consummate and perfect knowledge of human nature, could not lay down wiser regulations for setting on a firm and lasting foundation a great and mighty institution, destined to spread itself far and wide amidst nations and tribes, and subsist during an unlimited period.
[2] A dzeat is a building erected by the piety of Buddhists for the purpose of affording shelter and a place of rest to devotees, travellers, and strangers. These buildings are to be found at the entrance of towns, in villages, and often in the neighbourhood of pagodas. Those of Burmah are erected in the plainest manner. A verandah in front extends to the full length of the building, a spacious hall running parallel to the verandah occupies the remaining place. There is no partition between the hall and the verandah. It happens sometimes that a space at one of the hall’s corners, screened by mats or dry leaves, offers an asylum to him who does not like to mix with the vulgus. The carelessness of Government in all that relates to the comfort of the people is amply compensated by the zeal of pious laymen, who readily undertake the erection of those works of public utility in the hope of securing to themselves the attainment of merits to be enjoyed perhaps in this, but certainly in some future existences.
In Burmah proper some of the dzeats are, for the country, beautiful buildings. The edge of the roof and the front part are covered with a profusion of sculptures and carvings that vie with those that adorn the finest monasteries. This fact, among many, indicates the truly beneficent and philanthropic influence exercised by some tenets of Buddhism over the followers of that creed. Pride and vainglory may have their share in the erection of those monuments of benevolence, but it is not the less certain that those who build them yield first and principally to the strong influence of religious feeling.
On this occasion Buddha preached to the crowd, when we see a line of distinction well drawn between the assembly of the disciples of Buddha and those we may merely style hearers. The latter are addressed by the name of darakas, meaning laymen that hear the preaching. A daraka is not as yet a perfect convert, and therefore not a member of the assembly of the perfect. The daraka differs from the Upasaka. The latter is not only a mere hearer of the law; he is a firm believer, and fervently practises the precepts: he is among laymen a pious Buddhist; the former is not so forward: he begins to hear and believe the doctrines preached to him. He has already some faith in Buddha; he is under instruction, but he cannot be called a professed disciple. The rewards of faith are both of a natural and supernatural order. Riches, happiness, an honourable reputation, are promised to the faithful observer of the law. He is to be ever free from doubts, since faith makes him adhere firmly to all the instructions of Buddha; and after his death he is to migrate to some of the seats of Nats. The trespassing of the law is to be attended with poverty, shame, and misery, doubts in an unsettled mind, and at last punishment in hell. That place of suffering is minutely described in Buddhistic works. Such a description appears, in the opinion of the writer, of no importance to those who desire to understand not the superficial portion of Buddhism, but its fundamental and constitutive parts. Hell is a place of punishment and torment, as the Nats’ seats are places of reward and happiness. There is no eternity of sufferings; the unfortunate inhabitant of those dark regions is doomed to remain there, until the sum of his offences has been fully atoned for by sufferings. When the evil influence created by sin is exhausted, punishment ceases too, and the wretched sufferer is allowed to migrate to the seat of man in order to acquire merits and prepare himself for happier future existences.
In recording the account of the conversion of a courtesan named Apapalika, her liberality and gifts to Buddha and his disciples, and the preference designedly given to her over princes and nobles, who, humanly speaking, seemed in every respect better entitled to attentions, one is almost reminded of the conversion of the woman that was a sinner mentioned in the Gospel.
[3] The duties performed by Thariputra on this occasion exhibit more fully than language can express the profound veneration he entertained for Buddha. He was with Maukalan the most distinguished member of the assembly; he occupied the first rank among the disciples; in point of intellectual and spiritual attainments and transcendent qualifications, he stood second to none but to Buddha. Notwithstanding his exalted position, he did not hesitate to render to his superior the lowest services. The high opinion he had of Buddha’s supereminent excellencies prompted him to overlook his own merit, and to admire without reserve that matchless pattern of wisdom and knowledge. Hence the inward satisfaction he sweetly enjoyed in serving as an humble disciple him whose unutterable perfections cast in the shade his far-famed and much-praised acquirements. The unaffected humility of the disciple does the greatest credit to the sterling worth of his inward dispositions, and conveys the highest idea of the respect and veneration entertained for the master’s person.
In the houses where Buddhist monks are living it is a fixed rule that the superior and elders of the institution should be attended in the minutest services by the youngest members wearing the canonical dress. The framer of the disciplinary regulations, intending, on the one hand, to confer dignity on the assembly, and, on the other, to oppose a strong barrier to covetousness and to all inordinate worldly affections, wisely laid down a stringent order to all the members of the society never to touch or make use of any article of food, dress, &c., unless it had previously been presented to them by some attendant, layman or clerical. Hence when water is needed for washing the head, hands, and feet, or for rinsing the mouth, when meals are served up, when offerings are made, a young postulant, holding a vessel of water on the board whereupon are placed the dishes, or the articles intended to be offered, respectfully approaches the elder, kneels before him, squatting on his heels, lays before him the object to be presented, bows down with the joined hands raised to the forehead, resumes then the article with his two hands, presents it, with the upper part of the body bent in token of respect. Before accepting it the elder asks, Is it lawful? The answer, It is lawful, having been duly returned, the article is either taken from the hand of the offerer, or he is directed to place it within the reach of the elder. Any infraction of this ceremonial is considered as a sin. In the presence of the people the monks never fail to submit to that somewhat annoying etiquette. Their countenance on such occasions assumes a dignified and grave appearance, that has always much amused the writer whenever he had the opportunity of witnessing this ceremony, which is called Akat. There is no doubt but this custom is a very ancient one. We find it blended to a certain extent with the manners of the nations inhabiting eastern Asia. It is minutely described in the Wini, and carefully observed by the inmates of the Buddhistic monasteries. It agrees remarkably well with the spirit that has originated, promulgated, and sanctioned the disciplinary regulations. He who in this instance would look at the mere skeleton of the rule without any reference to the object aimed at by the legislator would show himself in the light of a very superficial observer. This, unfortunately, is too often the case when we scorn and laugh at customs, the demerit of which consists simply in not being similar to ours, whereas the commonest sense tells us that we ought to judge them in connection with the institutions they have sprung from, and the end aimed at by him who has established them.
The narrative of Thariputra’s departure for his birthplace and of his last moments suggests to the mind several reflections. He is certain of the last day of his existence; he foresees with a prophetic glance that his mother is well prepared for hearing profitably the preaching of the most perfect law. By the incomparable powers of his memory he relates to Buddha that 100,000 revolutions of nature ago he was possessed with the strong desire of seeing him and hearing his instructions, &c. How can these particulars be accounted for, according to Buddhistic notions? The spring all evils or demerits flow from is ignorance. A being is imperfect in proportion to his being sunk deeper in the bosom of ignorance. On the contrary, a being perfects himself in proportion to the efforts he makes for dispelling the thick cloud of ignorance that encompasses his mind. The more a man grows in the knowledge of truth the farther he removes the horizon of darkness. He who has made the greatest and most persevering efforts in fervently prosecuting the work of searching truth by studying the law that teaches the way of reaching it, contemplates and enjoys a portion of truth commensurate to his efforts and success. A Buddha, who has reached the last boundaries of knowledge, has therefore triumphed over ignorance and indefinitely enlarged the sphere of truth. He enjoys, in fact, a cloudless sight of all that exists; his science is unlimited, extending over all the countless series of worlds, which, in the opinion of the Buddhists, are supposed to form a system of nature. Thariputra, though much advanced in perfection, had not as yet reached its acme. His knowledge, however, was wonderfully great and extensive; it enabled him to obtain a clear insight into the darkness of the past and a distinct foresight of the future.
[4] The village of Nalanda, the site of which is at present occupied by that of Baragaon, was the birthplace of the great disciple Thariputra. His illustrious companion in religion, Maukalan, was born in the village of Kaulita, about one and a half miles south-west of that place. Nalanda, says Fa-Hian, the Chinese traveller, lies one youdzana north of Radzagio, that is to say, seven English miles according to Cunningham’s measurement, and is seven youdzanas or forty-nine miles distant from the tree Bodi. It was the great seat of Buddhistic learning, renowned all over India. Now the whole site is covered with ancient tanks and mounds of ruins on an immense scale, offering fine specimens of sculpture. The great monastery and five smaller ones were all within one enclosure. A row of lofty conical mounds, running north and south, 1600 feet by 400, indicates the place and extent of those religious buildings. Outside of the enclosure there were several temples. General Cunningham fixes the era of the construction of those edifices between A.D. 425 and 625. Among the several proofs adduced in support of his opinion there is one that appears conclusive. Fa-Hian, who visited all the places famous in the history of Buddhism, and describes them with a minute attention, simply alludes to Nalanda as the birthplace of Thariputra, without saying a word about monasteries or temples, whilst Hwe-Thsang, who visited the same spot in the beginning of the seventh century, describes the splendid temples and monasteries which he saw, and from his statement we infer that the principal edifices were not inferior to those of Buddha Gaya in size and height. Some of them reached to a height of 170 and 200 feet. The greatest was 300 feet high. The number and extent of the tanks is truly surprising. Two of them, in the north-east, were nearly a mile in length, while another in the south was half a mile.
The inference to be drawn from the above is, that during the fifth and the sixth century of our era, Buddhism was in a flourishing condition in the country of Magatha or South Behar, since the finest and loftiest structures in the shape of monasteries and temples have been raised within that period, both at Nalanda and Buddha Gaya. It appears that, during the three first centuries of the Christian era, its fortune alternated, and met with varied results, agreeably to the favourable or unfavourable dispositions of the rulers of the country towards the followers of the philosopher of Kapilawot. This succession of successes and reverses reveals the important fact that Buddhism had not struck deep root in the heart of the inhabitants of Central India, since its fate depended from the will and opinions of the monarch, and was almost at the mercy of his caprices. Moreover, in the country north of the Ganges, such as Wethalie, Thawattie, Kapilawot, places which had been favoured with Buddha’s incessant preachings, religion was on its decline at the time of Fa-Hian’s visit, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth century; monasteries were deserted and emptied, dzedies were crumbling down and fast decaying. In some instances, heretics, that is to say, pounhas, occupied the dwellings formerly tenanted by holders of the genuine doctrines. This unexpected sight very much grieved the heart of the good Chinese pilgrim. It must be regretted that we have not the written journals of some other Chinese travellers in the eighth or ninth century to reveal to us the state and condition in which they found the magnificent temples of Nalanda and Buddha Gaya when they visited them.
[5] The conduct of Thariputra on this occasion wears an appearance of rudeness towards his aged mother, which at first hurts the feelings of human nature. But a close examination of all the circumstances connected with this last episode of the great disciple’s life, shows that he was far from being divested of filial piety. He leaves his beloved master, undertakes a long and fatiguing journey for the sole purpose of preaching the law to his mother, and conferring upon her a boon of greater value than that he had received from her. In return for all the favours bestowed upon him by his mother, he initiates her in the knowledge of truth, and enables her to enter into the great ways that lead to the deliverance, that is to say, to the state of Neibban. It cannot be denied that his language on this occasion partook of an austere tone, sounding harsh to the ears of worldly men, but it must be borne in mind that Thariputra was an old ascetic, dead to all affections of nature, looking upon truth alone in an abstractively pure form, without any regard to material objects. He loved the law of truth, which he had learned from Buddha, and afterwards preached to others with an unparalleled zeal and fervour. The spirit of Buddha lived in him: he desired to see all beings availing themselves of the means of salvation which he had it in his power to impart unto them; he loved them all with an equal affection; the state of ignorance they were sunk in deeply affected his compassionate soul, and he had but one desire, that of dispelling the thick mist of ignorance by the pure light of truth.
When the instruction to his mother was over, Thariputra desired to be left alone with his disciples. His last words to them bespeak the humble sentiments of his mind. Though the first member of the assembly of the perfect, he begs pardon of his inferiors for the causes of offence he may have unwillingly given them during the period they had lived together: regardless of all the good he had done unto them, he feels that he could not well part with them ere he had atoned to them for any wrong, however involuntary, he might have done to some of them.
For those uninitiated in Buddhistic metaphysics it is not easy to understand and distinctly to appreciate the situation of Thariputra at his last moments. It is stated that he fell into ecstasy or trance, though his soul remained as yet connected with this world by slender and almost invisible ties. This was the last and mighty struggle of a being to disengage himself from the trammels of existence and become free from all exterior influence. Soaring above all that exists, Thariputra’s soul passed successively through the four stages he had so often visited, whilst engaged in the arduous effort of investigating truth, preparing to enter the fifth and last one, where he was to stay finally and perpetually, without any further change, in a state of quiescence. When the sage, during his meditations, has brought his mind to bear upon some object, he wishes to contemplate attentively and thoroughly to comprehend, he at first gets hold of that object by his thought, he then examines it by means of reflection: the knowledge he thus acquires never fails to create a pleasurable sensation; this pleasure or satisfaction conveys to the soul enjoyment and happiness; he loves the truth he has discovered, and he rests fixedly in it. This is the last stage he ever can or wish to reach. What has human mind, indeed, to do, after having found truth, but to cling to it, and remain ever attached to it? During the last trance, Thariputra, with his almost immensely developed mental faculties, knew comprehensively truth, reflected on it, felt a pleasure in considering it, enjoyed it, or rather fed upon it, and at last adhered so perfectly to it, that he became, as it were, merged into it. He then had reached the state of Neibban, where he was for ever exempt from the influences created and put in motion and activity by matter and passions in every state of existence. Buddhists, in Burmah, at least, owing to their very limited and imperfect education, are unable to give any satisfactory or even intelligible account of the state of Neibban or perfection. What is here but superficially stated, has been found in one of the last Buddhistic compositions on this and other metaphysical subjects. Fuller particulars shall, hereafter, be given as to the state of Neibban, when the death of one greater than Thariputra shall be related.
[6] In Burmah, when a person has just given up the ghost, the inmates of the house send for musicians, who soon make their appearance with their respective instruments. They forthwith set to work, and keep up an incessant noise during the twenty-four hours that elapse before the corpse is removed to the place where it is to be burnt. Relatives, friends, and elders resort to the deceased’s house for the ostensible purpose of condoling with those who have lost their kinsman, but in reality for sharing in the mirth and amusements that go on in such occasions. Strange to say, the thought of death strikes no one’s mind; the fate of the deceased is scarcely pitied, nay, remembered. Were it not for the presence of the corpse, and the perhaps conventional cries and lamentations of some old women at certain intervals, no one could imagine, still less find out, the real motive that has induced such a crowd to assemble on that spot.
If the departed belong to a respectable family in tolerably good circumstances, the funeral ceremony is arranged in the following manner: Presents, intended as offerings for the Buddhist monks, having been made ready, they are invited for the occasion, and their presence is expected in numbers proportionate to the amount of offerings. The procession starts from the deceased’s house, and directs its course towards the place of burning or the cemetery. It is headed by the yellow-dressed monks, carrying their broad, palm-leaf fans on the shoulder, and attended by their disciples. Next follow the bearers of the offerings in two lines. They are partly men and partly women, but walk separately and apart from each other. The coffin appears next, laid on thick poles, and carried by six or eight men. In front of the coffin, and sometimes at the sides, are arranged the musicians, who perform all the way without an instant’s interruption. Behind the coffin are grouped the male relatives, friends, &c., and lastly the procession is closed by crowds of women, attired in their finest dress. The coffin is beautifully decorated, and carried on the shoulders of six or eight stout young men by means of bamboos or poles. An unnatural merriment is allowed, and generally kept up all the way to the cemetery, and fantastic gestures and dances are performed by the bearers and their friends to the imminent danger of upsetting the coffin. The burning place is generally without the precincts of the town, and in the vicinity of some large pagodas. The funeral pile is of a very simple structure; its shape is that of an oblong square of a moderate size. Two large pieces of wood are at first laid parallel, at a distance of eight feet; other logs of wood, disposed at about six or eight inches from each other, are laid across the two first mentioned, so that their extremities are supported on these two pieces. A second set of logs is laid at right angles with the first; a third one placed across the second, and so on, until the pile is three, four, or five feet high. The coffin is deposited upon it. Fire is set below the pile by means of inflammable materials which soon communicate fire to the logs the pile is made of. The whole is soon in a blaze and rapidly consumed by the devouring flames. The bystanders talk, laugh, or busy themselves in stirring the fire. As to the Talapoins, they sometimes take position under a neighbouring shed, repeat a few passages of Buddha’s law, and when they are tired they give orders to their disciples to take up the offerings and then go back to their peaceable abodes. Very often they do not take the trouble of muttering prayers; they depart forthwith, followed by the offerings intended for them.
The fire being extinguished, the ashes, charcoal, &c., are carefully searched, and the particles of bones discovered are piously collected by the nearest relatives, and then buried in a hole dug for that purpose near some pagoda.
Persons in good circumstances keep up for seven days in their houses a sort of solemnisation of the funeral. Every day, in the evening particularly, musicians are kept up playing until a very late hour at night. The house is all the while crowded with people, who come for the purpose of enjoyment. Some play at various games; others drink tea; all chew betel-leaves’ tobacco in profusion. Sometimes stories relating to Gaudama’s former existences are read and listened to by the elders of the party. This mode, intended either to do honour to the deceased’s memory or to afford relief to the grief of relatives, is rather expensive, and might often prove a heavy drain on the limited means of most of the families. But the spirit of mutual assistance on this occasion removes the difficulty. Every visitor, according to his means, makes a present of some money to the master of the house. Though the present of the greatest numbers of visitors is comparatively small, yet, when added together, there is a considerable sum, which is generally more than sufficient to defray all expense that may be incurred. This custom or system of voluntary contributions burdens no one in particular, whilst it enables a family to make a show of liberality which, otherwise, would almost prove ruinous in many instances. The custom of burning the dead prevails amongst the Hindus, the Cingalese, Nepaulese, Burmese, Siamese and Cambodians. Though holding the tenets of Buddhism, the Chinese have never adopted this usage. The Mahomedans, living in Hindustan and the countries of eastern Asia, retain the custom of burying the dead. Buddhists have doubtless received that practice from the Hindus.
[7] The custom of making funeral orations for the purpose of eulogising distinguished individuals after their demise is of the highest antiquity. The sacred records bear witness to its existence amongst the Jews. The present legend offers repeated instances of eulogia made to honour the memory of the dead. On this occasion Buddha would not leave to another the honour of extolling the extraordinary merits and transcendent excellencies of the illustrious Thariputra. But he had a higher object in view when he exhibited to the eyes of the assembled Rahans the relics of the deceased, which were all that remained of so celebrated a disciple, who had lived with them for so many years, and had just parted from them. It was impossible to give them a more forcible illustration of the truth he had so often announced to them, that there is nothing permanently subsisting in this world, but that all things are liable to a perpetual and never-ending change. The stern Buddha gently rebuked the amiable Ananda for the signs of inordinate grief he gave on this occasion; because, said he, the law of mutability acting upon all that surrounds us, we must ever be prepared to be separated from what is dearest to our affections; grief on such occasions is useless, and quite inconsistent with the principles of a wise man.
To honour the memory of Thariputra, and perpetuate the remembrance of his virtues, Buddha directed that a dzedi should be erected on the very spot where he had heard the news of his death. A dzedi is a religious monument very common in Burmah, and to be seen on all rising grounds in the neighbourhood of towns. Within the enclosure of all monasteries, a dzedi is invariably erected; it is the only purely religious building to be found in Burmah. The traveller in that country is always delighted, and experiences the most pleasurable sensations on approaching some town or village, when he sees several dzedis of various heights raising their white cones capped with the gilt crown from the bosom of beautiful groves of tall cocoa-nut trees, graceful areca palms, and massive tamarind, mango, and jack trees, all loaded with a green and luxuriant foliage. When the monument is on a grand scale, niches are made in the middle of each side of the square, facing the four points of the compass. In those niches are placed statues of Buddha, exhibiting him in the usual cross-legged position. The size of those religious monuments varies much in dimensions. They range from the height of a few feet to the colossal proportions of the tall Dagon Pagoda at Rangoon.
The custom of raising monuments over the ashes of religious distinguished by their virtues and extraordinary attainments, is a very ancient one, coeval in all probability with the first ages of Buddhism. They were real tumuli, surmounted with some ornaments in the shape of a cone. Such ornaments are seen towering over nearly all the religious monuments in Burmah. Royalty, in its head paraphernalia, and in its abode, has appropriated them to its own uses. We may at once infer that they are of a Hindu origin. The great monarchs who are called Tsekiawade kings, because they ruled over the whole of the Dzampoudipa island, were, according to Buddha’s opinion, entitled to the honour of a dzedi after their demise.
[8] It is very difficult to understand the extraordinary state in which Buddha placed himself on this occasion. It must have been a remarkable occurrence, since it caused a violent commotion which shook our planet. The only interpretation that can be put on the terms used to describe this particular action of Buddha is this: He renounced existence, that is to say, not only the actual existence that he enjoyed, but also all other forms of existence. He severed connection with this and other worlds; he broke the ties that had hitherto retained him linked to a form of existence. He had come now to the end of all transmigrations. By the power of his will, he placed himself in the state of complete isolation from all that exists, even from self, that is to say, into Neibban, a state which death was soon to realise and render visible to the eyes of his disciples. It is not death that causes a being to reach the state or condition of Neibban, but it is the abstraction from all conceivable forms of existence that constitutes its very essence. The expression made use of by our author to designate the particular condition in which Gaudama brought himself, and which caused a terrific shake of the earth, is this: He parted with the life of change, of mutability, that is to say, he had nothing more to do with existences, which, in the opinion of Buddhists, are produced by the principle of mutability. Buddha called himself Zina, or conqueror, after he had obtained the perfect mastery over his passions. We may give him the same title on the occasion when he has obtained the mastery over existence itself. This last achievement is the greatest of all: the first one was only preparatory to securing the second one. The writer is well aware that such a language is at variance with the notions that the reader is familiar with. To understand its true and correct meaning one must be initiated into the doctrines of Buddhism.
The preaching of the law of the wheel, which is mentioned as one cause that produces the phenomena of earthquake, took place, as above related, in the Migadawon forest, or the Deer’s grove, near Benares, in the very beginning of Buddha’s public life, after he had left the Bodi tree. The preaching of the law of the wheel is nothing else than the manifestation of the four sublime and transcendent truths, which, as mentioned in foregoing pages, constitute the essence of Buddha’s doctrines.
[9] The particulars of the apparition of the evil one, or the tempter, related by Buddha himself to the faithful and amiable Ananda, show the incessant efforts made by Manh to render abortive, to a certain extent, the benevolent mission undertaken by Buddha to procure deliverance to numberless beings, and supply others with adequate means for entering into, and steadily following, the way that leads to it. He had been defeated in his endeavours to prevent Phra from leaving the world and obtaining the Buddhaship. He had been thwarted in his wicked designs to weaken the effects of Buddha’s preachings. Heretics of all sorts had been summoned to his standard, to carry on a most active warfare against his opponents, but he had failed in all his attempts. Buddha had now almost completed the great and beneficial work he had undertaken: his religious institutions, known over a vast extent of territory, and zealously propagated by fervent and devoted disciples, seemed to be now firmly established. The edifice, indeed, was raised, but it required the action of a finishing hand; the key-stone was yet wanting in the vault to render it complete and durable. Manh was aware of all that; hence his last and wily effort for impeding the finishing and perfecting of a work he had vainly opposed in its beginning and during its progress.
The line of distinction between the members of the assembly and the mass of those who merely believed in the doctrines of Buddha, without leaving the world, is plainly drawn by Buddha himself; therefore, there can be no doubt that, from the origin of Buddhism, there existed a marked difference between the body of laymen and that of Rahans. Again, the body of the perfect, or those who formed what may emphatically be termed the assembly, was composed of men and women, living, as a matter of course, separately, in a state of continence, and subjected to the disciplinary regulations which we find embodied in the Wini. In Burmah, vestiges of female devotees, living secluded from the world, are to be met with in many places, but, as already noticed in a foregoing remark, the order of religious females has much fallen off. Its professed members are few in number, and the exterior observance of the regulations is much neglected. The comprehensiveness of Buddhism, its tendency to bring all men to the same level, and allow of no difference between man and man but that which is established by superiority in virtue, its expansive properties, all those striking characteristics have mightily worked in elevating the character of the woman, and raising it to a level with that of man. Who could think of looking upon the woman as a somewhat inferior being, when we see her ranking, according to the degrees of her spiritual attainments, among the perfect and foremost followers of Buddha? Hence in those countries where Buddhism has struck a deep root and exercised a great influence over the manners of nations, the condition of the woman has been much improved and placed on a footing far superior to what she occupies in those countries where that religious system is not the prevalent one, or where it has not formed or considerably influenced the customs and habits of the people.
[10] The Buddhists of these parts, following the track of their ancestors, or rather copying their writings, are fond of arbitrary divisions in all that concerns the different parts of their metaphysics. Buddha, on this occasion, alludes to thirty-seven articles, which may be considered as the foundation whereon rests philosophical and moral wisdom. They are called Bodi-pek-kera; meaning, I believe, points or articles of wisdom. They are subdivided into seven classes. In the first are enumerated the four subjects most deserving of attention, viz., the body, the heart, the sensations, and the law. In the second are described four objects extremely worthy of our efforts, viz., preventing the law of demerits to come into existence; preventing its developments, when it exists; causing the law of merits to come into existence, and furthering its progress when it is already existing. In the third are found likewise four points meriting control, viz., one’s will, one’s heart, one’s efforts, and one’s exertions. In the fourth class we find enumerated five pre-eminently necessary dispositions or inclinations; that is to say, disposition to benevolence, to diligence, to attention, to steady direction towards what is excellent, and to considerate wisdom.
The fifth class comprises the pola, or rewards or good effects resulting from the above inclination, viz., perfect benevolence, diligence, attention, steadiness in what is excellent, and considerate wisdom.
The sixth class comprehends the seven following virtues, which enable man to raise himself very high in the scale of perfection:—Attention, consideration of the law, diligence, equanimity of the soul, constancy in good, fixity, and delight.
The seventh class comprises the ways that lead to good and perfection. They are eight in number:—Perfect doctrine, intention, language, actions, regular mode of life, diligence, attention, and fixity in good.
A volume might be written upon these thirty-seven principles or points of moral philosophy, by way of comment and explanation; but we think it better to leave the reader to make his own reflections, and run at liberty over this broad field of metaphysics.
[11] The Kakouda stream was one of the arms or channels of the little Gundak. It is at present dried up, but up to this day are to be seen several marks indicating the ancient bed of that stream.
The river Hiranyawati is one of the channels of the little Gundak, which was flowing a little west of the city of Koutheinaron. The Gundak being very winding in its course, and the mass of water being sometimes very considerable, there is to be seen a great number of old channels, now dried up, or occasionally filled in the time when inundation is prevailing. For this reason, it becomes difficult in some instances to follow the Chinese pilgrim, Hwen Thsang, through his minute and accurate description of the places he has visited. The mounds of ruins which stud the ground may not be always correctly identified, because they are not at present, relatively to the river, in the same position as that mentioned in his interesting itinerary. However, there are here and there some remnants of the old channels which are sufficient to guide safely the sure and patient Government Archæological Surveyor, who now does so much, with the assistance derived from the books of the two Chinese pilgrims, to find out and identify on the spot most of the places and localities mentioned in the Buddhist writings. It is not a little surprising that we should have to acknowledge the fact that the voyages of two Chinese travellers, undertaken in the fifth and seventh centuries of our era, have done more to elucidate the history and geography of Buddhism in India, than all that has hitherto been found in the Sanscrit and Pali books of India and the neighbouring countries.
The young religious who is called Tsanda was the younger brother of Thariputra. He seems to have shared with Ananda the honour of attending on Buddha’s person.
The forest which was close to the vicinity of Koutheinaron was planted with trees which the Burmans call ingien, the Bengalies, sal. The latter name is evidently the Sanscrit and Pali appellation of the tree, which the Burmese author has retained but once or twice throughout the course of his work, and wrote Sala. It is the Shorea robusta.
The four laws of edeipat, which, in the opinion of Buddha, can confer to him who knows and possesses them the extraordinary privilege of an indefinitely prolonged existence, are, absolute power over the will, absolute power over the mind, absolute power of exertion, absolute power over the means to attain any object. How can a man, in the present state of existence, obtain the possession of such a power? The only way that a Buddhist has to account for it is the following:—A perfect being, having estranged himself from all passions, from matter and its concomitant influences, solely by the power and energy of his will, acquires a freedom from all impediments, an unbounded liberty of motion, and a lightness and swiftness which enable him to do all that he pleases. He is independent of the elements of this world, which can no more offer obstacles and resistance to his wishes. Several instances of something approaching to those wonderful attainments have been mentioned in the course of this work. We have seen how those much advanced in perfection could raise themselves very high, and travel through the air with an almost incredible velocity. This was but the beginning of far superior and transcendent qualifications obtained only by those that had made greater progress in science, in virtue, and in the renouncing of all things; in a word, by those who had mastered the four laws of edeipat.
Mahawon Kootagara means the hall of the upper story in the great forest. Not far from Wethalie there was a monastery of great celebrity, situated in a forest of sala-trees. It had, at least, an upper story, in which was the hall where Gaudama often preached to his disciples and to the people.
[12] The meal Buddha partook of in company with his disciples at Tsonda’s residence is the last repast he ever made. The violent distemper which followed immediately is not, says the author of the legend, to be attributed to the food he took on this occasion. On the contrary, that very food, owing to the virtue infused therein by the agency of Nats and Brahmas, was rather an antidote against the illness that was to come inevitably upon Phra’s person. Previous to the dissolution of his bodily frame, it was decreed that Buddha should suffer. No occurrence could ever cause or avert this tragical circumstance. He had foreseen it, and with perfect resignation submitted to what was absolutely to happen. In the early days of Buddhism, when a deadly antagonism with Brahminism began to fill the peninsula of Hindustan with endless disputes between the supporters of the rival systems, Brahmins, with a cutting sneer, insulted their opponents by reminding them that the founder of their creed, whom they so much revered and exalted, had died from the effects of his having indulged too much in pork. About twenty-two years ago, when the writer was in Burmah, he chanced to meet with a shrewd old Christian, who, by the way, was fonder of disputing about religion than paying regard to the practice thereof. He boasted of having at his command deadly weapons against Buddhists, and unanswerable arguments to bear with an irresistible force on the vital parts of their creed. The chief one, which he always brought forward with a Brahminical scorn and laugh, was that Gaudama had died from his having eaten pork. He always did it with so much mirth and wit that his poor ignorant adversaries were completely overawed and effectually silenced by his bold and positive assertion, and left to him uncontested the field of battle, and allowed him to carry away undisputed the palm of victory. This way of arguing may prove a very amusing one, but it can never be approved of, as error is never to be combated by another error or a false supposition. The Burmese translator was doubtless aware of the weak side offered to the attacks of malignant opponents by the unpleasant distemper that followed the last meal of Buddha. He strenuously labours to defend the character of his hero by proving, in the best way he can, that such a bodily disorder was necessarily to take place, in order to set in relief the patience, composure, and other sterling virtues of the founder of Buddhism. The text of the legend has been read over several times with the greatest attention, for the purpose of ascertaining the reasons put forward to account for such an occurrence, but the result has proved unsatisfactory. A thick veil wraps in complete obscurity this curious episode of Buddha’s life. All that can be said is this: it was preordained that Buddha should be visited with a most painful distemper ere he attained Neibban; and so it happened.
To prove that the eating of pork had nothing to do with the distemper that followed, we have the authority of Gaudama himself, who commended the delicacy and flavour of that dish, and placed it on the same footing with the delicious Nogana he ate on the morning of the day previous to his obtaining the Buddhaship. He desired his ever-faithful attendant, Ananda, to repair to Tsonda’s place, and explain to him the great rewards reserved to him for having made the offering of such an excellent food.
The practical working of the Buddhistic system relatively to almsgiving deserves some notice. A man bestows alms on the Rahans, or spends money towards promoting some religious purpose; he does so with the belief that what he bestows now in the way of alms will secure to him countless advantages in future existences. Those favours, which he anticipates to enjoy hereafter, are all of a temporal nature, relating only to health, pleasures, riches, honours, and a long life either in the seat of man or in the seats of Nats. Such is the opinion generally entertained by all Buddhists in our days. Talapoins make the preaching of the law consist chiefly in enumerating the merits and rewards attending the bestowing of alms on persons devoted to a religious mode of life. In this respect the practical result of their sermons is certainly most beneficial to themselves. The spiritually-minded Buddha seems to have levelled a blow at concupiscence and covetousness by openly stating that alms have not the power to stem the current of demerits, to give rise and energy to the principle of merits, or to lead to wisdom, which enables man to weaken gradually concupiscence, anger, and ignorance, and to open and prepare the path to Neibban. True knowledge, attended by the practice of the virtues peculiar to those who have entered into the current of perfection by following the four Meggas, can alone enable a man to reach Neibban. Many excellent practices enforced by Buddhism have, so to speak, been reduced to a mere lifeless skeleton by ignorance and passions, but they would appear in a very different light were they animated with the spirit that has brought them into existence.
[13] The observance of the five precepts incumbent upon all Buddhists is the foundation whereupon is to be erected the spiritual edifice; it is the first step towards the great ways leading to perfection; it is preparatory for the great exercise of meditation, by which true wisdom may be acquired. The faithful who observe the five precepts and the three additional counsels show that faith is living in their hearts, and give unmistakable marks of their zeal in the practice of religion. They are real Upasakas, or laymen, fervently adhering to and taking refuge in Buddha, the law, and the assembly; but they cannot take rank among the members of the assembly or Thanga. Practice of and progress in meditation can alone usher an Upasaka into the sanctuary of the perfect.
The rewards destined to the faithful after their death are exactly proportionate to their merits and the real worth of their deeds. The seats of Nats, placed immediately above the seat of men, but under the sixteen seats reserved to the perfect, are opened to the pious Upasaka who migrates from the seat of probation and trial. The nature of the pleasures enjoyed in the Nats’ seats are all referable to the senses. All that can be imagined best fitted for the delectation of the five senses is accumulated in those blissful regions, and proffered with an ever-renewed profusion to their fortunate inhabitants. The vivid imagination of Asiatics has, one would say, exhausted its stores in picturing with an amazing variety the riches to be possessed there. It would be of no utility to attempt to give a compendious narrative of what we meet with in Buddhistic compositions respecting those regions. Suffice it for our purpose to say that the distinction of sexes remains in the Nats’ countries. In the two lowest seats connection takes place between the sexes, but no procreation ever results from it; in the third seats the Nats of different sexes are fully gratified by a simple kiss; in the fourth, by the touch of the hand; in the fifth, by merely looking at each other; and in the sixth, by the mere fact of their being in the same place, upon which we may make two observations. The first is that pleasures therein enjoyed lose their coarseness, and become more refined and more perfect in proportion as the seats are more elevated. The greater are the merits of the Upasaka in this life, the higher is the seat he is destined to occupy, and the more refined are the pleasures and enjoyments allotted to him. Hence our Gaudama having, during the existence preceding this last one, practised moral virtues of the highest order, migrated to Toocita, the fourth seat of Nats. The second observation is, that the duration of the enjoyments in the Nats’ seats increases in an arithmetical progression; that is to say, the pleasures of the second seat last twice as long as those of the first or lowest seat. Those of the third seat last twice as long as those of the second, and so on to the last or highest seat.
In the sermons that the Talapoins address to the people for stirring up their zeal chiefly in making alms to them, they are most fluent and abundant in the promises of rewards in the Nats’ seats, as a powerful inducement held out to them for keeping up their zeal in bestowing alms. They admirably succeed in obtaining their object with most of their hearers. It cannot be denied that those poor deluded followers of Buddha are fully convinced of all that is narrated to them by Talapoins respecting the Nats’ seats. Such is the implicit faith of the mass of the Buddhists. One may occasionally meet with a few individuals who laugh at those fables, but these are looked upon in no better light than that of rationalists or freethinkers by the orthodox portion of the community.
[14] The posture assumed by Buddha at this last stage of his life has supplied the subject of an artistic composition to the Southern Buddhist sculptors. A statue representing Phra in that reclining position is to be seen in almost every pagoda. Some of these statues are made on truly gigantic proportions. I have measured one that was forty-five feet long. If we take such rough works as exhibiting the amount of skill possessed by natives in the art of carving, we must confess that that art is with them yet in its infancy. The huge idols I have met with are never made of wood or hewed stones, but are built up with bricks. The artist, having made in this way the principal parts of the statue, covers the whole with a thick coat of mortar, the softness of which enables him without much labour to put the finishing hand to his work. These statues are invariably made after a certain pattern belonging to the antiquity, and to an epoch when the art was yet in its very infancy: they are, in an artistic point of view, the worst, rudest, and coarsest attempts at statuary I have ever seen. Gold is, however, profusely lavished on those shapeless and formless works. The big idol above referred to was covered with gold, that is to say, gilt from head to feet.
Idols of smaller dimensions, those in particular representing Buddha sitting in a cross-legged position, in the attitude of meditation, are likewise wretched specimens of art. A great many are made of a soft stone, almost white, resembling marble in appearance, and capable of receiving a most perfect polish. About three miles west of the old and ruined city of Tsagain is a place where the manufacturing of marble idols is carried on to a great extent. The stone used by the carvers is brought from a place north of Amerapoora, where it is abundant. It is soft, transparent, white, and sometimes, when polished, exhibits a slightly bluish appearance. The instruments used by the artists are simple and few. Were it not for the custom which obliges them to follow always the same patterns, the Burmese workmen would much improve in that branch of the fine arts.
[15] If Buddha ever deserved the surname of sage, it was assuredly on this occasion that he entitled himself to such an honourable distinction. All nature reversed its course on his account: wonders of the most extraordinary character loudly proclaimed his supereminent excellencies: the most exalted beings united their voices in extolling his transcendent merits, and showing their unbounded respect for his person; all that could dazzle the eye, please the ear, and flatter the heart, was displayed on an unparalleled scale to do honour to him who was about to leave this terrestrial abode. Buddha, however, solemnly declares, and unhesitatingly says to Ananda, that such a display is infinitely below his merits and perfections, and can bear no comparison with his fathomless wisdom and boundless knowledge of truth. Such things, in his opinion, are mere externals, quite destitute of substantial worth; they confer no real honour to him. They, adds he, who truly do honour to me are those who practise all that is enjoined by the most excellent law; nothing short of the observance of the law can please me; the practice of the virtues leading to perfection alone give the right to be called my disciple. My religion can rest firmly only on such solid foundation.
These expressions make every reader understand that, in Buddha’s opinion, religion is not a mere theory, teaching fine moral precepts, destined to excite a vain admiration in the mind, or elicit useless applauses; but it is a moral and practical system, making man acquainted with the duties he has to perform in order to shun vice and practise virtue. Nothing can be more explicit and positive than the notions he entertains of religion. They are worthy of the founder of a religious system now believed and admitted, with more or less considerable variety, by nearly one-fourth, or at least one-fifth, of the great human family. It must be admitted that the high religious sense entertained by Buddha, and communicated in all its purity to his immediate disciples, has almost vanished away in all Buddhist countries. With the people religion consists in certain exterior observances, such as giving alms to the Talapoins, building pagodas, and making offerings during the three months especially consecrated to religious duties. The influence of religious teachers, owing to ignorance and want of zeal, may be thought by many to be almost null, and scarcely felt by the masses of nominal Buddhists. Two causes, however, seem to be the generators and supporters of the religious sentiment that influences the people,—education, and the political institutions. The male portion of the community is brought up in the monasteries by the Phongyies. All the books that are put into their hands, and most of those that they subsequently read, are treatises on religious subjects. This system keeps up, in a wonderful manner, the knowledge of religion, which exercises a great control over the actions of individuals, and regulates their conduct. But, besides, the religious element almost predominates in the body of the civil laws; it acts indirectly upon the people, and must be allowed a great share of influence in all that regards their morals. It is, therefore, to political institutions that Buddhism owes much for the continuation of its existence in these regions. Were it deprived of such a powerful support, there is every reason to believe that it could not perhaps long retain its hold over the masses, when regularly and extensively attacked by the followers of another system. But the first cause is by far the weightier and the more influential.
[16] In the first edition of this work the writer had made an error in supposing Oupalawana to have been a male religious. Another palm-leaf manuscript that he has consulted leaves no doubt about her real character. She was, among the female body of religious, the disciple of the left; and Kema, who had been for many years the first wife of King Pimpathara, was the disciple of the right. Oupalawana belonged to a distinguished family of Kapilawot. The female portion of the Thanga or assembly was constituted after the mode of the Rahans. Thariputra and Maukalan were respectively the disciples of the right and of the left. One of the duties of the Rahaness of the left was to fan Buddha on certain occasions, and render to him such services as were compatible with her sex. The order of nuns in Burmah in our days has fallen very low. Instead of the yellow colour, they have adopted the white one for their dress, which, in other respects, resembles that of the Phongyies. Their head is shaved. They are to be seen in the neighbourhood of pagodas, and in the streets, going about to beg the food required for their maintenance. The only large convent of those nuns which I have ever met is one on the right bank of the Irrawaddy, about five miles north of Tsagain. It contains about forty or fifty inmates. Some of them belong to good families, and reside in the house for a few years, after which they return into their home. That house is under the special protection of the king, who supplies the nuns with all the necessaries of life. In the valley of Tavoy a small convent also has been pointed out to the writer. It was situated on a beautiful spot, west of the river. When he went to see it, he was surprised to meet with two or three old women, habited in the canonical dress, who appeared to be wretchedly poor and slovenly in their habits. The house was in every respect in keeping with the exterior appearance of the tenants. The nuns do absolutely no work, except in certain localities where they try to do away with a portion of their time in clearing the weeds which grow so luxuriantly in the enclosure of some famous pagoda. They have no schools to teach girls the rudiments of reading and writing. They are on this head greatly behind the Buddhist monks, who have assumed to themselves the great and important task of teaching boys in the towns and villages.
[17] The founder of Buddhism shows himself on this particular subject a consummate moralist. He who could have spoken as he did on this truly delicate point must have been deeply versed in the knowledge of human nature, and thoroughly acquainted with its frailties and weaknesses. Buddha desired to maintain the members of the assembly in a state of spotless purity. To attain that desirable object he raised the strongest barrier against the wildest passion of the heart. No virtue, in his opinion, can withstand the incessant assaults directed against it by daily and familiar intercourse with persons of another sex. He would have, if possible, the inmate of a cell in a monastery out of the reach of temptation itself; he knows that the best tactics against such an enemy do not consist in boldly meeting the adversary, but rather in carefully avoiding encounter with him, manœuvring in such a way as to keep far from him. Hence idle conversations with female visitors are not only forbidden in a most positive manner, but the very sight of women is to be, if possible, avoided. When duty shall oblige a recluse to come face to face with the enemy, it is his bounden obligation to keep at as great a distance from female visitors as practicable. The subject of the conversation ought to be of a purely religious character; some portions of the law may be expounded, doubts of conscience may be proposed, and a solution given to them, &c. On such occasions the spiritual adviser is never to be left alone, but he must be surrounded by some of his brethren or disciples, at all times very numerous in the monasteries.
It is not without interest to place one’s self in the centre of the Buddhistic system, and examine therefrom the motives that have induced Buddha to enjoin celibacy on all the members of the assembly, and enforce it with the utmost rigour by all the means that the profoundest moralist could devise.
The philosophy of Buddhism has for its primary object to lead man into the way of freeing himself from the influence produced upon the soul by exterior objects, through the medium or channel of the senses. That influence sets in motion the various passions which darken the intellect and trouble the heart, opposing an insuperable barrier to the acquirement and intuition of truth, and to the progress towards the state of quiescence, so ardently coveted and longed for by every true Buddhist. No one is ripe for the state of Neibban as long as he retains affection for things without self. The last and greatest effort of wisdom is the emancipation of self from every possible influence created and produced by objects or things distinct from self. Concupiscence, as the meaning of the word implies, is that disposition of the soul to search after, long for, and cleave to things placed without self. Such a disposition is diametrically opposed to the perfect independence aimed at by a perfect Buddhist, and leads to results the very reverse of those to be arrived at; it retains man in the vortex of never-ending existences, and precludes him from the possibility of ever reaching the state of Neibban. Concupiscence, taken in a more restricted and limited meaning, signifying the propensity to the indulgence of sensual pleasures by the union of sexes, must ever prove the greatest obstacle in the way leading to perfection, inasmuch as it fosters in men the strongest affection to external objects.
Buddha is great, in his own opinion, because he has conquered all passions, not by curbing them under the yoke of reason, but by rooting them out of his very being. When he wished to become an ascetic, he practised at first self-renouncing, not merely by giving up riches, palaces, dignities and honours, but chiefly and principally by denying to himself and for ever the enjoyment of sensual pleasures. A firm and unshaken resolution of parting for ever with his wife and concubines, and living in a perpetual celibacy, was considered as a preliminary and essential step for entering upon the course of life of a sincere searcher after truth and perfection. During the six years he spent in solitude, he laboured with unremitting zeal for securing to the spiritual principle an undisputed control over the material one, by stifling the vehemence and ardour of his passions. His austerities and mortifications during that long period had no other object than that of first weakening and then finally destroying passions, and in particular concupiscence. When he is praised in the writings, he is much extolled for having come out from the net of passions. His victory over concupiscence is repeatedly alluded to as the greatest of all achievements. The master, therefore, having laid such stress on this favourite and important maxim, could not but preach and enjoin it on all his future imitators and disciples. The earliest records of Buddhism bear testimony to the paramount importance attached to the practice of chastity. It has ever been considered as an essential requirement in all those that have desired to follow the footsteps of Buddha and imitate his mode of life. No qualification, ever so great and shining, could be admitted as a substitute for chastity. Science, talent, zeal, and fervour could never entitle an individual to the distinction of member of the assembly of the perfect without having previously given up the gratification of sensual pleasures. Independently of what is found written on this subject in the Wini, or book of discipline, the opinion of the Buddhist public is on this subject positive, universal, and absolute. He who leaves the condition of layman to become a religious must live in a state of perfect continence. An infraction of the regulations on this point is looked upon with horror and indignation by the people at large. The guilty individual is inexorably expelled from the religious house, after having been previously stripped of his religious dress and subjected to a humiliating degradation in the presence of the assembled members of the community. Nothing short of such a severe treatment could satisfy a public so deeply hurt and offended in their religious feelings. How is it that the practice of perfect continence is not merely a desideratum in an individual consecrated to religion, but an absolutely required qualification, which can never be equivalently supplied by any other moral or scientific attainment? How is it that such a notion is universally adhered to by nations noted for the undoubted laxity of their morals? Can a notion so generally believed and so tenaciously retained, in spite of its direct opposition to the wildest and the dearest passion of the heart, be ever called a prejudice? Is it possible to trace its connection with some of the noblest feelings of our nature and the most refined ideas of our mind? To a superficial and biassed observer, many things appear contradictory and irreconcilable, which a serious, acute, and dispassionate inquirer after truth readily comprehends, easily connects and accounts for, and satisfactorily reconciles one with the other.
[18] It is curious to investigate the origin and the real nature of the worship and honour paid by Buddhists to Gaudama, to his relics, to his statues, as well as to monuments erected for enshrining and sheltering those objects of devotion. The attempt at elucidating this point is beset with difficulties. The more we attentively reflect on the inward operations of the soul in all that relates to religion, the more we find ourselves puzzled and hesitating in qualifying and selecting the appellation most befitting them.
All the simple terms of our language intended to express the several sorts of acts of worship and adoration paid to objects partaking of a religious nature, are inadequate to represent to us, by sounds, the nature of the inward workings of the soul when she carries on a pious intercourse with the object of her devotion. The terms that are used merely express to us the exterior acts of worship, as manifested by peculiar attitudes of the body (which vary according to the habits and customs of various nations), or singing, making offerings, and other visible signs. They may be, in fact they are, used with equal fitness all over the world by the worshippers of the true God as well as by the adorers of idols. The difference between the true and false worship does not consist, therefore, in the externals, nor in the ceremonies or exterior signs that make impression on the ear and the eye, but it is to be found in reality in the objects that the adorers have in view. Here lies the essential difference between the true and false worship.
This being premised, we have naturally to ask: What is Gaudama, the great and principal object of worship to all Buddhists? Gaudama, in their opinion, is a mere man, that has attained, by the practice of virtue, and principally by his almost infinite science, the highest point of perfection a being can ever reach. The first qualification entitles him to the unbounded admiration of his followers; it inspires them with expressions the best calculated to eulogise him, and represent him as the first and greatest of all beings. Again, Gaudama is represented to them full of benevolence and compassion for all beings, whom he earnestly wishes to deliver from their miseries, and help to obtain that state in which they come for ever to a perfect rest from all transmigrations, or to what they emphatically call the deliverance. The second qualification is much insisted upon by Buddhists, and from it originate those feelings of love and tender affection for him who has laboured so much for enlightening all beings, and showing to them the way that leads to the deliverance. Buddhists on this subject are very eloquent. The writer has often admired many fine thoughts and truly beautiful expressions he has met in some writings devoted to the praises of Buddha.
It may be asked whether the followers of Gaudama in the worship they pay the author of their religion expect any aid or assistance from him. The answer is an easy one. Gaudama to them is no more. His interference with the affairs of this world or of his religion absolutely ceased with his existence. He sees no one; he hears no prayer; he can afford no help neither here on earth nor in any other state of existence. In fact, to the Buddhists there is no Providence, and, consequently, there can be no real prayer, none of the feelings that constitute its essence. All the worship of Gaudama may be summed up in a few words: he is admired as the greatest, wisest, and most benevolent of all beings; he is praised, eulogised as much as language can express; he is the object of a tender affection for the good that he has done. No idea whatever of a supreme being is to be met in the genuine worship paid to Gaudama by his most enthusiastic adherents. It cannot be denied that, in practice, Buddhists of these parts betray often without perceiving it that they have some vague idea about a supreme being, who has a controlling power in the affairs of this world and the destiny of man. But such an idea does not come from their religious creed; it is the offspring of that innate sentiment adherent in our nature, as is maintained by some philosophers: or it is a remnant of a primitive tradition, which error has never been able entirely to obliterate, as asserted by others.
The worship paid to Buddha does not extend further than it has been above stated, since it is always placed on a footing of equality with the one due to the law and to the assembly. These three precious things are always enumerated together; no distinction is made between them; they are equally entitled to the veneration of all believers.
Let us come now to the veneration offered to the statues and relics of Gaudama, and to the religious monuments called dzedis. In the foregoing pages we have seen Buddha giving to two brothers who had requested him to supply them with some object of worship eight hairs of his head. After his death and the combustion of his body, the remaining bones, or parts of bones, even the very ashes and charcoals, were piously coveted, with an eagerness that indicated the high value people set on these articles. According to several Buddhist authors, Gaudama, previous to his death, intimated to his disciples that his religion was to last five thousand years; that, as he would be no longer among his believers in a visible manner, he wished that they would keep up his statues as his representatives, and pay to them the same honour they would pay to his own person. Relying upon this positive injunction, the Buddhist looks on the statues of Buddha as objects destined to remind him of Buddha: they are the visible mementoes of him who is infinitely dear to his affections; they put him, by their variety of shapes and form, in remembrance of the principal events connected with his existence. The princes that have been most remarkable for their religious zeal and piety, such as Adzatathat and Athoka, were anxious to multiply the statues of Buddha and the religious monuments, to nourish in the soul of all the faithful, as says our Burmese author, a feeling of tender affection, of lovely disposition for the person of Buddha and his holy religion. The relics being articles that have been most intimately connected with Buddha’s person, are designed to act on the religious feelings of the people even more powerfully than the statues. They are treasured up with the greatest care, worshipped with the profoundest respect, looked upon with a most affectionate regard. No earthly treasure can be compared with them. As Buddha’s sacred person is more valuable in their eyes than the whole world, his relics partake of that invaluable estimation. It becomes evident that the statues and relics are so much valued, esteemed, and worshipped because of the intimate connection they have with the person of Buddha, and the great help they afford in keeping alive a religious spirit and a tender affection for him.
In the worship of statues and relics, superstition has had its share too in giving an undue extension and development to the religious sentiment. This development has brought into existence the belief in prodigies and miracles wrought by the virtue of the relics. This popular error has always found a powerful support among the ignorant masses; it has been much propagated by that inordinate and irrational tendency towards all that is new and extraordinary. Man wants but a pretext, even a very futile one, to give credit to the most incredible occurrences, when they have a reference to a deeply cherished, and, as it were, favourite object. But in no way do we find genuine Buddhism countenancing such spiritual eccentricities or extravagances, which have their origin in ignorance and an inordinate fondness for the marvellous.
The articles of worship offered to or placed before the statues of Buddha, and the shrines supposed to contain some of his relics, are few and remarkable for their simplicity. They consist in flowers arranged in fine bouquets, in flags and streamers made of cloth, sometimes of paper, and cut into a great variety of figures, with considerable taste and skill. There are to be seen also small wax candles, little earthen lamps, and sometimes incense and scented wood, which are consumed in large burners, placed on pedestals made of masonry. The worshippers are generally in a squatting position, the back resting on the heels, the body slightly bending forward, the joined hands raised to the forehead. Ordinarily a string of flowers, or little bits of wood adorned each with a small paper flag, are held on these occasions. On the days of worship, particularly during the three months of Lent, the crowd of people of every age, sex, and condition, resorting to the most venerated pagoda of the place, is truly extraordinary. Men and women of a certain age have in their hands a string of beads, upon which they repeat the formula Aneitsa, Duka, Anatta, or some other.
Since the Buddhist knows that his Buddha is no more, and, therefore, can afford him no assistance whatever, that there is no virtue inherent in his relics or images, in fact, that there is no Providence, it is difficult to account for the zeal that he often displays in honouring the great founder of his religion, and all that has a reference to him. To account satisfactorily for such a moral phenomenon, we must bear in mind the belief that he has in the intrinsic worth of the devotional practices he performs. Those works are good per se; they give rise, power, and energy to the law of merits, or to the good influence which will procure to him abundant rewards in future existences, and gradually lead him to the harbour of deliverance, the object of his most ardent wishes. That hope is, as it were, the great feeder of his devotion.
[19] On a former occasion, Buddha had raised his voice to bestow praises on the memory of the great Thariputra, whose relics he was holding on the palm of one of his hands in the presence of the assembled Rahans. Now, a short time before he yields up the ghost, he summons all his strength, and at great length passes the highest encomium on his amiable and ever-devoted attendant, the truly kind-hearted Ananda. These are the only two instances mentioned in this compilation, when Buddha has condescended to eulogise the great virtues and eminent merits of two disciples. In Thariputra, Buddha extolled the transcendent mental attainments, the heroic achievements in the practice of virtue, the fervour and zeal for the propagation of religion, which had ever distinguished the illustrious friend of Maukalan. In Ananda, the searching and keen eye of Buddha discovered excellencies of a less shining and bright hue, but, in point of sterling worth, second to none. Ananda is a matchless pattern of gentleness, amiability, devotedness, and placid religious zeal. He loves all his brethren, and he is, in return, beloved by them all. His superior goodness of heart and placidity of temper secure to him an almost undisputed precedence over the other members of the assembly. Tearing the veil that conceals futurity from our eager regards, Buddha foretells the future conquests to be made by the mild and persuasive eloquence of his ever dearly beloved disciple. The far-spread fame of Ananda shall in days to come attract crowds of visitors, eager to see and hear him. The sight of his graceful and lovely appearance shall rivet to his person the attention and affection of all. Enraptured at the flow of this tender, touching, and heart-moving eloquence, visitors shall eagerly listen to him; they will experience sadness only when his silence shall deprive them of that food which their mind and heart were feasting on.
The eulogium of Ananda by Buddha is unquestionably one of the finest passages of the legend. Divested of its original beauties by having passed through several translations, it retains, however, something that charms and pleases. The reader is involuntarily reminded of similar specimens found here and there in the earliest records of antiquity.
In the instructions that Ananda is to give to laymen, it is somewhat curious to see Buddha distinctly stating that Ananda will exhort the people to make offerings both to Rahans and to pounhas; that is to say, to the members of the assembly, and to the Brahmins. From this passage, it becomes evident that, in the days of our Buddha, the two sects that were subsequently to struggle during many ages for superiority over the Indian Peninsula, subsisted free from inimical feelings towards each other. It might be said that no line of separation kept them apart, indicating or pointing out their respective limits. The wide gap that was during succeeding centuries to intervene between those two great religious sects was not perceptibly felt. The levelling results of Buddhism had not yet awakened the susceptibilities of the proud Brahmins. Buddhists and Brahminists lived on friendly terms, and looked upon each other as brethren. The discrepancies in the respective creeds were regarded with indifference, as involving only philosophical subtleties, well suited to afford occupation to ideologists, and give to disputants the opportunity of displaying their abilities in arguing, reasoning, and defining. It is not easy to determine whether the conduct of Buddha was regulated by a well-calculated policy, intended to calm the suspicious scruples of his opponents, or whether he was actuated by plain and straightforward principles. It is probable that at that time many Brahmins followed a mode of life almost similar to that of the disciples of Buddha; they were, therefore, entitled to the same honours and support.
[20] Buddha had so much at heart the conversion of the heretic Thoubat, that the earnest desire of performing this great and meritorious action was one of the three motives that induced him to select the comparatively insignificant city of Koutheinaron for the last stage of his existence. Particulars regarding that personage would prove interesting, because he is the last convert Buddha made. From what has been alluded to in some Buddhistic writings regarding Thoubat, it is certain that he was of the caste of pounhas or Brahmins. He had studied in some of the numerous schools of philosophy, at that time so common in India. From his way of addressing Buddha, there is no doubt but he was acquainted with the principal theories upheld by the most renowned masters in those days. It is related of Thoubat that, in a former existence, he was tilling a field with one of his brothers, when some Rahans happened to pass by. His brother gave abundant alms to the holy personages, whilst Thoubat showed less liberal dispositions. When, then, Buddha appeared, the law was announced to the generous donor, and in company with eighteen koudes of Brahmas he obtained the state of Thautapan. The rather parsimonious Thoubat obtained the favour of conversion at the eleventh hour. He must have, however, subsequently atoned for this offence, as his dispositions seem to have been of the highest order when he came into Buddha’s presence. In a few hours he had gone over the four ways leading to perfection, and had become a Rahanda.
In the days of Buddha, the philosophical schools of India seem to have had six eminent teachers, whose doctrines exhibited on some points a considerable variance. In a book of religious controversy between a Christian and a Buddhist, composed more than a hundred years ago by a Catholic priest at Ava, the writer had the chance of meeting with a faint outline of the leading tenets maintained by the six teachers, so often alluded to in this compilation. One of them maintained the existence and agency of numberless genii, who, at their will, could favour man with fortune and every possible temporal benefits, as well as visit him with their displeasure, by depriving him of all happiness and heaping misery and all sorts of calamities over his head. Geniolatry was the necessary consequence flowing from such a principle. A second teacher denied at once the dogma of metempsychosis, and maintained that every being had the innate power of reproducing by way of generation, &c., another being of similar nature. A third one had singular notions regarding the nature of man. He said that he had his beginning in the womb of his mother, and that death was the end and destruction of his being: such a destruction he called Neibban. A fourth teacher taught that all beings were without beginning and ending, and that there existed no influence of good and bad deeds. A fifth doctor defined Neibban, a long life like that of Nats and Brahmas. He saw no harm in the killing of animals, and he asserted the existence of a state of reward and punishment. The last teacher boldly asserted the existence of a Supreme Being, creator of all that exists, and alone worthy of receiving adorations.
Thoubat’s mind was rather perplexed by so many contradictory and opposite opinions and doctrines. He had lived, it appears, in a state of doubt and uncertainty, fluctuating, as it were, between conflicting theories which could not carry conviction to his soul. He had heard of Buddha and wished to see him, hoping that perhaps he might fall in with the truth he was so ardently panting after. With these dispositions, he came to the spot where Buddha was lying on his couch, in the hope of easing his mind from the state of doubt and fixing it in truth. Like a man of consummate abilities in the way of arguing and convincing his adversary, Buddha sets aside all that was put forward by his antagonist, and, coming at once to the point, preaches to him the true doctrine. As light dispels darkness, so truth disperses the mist of error. Thoubat, seeing truth, at once embraced it, gladly ridding himself of the burden of errors that had hitherto weighed down his soul. All his doubts vanished away, and he found himself, on a sudden, safely anchored in the calm and never-agitated harbour of perfect truth.
Next to the conversion of Thoubat, follows an interesting instruction delivered to Ananda and the assembled Rahans. Here Buddha displays the superiority of his lofty mind. Clinging to the principles of abstract truth, he has no regard for persons or things. This material world, man included, is, in his opinion, a mere illusion, exhibiting nothing real, but only an uninterrupted succession of changes, which exclude the idea of immutable fixity. He apparently has no wish to infuse consolation into the afflicted souls of his disciples. He supposes that, being all initiated in the knowledge of truth, and having entered in the ways of perfection, they must know that the person of a Buddha is subjected to the law of mutability, and, therefore, to destruction or to death. He says plainly to them that his absence from among them is a circumstance scarcely worth noticing: by his doctrines contained in the Abidama, the Thoots and the Wini, he will ever be present among them. In these sacred writings they will possess something more valuable than his material being: they will have and enjoy the truth that was in him, and that he has communicated to them by his oral instructions. He earnestly invites them to lay stress only on that doctrine which they have received from him.
It is hardly necessary to notice a serious anachronism made by the unskilful compiler of this legend on this occasion. We know that Buddha wrote nothing, and that the compilation of his doctrines with its division in three distinct portions was the work of the three great councils held after Gaudama’s death or Neibban. How could the dying originator of Buddhism speak of compilations of his doctrines, which were not as yet existing?
[21] Buddha’s zeal is not chilled in the least by the cold of approaching death. His boundless knowledge enabled him at a glance to obtain the most intimate acquaintance with the inward dispositions of his disciples’ minds. If, therefore, he asked them three successive times whether they entertained doubts on any doctrinal points, it was not to satisfy himself that their faith was firm and unshaken. He wished to make them conscious of a fact which was felt and clearly understood by every one in particular, but was not as yet fully appreciated by the universality of his disciples. Every individual in particular was well aware of the unwavering dispositions of his mind respecting Buddha’s teachings, but no one ever had the opportunity of ascertaining that all his brethren had the same firmness of belief. On this solemn occasion they witnessed the most comforting sight of a perfect unity of faith in all the members of the assembly. Buddha revealed then one great truth which no one but himself could be acquainted with. A true Rahan, says he, has entered at last in the first way that leads to perfection; he is, therefore, no more exposed to the danger of wavering in his belief; he knows enough of truth to adhere firmly to it, and is enabled to prosecute safely his researches after what is still unknown to him. Every member of the assembly is a true believer, more or less advanced in the knowledge of the law, it is true, but at least he is conscious of his being in the right way. On this subject no doubt subsists in his mind; he adheres to Buddha and his doctrines as to the centre of truth, and never thinks for a moment to question the veracity of his doctor, or to call in doubt any portion of his instructions.
The last words of Buddha to the assembled Bickus are designed to remind them of the great and vital principle he has endeavoured to inculcate in their minds during the forty-five years of his preaching, viz., that change and mutability are acting upon all that exists, and are inherent in all parts of nature. This world, therefore, offering but an endless vicissitude of forms, that appear and disappear, has no real existence. It is an illusion from beginning to end. As long as man remains tied up, so to speak, to nature, he is carried away by the ever-acting principle of change: nowhere can he find any rest or fixity; he quits one existence to pass into another; he leaves one form to assume a different one. What happens to man befalls all other parts of nature. From this notion, Buddha infers that there is nothing existing but name and form. There is no substance in nature, and therefore no reality. So much stress was laid by Buddha on this capital principle that he bequeathed it, as his last Will, to his disciples: he wished that they should ever bear in their minds and remember that he came among them for the purpose of making them thoroughly acquainted with it. From this cardinal point he inferred the chief conclusions that form his religious system, viz., metempsychosis, the contempt of the world, and Neibban. By the law of endless changes, man is hurried from one state into another, or from one form of being into another form. Where is the wise man that could love a world, or an existence therein, when he finds no substance, no reality in it? Is he not induced, or rather compelled, to search after a state in which he can find fixity, reality, and truth, or at least an exemption from the harassing condition of perpetual migration from one state into another?
The reader who has been almost born with and educated in theistic notions, and who sees in the world nothing but what has been created by a supreme and all-wise Being, is at a loss to understand how a grave philosopher, as undoubtedly Buddha was, gifted with great powers for observing, arguing, discussing, and inferring conclusions, could have fallen into errors so glaring and so contrary to his reason. That we might properly appreciate the efforts of such a genius, and have some correct ideas about his process of arguing, we must divest ourselves of the knowledge supplied to us by revelation, and descend to the level occupied by the founder of Buddhism. Unacquainted with a first cause, or with the existence of a Supreme Being, he studies nature as he finds it. What does he see in it? Perpetual changes, endless vicissitudes. The form that he perceives to-day has undergone some change on the following day. Everything about him grows, reaches a certain point, and then falls into decay. He finds nothing that stands always in the same condition. Hence he proclaims the great law of mutability pervading all nature, and concludes that all that we feel, see, or hear, is illusion and deception, &c.; deprived of all reality, fixity, and substance. His philosophical mind is not satisfied with such a discovery. He pants after truth and reality, which are not to be found here. He feels that he must disentangle himself from the condition of illusion and deception. But where is reality and fixity to be found? Beyond all, that exists in Neibban.
[22] The epoch of Gaudama’s death is a point on which the various nations professing Buddhism do not agree. The Cingalese, Burmese, and Siamese annals place that event somewhat before the middle of the sixth century before the Christian era. The difference of dates is but of a few years, and is so inconsiderable as not to be worth notice. The Thibetans, and, as a consequence, the Mongolians with the Chinese, place that event several hundred years previous to the epoch just mentioned. Notwithstanding this discrepancy, it seems difficult not to adopt the chronology of the southern Buddhists. The savans in Europe, who have bestowed a considerable degree of attention on this interesting subject, give a decided preference to the opinion of the former.
We have not to depend solely on the chronological tables of kings, supplied by the Hindus, for settling this point, but fortunately we are put indirectly by Greek writers in possession of a fixed and well-established epoch, from which we can take with a sufficient degree of certainty our departure for arriving at a satisfactory conclusion. After the death of Alexander the Great, Seleucus, one of his lieutenants, obtained for his share all the provinces situated east of the Euphrates, in which the Indian conquered territories were included. Seleucus, at first in person, and next by an ambassador, came in contact with a powerful Indian king, named Chandragupta, who had the seat of his empire at Palibotra or Pataliputra. This intercourse took place about 310 B.C. The Hindu chronological tables mention the name of this prince as well as that of his grandson, called Athoka, who, according to the testimony of the Burmese authors, ascended the throne of Palibotra two hundred and eighteen years after Gaudama’s death. We may suppose that Athoka reigned in or about 270 or 280 B.C. These two periods added together will give but a sum of five hundred years. There will remain a difference of only forty years, for which it is not easy to account with sufficient precision, unless we suppose that the reign of Athoka began earlier than is generally admitted. Cunningham has given very strong reasons for fixing the period of Gaudama’s death sixty-six years later than the usual one, hitherto generally admitted, 543; that is to say, in the year 477 B.C. This new epoch enables us to adhere at once with perfect safety to the computation above related, and does away with the small discrepancy of a few years that has been mentioned. Tradition and ancient inscriptions leave almost no doubt upon this important point.
Our legend is positive in stating that Gaudama died under the reign of Adzatathat, as will hereafter be seen. But the Hindu chronologists place the reign of that monarch about 250 or 260 years before that of Chandragupta, who, as stated, was a contemporary of Seleucus Nicator. We have, therefore, the combined authority of both foreigners and natives for admitting the chronology of the southern Buddhists respecting the epoch of Gaudama’s death, in preference to that of the northern Buddhists, and for fixing that event during the first part of the sixth century before the Christian era, or rather sixty-six years later, in the beginning of the fourth part of the fifth century.
[23] What is Neibban, the end a true Buddhist ever longs for throughout his great struggles in the practice of virtue and his constant efforts for attaining the knowledge of truth, which he finally reaches when he has become perfect? The writer confesses at once his inability to answer satisfactorily this question, because Buddhists do not agree among themselves in explaining the nature of the state of Neibban. From the earliest period of their religion we see the Brahmins keenly taunting their opponents for the discordance of their opinions on a subject of the utmost importance—a subject which had ever been prominent in Buddha’s teachings, and held up as the only one worthy of the most earnest and ardent desires, the fittest reward of the generous and extraordinary exertions of a perfected being, and the final state in which his soul, wearied after such a prolonged spiritual warfare, longed to rest for ever. A certain school of Buddhists has maintained that Neibban implied the destruction of the state of being, and consequently complete annihilation. This opinion is at once practically rejected by the portion of the southern Buddhists, who are not so well acquainted with the more philosophical part of their creed. They assert that a perfected being, after having reached Neibban, or having arrived at the end of his last existence, retains his individuality, but they utterly fail in their attempts at explaining the situation and condition of a being in Neibban. At a later period the opinion about a supreme Buddha, uncreated, eternal, and infinite, began to gain ground, and modified to a considerable extent on many points the views of the earlier Buddhists. Neibban, according to the comparatively modern school, is but an absorption into the supreme and infinite Buddha. This opinion so much approximates to that of the Brahmins that we may say it is almost the same. The means of obtaining perfection are somewhat different in both systems, but the end to be obtained is precisely the same.
Setting aside idle speculations, let us try to form some idea of Neibban by explaining the meaning of the term, and the definition such as we find it in the Burmese writings.
The word Neibban, in Sanscrit Nirvana, according to its etymology, means what is no more agitated, what is in a state of perfect calm. It is composed of the negative prefix nir and va, which means to be set in motion, as the wind. It implies the idea of rest in opposition to that of motion or existence. To be in the state of Neibban is therefore to be carried beyond the range of existence, as understood by Buddhists; there can be no longer migration from one state of being to another. This point is admitted by all sects of Buddhists. To the idea of Neibban is often attached that of extinction, as a lamp which ceases to burn and whose light becomes extinct when the oil is exhausted. The sum of existence being exhausted, a being ceases to be or to move within the range of existence; he becomes extinct relatively, at least to all kind of existences we have a notion of. In conversing with the Buddhists of Burmah, the writer has observed that the ideas of rest and extinction are invariably coupled with the notion of Neibban. In their rough attempt at explaining the inexplicable nature of that state they had recourse to several comparisons intended to convey to the mind that they believed Neibban to be a state of undisturbed calm and a never-ending cessation of existence, at least such as we have an idea of in this world. When questioned on the situation of Buddha in Neibban, they answer that they believe him to be in a boundless space or vacuum beyond the boundaries ever reached by other beings, alone by himself, enjoying, if the expression be correct, a perfect rest, unconcerned about this world, having no further relation with all existing beings. They assert that he is to remain for ever a stranger to all sensations of either pain or pleasure. But it must be borne in mind that this is the popular opinion rather than the philosophical one. Talking one evening with a well-informed Burman on Neibban, the light of a lamp that was burning on the writer’s table happened to die away for want of oil. The Buddhist, with an exulting tone of voice, exclaimed, “Do not ask any more what Neibban is; what has happened to the lamp just now, tells you what Neibban is. The lamp is extinct because there is no more oil in the glass. A man is in Neibban at the very moment that the principle or cause of existence is at an end or entirely exhausted.” How far such an answer can satisfy a superficial mind like that of a half-civilised Burman, it is difficult to say; but it appears certain that he does not carry his researches nor pursue his inquiries beyond these narrow boundaries. Any further attempt to penetrate deeper into the darkness of Neibban is, in his opinion, presumptuous and rash.
Buddhist metaphysicians in India, in their foolish efforts to survey that terra incognita, have originated several opinions that have had their supporters in the various schools of philosophy. The more ancient philosophers or heads of schools, in attempting to give an analysis of a thing they knew nothing about, approximated to the opinion that Neibban is nothing more or less than a complete or entire annihilation. Following the course of arguments, and admitting their premises, one is reluctantly compelled to come to the awful conclusion that the final end of a perfected Buddha is the destruction of his being, or annihilation. This opinion is still further corroborated by the short exposition of Buddhist metaphysics at the end of this volume. The crudest materialism is openly and distinctly professed. There is nothing in man distinct from the six senses. The faculty of perceiving the object they come in contact with is inherent in their nature. The sixth sense, that is to say, the heart, has the power of perceiving ideas, that is to say, things that have no form or shape. But this power is not distinct from the living sense; it disappears when the life of that sense is extinct, or, in other terms, when the heart is destroyed. To the holders of such an opinion the cessation of existence, the going out of the circle of existences, by the destruction of kan, or the influence of merits and demerits, must be and cannot but be complete annihilation.
From a long period the plain sense of the masses of believers, unprejudiced by sophistical bias, revolted against such a doctrine, and at once rejected the horrible conclusion arrived at by former disputants. No one in practice openly admits that Neibban and annihilation are synonymous terms. If their views can be properly understood, we may infer from what they say that a being in Neibban retains his individuality, though isolated from all that is distinct from self. He sees the abstract truth, or truth as it is in itself, divested of the material forms under which we in our present state of existence but imperfectly see it. Passions and affections are not to be found in such a being; his position, in truth, can scarcely be understood and still less expressed by us, who can never come in communication with an object but through our passions and affections. We know that there exists a spiritual substance, but we can have no distinct idea of it. We vouch for its existence by what we observe of its operations, but it is impossible for us to explain its nature. It is not, therefore, surprising that Buddhists should be at a loss to account for the state in which a perfected being is when in Neibban. The idea of a state of apathy or rest must be understood as expressing simply a situation quite opposite to that of motion, in which all beings are as long as they are within the pale of existences. If it be admitted that the perfected being retains in Neibban his individuality, it must be inferred that he becomes, as it were, merged into the abstract truth in which he lives and rests for ever. But we must distinctly state anew that this view is in opposition to the doctrines of the earliest Buddhists, and the philosophical principles and inferences maintained as genuine. This contradiction illustrates the truth of a remark made above, that error can never entirely obliterate from man’s mind the knowledge of certain fundamental truths, which are almost constitutive of his moral being.
Let us come now to a definition of Neibban translated from Pali by the Burmans. Neibban is the end of all existences, the exemption from the action of kan, i.e., the good or bad influence produced by merits or demerits; of Tsit, i.e., the principle of all volitions, desires, and passions; of the seasons, and of taste or sensations. What means this rather curious, not to say almost unintelligible, definition? To understand it the reader must be aware that kan is the principle which causes all beings to move incessantly from one existence into another, from a state of happiness to one of unhappiness, from a position where merits are acquired into another where further merits are to be obtained and greater proficiency in perfection secured, from a state of punishment or demerits into a worse one, &c. Kan may be called the soul of transmigration, the hidden spring of all the changes experienced by an existing being. In Neibban the law of kan is destroyed, and therefore there are no more changes or transmigrations.
By Tsit is understood the principle of all volitions and desires. Buddhist metaphysicians, always fond of divisions and classifications, reckon one hundred and twenty Tsits. Some are the root of all demerits, and their opposites are the principles of merits. Some have for object matter this material world; others have for object the immaterial world, or, as I believe, ideas and things that have no form. The last of tsits, and of course the most perfect, is entire fixity. This is the last stage ever to be reached by a perfected being in the world of existences. One step further, and he has reached the undisturbed shores of Neibban. In that latter state there is no more operation of the mind or of the heart; or at least there is no intellectual working, such as we conceive it in our actual condition.
The word Udoo, or season, is evidently used for designating a revolution of nature. The meaning is obvious, and affords no difficulty. In Neibban there is neither nature nor revolutions of nature. Neibban, if a state it be, lies in vacuum or space far beyond the extensive horizon that encircles the world or worlds, or systems of nature.
The word Ahara, which literally means taste, is intended to designate all sensations acquired through the senses. By means of the senses, indeed, we obtain perceptions and acquire knowledge; but the perfected being having come to the possession of universal science, no further knowledge is needed; the senses are, therefore, useless. The senses, moreover, are the appendage of our nature, as it is during its existences. Neibban putting an end to further existences, it destroys also the constituent parts or portions of our being.
Admitting that the above definition of Neibban is a correct one, and that it has been understood in a purely Buddhistic sense, we may conclude that in that state there is no more influence, and consequently no transmigration, no volition of the mind, no desires of the heart, no materiality, and no sensations. The difficulty as to whether Neibban is annihilation seems all but entirely and completely solved. There is another way of arriving at a similar conclusion. Let us ascertain what are the constituent parts of an intelligent being, and then inquire whether these parts are entirely destroyed and annihilated in Neibban. In an intelligent being, according to all doctors, we find materiality, sensations, perceptions, consciousness, and intellect. These five aggregates constitute a thinking being. These, assert the same doctors, do not exist in Neibban; they are destroyed. One word more and the question would be settled; but that word has not been, at least to my knowledge, ever distinctly uttered. It is probable that these five aggregates or component parts are, in the opinion of many, the conditions of existence such as we now understand it. But it would be too hasty to conclude that a being under different conditions of existence could not retain his individuality though deprived of these five component parts. Buddhists, as already said, have very imperfect notions of a spiritual substance. It is not surprising, therefore, that they cannot express themselves in a manner more distinct, precise, and intelligible when they treat of subjects so abstruse and difficult. In practice they admit the existence of something distinct from matter, and surviving in man after the destruction of the material portion of his being; but their attempts at giving a satisfactory explanation of the nature of that surviving individuality have always proved abortive. In their process of arguing the learned reject such an admission.
The question, as may be inferred from the foregoing lines, if considered in the light of purely theoretical notions, is philosophically left little open to discussion, though it will probably ever remain without a perfect solution. But the logical inferences to be deduced from the principles of genuine Buddhism inevitably lead to the dark, cold, and horrifying abyss of annihilation. If examined from a practical point of view, that is to say, taking into account the opinions of the masses of Buddhists, the difficulty may be considered as resolved too, but in an opposite sense.
[24] The lengthened description of Buddha’s funeral has suggested the idea of laying before the reader a brief account of the ceremonies observed by Buddhists in Burmah, when funeral rites are performed on the mortal remains of Talapoins, who have been eminent in the profession and have spent their whole lives in monasteries. By comparing the following account with the narrative of the legend, we will see that the rubrics of the funeral service, in our days, are nearly the same as those existing at the origin of Buddhism.
When a Buddhist recluse has given up the ghost, the corpse is carefully and diligently washed by laymen, or the younger inmates of the monastery. A large incision is made in the abdomen; its contents are taken out and buried in the earth without any ceremony being observed on the occasion. The empty cavity is filled up with ashes, bran, or some other desiccative substances for preventing putrefaction. The corpse is then tightly wrapt with bands or swathes of a white colour from head to foot, and then covered with the yellow habit of the profession. Sometimes a coat of black varnish is put over and then leaves of gold, so that the whole body is gilt. It is afterwards bound all over with ropes tightened as much as possible, so as to bring it within the narrowest dimensions. When thus prepared, the corpse is placed in an open coffin. The coffin is made of the trunk of a tree, rudely hollowed, and often so imperfectly scooped out as not to afford sufficient room for the corpse. In the middle of the interior part of the coffin, an opening, about two inches in diameter, has been made, to afford issue to the humours that may ooze out through the swathes. The coffin is unceremoniously laid on the floor of the monastery. A bamboo, 7 or 8 feet long, is procured; one of its ends is inserted in the hole made in the coffin, and the other is sunk into the ground below; it is the channel through which the humours flow into the earth. After a lapse of ten or twelve days, the body is supposed to be quite dry; they set about putting a covering over the coffin and effectually shutting it.
Whilst residing at Tavoy, I wished, on a certain day, to go and witness all the particulars observed on such occasions. A most opportune event favoured the prosecution of my wishes. A Talapoin of my acquaintance had died a fortnight before, after thirty years of profession. His body, laid in the coffin, was to be for ever concealed from human sight. I went into the monastery, where I met a large party of the brethren of the deceased, who had assembled for the ceremony. Most of them were known to me. My reception was at once kind and cordial. Great was my surprise at seeing, instead of the grief and mourning which the circumstance seemed to demand, laughing, talking, and amusement, going on at a rate which is to be called scandalous. No one appeared to take the least notice of the deceased, whose corpse was lying at our feet. A momentary stop was put to the indecorous behaviour of the assistants by the appearance of two stout carpenters bringing a board four or five inches thick, designed for the cover. They vainly tried to fit it in its place; the hollow of the coffin was neither broad nor deep enough for holding the corpse, though reduced to the smallest proportions. The operation was not a very easy one to bring the board in contact with the sides of the coffin, despite the resistance that was to be offered by the corpse. The carpenters were determined not to be disappointed. At the two ends and in the middle of the coffin, ropes were passed several times round it with the utmost tension, in such a manner as to have six or seven coils in the same place. Enormous wooden wedges were inserted right and left in three places between the sides and the coils. On these wedges the workmen hammered with their whole strength during about twenty minutes, to the great amusement of all the bystanders. Each blow of the hammer lessened the distance between the cover and the brim of the coffin. Every perceptible success, gained over the latent resisting power, elicited a burst of applause, and a cheer to the persevering workmen. At last all resistance being overcome, the cover rested fixedly in its place. It is needless to add that the corpse inside was but a hideous mass of mangled flesh and broken bones.
According to the custom observed on such occasions, a rude building was erected for the purpose of placing therein the mortal remains of the deceased, until preparations on a grand scale should have been made for doing honour to the illustrious departed individual. That building, as well as those made for a similar purpose, is but a temporary edifice raised for the occasion, and made of bamboos with an attap roof. In the centre of that large bungalow was erected a kind of estrade, about twelve feet high, well decorated. The upper part is often gilt, but always plated with thin metal leaves and tinsels of various colours. From the sides hang rough drawings, representing animals, monsters of various kinds, religious subjects, and others, but rarely of great indecency. Around this estrade are disposed posts, from the top of which are suspended small flags and streamers of different forms and shapes. On the summit is arranged a place for the coffin, but the four sides at that place are about two or three feet higher than the level whereupon rests the coffin, so that it is concealed entirely from the sight of the visitors.
Things remained in that state for four months, that is to say, until all the arrangements had been made for the grand ceremony, the expense of which is commonly defrayed by voluntary contributions. The arrangements being all complete, a day was appointed at the sound of gongs, for burning the corpse of the pious recluse. At noon of that day, the whole population of the town flocked to a vast and extensive plain beyond the old wall and ditch in the north. Men and women, dressed in their finest attire, swarmed in every direction, selecting the most suitable and convenient situations for enjoying a commanding view of the fête. The funeral pile occupied nearly the centre of the plain; it was about fifteen feet high, of a square shape, encased with planks, which gave to it a neat appearance. It was large at the base, and went on diminishing in size in the upper part, terminating in a square platform where the coffin was to be deposited. A small roof, supported on four bamboo posts, elegantly adorned, overshaded the platform. A huge four-wheeled cart, decorated in the most fantastic manner, was descried at a distance; it was drawn by a great number of men, and brought to the foot of the pile. Upon it was the coffin. Immense cheers, shouts of thousands, had announced the progress of the cart with its precious relics, as it passed through the crowd. The coffin was forthwith hoisted on the platform. Mats were then spread round the pile, whereupon sat numbers of Talapoins, reciting aloud long formulas in Pali. The devotions being performed, they rose up and prepared to depart, attended with a retinue of their disciples, who loaded themselves with the offerings made on the occasion. These offerings consisted of plantains, cocoa-nuts, sugar-canes, rice, pillows, mats, mattresses, &c. Masters and disciples returned to their monasteries with their valuable collections.
The place being cleared, the eyes were all riveted on two large rockets, placed horizontally, each between two ropes, to which they were connected by two side rings. One of the ends of the ropes was strongly fixed at posts behind the rockets, and the other was made as tight as possible at the foot of the pile. At a given signal, the rockets, emitting smoke, rushed forward with a loud, hissing, and irregular noise, tremulously gliding along the ropes, and in an instant penetrating into the interior of the pile, and setting fire to a heap of inflammable materials, amassed beforehand for that purpose. In a short while the whole pile was in a blaze, and soon entirely consumed with the coffin and the corpse. The bones or half-burnt bits of bones that remained, were carefully collected, to be subsequently interred in a becoming place.
[25] In the course of this work, allusion is often made to pounhas who appear to have led a mode of life not altogether the same, but varying considerably according to circumstances. All the pounhas were doubtless religious, who practised certain duties not regarded as obligatory by ordinary people, and lived under certain regulations, which separated them more or less from society, and distinguished them from those who followed the ordinary pursuits of life. The difference among them originated in a sort of religious enthusiasm, which impelled many to perform penitential deeds of the most cruel and sometimes revolting nature.
Some of the pounhas are described as living in villages or towns, and wearing a white dress. In many of their practices they appear to have approximated to the Buddhist monks, except that in many instances they married. Others are mentioned as living in a state of complete nakedness, staying in the midst of filth and dirt. It seems that those whom Alexander the Great met in some parts of the Punjaub, belonged to this class. Many of these disgusting fanatics delivered themselves up to cruel tortures, much in the same way as we see some fakhirs and jogies do even in our days, and under our eyes. A third class of pounhas affected to live in lonely places, on high mountains, in small huts made of branches of trees, and sometimes at the foot of trees, exposed to the inclemency of the weather. They were hermits. They clothed themselves in the skins of wild beasts, allowed the hairs of the head to grow to the greatest length, divided them into several parts which they twisted separately like a rope, so that, when looking at them, one would have thought that instead of hairs, several small ropes were hanging down on the back and the shoulders, giving to them the wildest and most fantastic appearance. Some of those hermits, famous for their science, attracted round their persons many pupils eager to acquire science and discipline under them. Such were the three Kathabas, whom Gaudama converted during the first year of his public life. Others travelled through the country, exhibiting themselves in the capacity of preachers and mendicants.
[26] The virtuous and zealous Kathaba was at once convinced of the absolute necessity of soon holding a meeting of the wisest members of the assembly, for the purpose of ascertaining, and authoritatively determining, the genuineness of Buddha’s doctrines. Human passions were already at work, deforming more or less in various ways the instructions of the great preacher. Many, laying more stress on their talents than on the authority of their departed instructor, began to entertain on certain questions views and opinions evidently at variance with those of Buddha. The enemies of truth were numerous even during his lifetime, when as yet overawed by his presence and matchless wisdom. Kathaba sagaciously foresees that their number and boldness would soon increase to a fearful extent and threaten the very existence of religion. He was roused to exertions by such considerations, and on that very moment he resolved to assemble the elders of the assembly, as soon as convenient after Buddha’s funeral. He was, it appears, acknowledged by common consent the first of the disciples. He was entitled to that distinction by the renown of his abilities before his conversion, and by his great proficiency under Buddha’s teachings subsequently to that event. But a circumstance related by Kathaba clearly indicates the intimate familiarity existing between the master and the disciple, and the unbounded confidence the former placed in the latter. During a walk, the two friends, if such an expression be allowed, had entered into a more than usual intimate communion of thoughts and feelings; the soul of the one had passed into the person of the other, or rather both souls were blended together, and united so as to become one in the bosom of a virtuous, high, refined, sublime, and philosophic friendship. They made an exchange of their cloaks. Kathaba, by putting on Buddha’s cloak, inherited as it were his spirit and his authority. Hence his legitimate right to be appointed president or head of the first council, assembled a little while after Gaudama’s Neibban.
Our author maintains that the first council was held three months after Gaudama’s demise. This important step was taken at Radzagio, the capital of the kingdom of King Adzatathat, who doubtless made use of his royal power to secure tranquillity during the deliberations of this assembly, under the presidency of Kathaba. The number of religious that formed the council is reckoned at five hundred. Its object was, as mentioned by Kathaba himself, to silence the voice of many who wished to innovate in religious matters, and follow their own views, instead of the doctrines of Buddha. They wished to shake off the yoke of authority, and arrange all things in their own way.
The second general assembly of the Buddhist religious was held one hundred years later at Wethalie, in the tenth year of the reign of King Kalathoka, under the presidency of Ratha, who was assisted by seven hundred religious. The object of this assembly was to regulate several matters of discipline. It is probable that a spirit of innovation had reappeared and begun to undermine the strictness of the disciplinary institutions, threatening to weaken the ties that kept together the members of the religious body, and deprive it of that halo of sacredness that had hitherto rendered it an object of so profound and general esteem, respect and veneration. The council, moreover, revised the canon of sacred books, and purified it from all the imperfections and spurious writings that had been embodied in it.
Two hundred and eighteen years after Gaudama’s death, King Damathoka or Athoka ascended the throne of Palibotra, which was the capital of a vast and powerful empire. It was in the seventeenth year of that monarch’s reign that the third and last general assembly was held at Palibotra, under the presidency of Maugalipata. The last and final revision of the sacred scriptures was made with the greatest care and labour. The pious Athoka lent to the decisions of the assembly the influence of the secular power. The Pittagat, or the collection of the religious books, such as it now exists, is supposed to be the work of that council. In the two following chapters, the subject of the councils shall receive the attention it deserves.
There is a most important fact to be noticed here, which must be considered as a most remarkable result of the third assembly. It forms the grandest era in the history of Buddhism, and it is carefully noted down by our Burmese author. I mean the extraordinary zeal and fervour which seemed at that time to have simultaneously and powerfully acted for the bringing about of this mighty but peaceful religious commotion, that was to be felt, not only in the Indian Peninsula, but far beyond the valley of Cashmere, the country of Guzerat in the west and north-west, beyond the snowy ranges of the Himalaya in the north, and the territories and kingdoms in an eastern direction. King Athoka was then at the height of his power. His religious zeal induced him to make use of all the vast resources at his command to favour the development of the comparatively new religion. During the holding of the council, the religious tempered, as it were, their zeal, fervour, devotion, and ardour for their religious creed, in the middle of their conferences. They resolved to propagate with unremitting zeal the tenets of the holy religion, and extend it all over the world. The spirit of Gaudama seemed to have been infused into the soul of every individual religious. His ardent fervour glowed in the soul of all, who from that period had but one desire, that of extending the boundaries of their spiritual empire.
This is certainly one of those extraordinary epochs, when the indolent and apathetic mind of the Hindus, after centuries of a profound slumbering, seems on a sudden to awake, and, with an unexpected vigour and youthful energy, bursting forth as a terrific hurricane, brings about the most astounding revolutions, or commotions, that sweep away with irresistible power the old political and religious forms, to establish new ones on the ruins of the former. The religious zeal that seized on the Buddhists of those days, and impelled them with an unheard-of resolution to disseminate their doctrines, coupled with the astonishing success that attended their preachings, forms one of the most prominent periods in the religious history of the world.
[27] It is not easy to determine with precision in what year occurred the conversion of King Adzatathat to Buddhism. Though his father Pimpathara was a zealous Buddhist from the very beginning of the preaching of Gaudama, his son seems to have kept aloof from the religious movement that took place in the royal city of Radzagio, within the precincts of the royal palace, and continued to adhere to the tenets of the ancient creed. His faith, however, in the hitherto national religion, that is to say, Brahminism, does not appear to have been deeply seated in his soul. He was a shrewd, ambitious, and crafty politician; and from what we know of the beginning of his reign, his political principles were of the most elastic nature. Even after his conversion to Buddhism, he does not appear to have scrupled in the least to resort to the most questionable means for satisfying his ambition. The disputes between the upholders of the contending systems had, as is often the case, shaken his former convictions without imparting new ones. Perhaps he remained in that ambiguous position for a political object. He was glad to place himself at the head of the malcontents, who, on account of the king’s religious innovations, must have been numerous. Be that as it may, we see the Crown Prince of Radzagio receiving with open arms Dewadat, the enemy of Buddha, espousing his party, and looking upon him as his spiritual adviser. This occurred about ten or twelve years before Buddha’s death. With the advice of his new friend, he compassed and effected the destruction of his father three or four years afterwards, and became king in the seventh year before Phra’s Neibban. His conversion probably took place after the death of Dewadat, four or five years subsequent to that event; but it appears to have been sincere and earnest. His love for Buddha’s person was so intense that it atoned fully for the harm which, under his name and protection, Dewadat had endeavoured to inflict on his great relative.
Adzatathat reigned thirty-two years, that is to say, twenty-five years after Gaudama’s death. Under his reign, the first council was held with his consent, and a promise to make the decisions of the assembly be received with respect and strictly attended to. This is the first direct interference of the secular power in matters of a purely ecclesiastical nature. Adzatathat was, however, too prudent in his policy to persecute directly the holders of anti-Buddhistic opinions, who as yet formed the great mass of the people. He zealously supported the new creed he had adopted, but he left full liberty to the followers of the pounhas. By the advice of Kathaba, Adzatathat fixed the beginning of the religious era in the year of Buddha’s demise. It is the one which is followed by all the southern Buddhists. It was not the necessity of correcting certain errors in the calendar which induced the king to adopt that measure, since a correction had been made a hundred and forty-eight years ago by King Eetzana with the assistance of a celebrated hermit. A religious motive alone induced the king to obtemper the solicitations of Kathaba on this subject, and lay, as the point of departure for the reckoning of years, the great event of the death of the founder of religion.
The two names of Pimpathara and of his son Adzatathat are indissolubly connected with the origin of Buddhism and its spread through the Magatha country. To the first, Gaudama owed much for the extraordinary success that attended his preachings and the conversion of remarkable personages. In a country like India, the example of the king must have exerted an extraordinary influence over the courtiers and the wealthy and powerful persons. The second rendered no less important services to the cause of religion, by supporting openly the great Kathaba, the patriarch of Buddhism, and countenancing the decisions of the first council, which secured unity among the members of the assembly at the very time that evil-minded individuals endeavoured to sow the seeds of dissension among the religious, and upset the fabric which Buddha’s genius and zeal had just set up. Under the reign of those two sovereigns religion gained a firm footing in Magatha, and secured for itself an ascendancy which it retained with various successes for many centuries.
[28] We are without any direct information concerning the history of Buddhism during the twenty years that elapsed after Gaudama’s death. But we have allusions made in several places which clearly indicate that the new religion had to struggle with many difficulties before it could gain a firm footing in the places lying north of the Ganges. Though they had been the seat of Buddha’s preachings, though the people had been intimately acquainted with all his doings, it appears that the pounhas contrived to thwart to a great extent the results of his labours. At Kootheinaron, on the very spot rendered illustrious by his death, we have seen an individual rejoicing at Buddha’s demise, because he would be now at liberty to act according to his wishes. He was not a solitary instance of open insubordination, since Kathaba felt that it was necessary, in order to check the growing evil, to assemble a council three months after the death of Gaudama. This step does not appear to have produced all the good effects that were anticipated. The patriarch of the Buddhistic Church is represented to us as trembling for the safety of the relics. What could have caused this great anxiety? Doubtless there was a strong party, either within or without the assembly, which was inimical to the worship paid to the remains of Buddha, and aimed at procuring their total destruction. In the relation of Hwen-Thsang the writer has met with a passage in which mention is made of a period of time when the pure doctrine alone was held, and of a subsequent period when the worship of relics would be prevailing. It is not improbable that in this passage allusion is made to the time when the relics were buried secretly, by the care of Kathaba, in the neighbourhood of Radzagio, and remained concealed during two hundred years. The conduct of Kathaba in securing the safety of the relics reveals an important fact, viz., that there existed from the earliest days of Buddhism a great antipathy, in a fraction of the community, against keeping and venerating Buddha’s remains. It created a schism among the disciples which was never healed up, as the sequel will show.
[29] In the previous note on Neibban, the writer, having forgotten to mention the application which the Burmese make of this term to three distinct objects, supplies here the omission, in the hope that what follows may enable the reader to come nearer to the true Buddhistic meaning of Neibban.
There are, say the Buddhist doctors, three kinds of Neibban respecting the person of Gaudama—the Neibban of Kiletha, or passions; the Neibban of Khandas, or supports of the existence of a living being; and the Neibban of Datou, or of the relics.
The first took place at the foot of the gniaong or bodi-tree, when Gaudama became Buddha. Then, to make use of the language of Buddhists at that moment, the fifteen hundred passions—that is to say, all passions—were quieted, extinguished, and for ever put an end to.
The second kind of Neibban happened near the town of Kootheinaron, when the five Khandas, or the constitutive parts of Gaudama’s being, were quieted, that is to say, ceased to act, and were absolutely destroyed.
The third kind will take place at the end of the period of five thousand years, reckoning from the death of Gaudama. This is the period which he has assigned to the duration of his religion. Then all the relics of Buddha that will be still existing will be miraculously congregated on the spot where stood the tree Bodi. After having been the centre of the display of several extraordinary wonders, they will be consumed by a fire that is to come out of them. They will disappear and vanish for ever, as the flame that has consumed them.
The idea suggested to us by the application of the word Neibban to these three objects is that of a cessation of action, cessation of existence, and cessation of being. Indeed, it is impossible not to see in the meaning of this word the horrifying idea of absolute annihilation. The writer frankly avows that he has been, during many years, unwilling to adopt a conclusion which the obvious meaning of the words point out in a clear manner. He hoped that a deeper insight into the system of Buddhism would lead him to a conclusion more consonant with reason. But he has been completely disappointed in his expectations. By what process of arguing has the founder of Buddhism arrived to such a despairing terminus? How has he been led into that horrible abyss? How has he contrived to silence the voice of conscience, and set aside the clearest innate notions of the human mind? Gaudama took his departure from a true principle, viz.: that there are miseries in this world, attending the condition of all beings moving within the circle of existences. But ignorant of the real cause that has imported miseries into this world, he never could discover the way by which man can convert them to a useful and beneficial result. He declared that all the efforts of a wise man ought to converge towards one point, that of freeing himself from all the states of existence. The four meggas or ways to perfection lead to that great result. By science, connected with the practice of virtue, the wise man frees himself from all passions, which are the real causes which make a being move in the circle of existences. When they are not subdued but exterminated, there is no longer a cause that impels man into another existence. The end of a being has come. When we speak of the end of a being, we understand its complete and entire destruction, or, in other terms, its Neibban. Nothing remains of him. The materialistic principles of genuine Buddhism forbid us to think of a soul or spiritual substance surviving the destruction of the terrestrial portion of man’s being. When Gaudama unfolds his precepts and maxims for guiding man in the acquisition of science and the destruction of his passions, he elicits the admiration, nay, the astonishment of the reader, at the sight of the profound knowledge of human nature which he displays. But this feeling soon gives place to another of pity, sadness, and horror, when one sees that he has been led to the brink of Neibban.
[30] Kathaba speaks of the Pitagat or collection of the scriptures as of a compilation that was to be put in writing for better securing its fixity and permanency, and preventing, as far as human wisdom could reach, the introduction of new and heterodox doctrines. I feel inclined to believe that this expression is put into the mouth of the patriarch, and that in all likelihood he never uttered it. It is probable that, during the first ages of Buddhism, the doctrines were not put in writing, but orally transmitted. For supporting this apparently incredible assertion, we have the testimony of the authors of the Cingalese collection, who distinctly state that, during more than two hundred years after the introduction of the religion in Ceylon, tradition was the only vehicle for transmitting the contents of the Pitagat. Moreover, it is by no means certain that the inhabitants of the Irrawaddy valley possessed a copy of the sacred scriptures previous to the voyage of Buddhagosa from Thaton to Ceylon in the beginning of the fifth century of our era. He went to that island for the express purpose of making a copy of the Pitagat, and bringing it over to his countrymen. Be that as it may, the question on this subject is far from being settled. It well deserves the attention of the learned. A satisfactory solution may throw a much wanted light upon the history of early Buddhism. When we consider that Maheinda, the son of the mighty and pious Athoka, was the head of the mission, which, after the termination of the third council, went to preach religion in Ceylon, it is impossible not to suppose that he would have brought over with him a copy of the collection of the sacred scriptures, had that collection been put in writing at the time that he left Pataliputra on his pious errand.
[31] The collection of the Buddhist scriptures is divided into three parts, called the three Pitagats, or the three baskets, respectively named the Wini Pitagat, the Thoots Pitagat, and the Abidama Pitagat. The manuscript that the writer has had for his use, though correct in the main, is certainly defective in the enumeration of the divisions and subdivisions of the three great collections. He will, however, mention them, such as they are enumerated by the Burmese author; the few errors that may be detected can easily be corrected by those who have in their possession the Ceylonese collection, as there is no doubt that the work now under consideration is an abridgment of a more voluminous compilation to be found in Ceylon.
The divisions of the Wini are: Bikoo Patimouk, Bikoonee Patimouk, Bikoo Witin (probably Bikoo Win), Bikooni Win, twelve Kandaka, and sixteen Pariwara.
The thoots are considered as the instructions orally delivered by Gaudama himself, either to his disciples in private, or to the assembled multitudes, during the forty-five years of his public mission. In this collection the disciples have learned the doctrines of the master, and found all the elements necessary to compose all the treaties, which subsequently have formed the collections called Wini Pitagat and Abidama Pitagat. No one could ever believe that the author of Buddhism could have busied himself in writing treatises on metaphysics, or minutely and elaborately publishing the regulations under which the body of his followers, called the Sanga, were to live and spend their time. In his instructions Gaudama gave utterance to certain principles, which, being appropriated by his disciples and their successors, were enlarged, developed, and reduced to the shape of a treatise. In fact, he sowed the seed which, being let into the soil of the mind of enthusiastic disciples, grew up and multiplied into the voluminous above-named collections. Genuine Buddhism must be found in the thoots of the oldest stamp. Anywhere else we meet with the Buddhism such as it has been developed by doctors and commentators.
There are four collections of the thoots, named Nidia Nike, Midzima Nike, Thangoutta Nike, and Engouttara Nike. They are likewise arranged under fifteen heads, called: Koudakapata, Dammapata, Oodana, Ithi, Wouthaka, Thouttanibat, Wi, Mama-wouttoo, Pita-wouttoo, Terakatta, Terikatta, Dzattakani, Piti-sambika, Apadana, Buddha-wattoo.
The Abidamma has seven divisions, viz., Dammathingakani, Wittin, Datoogatta, Pouggala-pignia, Kathawattoo, Yamaik, Patan.
The attentive reader cannot be but surprised to see how the three great divisions of the Buddhistic scriptures are mentioned by the members of the first council as things already existing and arranged with the same method as they have been disposed during succeeding ages. It is certain that such divisions of Gaudama’s doctrines did not then exist at that time. Are we to conclude therefrom that the fact of the holding of the first council is to be rejected as a mere invention, because the mode of relating some particulars concerning that great assembly is liable to be seriously objected to? It seems that such a conclusion would be a too hasty one.
For establishing the fact of the holding of the first council, we have the evidence supplied to us by all the Buddhistic writings, found in the various countries where that religion has been established. Moreover, several monuments of great antiquity allude to that first assembly. We can scarcely raise a doubt upon the existence of the fact. But how are we to account for the manner in which mention is made of compilations which undoubtedly were not existing at that time? The redaction of all the particulars connected with the first assembly must have been made a considerable time after the holding of the said assembly, at an epoch when the Buddhistic scriptures had already been arranged under three distinct heads. The author, familiar with the division or compilation into three parts, called Pitagats, has arranged his narration in such a way as to give it a sort of agreement with a form which he thought must have been as familiar to others as it was to himself. It is probable that most of the points of discussion, such as we find them in the narrative, were actually brought forward before the assembly, but in a shape more simple and general, and less technical and positive. This is what can be said in the present imperfect knowledge of the history of Buddhism, for extenuating the charge of wilful forgery, which might be brought against the author of the redaction. On the other hand, whilst prudent discretion commands us not to be too hasty in passing a sweeping condemnation upon the compilation, we must be very cautious in not admitting at once, and not giving an absolute credit to all that is found in writings which do convey to us many things of great antiquity, but evidently mixed with multifarious details of a comparatively modern origin. This last remark ought to be ever present to the mind of him who peruses some portions of the Pitagats. The huge mass of rubbish which constitutes the largest portion of the scriptures is the production of the various Buddhistic schools which flourished eight and ten centuries after the first council.
[32] The few and meagre particulars which we possess respecting the causes that have occasioned the holding of the second council, disclose a curious state of things as existing in the Buddhist community. The disciplinary regulations appear to have occupied a conspicuous part in the discussions that took place during the period of the first century. Some of those regulations were of trifling importance. We wonder how the religious could lay so much stress upon such a trifle as this, “Is is lawful to put salt or other condiments into articles of food, that would have been offered without such requisites?” The activity displayed by both parties in the controversy indicates the gradual working of opinions which in those parts had been always inimical to genuine Buddhism. In Wethalie and Thawattie, the holders of false tenets had been at all times bold and numerous. In the days of Buddha, heretics were swarming in those places. In the beginning of the fifth century of our era, Fa-hian, when he visited those places, says that he found that religion had almost disappeared, and that heretics were prevailing in every direction. We must conclude from these two circumstances that Buddhism never flourished in those places, or, at least, that it was never the prevailing creed of the mass of the people.
The disputes that took place in those days were not looked upon as of serious moment, since we see several religious of eminence supporting the anti-orthodox party. King Kalathoka himself was in favor of those whose opinions were condemned by the council. We may also infer from this sate of things, that the disciplinary regulations were far from being settled at that time. It required the experience of succeeding generations to determine exactly what was best fitted for promoting the well-being of the religious body, and causing its members to live agreeably to the spirit which Gaudama desired to infuse into the souls of his followers. It cannot therefore be a matter of surprise to see the assembly striving, in the midst of discussions, to elaborate the framing of the rules destined to guide the religious in the details of their daily duties. Under such circumstances there could not but be a great variety of opinions, supported with that heat and ardour so peculiar to individuals who live estranged from the world. Moreover, the conflicting opinions were maintained by the various schools, which, from the early period of the existence of Buddhism, sprung up and divided the members of the religious body. Circumstantial details respecting the various schools we allude to, would prove of the greatest advantage for elucidating the state of the great religious system under consideration, for enabling us to enter into the history of its internal development, and witnessing the various incidents that have marked its progress through ages, down to the period when it gradually lost its footing in the Indian Peninsula.
The eighteen different schools which have obtained celebrity throughout the Buddhist world are mentioned in the Cingalese collection, and in that of all the northern Buddhists, including the Chinese. In the manuscript which the writer possesses nothing is mentioned respecting these schools but their respective names. Had the chief opinions held out by each school been given out, they would have been expounded here at great length and with a scrupulous correctness. Such not being the case, the author has thought that it was useless to the reader to lay before him a dry and uninteresting array of names.
[33] It has been thought of some importance to mention in a particular note all the principal epochs named in the course of this work, and to show how they stand relatively to the Christian era. As a matter of course, the starting-point for the reckoning and computing of years is the epoch of Gaudama’s death, which is fixed by the southern Buddhists in the year 543 B.C. The exactness of this epoch has been contested by A. Cunningham, one of the greatest authorities in such matters. In his opinion, the epoch of Gaudama’s Neibban ought to be placed seventy years later. But as his views on this subject have not as yet been universally received by the learned in Europe, we will remain satisfied with the hitherto generally accepted data.
The first era is that of King Eetzana, the grandfather of Gaudama by his mother’s side. It was made by the help and under the guidance of a famous hermit, named Deweela, who is mentioned as highly versed in the science of astronomy, such as it existed in those days. The king’s object was to correct the glaring errors that had crept into the calendar. It is said that he did away with the era 8640 on a Saturday, on the day of the new moon of Tabaong (March), and fixed the beginning of the new era on the following day, that is to say, on a Sunday, the first day after the new moon of the same month. This happened in the year 691 B.C. This new reckoning of years lasted only a hundred and forty-eight years, the epoch of Gaudama’s Neibban, 543 B.C.
The second era, the most celebrated of all, is the religious one. King Adzatathat and the venerable Kathaba, actuated by the desire of rendering ever memorable the death of the founder of their religion, and paying to him a homage that would be re-echoed by succeeding generations, came to the resolution of doing away with the Eetzana computation, and fixed a new reckoning of years, from the annual revolution which witnessed that event, which, in the opinion of Buddhists, is the greatest of all. In the year 148, the first day of the month of Tagoo (April), which fell on a Sunday, was fixed as the beginning of the new computation, emphatically called the era of religion, 543 B.C. It is adopted by all the southern Buddhists.
In addition to this general era, Buddhist nation has had, for one reason or for another, particular periods, from which they have reckoned time and computed years. It is probable that the reform in the calendar, necessitated by the errors introduced into it owing to incorrect computations, have given rise to several eras, which are generally known by the name of the kings under whose reign they have taken place, and by whose authority they have been introduced and brought into common use.
The Burmans have the era called Dandoratha. It was introduced by Thamugdara, or, as spelt by others, Thamugdaritz, king of Prome, in the year of religion 625 = to 81 A.D. That monarch is represented as well informed and skilled in the knowledge of the astronomical calculations. The months were no longer in unison with the seasons. What did the royal reformer of the calendar do to remedy the evil? No other particular is mentioned in the manuscript which the writer has in his possession, except that the king did away with 622, and began the reformed computation with two, so that its beginning must be made to agree with the year 79 A.D.
That era lasted only 562 years. The reformer on this occasion was Pouppa-dzau, king of Pagan, who is represented to us as well versed in the science of astronomical computations. This monarch imitated in this reform the conduct of the king of Prome. He did away with 560 years, and had his new era to begin with two. This happened in the year of religion 1182 = to 639 A.D. This is the common era used by the Burmese up to this day, and is known as the Pagan or Pouppa-dzau era.
We find also mentioned occasionally the Thaton era. It is made to begin with the year of the arrival of the two Buddhist missionaries, Thauna and Outtara, in the great place of Thaton, in the year of religion 237 = to 306 B.C. Thirimathoka was, at that time, king of that country. That period of years has lasted 1362 years. It ended in the year of religion 1599 = 1156 A.D., when the king of Pagan, Naurata-dzau, invaded the country, possessed himself of Thaton, and carried away captive the last king, Mein-hnit.
It is perhaps as well to mention here an epoch which has been, at all times, famous in the history of Buddhism in Burmah. I allude to the voyage which a religious of Thaton, named Buddhagosa, made to Ceylon in the year of religion 943 = to 400 A.D. The object of this voyage was to procure a copy of the scriptures. He succeeded in his undertaking. He made use of the Burmese or rather Talaing characters, in transcribing the manuscripts, which were written with the characters of Magatha. The Burmans lay much stress upon that voyage, and always carefully note down the year in which it took place. In fact, it is to Buddhagosa that the people living on the shores of the Gulf of Martaban owe the possession of the Buddhist scriptures. From Thaton, the collection made by Buddhagosa was transferred to Pagan, 656 years after it had been imported from Ceylon.
Without the knowledge of those various epochs, it is difficult to understand with anything approaching to clearness and exactness the dates that we find alluded to and mentioned in the Burmese literary compositions. The foregoing particulars appear to be sufficient for all practical purposes.
[34] From this passage we see that, in those days of remote antiquity, there existed in the Indian Peninsula individuals who, led away by a fanaticism still existing in our own days, devoted themselves to rigorous and extravagant penances, often in a state of complete nakedness. In the days of Alexander the Great, the same fanatics were met with in the Punjaub. Such ridiculous and unnatural exhibitions, far from being approved of and countenanced by the founder of Buddhism, were positively prohibited. Though he aimed at subduing passions, and elevating the spiritual principle above the material one, he recommended in the spiritual warfare a line of conduct more consonant with reason, and supplied his disciples with weapons of a far better quality and a superior description.
[35] It is much to be regretted that no details concerning that third assembly of the Buddhists in Pataliputra could be found by the writer in the manuscript he has in his possession. The cause that occasioned the holding of the council was the desire to establish a perfect unity in the practices of discipline among the religious, and to come to an agreement on the subject of the genuineness of the scriptures.
During the period of 236 years that elapsed from the death of Gaudama, Buddhism seems to have remained confined within the limits of Magatha, that is to say, north and south Behar. Its hold over the mind of the people within those limits appears to have been very imperfect and uncertain, particularly in the parts north of the Ganges. It is from the reign of King Athoka that the propagation of Buddhism in every direction dates. The uninterrupted successes which attended his arms enabled him to afford a powerful support to the propagators of the new religion in the remotest parts which they visited. But we have no reason to suspect that he had recourse to violence in order to gain proselytes. No doubt he protected them, and supplied all their wants on a liberal scale. He does not appear to have extended farther the effects of the countenance he lent to the heralds of the new religion. He built monasteries and dzedis throughout the length and breadth of his immense dominions; he erected stone pillars, which he covered with inscriptions commemorative of his piety and zeal, a few of which exist up to this day. Athoka may be looked upon as a monarch who did more for the propagation of Buddhism in foreign parts than any of those who preceded him or came after him.
The establishment of Buddhism in Ceylon is mentioned at great length in the writer’s manuscript, but he has thought it unnecessary to relate all that he has found on this subject, as being foreign to the purpose he has had in view in the publication of this book. In a foregoing note it has been stated how extraordinary is the fact that during more than two hundred years Buddhism was propagated in Ceylon solely by means of oral tradition without writing. The Cingalese authors are so unanimous on this point that it cannot be doubted. But in the Burmese manuscript we have found stated, in unmistakable expressions, that the religious who assembled in the village of Malliya wrote the Pitagat in Sanscrit, and with the Sanscrit characters. The word made use of is Sanskarain, which surely is designed to mean Sanscrit. How can this be reconciled with the undoubted fact that all the southern Buddhists have the scriptures in Pali and not in Sanscrit, whilst the northern nations that have embraced Buddhism possess the scriptures in Sanscrit? Until we can obtain further information on the subject, I have no hesitation in stating that the Burmans, ignorant of the existence of the two distinct languages—the Pali and the Sanscrit—are very apt to mistake the one for the other, and that in their opinion what they call the language of Magatha, Pali, and Sanscrit are but one and the same language, to which different names have been given by ancient authors. As the translator of a manuscript, the writer was bound to render into English what he has found written in Burmese. This is the reason why he has, against his intimate conviction, made use of the word Sanscrit, applied to the first compilation of scriptures made in Ceylon under the reign of King Watakamani.
[36] The island of Ceylon was called, says the Burmese author, in former times, by different names—Audzadipa, Waradipa, Mautadipa, Singgadipa, Sihala, and Tappapani. There is no doubt but the last name was corrupted by the Greeks into Tapobrane.
[37] The Burmans have, from the time of their conversion to Buddhism, or at least from the period they became familiar with the scriptures, had the mania of giving Pali names to countries, large towns, and new places that were settled by the authority of the rulers, in addition to the ordinary and common names. What has been the result of such a measure? The people have continued to designate such places by the vulgar names, whilst in most of the public documents and in the court they have always used the scientific and uncommon names. Hence has arisen a confusion in the minds of the people to such an extent that in many instances they believe that two names given to the same place indicate two distinct towns and localities.
The position of Thaton is well known, and is between the mouths of the Salween and the Tsitang rivers. Its actual distance from the sea is about eight or nine miles. In the days of Buddhagosa, that is to say, in the beginning of the fifth century of our era, it was a sea-port. The Burmese writers invariably call Thaton, not by the name of city, but by that of country. They add the epithet of Souwana-boumi, the land of gold. According to the same writers, Thaton was situated in the state or kingdom of Ramagnia. From what is found mentioned about Ramagnia, it appears that it comprised three distinct parts or districts; that of Kouthein, which is the present Pouthein or Bassein, including the territory situated between the Irrawaddy and the mountains of Arracan; that of Henthawati, between the Irrawaddy and the Tsitang river; and that of Mouttama, or Martaban, between the Tsitang and the Salween. It seems that the kingdom of Ramagnia extended in the north as far as Akaouk-taong, south of Prome. The limits that are assigned must have undergone considerable changes, on account of the continual wars that have raged in those parts, but they are those assigned by several native authors.
The people that dwelt in Ramagnia are called Moun. They are the Talaings or Peguans of modern times. They had attained a considerable degree of civilisation at a time when the Burmans were in a state of barbarism. The proximity of the sea afforded them opportunities of coming in contact with other nations—the Hindus in particular, who appear to have settled at Thaton in great numbers. The Rahan Buddhagosa is said to have belonged to the pounha race, though he was a fervent Buddhist.
The town which was the capital of the territory called Henzawati cannot, we believe, be the town which is called at present Pegu, but another one, much more ancient, the ruins of which are still visible close to the eastern side of Pegu.
The language of the Talaings is totally different from that of the Burmans, but the characters for writing are somewhat the same. It is from them that the latter have received their religion, the scriptures, and the characters used in writing.
Since the final conquest of Pegu by Alaong-phra in the middle of the last century, and the extermination of a great number of its inhabitants, the remaining Peguans have gradually amalgamated with the Burmans. With their nationality they have lost also their language to such an extent that it is now spoken only in a few isolated places. It is not unusual to meet with descendants of Peguans whose aged parents still speak their native language, whilst they know and speak only Burmese.
[38] = to 400 A.D.
[39] = to 1058 A.D.
[40] = to 1161 A.D.
[41] It is obvious from the testimony of Burmese writers that they acknowledge the fact that the Scriptures brought from Ceylon by Buddhagosa, and the institutions flourishing in Thaton, found their way to Pagan in the reign of King Naurata-dzau. They likewise affirm that under the reign of Narapati-sisoo the religious who came from Ceylon, imbued with the spirit of the Mahawihara school, set up practices which were little, if at all, observed in Pagan at that time.
There was no doubt a great revival of Buddhism in Pagan, from the days of King Naurata-dzau to those of Narapati-sisoo. Most of the great monuments which excite the admiration of the travellers who visit Pagan were raised during that period.
[42] It is probable that our Burmese author makes here a mistake similar to the one alluded to in a foregoing note.
[43] When the writer set at work to publish the second edition of this book he had at his disposal a Burmese palm-leaf manuscript, in which he found a vast amount of information respecting the history of Buddha, which was wanting in the work called Malla-linkara-wouttoo, the translation of which has afforded matter for the first edition of the legend of Gaudama. The work is named Tathagatha-oudana, the meaning of which is, Praises of him who has come like all his predecessors. This is one of Buddha’s titles of honour. He is sometimes called Bagawat, the blessed or benevolent; Sugatha, he who has happily come; Dzina, the conqueror. From what is stated at the end of the work, it appears that it was composed in the town of Dibayen, sometimes called Tabayin, lying west of the river Mu, at a distance of about fifteen miles. The place is at present in a ruinous condition. Though the province continues to bear the name of Tabayin, the residence of the governor is in the town of Ye-ou, on the right bank of the Mu.
The compiler of the work was a Phongyie, who, according to his own testimony, finished his task on the thirty-eighth year after he had become a Patzin, ninety-three years ago. He was, therefore, at least fifty-eight years old, as he could not become a Patzin before he had reached his twentieth year. The compilation contains 636 pages of ten lines each, is written on palm leaves, and forms two huge volumes. We may well say that the narration begins at the beginning. The author informs us of the origin, not of Gaudama, since he has obtained the Buddhaship, but of the being who was indeed hereafter to become a Buddha, but who had to move into the circle of countless existences, slowly gravitating towards that perfected state in which he was to be fitted for discharging the duties of a deliverer. He presents us with a sketch of the origin of the country of Kapilawot, and of the kings from whom Gaudama’s father descended. The above particulars were not to be found in the Malla-linkara. In all that relates to the birth, boyhood, &c., of Gaudama, both compilations agree in the main. The variations are few and unimportant. The author of the Tathagatha-oudana is immensely diffuse when he relates all that took place in Buddha’s mind during the forty-nine days that he spent around the tree Bodi. Besides the important theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects, he supplies us with a complete exposition of the whole Buddhistic system of metaphysics, ontology, geography, and cosmography, the various seats in which all rational beings are placed, from the lowest hell to the last or the highest of the immaterial seats. All these details are purposely omitted by the compiler of the Malla-linkara. Finally, the author supplies us with a few particulars respecting Buddha, during the twenty first seasons or years of his public life. The story of Dewadat is presented at great length. But what is more important, we possess in the compilation of the Tathagatha-oudana a concise account of the three great assemblies or councils held in Radzagio, Wethalie, and Pataliputra, with the names of the sovereigns who have ruled over Magatha from Adzatathat, under whose reign Gaudama died, to Athoka, who promoted religion more than any of his predecessors, and who by his royal influence supported the decisions of the last council. He likewise mentions the names of the religious, who, after the third council, were commissioned to go and preach religion in various countries out of Magatha. From this last expression we learn that Buddhism, until 236 after Gaudama’s death, had not extended its influence beyond the boundaries of Magatha. As a matter of course, our author dwells more particularly on the two missions that were sent, the one to Ceylon and the other to Thaton. He enables us to follow the development of Buddhism in Pegu and Burmah, by informing us that King Naurata-dzau of Pagan, after the conquest of Thaton, took the king prisoner, seized upon the collection of the scriptures, and therewith carried to his capital all the best informed of the Phongyies, in 1056 A.D. Our author brings his narration to the time of the foundation of Ava, in 1365 A.D.
In imitation of all other compilers, our author ends his narrative with the following pious wishes. As a fit reward of the good work that I have happily brought to a close, I desire to become in some future existence a true Buddha, possessing all the science which will enable me to know all beings, their state and condition, and all the relations subsisting between them, and likewise to be gifted with a true compassion for and benevolence towards all beings, which will prompt me to labour for their deliverance. I desire that during the existences which are to precede the last one, I may continually practise the ten great and principal virtues. May my father, mother, relatives, teachers, and friends, have their share in this my good work!
Though far more comprehensive than that of the author of Malla-linkara, the compilation of the Tathagatha-oudana is very inferior to it as regards the drawing up of the subject and the disposition of its parts. Both are made by Burmans. We do not mean to say that the Burmans have made works of an original character. The authors have extracted from various parts of the scriptures all the materials they wanted for composing a work which might be considered as the history of the founder of their religion.
[44] The Burmese translator of the Malla-linkara finishes his work by candidly stating the motives that have induced him to undertake it. He desires to create, promote, and propagate, in the heart of future generations, religious sentiments, and feelings of the tenderest affection for the person of Buddha and his doctrine, that is to say, the law and the assembly of the perfect. Such are the lofty objects he had in view when he began to write. He was encouraged in his difficult task by purely religious considerations, viz., the promotion and triumph of Buddhism. For securing the attainment of what he considered to be a most desirable end, he summoned all his abilities with a most praiseworthy energy and perseverance.
With a somewhat different object in view, the Burmese work has been translated into a European language. The translation has been accompanied with notes intended to explain the text, which would otherwise prove, in many parts, almost unintelligible to the generality of readers. The principles of Buddhism, such as they are held and professed by Buddhists in general, but in particular by those inhabiting Burmah, have received a certain degree of attention, and have been examined as carefully as possible from a Buddhistic point of view. That great religious system has been considered, as it is in itself, without any regard to its intrinsic merits or demerits. The notes are not designed to be an apology or a confutation of Buddhism, but an exposition of its doctrines, such as they are found in the best writings and believed by its votaries. When certain tenets or practices were to be accounted for, recourse has always been had to the general principles of Buddhism and to the notions certainly prevailing at various periods in Buddhist countries. It is needless to add that the notes, having been hurriedly written in the midst of almost uninterrupted and time-absorbing occupations, are destitute of pretension either to deep research or scientific merit. In former years, the writer bestowed a certain amount of time and efforts on the study of Buddhism in Burmah, where it has been for centuries the only religious creed. A portion of the knowledge thus acquired has been embodied in the foregoing notes, with the intention of compressing within a narrow compass the elementary principles and general notions of Buddhism, affording thereby to the readers, who cannot have access to the voluminous writings of the French and German Orientalist savans, on the great religious system of Eastern Asia, comparatively easy means to obtain some information on a religion, which, false as it is, deserves to be known and understood, since in point of antiquity it is second to none except to Brahminism, and as regards diffusion extends its sway over probably one-fifth of the human race.
[45] The distinction alluded to by our author is a most important one. What does he mean when he states that all things in this world obey the principle of mutability, and are liable to perpetual changes and modifications, and that they have a cause? One would be tempted to believe that the Buddhists admit of a first cause. But such is not the case. To understand such a language coming from a Buddhist’s mouth, we must bear in mind the theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects. Each of the Nidanas is an effect relatively to the preceding one, and a cause to the following one. All existing beings are, relatively to each other, effects and causes. All undergo the irresistible influence of mutability and change. The beings that reside in the seats of Brahma are not beyond the reach of that influence, not even those who dwell in the four immaterial seats.
Are there things which are fixedly and everlastingly the same, upon which no change, no vicissitude can ever act? There is the law, there is the state of Neibban. The law is the expression of truth, which is reality, in contradistinction to the unreality of the visible world. The essence of the law is contained in the four sublime truths, which are emphatically called the Law of the Wheel. They are the declaration of the true state and condition of all beings; they proclaim the necessity of putting an end to such a miserable state of things, and point out the sure means of freeing oneself from the miseries attending existence. These truths are eternal, insomuch that what they proclaim has ever been true in all the worlds that have preceded the present one, since they always resemble each other, and will ever be equally true during the endless series of worlds that will follow. In this sense the law, in the opinion of Buddhists, being the declaration of truth, or of what is, must be eternal, as truth itself is everlasting. The state of Neibban, in contradistinction to that of existence such as we comprehend it, is likewise a thing which never changes, since it is the end of changes. It remains always the same; it is the opposite of existence. What is then called here everlasting, or eternal, is, in the opinion of Buddhists, but the things that are conceived as subsisting abstractively per se, and never affected by the great principle of mutability that pervades all beings. To sum up the whole in a few words, the science which points out the means of coming out of the whirlpool of existences, and the being out of that circle, such are the two things which are always the same, never undergo any change, and are eternal.
[46] In the definition of man which is given by the Buddhist author, we find the words intelligence, capacity for reflecting, comparing and drawing inferences, &c. He who is not familiar with the revolting materialist doctrines of Buddhism would be tempted to believe that they admit of a soul or spiritual principle subsisting in man. But such is not the case. The faculty for performing all the functions which we rightly attribute to the soul resides in the sixth sense, called mano, or the heart, or the knowing principle. But this sense, in their opinion, is as material as the eye, the ear, and the other senses. It is delightful to the Christian reader to find in the midst of a heap of rubbish and fables a few fragments of the primitive revelation. We see man coming from a noble origin, appearing in this world with the most glorious privileges, which he forfeits by eating the rice called Tsale, which produced on his being the same destructive effects which the eating of the forbidden fruit caused on our first parents in the garden of Eden.
[47] Buddhists lay the greatest stress on the belief in the three precious things. It is the foundation on which rests the whole spiritual edifice. But it is somewhat extraordinary to see that the superstition of believing in lucky and unlucky days, in good and bad luck, is openly condemned, and entails upon him who is addicted to it the severest penalty. Though such childish belief is so exceedingly common in Burmah that it influences man in his daily and hourly affairs, yet we must admit that it is opposed to the tenets of strict Buddhism. There can never be any good or bad luck in the opinion of him who has faith in the influence of merits and demerits. There is no other agent in this world but that one; it is it alone that brings in and regulates all the accidents which attend the life of man. Such is indeed the theory of the true Buddhist. But how widely differs the practice from the theory? He who has lived for some time in a Buddhist country, and made himself acquainted with the intimate habits of the people, will soon discover that superstitious ideas, and, as a necessary consequence, superstitious practices, are the spring and prime mover of all actions from morning to night. In this respect, Buddhist monks differ not from the laity; nay, they are often seen as the leaders of the people in the performance of rites at variance with the tenets of their creed.
[48] This is a consequence of the axiom established by our author, viz., that the principle of mutability pervades all the beings which reside in the thirty-one seats allotted to them. It cannot be supposed for a moment, according to Buddhists, that a being, whatever may be the amount of his merits and demerits, can ever be placed without the pale of the influence of his good or bad deeds. It accompanies him in all positions, and causes the vicissitudes that attend his existence. It works upon him in hell, as well as on earth, and in the seats of Nats and Brahmas. Fixity is to be found nowhere except in going out of the circle of existences, that is to say, in Neibban. When we speak of existence in a Buddhistic sense, we mean a state of being in any conceivable form or situation or place. Fixity in the enjoyment of reward or in the undergoing of punishment is a contradiction with the first principle of Buddhism. The awarder of reward or punishment is the above-named influence, which proceeds from the actions performed, and in its turn allots good or evil in exact proportion with the cause that has created it.
Gaudama, having wilfully and unwilfully ignored a first cause from which all the things that exist draw their being and life, has been forced to allow to an imaginary agent the very same attributes which belong exclusively to the supreme being. On the rock of atheism he has made a sad shipwreck. Apart from this capital error it is surprising to see him maintaining with an admirable acuteness the existence of many fundamental truths; such, for instance, as the reward of good actions and the punishment of bad ones. With him the doing of evil is ever attended with consequences fatal to the perpetrator, whilst the performance of good is always accompanied with beneficial results. One would be inclined to believe that Gaudama has appropriated to himself with a great tact all the truths emanating from the belief in a supreme being; and whilst he has, with a barefaced and impious audacity, denied to the eternal author of all things the very existence, he has been placed under the necessity of accounting, in a most unlogical manner, for the existence of this world.
[49] It will perhaps be of some interest to a few of our readers to mention the names of the thirty-one seats in which Buddhists have located all beings. Let us begin with the lowest step of that immense ladder. The four first steps are the four states of punishment. In them are to be found living the unfortunate beings who, pursued by the inflexible law of their demerits, are doomed to atone in different ways for the evil that they have done. The lowest seat is Nga-yai or hell. It is placed in the centre of our planet, and subdivided into eight principal quarters, the last of which is called Awidzi. The second step of the ladder is occupied by the seat of Animals; the third by certain monsters called Preittas; and the fourth by another kind of inferior beings named Athourikes. These four seats are tenanted by beings who undergo punishment for the evil deeds they have performed.
The fifth seat is that of Manusa, or men. The beings that occupy it are in a state in which they can merit or demerit. It may be called a position of probation.
Above the seat of man are the six seats of Nats called Tsadoomaritz, Tawadeintha, Yama, Toocita, Nimanarati, Pare-neimittawasawati. The denizens of those seats enjoy the reward awarded to them for the performance of good and meritorious exterior works.
The three places above those of Nats, called Brahma-parisitsa, Brahmah-parau-hita, Maha-Brahma, are occupied by the contemplatives who have reached the first step of Dzan, or meditation. The three following, Pareitta-ba, Appa-ma-naba, Appa-sara, are tenanted by the beings who have attained the second degree of contemplation. The three next to those just enumerated are: Paweitta-sou-ba, Appa-mana-sou-ba, Souba-kannaka. They are the abodes of the contemplatives who have ascended to the third step of meditation. The two following steps of the ladder, Wa-happala, A-sou-gna-sat, are tenanted by the contemplatives of the fourth degree; and the five that follow, viz., Awiha, Atabpa, Sou-dasa, Sou-dasi, Agga-nita, are occupied by the contemplatives of the fifth degree; that is to say, by the beings who have entered the Thoda, or current of perfection, and who have qualified themselves for obtaining the state of deliverance, or Neibban.
Above those seats we find the four and last abodes of Arupa, without form. They are called: Akasanitza-yatana, Wigniana-witza-yatana, Akeitsignia-yatana, Newa-thagnia-nathagnia-yatana.
[50] The number of tseits or ideas is one hundred and twenty, divided as follows:—
1. The tseits or ideas of the beings as yet under the influence of passion; they are named Kama-watsara-tseits.
2. The tseits or ideas peculiar to beings who have not as yet been able to raise themselves entirely above materiality; they are called Rupa-watzara-tseits.
3. There are four tseits peculiar to those beings, who, setting aside the coarser portions of this world, launch forth into abstract truth, and delight in the contemplation of the highest, purest, and most boundless things the mind may imagine. They are known as the ideas working on what may be called immaterial, impalpable objects.
The ideas of the first series belong to all the beings located in the four states of punishment, in the seat of man, and in the six seats of Nats, that is to say, in the eleven seats where is the reign of passions.
Those of the second series belong to the beings located in the sixteen seats of the Brahmas, including those who have entered into the current of perfection, by following the four Meggas, and enjoying the merits and rewards connected with the condition of the perfect.
The ideas of the third series are the happy lot of those superior beings who soar high in the regions of pure spiritualism, leaving below them all the things that have a reference to this world, such as we see it.
The Tsedathits, or results essentially connected with ideas, are fifty-two in number. The seven enumerated at the end of this article are: contact, sensation, perception, inclination, fixity, command over self, and remembrance: they are inherent in all ideas. Six Tsedathits are connected with the act of perception, viz., thought, reflection, decision, energy, pleasure, and liberty. Fourteen others are connected with the ideas of demerits, viz., impudence, audacity in evil, unsteadiness, concupiscence, pride, boasting, grievous offence, envy, anxiety, want of respect, lowness of feelings, doubt or indecision, covetousness.
The Tsedathits connected with merits are: affection for all that refers to religion, remembrance of all that is good, shame of all that is bad, fear of evil, exemption from concupiscence and from anger, serenity of soul, freedom from evil inclinations and evil thoughts, swiftness of the body and of the mind, good habits of the body and of the soul, uprightness in the feelings and the thoughts, good words, good actions, good behaviour, compassion, joy at the prosperity of others, wisdom, or the acquirement of the knowledge of truth by reflection.
[51] Having in two previous notes explained what regards the ideas, and the results from or the things connected with ideas, we must come to the third great principle, viz., Rupa, or form, or matter, and state further the curious divisions of our Burmese metaphysicians. 1. The form of all that is visible is found in the four elements: earth, water, fire, and air. 2. The form for coming in contact are the five senses, the eyes, the ear, the nose, the tongue, and the body, or rather the skin of the body. 3. The form of the objects of the senses is likewise divided into five parts, essentially connected with the five above-enumerated senses. 4. The forms peculiar to the living beings are the male and female sexes. 5. The forms of life taken abstractedly are the life of the body and the life of language or uttered words. 6. The forms in which appearance exhibits itself are swiftness, softness, and acting. 7. The forms of the signs of being are: the appearance of being, on coming into being, the remaining into being, the fulness of the state of being, and the destruction of being.
The last great principle is Neibban, that is to say, the exemption from the action of the influence originating from merits and demerits, from the volitions of the mind, from the seasons or time, and from nourishment, which are the causes of mutability; it is the end of existence.
As regards the state of man and that of other rational beings, there are several notions which are arranged in a curious manner under several heads, which it is thought necessary to notice as briefly as possible. 1. The five Khandas, or supports of man’s being: materiality, sensation, perception, mutability, and intellect or thought. 2. The inward five Ayatana, or seats of the senses of seeing, of hearing, of smelling, of tasting, and of feeling. 3. The outward five Ayatana, or seats of what is perceived by the senses, viz., appearance or form, sound, odour, taste, tangibility, and idea. 4. The ten Dat, or constitutive parts of the five senses, and of the five results of the perception of the five senses, as above enumerated. 5. The four Thitsa, or truths: the truth of the miseries attending existence; the truth of concupiscence or passions, the cause of all miseries; the truth of the Neibban of passions, or the destruction of passions, the summit of which is Neibban, the truth of the Megga or ways to Neibban. 6. The twenty-two Indray, or dispositions or capacities for acting, viz., the capacity of seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling, of uniting one sex with the other, of thinking, of enjoying peace, of bearing pain, of yielding to anger, of enjoying pleasure, of remaining indifferent, of using exertions, of being attentive, of adhering to true doctrine, of putting on sentiments of benevolence, of searching after wisdom, of using meekness, of entering the four ways of perfection, and of enjoying the happiness resulting from following those ways. 7. The nine Phola, or rewards resulting from walking in the path of perfection are: intensity of benevolence, of diligence, of attention, of fixity of wisdom, of shame of all that is bad, of fear for all that is bad, of diligence in avoiding evil, and the fear of hardness in sin. 8. The Megga, or ways, are: good doctrine, good thinking, good language, and good actions. What follows is but a completive of the above, viz., good conduct, good diligence, good attention, and good fixity. 9. The Dzan, or meditation, have five parts, viz., thought of the object, reflection on the object, satisfaction resulting therefrom, affectionate inclination for the object, fixity in the object.
The writer craves the reader’s indulgence in setting before him such a dry nomenclature; but no one can understand the language of Buddhist metaphysicians, unless he has made himself familiar with the terms they use, and the arbitrary distinctions they have adopted.
[52] In this latter part our author clearly explains his opinion on this world, that is to say, on all that exists. He states at first, in general terms, that what we see and perceive by means of our senses, possesses no reality; it is a mere illusion. Our ignorance of the real state of things deceives us, by making us believe in the reality of objects that have nothing but an ephemeral and illusory existence. He proceeds a little farther, and treats our senses in like manner. They are the instruments that procure unto us a general illusion. But the senses, what are they? They are distinct from us. By a strict analysis we find them to be but a compound of the four elements, liable to dissolution and destruction. A living being has certain attributes which are the supports of his existence; but those attributes are equally a compound of the elements, subjected to the same modifications of reproduction and destruction and deprived of consistence. The attributes of the living beings being disposed of in this manner, the being itself vanishes away. There remain but name and form. But does what we call form possess a real existence? Undoubtedly not. It is a mere phantom, an illusion. Our author comes to the necessary and final consequence that there is no world really existing. In fact, he denies the existence of matter and spirit. With such an abuse of the powers of reasoning, there is no wonder that he looks upon Neibban, or annihilation, as the only end to be arrived at. Man in his opinion being but a compound of the four elements, which have no real existence, cannot be himself but an illusion without a reality. Gracious Heavens! what an excess of mental aberration will man reach when he is left to himself, deprived of the light from above! Never has the writer witnessed such a total eclipse of human intellect.
[53] The word Talapoin, imported into Europe by the writings of early Portuguese authors in the East Indies, derives its origin probably from two Pali words, Tala-pat, meaning the leaf of the palm-tree. These two words, coupled together, are used by the Siamese to designate the large fan made of palm-leaves, set in a slender wooden frame, which Talapoins carry with them on certain occasions when they go abroad.
In the course of this notice we will indiscriminately make use of the words Phongyies, Talapoins, and Rahans to designate the Buddhist religious.
[54] In glancing over the latter part of Buddha’s life, the reader has seen that the less important points of discipline have been the subject of much discussion in the early days of Buddhism. Among those points of dispute and contention were the last five articles above enumerated. The second council was assembled for the purpose of settling warm disputes which distracted the Buddhist Thanga, or Assembly, and caused great disturbances. The venerable Rasa, who lived in Wethalie, a city situated on the Gunduck, north of Hajipoor, undertook a long journey, as far as Kosambi, for the express purpose of warning the religious of that country against the dangerous innovations which were introduced by a considerable body of Rahans belonging to the eastern districts of Wethalie.
The journey was certainly a long one in a western direction. The ruins of the famous city of Kosambi have been discovered at a place called Kosam, thirty miles above Allahabad, on the Jumna. They are most extensive, and at once indicate the importance that place must have had in the days of its prosperity. A broken pillar, the polished shaft of which must have measured 34 feet, is covered with inscriptions; it is one of the most important Buddhist relics. It is probably one of those pillars erected by Athoka in every part of his extensive dominions. It bears no inscription more ancient than the second and third century of the Christian era. A similar one was erected at Prayag, an ancient city mentioned by Hwen Thsang as being situated at the confluence of the Ganges and the Jumna, and finally destroyed by the gradual encroachments of the rivers. The place remained abandoned until the days of the Emperor Akhbar, who built a fort called Illahabas. The new city received the name of Allahabad from the Emperor Shah Jehan. The famous pillar called the Allahabad Pillar bears three inscriptions. The first is that of Asoka, 240 years B.C., recording his edicts for the propagation of Buddhism; the second is that of Samudra Gupta, in the second century of our era, commemorative of his extensive dominions; the third is that of Jehangir, mentioning his accession to the throne. The last re-setting up of this famous pillar took place in 1838.
[55] Among southern Buddhists, preference is given to the yellow colour for the monk’s habit. The juice extracted from the Jack-tree wood, by the process of boiling, supplies the necessary ingredient for dyeing.
[56] The writer does not think it worth repeating the reasons that induced Gaudama to lay down those several regulations. They owe their origin to the fact that some individuals contrived to be ordained though labouring under physical defects, and thereby became a sort of standing disgrace to the society. It was at the request of his father that Buddha forbade receiving to ordination sons who had not the consent of the parents, and fixed twenty years as the age requisite in him who would offer himself for the promotion to the order of Patzin. No slave, no debtor, could be ordained, because a man in such a condition does not belong to himself, and cannot dispose of his person, which to a certain extent is the property of his master and creditor.
[57] It is probable that the allusion to the red colour has a Thibetan origin. The Buddhist monks of that country have adopted the red for their dress, in preference to the yellow, which is the canonical colour of the habit of all the monks among the southern Buddhists.
[58] In this part of the regulations the elect is reminded of the primitive condition of the members of the society. In imitation of their brethren of the Brahminical persuasion, and also for the purpose of living in seclusion, the Rahans, in the beginning, were satisfied with dwelling in huts raised at the foot of some tall tree. As soon, however, as Buddhism gained footing in various countries, we see that kings, nobles, and wealthy persons vied with each other in erecting splendid houses for the use of the monks. Gaudama himself was presented by King Pimpathara at Radzagio with the splendid Weloowon monastery. In Thawattie the rich man Anatapein offered him the famous Dzetawon monastery; and the rich lady Withaka of the same country gave him, as a gift, the no less splendid mansion named Pouppayon.
General A. Cunningham has discovered the ruins of Thawattie, fifty-eight miles north of Fyzabad, on the Rapti, in a place called Sahet Mahet, situated between Akaona and Bulrampur, five miles from the former and twelve from the latter. It was the capital of King Pathenadi, situated in north Kosala. In the Legend of Buddha we have seen how that monarch was dispossessed of his throne by one of his sons, and died while on his way to the capital of Adzatathat, his son-in-law. The ruins of the renowned Dzetawon monastery have been identified by means of the information supplied by the writings of the Chinese pilgrims we have often mentioned. The monastery was distant 1200 paces from the southern gate of the city. The scarcely less famous Pouppayon monastery was erected to the east of the Dzetawon. Mounds of ruins in that very same direction leave no doubt that in their bosom the last remains of that celebrated place are entombed. It is said that Gaudama, being fifty-five years old, began to reside permanently in monasteries built for him, and that he spent, out of the last twenty-five seasons, nineteen in the Dzetawon and six in the Pouppayon. According to Hwen Thsang, the place occupied by the Dzetawon monastery was a square, having 1000 cubits on each face or side. Besides the monastery, there were two temples and two tanks within the enclosure.
[59] In treating of the precept of never touching women, it is added in the Wini that this prohibition extends to one’s own mother; and even should it happen that she fall into a ditch, her son, if a Talapoin, must not pull her out. But in case no other aid is near at hand, he may offer her his habit, or a stick, to help her out; but at the same time he is to imagine that he is only pulling out a log of wood.
[60] The Phongyies profess to have a tender compassion for the life of animals, and would not on any account allow themselves to be suspected of having contributed to the killing of an animal for the sake of feeding on his flesh. The writer has often taken a pleasure in taunting them on this account when he happened to see them eating pieces of boiled meat, by showing to them that their practice was little in accordance with their theory. They always answered that “they had not killed the animal, the flesh of which they were eating; but had merely received a piece of meat that had no life. As to the man who had deprived the animal of its life, he had certainly sinned, and would suffer for his misdeed. But that was an affair for which the perpetrator of the deed was alone answerable, and which concerned him alone.” To this answer, of a rather elastic nature, the writer jocosely replied that “if there was no eater of meat there would be no killer of animals; and that, in his opinion, if sin there was, both had a share in it.” Whereupon the yellow-dressed interlocutors invariably laughed, and feeling that they stood on insecure ground, adroitly changed the subject of conversation. There is no doubt that the Phongyies believe that it is sinful to kill animals, but at the same time they confess that it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to live in this world without committing such a trespass.
[61] The writer, when he visited Bhamo two years ago, had the opportunity of witnessing a striking illustration of the above assertion. Living in a fine and substantial dzeat, in the vicinity of a large pagoda, he remarked an elderly Burmese woman coming every morning with some flowers, which she respectfully deposited in front of a niche tenanted by a huge marble idol. She was poorly dressed, but her mien and countenance indicated that she had seen better days. Entering into conversation with her, the writer learned from her that she was the widow of a wealthy man who had been the principal writer of the governor. Her husband had spent twelve thousand rupees in building the pagoda in front of us and the dzeat, and had just died when the work was completed, leaving to her and her only daughter nothing but the house they now dwelt in. She was without any means of support. Having been asked whether she did not feel some regret that nothing had been left for her subsistence, and whether she did not think her husband would have behaved better in bestowing one-half of his money for religious purposes and keeping the other half for the maintenance of his family, the old lady gently smiled, and said, without hesitation or showing the least sign of repining, that her husband had acted very well and for the best; that she and her daughter, by their exertions, would always be able to support themselves in their humble and poor condition.
In many places the traveller’s eyes are attracted by the sight of a lofty and roomy kiaong, adorned with fine carvings. When he inquires about the individual whose pious liberality has erected that edifice, he is surprised and astonished to see him living in the poor and wretched house which is pointed out to him.
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