I did not see as much of the festival as I might have done, because I had to go through my formal entrance examinations before the festival was entirely over, and I devoted all spare moments to preparation. Once more I overworked myself, but I bought some more medicine, and was soon well again. This caused no little wonder among my neighbors, and I was often asked if I had studied medicine. I must have studied it, they would say, because I could cure my own illness, and I was obliged to tell them that I had read a few books on medicine. This led me to practise it among them afterwards.

Before the celebrations were over, I went back to my own monastery for my examination. It was on April 18th that I presented myself with forty other candidates. I was given both written and oral examinations, besides the recitation of a passage from the Scriptures. The examinations were such as are generally given to those who have finished the common course in Tibetan schools. They were not so difficult for me as I had expected, and I was admitted to the college, though all were not equally fortunate, for only seven out of the forty passed. Among the successful members were a few warrior-priests also. They had run into debt, and had since studied hard to be admitted. But, let me say, their object was something more than mere study. Scholarships were awarded, from fifty sen to one yen and sometimes two yen a month per scholar-priest. The amount was not fixed, but it generally came to some ten yen a year. It was on account of that sum of money that many warrior-priests tried to pass the examination. I was admitted as a student of the first class, in which priest-students varying from boys in their teens to men in the forties and fifties were studying the Bu??hist catechism, according to the Tibetan fashion. Their way of studying was so interesting and active, and they were so earnest and fervent, that one would have thought they were quarrelling with one another while discussing.

The catechism is a very pleasant performance, and the ways of questioning, emphasis, and intonation are quite interesting. The catechised sits in a certain attitude, and the questioner stands up with a rosary in his left hand, and walks towards him. He stretches out his hands with the palm of the left hand downwards and that of the right hand upwards and claps them together, uttering the words, Chi! chi tawa choe chan. Here ‘Chi’ means the heart of the Bo?hisa??va MaÑjushri and its utterance is supposed to make the questioner one with Him, whose real body is knowledge. The rest of the utterance literally means, “in that nature of the truth.” The sense of the whole is “We shall begin the discussion following the nature of Truth as it is manifested in the Universe.” Then the discussion begins in earnest according the rules of the logic of Nyaya. The first question, for instance, may be whether Bu??ha was human or not. Whether the answer is in the affirmative or the negative, the questioner goes on to ask; “But he was not above mortality, was he?” If he be answered in the affirmative, he will say that it could not be so, for Bu??ha was no more than mortal. The answerer, if bright enough, will then reply that Bu??ha, though himself above death, submitted himself to it in his incarnated body. He must say also that Bu??ha had three bodies, called in Sa?sk?? ?harmakaya, Sambhogakaya and Nirmanakaya, and in Tibetan, Choeku, Lonjoeku and Tulku. These terms mean: ‘The all pervading body consisting of the purest virtue of Truth in him’, ‘the body derived from his countless virtues, enjoying complete happiness with the light of Truth,’ and ‘the body derived from his boundless mercy and transcendental knowledge for the good of all beings.’

To show how excitedly the catechism is carried on, it is said that a countryman once came to see the scene. The question happened to be about physiognomy (kan-sa), which in Tibetan is synonymous with a tobacco-pipe. The countryman thought that they were disputing over a tobacco-pipe, and was very much surprised that a pipe should be the matter of the quarrel, for the priests were seemingly very much provoked and railed at each other and exchanged blows! Three years later, the same countryman came to worship at the temple of Sera, and again happened to see the priests disputing hotly about what he thought to be a pipe. He saw them strike each other at the end of the dispute, and felt very sorry for them. So he thought he would settle the dispute by arbitration. He then walked among the priests, holding out his pipe, which he meant to give them. Though it was none of his business to come among the priests, he offered the pipe and begged them to settle the dispute, thereby causing great laughter among them. It is with such excitement and with hardly any formality that the questions are asked and answered. Still it must not be supposed that one could answer these questions without a knowledge of Bu??hism. One has to read many texts and reference books before one can go through these questions. It takes the natives twenty years of hard and unceasing study, with examinations every year, to obtain the degree of a doctor.

The catechism forms the chief part of the education of Tibetan priests. This method seems to excite so great an interest among priest-students that there are always many Mongolians in Tibet, who come so far and through so much hardship with the sole object of receiving education there. There are three hundred Mongolians at the Sera college, and hardly fewer at other large temples, such as that of Tashi Lhunpo. The New Sect of Bu??hism owes a great deal of its fine prospects to its catechism, while the Old Sect has already lost popularity and is now tottering. It is by this spirited Catechism that the naturally dull and lazy Tibetans are goaded on to understand Bu??hism, and are very rich, for a half-civilised nation, in logical ideas. But let me add, it is only the learned that are rich in logical ideas; the people at large, who have received little education, are far from being intelligent.

The Catechism is generally held at some beautiful place, where there are many fine trees, such as elms, willows, nuts, peaches and various others which are not found in Japan, though on the whole Tibet does not possess a large variety of trees. The ground under the trees is covered with beautiful white sand. When the first Catechism is over, the priests have what is termed the Garden of Truth, at some equally well-wooded place, where there are varieties of flowers. The ground there is also covered with white sand, and enclosed by stone walls five or six feet high with a gateway constructed in Chinese fashion. The priests gather themselves there to read from the Scriptures, and after the reading, they begin questioning one another. Here they make no difference of classes, but ask one another concerning their text books and everything else. This helps them a great deal to improve their knowledge and wisdom.

At the other place, there may be no more than one questioner and one answerer, the rest keeping silence, whether the class consist of fifty or a hundred priests. The questioner and the answerer might change, but they could be taken only from that one class. In the garden, however, there are no such limitations, there is no difference of classes, and young and old priests are seen questioning each other. So one may easily fancy how noisy and excited they are. While I was having a Catechism among them under a peach-forest in blossom, snowflakes began to fall on us. I stopped questioning and, struck with the beautiful scene around me, I wrote two Japanese poems which served to give my friends at home some idea of my thoughts.

Day and night I studied in this way. But finding soon that it left me too many precious hours to have only one teacher, I now found another priest to teach me. I went to them to receive their instruction, while they too sometimes came to teach me. I thus made considerable progress in my learning.

There is a strange custom which a new college student has to observe as a sign of his admittance. I had to go to Lhasa and to travel, as a sign of my admittance, for two days to beg for fuel. But one day a young priest next door quarrelled with another young priest and hit him with a stone, which dislocated the bone of his upper arm. The wounded lad was a special favorite of his instructor, who feared very much that he might be deformed. Bone-setting is quite unknown to the Tibetans, and their doctors, who have no knowledge of how to set a dislocated bone, apply heated iron, or give some medicine to drink or use. I was on my walk and happened to hear the pitiful cries of the wounded boy, and was told, when I asked why they did not send for a doctor, that it was far better not to do so, as it would only be a heavy expense for nothing. They were not going to have one. When I asked if no doctor in Tibet could set a dislocated bone, they seemed to be much surprised at my improbable question. It was with some difficulty that I made them believe that a dislocated bone can be easily set. So going to the wounded boy, I easily set his bone, while a Tibetan held his head and left hand. Then I acupunctured that part where the muscle was a little swollen, and the boy was soon cured.