M. S. Wellby

THE STORY OF THE FIRST BUDDHA OF THE EMPIRE—THE SACRED TREE—THE GOLD-TILED TEMPLE—PARTING FROM MINA FU-YEH—THE GREEN GLAZED-TILE TEMPLE—THE FLOWER TEMPLE—SIGNS OF THE MOHAMMEDAN REBELLION—AT THE MISSION HOUSE.

When we got outside Mina Fu-yeh's house, the first thing that caught our eyes was a row of eight small towers or chortens, like those one sees in Ladakh, from which, I believe, Kumbum gets its Chinese name of "T'ah Ri Ssi," the "Monastery of the Eight Towers." From these we crossed by a small bridge to the eastern side of the valley, where many of the private houses are, and got a good bird's-eye view of the whole place. Unfortunately it was a dull, cloudy day, unsuitable for taking photos with a kodak, so I did not get as many as I should have liked, but while we were standing looking across the valley, a number of priests came out from the public reading hall, and I managed to get a pretty fair picture of them.

Principal among the private dwellings is that of A-chia Fu-yeh, who belongs to Kumbum, and is the first Buddha of the Empire. The story is, that just before he died, the Emperor promised him that if, on his return to this world, he would repeat all the conversations they had had, in his then lifetime, he would make him the first Buddha in the Empire. In due time he was reincarnated, and of course had no difficulty in doing what was required, and the Emperor fulfilled his promise. A-chia Fu-yeh now lives almost entirely in Pekin, in the presence of the Emperor, and rarely visits his distant home. A fire broke out in his house in 1895, which spoilt it a good deal, and it has not been restored yet.

CHORTENS OF KUMBUM.

All the private houses and temples at Kumbum are supposed to be whitewashed annually, but, like many other things, this had been neglected owing to the rebellion. They were now due two coats of whitewash, and consequently did not look as clean and bright as they should have done. The method of whitewashing appears strange to us, for the custom is to mix the wash, then to ascend to the roof, and pour it down over the walls. The result is not quite satisfactory, as we should look at it, but customs like these cannot be altered.

We now recrossed the stream, and began our tour of the temples. The first place we visited was the kitchen, chiefly remarkable for its enormous iron cooking-pots. Of these there were three, fixed in a mud range, each big enough to hold a man with comfort, and each heated by a large furnace. Everything was perfectly clean, and one might have eaten one's food off the floor. From here we went to two small temples of Sakya Muni, which stand on the right of the "Gold-Tiled Temple." In them there was nothing peculiar, merely the ordinary ornaments and lamps, which can be seen in any temple.

Just in this corner, however, is the original "Sacred Tree,"[9] which sprung, according to some, from Tsong K'aba's hair, according to others, from his swaddling-clothes. However this may be, the main fact remains, that on its leaves a true believer can distinctly trace the figure of Sakya Muni, or his name in Tibetan characters. Some priests say that one thing is to be seen, some the other, but Mina Fu-yeh says that on some leaves the figure may be seen, on others the characters; as only firm believers can trace anything, the question is likely to remain in doubt, in spite of Huc's assertion that he detected images.

We now entered the "Gold-Tiled Temple," the chief feature of the place, and the pride of Eastern Tibet, the sacred shrine of Tsong K'aba, the restorer and purifier of the Buddhist religion. Born in the year 1360 a.d., he grew up to find the Buddhism of his day in a very corrupt and degenerate state; he devoted his life to rectifying this, and succeeded in re-establishing the old order of things in accordance with the original doctrines of the faith. He was the founder of what is known as the "Yellow Sect," who wore yellow garments in place of red, but nowadays they have reverted to the red cloak, except on rare occasions, though they always wear a big yellow hat when reading the sacred books.

Before the entrance to the shrine there were a few lamas busily kotowing, and the boards in front of the doorway have been worn away to a depth of three or four inches, and polished till they shine again by the hands of the devout, as they knock their heads before the image of the saint. Most of these lamas knew Mr. Rijnhart, and stopped a moment or two in their devotions to speak a word of welcome to us, and one of the door-keepers asked us why we did not knock our heads before entering? To this Rijnhart replied that this would be no sign of respect on our part, as our custom was to remove our hats on entering a sacred place, nor did we ever omit to do so.

On entering the door, the figure of Tsong K'aba, who is in a sitting position, is considerably above one, and not easily seen in the dim, religious light. It is about eight feet high, I should say, and very richly gilt. Below and in front of him is the shrine, with the usual holy water vases and butter lamps, while on either side are handsome gold and silver lamps, and a fine pair of elephant tusks. We lit a few lamps, and then walked slowly round the building, carefully keeping everything on the right hand.

Next in interest to the golden image among the relics in this temple, comes the stone on which Tsong K'aba's mother sat when delivered of her saintly son. This is carefully kept just as it was when originally placed in the temple. We then went upstairs to the second story, where we would be on a level with the great image; at first, one of the guardians refused to allow us to ascend, but Rijnhart assured him that we meant no harm, and that we had Mina Fu-yeh's permission to go where we would. Somewhat reluctantly he gave way, but a small douceur on our departure made him look on foreigners with more favourable eyes. This story was entirely devoted to Tsong K'aba's figure, in front of which lamps were burning, while hundreds of "scarves of blessing" (k'artag) hung all round, placed there by the hands of the faithful. There was yet another story, from which we looked down on to the lower portion of the gilded roof. The priests say that there is a quarter of an inch of gold all over the roof, but even deducting a great deal from this, it must be of immense value, and one could not help wondering how it had escaped two Mohammedan rebellions in the last thirty years. One would have thought that they would have risked everything to secure such loot, and to deal such a blow to the rival religion as the sacking of this temple would be.

From the Gold-Tiled Temple we passed into a big courtyard, which lies in front of the temple or hall for public reading. This is merely a large hall, without relics or shrines. In the courtyard are two very big prayer wheels, which one turns with a handle. At each revolution a bell is rung mechanically, and, after ringing the bell, the turner is bound to complete another revolution, stopping just before it rings again.

From the public reading-hall we went into that for private reading—a fine room, with rows of low forms about six inches high, comfortably cushioned, and big enough to hold about 2,500 priests. In front of this is another courtyard, in which, we were told, it is no unusual sight to see 1,200 or 1,500 pairs of shoes, belonging to students inside. How any one can find his own when he comes out is a mystery.

In an upper room in this block of buildings is a collection of curios and other property belonging to the monastery, quantities of silver vases, lamps, and musical instruments, but by far the most interesting thing, and what we were most anxious to see, is a picture of Tsong K'aba, drawn by himself in his own blood. When he was at Lhassa he was anxious to send his mother news of his well-being, so he drew this picture and sent it to Amdo, where she was living. The moment it was delivered into her hands the picture spoke, telling her not to be anxious about her son, for he was in Lhassa, and in perfect health. This occurred over 400 years ago, but the picture is in wonderful preservation, and very fresh.

There is another interesting figure of one MÉtÉ Fu-yeh. This is made in mud, and, like the picture of Tsong K'aba, it is under glass. Some time after its completion, by some miraculous power, hair grew on the head of the saint. He must have been a holy man, indeed, to have been favoured with such a manifestation of divine power. Here, as elsewhere, we gave the caretakers a few cash and lit a few lamps, small civilities which never failed in securing us their goodwill, and in return for which they showed us any attention in their power.

As we were leaving this courtyard we met a very refined-looking and well-dressed priest. He was delighted to see Rijnhart, and inquired eagerly after his wife, how he liked living at Tankar, how long was he going to stay in Kumbum, and many other questions. This man and his elder brother are two of the richest priests in the monastery; the latter has bought the title of K'ombo, which ensures his returning as a Buddha in his next lifetime, a distinction which, according to Mina Fu-yeh, is also in store for Mr. Rijnhart, as a reward for the good work he is now doing according to his lights. We now walked round the outside of the monastery, going up the hill at the back and descending on the other side close to the village of Lusar. On the way we passed two small shrines, chiefly remarkable for the number of prayer wheels or cylinders ranged outside them. All these we carefully set in motion, and then went on our way, feeling that the day had not been wasted. Round the outskirts were a few prayer stones like one sees in Ladakh, but they were nothing like so plentiful nor of such good workmanship as they are about Leh. It is a form of devotion which does not seem to have found great favour in Eastern Tibet. The next hour was pleasantly spent in the village buying curios, such as the yellow head dresses previously mentioned, Buddhist bells, and suchlike mementos of our visit; but there were two more small temples to be seen, food to be eaten, and a ride of fifty li to be made to Sining before sunset, so we could not afford to spend much time shopping.

Returning to the house we were stopping in, we gave orders for the horses to be fed and to be got ready to start as soon as we had had our midday meal. While this was being prepared we again went and sat with our host, who produced a small atlas given him by Rijnhart, on which we showed him our route, the road to India vi Lhassa and Darjeeling, and the way to England by the Suez Canal. At present he is very full of a plan to accompany Rijnhart next time he goes home, and very likely to go on to America. Rijnhart has taught him the English names of many countries, and he took the greatest pride in pointing these out and repeating their names. But he has learnt a great deal more of Europeans than mere parrot-like repetition of a few names. In the course of conversation he has picked up a lot of our doctrines, and discusses them freely with Rijnhart, comparing them with his own, and expressing the profoundest admiration for the great Central Figure, which is to us what Tsong K'aba is to him, the ideal to live up to. In his own way he reconciles the two religions, saying that Tsong K'aba must have been a later incarnation of Jesus Christ, and that in reality he worships the same divinity that we do, but in a different way and with different details. Before we left Mina Fu-yeh gave us each a photograph of himself, which had been taken and printed for him by Rijnhart; in return we promised to send ours, and when we asked if there was anything else he would like, he said, "Flower seeds! the queerer the shape and stranger the colour the better." These of course we promised. I hope he will be pleased when he gets them if he is still at Kumbum, for he was then thinking of making a journey either to the Eastern Mongols again or to Lhassa.[10] If only he could be persuaded to allow one to accompany him to the latter place what a chance it would be.

Food being now ready, we ate it as quickly as might be, for it was already close on two o'clock. It was no easy thing to get away, for, with true Tibetan hospitality, our host and his little disciple joined in pressing us to eat, the latter saying to Rijnhart with a great show of displeasure, "I know that when you're at home you always eat five basins of food, and here you only eat two." At last we were ready to start. Nothing delayed us except that a priest who had gone to get us a supply of sacred leaves had not yet returned; in a few moments he ran up with about a hundred of them, and received a suitable present in return. Mina Fu-yeh warned us never to put anything on top of them as they were very precious, and to do so would be sacrilege. He also assured us that they had wonderful medicinal powers, and that if ever we were ill we had only to make use of them and a prompt cure would result. Last good-byes were said, and then we left the house full of regrets that we had had to cut our stay so short.

There were still the two small temples to visit; they both lie close together, below the entrance to the big temples. The first of the two was called the Green Glazed-Tile Temple, to distinguish it from the others. One enters it by a gateway underneath a stone arch. In front of the gateway about the centre of the courtyard is a large stone to which some cash were sticking.[11] Behind this are the two other sacred trees which have sprung from the original one mentioned above; unfortunately there was no caretaker in this temple when we went in, so we could not discover the history of this stone nor any reason for the cash being put there. However, not to leave anything undone, we left our own contribution with the rest.

Inside the temple is a large figure of Sakya Muni, and on either side of him, lining the walls to the right and left, are figures of the first eighteen missionaries to China, who carried the word from India to the Far East. It seems strange, looking at these figures, and thinking of those other devout Chinese pilgrims, who made the long journey to India, to try and get the original scriptures to take back to their native land, that Buddhism should have so totally disappeared from India, while flourishing in the country of its adoption.

We had now come to the last temple on the list, the Flower Temple, or Hua Miao. The courtyard of this temple was empty, but all round the walls are painted frescoes of horrible tortures. Inside there are a number of stuffed animals, terrible caricatures, many of them quite as grotesque as the tortured figures oil the walls outside. Among them is a large tiger, which is always kept saddled and bridled, ready for the Spiritual Buddha to ride upon at any moment; it is occasionally used in ceremonies, the abbot of the monastery seating himself upon it.

During the recent rebellion, all arms destined to be used against the Mohammedans, either in defence of the monastery or otherwise, were brought to be blessed in this temple, and hither all men going out to fight brought their offerings.

Our flying visit to Kumbum and its temples was now at an end, and the feeling uppermost in our minds was, without doubt, regret we could not afford to stay at least two or three days longer. We had seen a lot, but only enough to make us feel how much more there was to see and learn. The true Buddhist religion is one of deep interest, especially in these days of Theosophy and similar cults, and a man like Mina Fu-yeh, who is not only thoroughly well versed in all its tenets and scriptures, but is also sufficiently liberal minded to converse about them, is rare indeed.

Regrets, however, were vain. We had not a day to spare, and it was imperative that we should push on as rapidly as possible. So we made the best of it, and congratulated ourselves upon having seen as much as we had; for there is no gainsaying the fact, that, but for the friendly terms Rijnhart was on with the Buddhas and lamas of the place, we should never have gained entrance to the monastery, and by ourselves we should have seen nothing.

It was already late, and as the gates of every Chinese town are closed at sunset, we had to shove our animals along pretty smartly to get into Sining in time. From Lusar the road lies over an easy pass into the "Southern Valley," which it follows right up to the western gate of the town. On the way we passed a small temple of P'an Ku, who was, according to Chinese mythology, the only man on the sun. He knocked off bits which formed the moon, the stars and the planets, and then jumped off on to the earth, where his hair became grass, and his other features became corresponding ones on the earth's surface.

After riding hard for about fifteen li, we stopped at one of the little inns by the roadside, to refresh ourselves with bread and tea. As we proceeded we passed several water mills, and entered one for curiosity's sake. The mill was built over a stream, whose water was made to flow along a trough, thence on to the spokes of a wheel, which in consequence revolved. To the axis of this wheel a stout pole was fixed, which, penetrating the floor of the mill, supported a round, flat stone, which revolved also. Over this was another flat, round stone, hanging from the roof, through a hole in which grain was allowed to fall on to the lower stone, and thus be crushed. This particular mill was crushing mustard seed.

All the way to Sining signs of the rebellion were plentiful, just as they had been on the way from Tankar. The whole countryside had been devastated by the Mohammedans while they had had the upper hand, but at the city gate, which we passed through just at 6 p.m., the boot was on the other leg, for there, hanging in cages on the wall, were the heads of the ringleaders, who had been caught and executed by the orders of the Government, as soon as the soldiers had defeated the rebels. Among these heads was that of the Tibetan who had killed the French traveller, De Trouille De Rhins, about two years previously. As we entered the city some soldiers passed out. Rijnhart told us, later on, that they called us "foreign devils," but as we did not understand a word of Chinese, we rode on in blissful ignorance of the insult.

A few minutes more riding brought us to the mission house, where we were most hospitably received by Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, and Mr. Hall, of the China Inland Mission, who have been working nobly for some years in this out-of-the-way corner of the globe.

I am afraid that the good missionaries at Sining were somewhat taken aback at our turning up on Sunday evening, but this in no wise detracted from the hospitality of our reception. I must frankly admit that both Malcolm and I had quite lost count of days of the week for months one day had been so like another. We were, therefore, quite ignorant of the fact that it was Sunday, till Mrs. Ridley happened to mention it.

Introductions were soon over, and we were taken into a most comfortably furnished drawing-room, the home-like appearance of which was greatly enhanced by an English stove. After washing our hands we went in to tea; we were hungry after our ride, and some first-rate home-made cakes proved altogether too great a temptation for us. I don't think either of us ever ate so much cake before, and I don't suppose we ever shall again.

In the course of conversation Hall told us that he had arranged for mules to start for Lancheo with our baggage the following day, but that it might be two or three days before we, ourselves, would be able to get on. This, however, did not much matter, as, by travelling fast, we should easily be able to overtake it.

We sat up late that night listening to Ridley's account of their experiences during the rebellion, and we were able to form some idea of the trying time they had passed through.