Mr. Redslob Explained That I
Had Seen Much Of Buddhism In Ceylon And Japan, And Wished To See
Their Temples.
So with our train of gopas, zemindar, peasants, and
muleteers, we mounted to a corridor full of lamas in ragged red
dresses, yellow girdles and yellow caps, where we were presented with
plates of apricots, and the door of the lowest of the seven temples
heavily grated backwards.
The first view, and indeed the whole view of this temple of Wrath or
Justice, was suggestive of a frightful Inferno, with its rows of
demon gods, hideous beyond Western conception, engaged in torturing
writhing and bleeding specimens of humanity. Demon masks of ancient
lacquer hung from the pillars, naked swords gleamed in motionless
hands, and in a deep recess whose 'darkness' was rendered 'visible'
by one lamp, was that indescribable horror the executioner of the
Lord of Hell, his many brandished arms holding instruments of
torture, and before him the bell, the thunderbolt and sceptre, the
holy water, and the baptismal flagon. Our joss-sticks fumed on the
still air, monks waved censers, and blasts of dissonant music woke
the semi-subterranean echoes. In this temple of Justice the younger
lamas spend some hours daily in the supposed contemplation of the
torments reserved for the unholy. In the highest temple, that of
Peace, the summer sunshine fell on Shakya Thubba and the Buddhist
triad seated in endless serenity. The walls were covered with
frescoes of great lamas, and a series of alcoves, each with an image
representing an incarnation of Buddha, ran round the temple.
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