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Title: The Life or Legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese (Volume II)

Author: Paul Ambroise Bigandet

Release date: June 3, 2019 [eBook #59673]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by ellinora, Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OR LEGEND OF GAUDAMA, THE BUDDHA OF THE BURMESE (VOLUME II) *** 


[i]


TRÜBNER’S

ORIENTAL SERIES.







[ii]




[iii]


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.


[iv]


The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.


Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.

At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh




[v]


CONTENTS.







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







[1]


LEGEND OF THE BURMESE BUDDHA

CALLED

GAUDAMA.


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.




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]


[18]


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]


[24]


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.




[28]


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.




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]


[33]


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.”


[53]


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]


[69]


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]


[70]


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.




[75]


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.




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.”


[84]


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.


[91]


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.




[101]


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.




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]


[103]


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]


[112]


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.




[123]


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 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.


[125]


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.


[127]


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]


[134]


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.


[147]


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.


[150]


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.


[152]




[153]


AN ABSTRACT

OF

A FEW SMALL DZATS, AND OF TWO PRINCIPAL ONES, CALLED

NEMI AND DZANECKA.


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.


[157]


 THE FOX AND THE LION.


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.


 THE JACKAL AND THE HUNTER.


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.


 THE PIGEON AND THE HUNTER.


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.


 NEMI.


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.


[167]


 DZANECKA.


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.


[168]


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.


[173]


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.”




[177]


REMARKS

ON

THE SITES AND NAMES OF THE PRINCIPAL
PLACES MENTIONED IN THE LEGEND.


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.


[181]


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.


[186]


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.




[189]


THE SEVEN WAYS TO NEIBBAN.


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.


[190]


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.


[191]


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.


ARTICLE I.

OF THE PRECEPTS.


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]


[201]


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.


[202]


ARTICLE II.

OF MEDITATION AND ITS VARIOUS DEGREES.


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.


ARTICLE III.

OF THE NATURE OF BEINGS.


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.


ARTICLE IV.

OF THE CAUSE OF THE FORM[51] AND OF THE NAME, OR OF
MATTER AND SPIRIT.


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!


[227]


ARTICLE V.

OF THE TRUE MEGGAS OR WAYS TO PERFECTION.


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.


[231]


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.


ARTICLE VI.

OF THE PROGRESS IN PERFECT SCIENCE.


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.


[240]




[241]


NOTICE ON THE PHONGYIES, OR BUDDHIST MONKS,

SOMETIMES CALLED TALAPOINS.[53]


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.


[244]


ARTICLE I.

A SHORT PARALLEL BETWEEN THE BRAHMINICAL AND THE
BUDDHISTIC RELIGIOUS ORDERS.


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.


[251]


ARTICLE II.

NATURE OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDER OF PHONGYIES.


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.


[261]


ARTICLE III.

HIERARCHY OF THE ORDER.


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.


ARTICLE IV.

ORDINATION, OR CEREMONIES OBSERVED AT THE ADMISSION
INTO THE SOCIETY.


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.”


[277]


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.”


[282]


ARTICLE V.

RULES OF THE ORDER.


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.


ARTICLE VI.

OCCUPATIONS OF THE BUDDHIST MONKS.


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.”


[303]


ARTICLE VII.

RELIGIOUS INFLUENCE OF THE PHONGYIES—RESPECT AND
VENERATION PAID TO THEM BY THE LAITY.


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.


[305]


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.


[310]


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.


[317]


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.


[320]




[321]


ADDENDA.


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.




[324]


ON THE WORD “NAT.”


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.”






FOOTNOTES




[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.






END OF VOL. II.


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