Religious ceremonies follow one another with incredible rapidity in the "Kingdom of the Yellow Robe." They are observed by every one, not on account of their religious value, but because they afford excellent reasons for indulging in general holidays. A few of the more important ones will be dealt with in this and the two succeeding chapters.

Thet maha chat. The first one to be noticed here is the "Thet maha chat" or "The Preaching of the Story of the Great Birth." It does not, like the other ceremonies we shall describe, occur on definitely stated days, and in many instances, does not give rise to a general national holiday. It often occurs as a semi-private or domestic religious observance, performed by those and for those whom it immediately concerns. Before describing the manner in which the public and private celebrations of this ceremony are held, it will be advisable to relate the story of the Great Birth according to the account given in the Siamese text, for it is said that this account of the Great Birth does not exist in the Buddhist literature of the surrounding countries.

Buddhist legends, now rejected by many Oriental scholars themselves, relate that the Hindoo philosopher once taught and enlightened his friends and disciples by relating to them at considerable length, five hundred and fifty stories, called "jatakas", about himself. These narratives give a complete account of the various transmigrations of his soul, which he, having attained to Buddhahood, was enabled to vividly recall. Of these five hundred and fifty Birth Stories, the Vessantara Jataka relates how he lived upon earth as a noble and virtuous prince called Vessantara. As this was his last existence previous to his re-birth upon earth as Buddha, it is held in high estimation by those who believe in its authenticity. In previous existences he had traversed the whole social scale from king to slave. He had been monarch, courtier, Brahmin ascetic, teacher, prince, nobleman, merchant, slave, potter, and outcast. He had inhabited the bodies of the elephant, tiger, monkey, snake, fish, and frog. In the supernatural worlds he had been a tree-god and a fairy.

The last ten of the Birth Stories are of the greatest interest, as they relate how he successfully attained absolute perfection in all things essential to Buddhahood; and the first nine of them may be fitly summarised as a preface to the story of the tenth or Great Birth.

The first story tells how he was born as a prince, the heir to a throne and a crown. Now, whenever, in previous existences, he had reigned as a king, he had invariably suffered and fallen in the succeeding life. He was therefore very anxious to escape the cares and perils of sovereignty, and so he feigned dumbness. His relatives doubted the reality of his affliction and tried in many ways to make him speak, but all in vain. At last they proposed to bury him alive, and the prospect of this cruel death caused him at last to speak, that he might save his life.

In the second story he is again represented as being the son of a great monarch. His father's younger brother turned traitor, usurped the throne, and put to death him whose crown he had taken. The prince was born in exile, but when he arrived at man's estate he was informed of his real rank and title, and he determined to attempt to regain them. He set sail for his native land, but during the voyage a great storm arose, the vessel was wrecked, and he only managed to save his life by swimming to the distant shore.

The next Birth Story relates that he was the son of blind, ascetic parents, to whom he acted as a faithful servant. He trained a pet deer to carry his bowl for him, and wherever he went the timid creature accompanied him. He was killed in the forest by a stray arrow that a king had shot while hunting.

He was re-born as a king of wonderful power. His dominions included both heaven and hell, and during the period of his sovereignty he managed to visit both these distant portions of his wide domain. History, however, does not relate what he saw or what he did in either of these regions.

He next became the servant of a warrior king, for whom he acted in the capacity of counsellor and judge, winning for himself great renown for his wisdom and strength of character. On one occasion he is credited with engineering a tunnel through a mighty mountain, that his royal master might fall unawares upon a powerful enemy. The tunnel was constructed, and the attack made with complete success.

The sixth of this set of Birth Stories narrates his career as the Naga king, the monarch of the snake world. His two chief relatives were a human brother, and a sister who inhabited the body of a frog. He himself was a cobra, and one day a skilful snake-charmer captured him, and took him about from place to place on exhibition. He was freed from this humiliating condition by his brother and sister, who ingeniously tricked the wandering showman.

Then again he becomes the son of a king, and holds the position of a judge. Owing to his severity in putting down bribery and corruption, he incurred the displeasure of the Lord Chief Justice, who resented the loss of his valuable perquisites. One night the king dreamt that he had paid a visit to the heavenly regions. When he awoke he sent for the chief judge, and asked him if he could suggest any way of realising the journey, as he would very much like to visit those realms at his leisure. The judge suggested that the trip might be accomplished if the favour of the deities was first obtained by making them an offering commensurate with his desires. He suggested the sacrifice of the prince and all the members of his household. The king accepted the idea, and the sacrifice was planned. But several courtiers who had reasons for disliking the chief judge of the kingdom, revealed to their sovereign the enmity that existed between judge and prince. The king, furious at the trick that had been played upon him, instantly ordered the death of the wicked official, but the son, acting with his usual gentleness and mercy, pleaded for his enemy and obtained the remission of his sentence.

In the eighth story he is again a king; but this time devotes his life entirely to the noble practice of alms-giving. So great was his generosity that he soon beggared himself, and was forced to become a hermit. Having nothing left to distribute to those who sought to profit by his benevolence, he conceived the idea of finally giving his own body away in pieces. But the Devas, wishing to save him from the results of such a noble deed, brought him presents of nuggets of gold with which to satisfy the demands of those who daily asked him for alms.

The ninth story presents him to us as a wise man teaching and counselling a king. His fame was noised abroad even unto the uttermost ends of the earth. Amongst those who heard of his wisdom and purity was the Queen of the Nagas. She was so deeply impressed by the stories that reached her, that she fell madly in love with the famous counsellor, and wished, not figuratively, but literally, to possess his heart. From amongst her numerous attendants she chose one who was noted for his cunning, and sent him as her ambassador to the far-off land, with orders to bring back that which she so much desired. He met with a certain amount of success, for he won the body of the sage by gambling with the king, but all his efforts to put to death the wise old man were ineffectual. And when he was meditating as to the reason of the failure of his murderous attempts, the old man came to him, and spoke to him with words of such tenderness and truth that the emissary returned to the Naga Queen without his prize, but a better and a wiser man.

The tenth Birth Story is the last and the greatest, and bears the distinctive title of "The Great Birth." It is the story of his last existence upon earth as an ordinary human being, and marks the summit of his upward career, the final stage of his successive earthly transmigrations. This story, which we shall presently relate at length, was told by him, after he had become a Buddha, to a great gathering of his friends and relatives, in the famous banyan grove of his native city. Showers of rain fell from heaven, miraculously bathing his holy body, but leaving untouched the throng of people around him. Seven times he appealed to heaven and earth to bear him witness as to the truth of his narrative, and seven times was an answer given in the voice of the thunder and the quaking of the earth.

Siamese tradition goes on to say that after Buddha's death, a holy ascetic ascended to one of the heavens, where he met the Buddha who is next to descend and bless this earth with his teachings. The future Buddha held a long conversation with the earthly visitor in which he told him, that if the people wished for happiness and prosperity, they must unceasingly perform all the prescribed ceremonies according to the orthodox ritual, and, above all, they must not forget to annually recite the story of "The Great Birth."

At one time, in Siam, Pegu, and Cambodia, it was the universal custom at the end of the rainy season, to gather in private dwellings or temple halls to listen to the reading or recital of the thousand stanzas of the poem which tells the story. The annual celebration is now chiefly a state ceremony performed in special places. In the olden days, offerings were made for the decoration of the halls in which the recital was to be held, and this custom still continues in a smaller degree. The general celebration that formerly took place degenerated at last into a kind of theatrical performance, and was accompanied by pantomime and song. New versions were given; the rhythm of the original poem was altered; and temple vied with temple, and house with house, in the introduction of novelties that would attract large audiences. The late king was a profound scholar and a devout believer in the pure truths and ritual of his religion, and not a nominal Buddhist like the majority of his subjects, and he looked upon these theatrical recitals with their accompanying buffoonery and merriment as being nothing less than a desecration of the famous story, and a burlesque of the life of him whose career they were intended to honour. When he left the cloister for the throne he sternly denounced the exhibition in a decree that is remarkable for its reasonableness and its forceful expressions. He even went so far as to tell a story, evidently of his own composition, the moral of which was that, as far as any religious merit was concerned, the money spent in preparing for the recitals would be better spent in burning dead dogs' carcasses. His strong expressions of disfavour and disgust have had the desired effect, and the story is now recited in a decent and becoming manner.

The poem, as now recited, contains thirteen cantos and one thousand stanzas, and was written by one of the Siamese kings. It had been prophesied that the holy Buddhist scriptures would ultimately all be lost, and that the Vessantara Jataka, being the most valuable, would be the first to disappear. When the scriptures have all been lost, and man has forgotten the meaning of righteousness, a new Buddha will be born upon earth to teach once more the principles of morality and truth. The "Pious" king who reigned in Siam from 1602 to 1628, is known as a priest celebrated alike for his piety and his learning, and as a king famous for his justice and mercy. He left the temple for the throne, but resigned in favour of his nephew and again returned to the seclusion of the hermit's cell. The prophecy as to the loss of the Jataka deeply affected him, and in order to prevent so great a calamity befalling his people he decided to write it in the form of a poem that it might be handed down from generation to generation. This poem is the gem of Siamese classics, a model of literary style and treatment. King "Pious" was the first of the royal poets of Siam, but since his day it has been the fashion for the sovereign to write poetical compositions. Both the present king and his father are well known in the country as poets and scholars. The late king was probably the greatest scholar Siam ever had, so that he enjoyed a double distinction never possessed by any of the monarchs of more civilised lands.

And now for the old king's rendering of the Vessantara Jataka.

In ages long since past, the god Indra called into his presence the beautiful daughter of one of the Devas. He asked her to consent to be re-born into the world of wicked, warring men that she might enjoy the supreme honour and happiness of becoming the mother of the future Buddha. The beautiful spirit maiden was not altogether unwilling to become the recipient of the honour offered her, but before finally consenting, she knelt before the throne of Indra to beg of him ten boons, of such a character that they should preserve her from unhappiness or trouble when she left the regions of heavenly bliss to descend to the realms of earthly woe. She requested that she should be born as one of the highest caste, and that when she was old enough she should be wedded to the powerful monarch Sivi. Not forgetting the personal attractions so desirable in an Oriental queen who wishes for long to retain her husband's affections, she asked for eyes that should be soft and mild like those of the gazelle, and for lashes whose graceful velvety fringe should be the envy of her rivals and the delight of her husband. Her name was not to be changed from that she had borne, in the gardens of heaven where her graceful figure and handsome face had earned for her the name of "blossom." She also stipulated that she should not experience any of the pains of child-birth, nor at any time suffer any deformation of her slender form. Her youthful appearance was to be preserved for ever from the ruthless hand of time, her complexion and skin to be soft and delicate beyond comparison with those of any earthly rival, and while her beauty enchained the minds of men, she was to win the hearts of all by being allowed to liberate all the prisoners in the land. Her final request included all she had already asked for, and many more besides; for, in a spirit that is delightfully feminine, she asked that when on earth, all her wishes should ever be promptly and completely satisfied. Indra with god-like benevolence granted all her boons, even the last.

In due time she was born on earth, and afterwards wedded to King Sivi. She gave birth to an infant son, the future Buddha in earthly form, who was named by his parents Vessantara. The child gave evidences of his wonderful character by speaking immediately after he was born, and later by his indifference to all earthly pleasures. Neither toys nor jewels were valued by him, and he lived the life of a retired ascetic until he was twenty years old. His father then desired him to marry, and persuaded him to seek for his wife, a princess called Maddi, who was famed for her great beauty. An embassy was sent to the maiden's father to ask for her hand, and as he willingly assented to the alliance, the princess returned with the ambassadors to be married without any delay to the hermit-like prince, Vessantara.

His married life was one of great happiness. He was sincerely attached to his wife and to his son and daughter, but he never forsook his ascetic manner of living. His benevolence was a household word, and gained for him troops of friends, until he made a gift of more than ordinary value to a neighbouring state, and caused thereby a great popular uproar. His father possessed an elephant whose chief value lay in its miraculous power of calling down rain from the skies in times of drought. Now, the people of a province near to his father's country, were suffering from want of water, and they sent to Vessantara to ask if he would lend them the rain-producing elephant, knowing quite well that he never refused to give to anyone what was asked of him. He granted their request without any hesitation, and told them that they might keep the animal as a present from himself. The ambassadors returned, taking home the beast in triumph; but when the inhabitants of Vijaya knew what had happened they burst into angry accusations against their benevolent prince. They complained also that the animal was not his to give, but was the property of the nation. The king was not less angry than his subjects, and ordered his son to leave the capital at once, and live for the rest of his life in exile. The prince, in defending his action, said that the elephant was his and had been given to him by its mother at the time of his birth, as a birthday present. To the father, who was unacquainted with his son's destiny and character, this seemed the most intolerable rubbish, and made him exceedingly angry.

Maddi, like a faithful wife, sought to mollify the anger of her father-in-law, and implored forgiveness for her husband, but the king's wrath was too great to be appeased by her tearful entreaties. Then Vessantara gave away the greater part of his property, preparatory to his departing into banishment. He distributed one hundred elephants, one hundred ponies, one hundred vehicles of different kinds, one hundred male slaves, one hundred female slaves, one hundred catties[I] of gold and one hundred catties of silver. He entreated his wife to remain behind and take care of his two children, but she resolutely refused to leave him in his trouble, and taking the children with them, they departed in his chariot. As they drove out of the city they scattered all the money they had, amongst the crowds of people who had collected to see the banished prince leaving his native city.

On their journey they met two Brahmins, who recognised the prince and asked for his horses. He at once granted their request, and prepared to proceed on foot; but two Devas descended from heaven in the form of golden stags and harnessed themselves to the chariot. A little later they were met by another Brahmin, who asked for both chariot and steeds. Vessantara and Maddi dismounted and left the carriage to the stranger. The stags immediately disappeared, to the great astonishment of him who had begged for them. The wedded pair, carrying their children with them, pursued their way on foot, going in the direction of a distant and lonely mountain, where they proposed living the life of the hermits.

The road to the mountain passed through the country where Maddi's father reigned. He heard of their arrival in his territory and at once set out to meet them. He besought them to stay in his kingdom, offered them a residence near his own palace, and did all he could to persuade them to change their purpose. But they refused all his offers, saying that they were fully determined to live as hermits in the lonely jungle. At his earnest request they stayed with him seven days, but left him at the end of that time to continue their journey to the far-off mountain.

They had to pass through perilous places, and were exposed to many dangers from men and beasts. A hunter was sent to guard them during this part of the journey. Indra, ever watchful, saw all that was happening, and commissioned one of his celestial architects to go at once to the mountain and prepare two bowers for the reception of the wandering exiles.

At this time there was living in another part of the country, an aged Brahmin who was wedded to a young but ambitious wife. She had heard of Vessantara's gifts, the story of the elephants and the chariot, and of his numerous acts of benevolence, and felt that it would be an easy matter to trade upon his good nature and obtain some valuable gift for herself. So she asked her aged husband to go and ask Vessantara for his two children. He refused for a long time, but finally yielded to her entreaties, and set off to find the whereabouts of the generous prince that he might make known his wife's request. The guardian hunter saw him approaching, and levelled his bow at him, but the Brahmin said that he was a favourite of the prince, and had often received wise counsel from him, and that he only sought the exile in order to befriend him, and carry to him the messages of old friends. The hunter was deceived, and allowed the Brahmin to pass on his way.

Then the Brahmin arrived at a hut where lived a holy ascetic, to whom he addressed himself, enquiring for the way to Vessantara's residence. The hermit believing the man to be some greedy creature about to prefer a vexatious request, expressed his disgust and anger in very strong language. But the Brahmin, unaffected by the scornful denunciations he had listened to, again professed a desire to befriend the exiled prince. So sincere did his protestations appear, that the hermit gave him the required directions.

Following the path pointed out to him, he at length reached Vessantara's bower, and presenting himself in the disguise of a mendicant, asked the prince to give him his two children. Their mother was absent at the time, as she had not returned from gathering fruit and herbs in the jungle. The prince was grieved when he heard the request, but he was fully aware that it was only by acts of great self-sacrifice that he could perfect his nature and attain the goal for which he was striving, so without much hesitation, he handed over his little son and daughter to the care of the beggar. His temper was sorely tried when he saw the mendicant tie their tiny hands fast behind their backs as though they were common slaves, and drag them roughly over the rough and thorny pathway. The tender-hearted parent suffered agonies of pain as he witnessed this cruel treatment of his loved ones, but by keeping his mind fixed on his future he managed to control any outward expressions of grief and anger. At some little distance from the bower, the Brahmin stumbled and fell to the ground. The children seeing an opportunity to escape from their brutal master, promptly fled and hid themselves in a lotus pond. The Brahmin returned to Vessantara, and angrily complained of the behaviour of the runaways, and upbraided the father with having deceived and tricked him. The prince, making no answer to the false rebukes, silently went out to look for his little ones. He saw their footprints in the ground, followed the direction they indicated, and soon discovered his son. In answer to his voice, the daughter also came out of her hiding-place, and there, by the side of the pond, the two children knelt down and embraced the feet of their father. Tears that sparkled like gems in the sunlight, fell from the eyes of the sorrowful three. The father spoke tenderly to his weeping children and told them of his great grief for their suffering, but that it was necessary for his and their future happiness. He tried to show them that if their love for him was sincere, they would go away with the mendicant cheerfully and willingly, for by so doing they would ultimately help in his attainment of perfect bliss. The boy acquiesced, but the little girl's heart was full of anger, and the burning tears ran heavily down her sorrow-stricken face. Once more they were delivered to the beggar, and again was their father's temper sorely tried, for their new master at once gave them both a sound thrashing before his eyes, as a punishment for what he termed their bad behaviour.

While all this was happening, an event had occurred in the forest to prevent the return of Maddi before the children had gone away. For Indra foresaw that she might possibly by her tears and entreaties, hinder her husband's progress towards that goal of perfect benevolence which was to crown and complete his earthly career. So he arranged that on her homeward way, she should meet three animals, a lion, a tiger, and a leopard. They did her no harm, but simply prevented her from going forward. After many attempts to escape, she fell upon her knees and implored them to allow her to pass. Her husband's great act of renunciation having by this time been fully accomplished, the three beasts, who were three Devas in disguise, no longer hindered her progress, but departed into the jungle. It was long after midnight when she returned to her home, and the first thing her motherly eyes detected was the absence of her little ones. She turned to her husband, in whose face shone a heavenly glow of happiness not unmixed with sadness, and enquired of him what had become of the children. But to all her questions he answered nothing. Then, knowing the generous nature of his heart, and seeing the sadly kind expression on his face, she guessed what had happened, and, overcome with the weight of her great misfortune, she burst into tears and fell in a swoon upon the ground. Her husband tended her gently, and when she had recovered consciousness, he told her all that had happened, and besought her with pleading and argument to agree to the act in which she had as yet had no part. Deeply impressed with his earnestness and dimly conscious that there was more in the matter than she could realise, she acquiesced in what he had done.

Now Indra saw that there was but one thing left to Vessantara which he could give away, and that was his wife Maddi. And the god remembered that if the prince should give away his wife, there would be no one left to tend and care for him in that solitary place. To prevent Vessantara being left absolutely alone, Indra himself descended to earth in the form of an old Brahmin and stood before the bower. The prince saw him there, and at once realised that he had now an opportunity of completing his many acts of self-sacrifice by bestowing his wife upon the stranger. He asked the Brahmin again and again if there was anything he desired, and the Brahmin at length asked for the princess Maddi. With mingled joy and grief he parted with his long-loved and faithful help-meet, who had suffered much for his sake. The sorrow he felt at parting with the last earthly possession he dearly loved, was almost drowned in the thought that this was the last act in the long drama he had played through many generations. Great was his surprise and delight when the disguised Indra returned his wife to him, telling him to keep her in trust. The apparent Brahmin promised to return for her at some future time, and departed, leaving the loving pair to wonder as to his identity.

The old mendicant who had obtained possession of the children, intended to take them home to become the slaves of his greedy wife. But he lost his way in the trackless forests, and by mistake wandered into the city of Vessantara's father. The king was seated in a pavilion on the palace wall, and as the mendicant slowly wended his way past the royal residence, the observant monarch saw and recognised his two grandchildren. He sent for them, and from the boy's lips learned their story. The boy also told him the amounts that had been fixed by their father as the price of their redemption, and these amounts the king at once paid over to the Brahmin, and so liberated his grandchildren. The money that the Brahmin received was of little use to him, for he died shortly afterwards, leaving no heirs to inherit his wealth. When the children had told their grandfather the story of their father's life and his lonely wanderings in the dangerous jungle, some feeling of pity and remorse took possession of the king, and he determined to have his son back again. He went to the distant forest, accompanied by the queen, his two newly found grandchildren and many soldiers.

Great rejoicing attended the meeting of the father and son who had been so long separated. Vessantara in answer to the queen's entreaties promised to return home. On his return to his native city a great festival was held, the people thronged to see their long-lost prince once more, alms were distributed in great quantities, and the period of self denial and renunciation was brought to a close. All those to whom Vessantara had previously given his valuable property returned it to him, asking for his blessing and forgiveness.

Those who are interested in the after histories of these people may care to know that Vessantara appeared upon earth as Gautama Buddha, that Maddi was re-born as his wife Yashodra, and that his son was given to him again as Rahula. His daughter, however, did not become a member of his family in the next life upon earth, for when she was forced to follow the cruel old Brahmin, she swore in her heart that she would never again be re-born as the daughter of such an unjust and unloving father.

Thus ends the story of "The Great Birth" according to the version of the "pious" king of Siam. With the exception of the public state recital of the poem, it is now only recited in connection with the novitiate of the eldest sons of rich parents. The poor no longer ask their friends to visit their houses to listen to the thousand stanzas. The rich endeavour to reproduce as far as possible the circumstances of the original recital. The novice who has retired to the temple and resigned for the time being all his earthly possessions, represents Vessantara. And as Buddha told the tale to a multitude of friends and relations in his native city, so the novice returns from the temple to his own home to chant the numerous stanzas in the midst of his acquaintances. The honour of thus repeating the old story belongs now to the eldest son, except in the case of children of royal birth, for each of whom a public recital is held. As the novice has not had time to learn the whole poem, he only delivers the first few lines, the rest being repeated by monks of longer standing, who have it all by heart. At the conclusion of the ceremony, offerings of food and robes are ostentatiously distributed to those priests who have given their services.

The preaching of the story of the Great Birth during the novitiate of the late Crown Prince of Siam, was the occasion of great public rejoicing. The offerings were more numerous and varied than usual, and were arranged in a novel manner in front of the palace. A huge junk was erected on the grass, and its sides were totally covered with boxes of cigars, boxes of sardines, and tinned provisions. The cabins and hold were filled with eatables, and when the "preaching" festivities were ended, the whole vessel was broken up, and its contents distributed amongst the poor and the hospitals.