TRÜBNER'S

ORIENTAL SERIES.

THE LIFE OR LEGEND

OF

GAUDAMA

THE BUDDHA OF THE BURMES
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. I.

Fourth Edition.

LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO. L^TD.
DRYDEN HOUSE, GERRARD STREET, W.
1911.

The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh

ADVERTISEMENT TO THIRD EDITION.

The origin of the present work dates back to the years 1852, 1853, 1854, and 1855, when portions of it appeared in the "Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia," edited by J. R. Logan of Penang (vols. vi., vii., viii., and ix.). The first complete edition was printed at Rangoon in Burmah in 1858, and a second, much enlarged, at the same place in 1866.

Very few copies of either of these editions reached Europe, and both are entirely out of print. The present third edition—a faithful reprint of the second—issued, with Bishop Bigandet's sanction, for the benefit of European and American scholars and readers, will, therefore, it is hoped, be gladly received.

Buddhism and Gautama, the faith and its founder, whose followers are between four and five hundred millions of the human race, were comparatively unknown in Europe but a generation ago, and yet this great faith had continued for four and twenty centuries to spread over the vast lands of the East, taking deep and enduring root in all, from Bhotan, Nepaul, and Ceylon, over Further India to China Proper, Mongolia, Mantchooria, Tibet, and Japan.

Buddhism, as it is found in Burmah, has a particular claim to the attention of a diligent and attentive observer. We there have that religious creed or system as pure from adulteration as it can be after a lapse of so many centuries. Philosophy never flourished in Burmah, and, therefore, never modified the religious systems of the country. Hinduism never exercised any influence on the banks of the Irrawaddy. Chinese and Burmese have often met on battlefields, but the influence of the Middle Kingdom has never established itself in Burmah. In other words, Chinese Buddhism has never been able to penetrate into the customs and manners of the people, and has not attempted to communicate its own religion to its southern neighbours. It would seem that the true form of Buddhism is to be found in Burmah, and that a knowledge of that system can only be arrived at by the study of the religious books of Burmah, and by attentively observing the religious practices and ceremonies of the people. This is what Bishop Bigandet has endeavoured to do throughout his work.

Mr. Alabaster, the author of a very popular work on Siamese Buddhism, testifies to the great value of the Bishop's work, which, he remarks, is in one sense complete, for whereas the Siamese manuscript concludes with the attainment of omniscience, the Bishop had materials which enabled him to continue the story to the death of Nirwana (Neibban in the Burmese Pali form). He might have added that the work modestly entitled "Life of Gaudama" is a complete exposition of the great system of Eastern Asia. The metaphysical part, which is the very essence of the system, has received a due consideration, and the body of religious has been fully described. Moreover, the foot-notes help the ordinary reader in understanding clearly the text of the Legend.

Professor Albrecht Weber speaks also of the Bishop's work in terms of high commendation (see "Literarisches Centralblatt," 1870, No. 29, reprinted in "Indische Streifen," vol. iii.), whilst a still further testimony is accorded to its importance in the recent appearance of a French translation by Lieutenant Victor Gauvain.

London, December 1879.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

Whether Buddhism be viewed in its extent and diffusion, or in the complex nature of its doctrines, it claims the serious attention of every inquiring mind.

In our own days it is, under different forms, the creed prevailing in Nepaul, Thibet, Mongolia, Corea, China, the Japanese Archipelago, Anam, Cambodia, Siam, the Shan States, Burmah, Arracan, and Ceylon. Its sway extends over nearly one-fourth of the human race.

Though based upon capital and revolting errors, Buddhism teaches a surprising number of the finest precepts and purest moral truths. From the abyss of its almost unfathomable darkness it sends forth rays of the brightest hue.

To the reflecting mind, the study of this religious system becomes the study of the history of one of the greatest religious enterprises that has ever been undertaken to elevate our nature above its low level, by uprooting the passions of the heart and dispelling the errors of the mind. A serious observer sees at a glance the dark and humiliating picture of the sad and barren results of the greatest and mightiest efforts of human wisdom, in its endeavours to find out the real cause of all human miseries, and to provide the remedies to cure the moral distempers to which our nature is subject. The fact of man's wretched and fallen condition was clearly perceived by the Buddhist philosopher, but he failed in his attempts to help man out of the difficulties which encompass him in all directions, and to bring him back to the path of truth and salvation. The efforts begun on the banks of the Ganges at an early period, and carried on with the greatest ardour and perseverance, have proved as abortive as those made at a later period throughout Greece and Italy by the greatest and brightest geniuses of antiquity. What a grand and irresistible demonstration both of the absolute inability of man to rescue from evil and attain good, and of the indispensable necessity of divine interference to help him in accomplishing that twofold achievement!

It may be said in favour of Buddhism, that no philosophico-religious system has ever upheld, to an equal degree, the notions of a saviour and deliverer, and of the necessity of his mission for procuring the salvation, in a Buddhist sense, of man. The rôle of Buddha, from beginning to end, is that of a deliverer, who preaches a law designed to secure to man deliverance from all the miseries under which he is labouring. But by an inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity, the pretended saviour, after having taught man the way to deliver himself from the tyranny of his passions, only leads him, after all, into the bottomless gulf of total annihilation.

Buddhism, such as we find it in Burmah, appears to have retained, to a great extent, its original character and primitive genuineness, exhibiting, as it does, the most correct forms and features of that Protean creed. At the epoch the Burmans left the northern valleys and settled in the country they now inhabit, they were a half-civilised Mongolian tribe, with no kind of worship, except a sort of geniolatry, much similar to what we see now existing among the various tribes bordering on Burmah. They were in the same condition when the first Buddhist missionaries arrived among them. Deposited in this almost virginal soil, the seed of Buddhism grew up freely without encountering any obstacle to check its growth.

Philosophy, which, in its too often erratic rambles in search of truth, changes, corrects, improves, destroys, and, in numberless ways, modifies all that it meets, never flourished in these parts; and, therefore, did not work on the religious institutions, which accordingly have remained up to this day nearly the same as they were when first imported into Burmah. The free discussion of religious and moral subjects, which constituted the very life of the Indian schools, and begat so many various, incoherent, and contradictory opinions on the most essential points of religion and philosophy, is the sign of an advanced state of civilisation, such as does not appear to have ever existed on the banks of the Irrawaddy.

Owing to its geographical position, and perhaps, also, to political causes, Burmah has ever remained out of the reach of Hindu influence, which in Nepaul has coloured Buddhism with Hindu myths, and habited it in gross forms of idolatry. In China, where there already subsisted at the time of the arrival of the preachers of the new doctrine the worship of heroes and ancestors, Buddhism, like an immense parasitic plant, extended itself all over the institutions which it covered rather than destroyed, allowing the ancient forms to subsist under the disguise it afforded them. But such was not the state of Burmah when visited by the first heralds of Buddhism.

The epoch of the introduction of Buddhism in Burmah has hitherto been a matter of conjecture. According to Burmese annals, Boudha-gautha, at the end of the fourth century of our era, brought from Ceylon a copy of the scriptures, and did for Burmah what Fa-Hian, the Chinese pilgrim, accomplished a few years afterwards in India and Ceylon for the benefit of his country. But Burmans maintain that they were followers of Buddha long before that epoch. If an inference may be drawn from analogy, it is probable that they are right in their assertion. China is fully as far from the ancient seat of Buddhism as Burmah. Yet it appears from the Chinese annals that the doctrines of the Indian philosopher were already propagated in some parts of that empire in the middle of the first century of our era, and probably at an earlier date. There is no improbability in concluding that, at least at the same time, Buddhist missionaries had penetrated into this country to propagate their tenets. According to Buddhistic annals, it was after the holding of the 3d Council, 236 after Gaudama's death, 207 B.C., that two missionaries carried religion to Thaton, the ruins of which are still to be seen between the mouths of the Tsitang and Salween rivers, and established Buddhism in Pegu. Be that as it may, we know, from the magnificent Buddhist monuments of Pagan, that that religion had reached, in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a degree of splendour that has never since been equalled.

The Buddhist scriptures are divided into three great parts, the Thoots or instructions, the Wini or discipline, and the Abidama or metaphysics. Agreeably to this division, the matter of the following pages is arranged under three heads. The Life of Buddha, with some portions of his preaching, will convey notions of his principal teachings and doctrines. It is accompanied with copious annotations intended to explain the text, and to convey detailed notices of the system of Buddhism in general, and particularly as it is found existing in Burmah. We have added a few small dzats, or accounts of some of the former existences of Gaudama, and the summary of two large ones.

In the Notice on the Phongyies will be found the chief points of discipline fully explained and developed. We have endeavoured to render as complete as possible the account of the Buddhist Religious, or Phongyies. It is an exposition and practical illustration of the highest results that can be obtained under the influence of the doctrines of the Indian philosopher.

In the Ways to Neibban an attempt has been made to set forth and unfold the chief points of metaphysics upon which hinges the whole religious system. We confess that the summary of metaphysics is rather concise. We were reluctant to proceed too far in this subject, which, to the generality of readers, is an uninviting one.

A suggestion from Captain H. Hopkinson, Commissioner of the Martaban and Tenasserim Provinces, has induced us to add a few remarks on the names and situations of the principal towns and countries mentioned in the Legend, with the view of identifying them with modern sites and places.

It is hardly necessary to state here that the writer, when he undertook this work, had no other object in view than that of merely expounding the religious system of Buddhism as it is, explaining its doctrines and practices as correctly as it was in his power to do, regardless of their merits and demerits. His information has been derived from the perusal of the religious books of the Burmans, and from frequent conversations on religion, during several years, with the best informed among the laity and the religious whom he has had the chance of meeting.

The surest way perhaps of coming to at least an exact and accurate knowledge of the history and doctrines of Buddhism would be to give a translation of the Legends of Buddha, such as they are to be met with in all countries where Buddhism has established its sway, and to accompany these translations with an exposition of the various doctrinal points, such as they are held, understood, and believed by these various nations. This has already been done by eminent Orientalists, on Thibetan, Sanscrit, Cingalese, and Chinese originals. A similar work, executed by competent persons among the Shans, Siamese, Cambodians, and Cochin Chinese, would considerably help the savants in Europe, who have assumed the difficult task of expounding the Buddhist system in its complex and multifarious forms, to give a full, general, and comprehensive view of that great religious creed with all its variations.

The best way to undermine the foundations of a false creed and successfully attack it, is to lay it open to the eyes of all and exhibit it as it really is. Error never retains its hold over the mind except under the mask of truth which it contrives to assume. When deprived of the mask that has covered its emptiness and unreality, it vanishes away as a phantom and an illusion.

We are happy in having an opportunity of returning publicly our thanks to the worthy Commissioner of Pegu, Major A. P. Phayre, for his kind exertions in furthering the publication of this work. Not only is he an eminent Oriental scholar, and profoundly versed in all that has reference to Buddhism, but his great delight is to encourage every effort that tends to unfold and explain a creed which, despite all that has been written about it in the several countries where it flourishes, still contains many mysteries in the parts relating to its history and doctrines that require clearing up.

We have, with a deeply-felt distrust of our poor abilities, taken the best portion out of our limited stock of information concerning the Buddhist system as it exists in these parts, and, with a willing heart, presented it to the public. We hope that our example may induce others, whose stores of knowledge on this subject are fuller and richer than ours, to act in a similar spirit in aid of the prosecution of a great object, viz., the acquisition of a correct knowledge of the religion of nearly 300,000,000 of our fellow-men.

Rangoon, October 1858.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

The First Edition of the Life of Gaudama being out of print for the last five or six years, we have, at the request of several highly esteemed persons, come to the determination of publishing a second and much-enlarged edition of the same Work. In carrying on the plan of improvement which we had in contemplation, we have been favoured by a happy circumstance. We have, after much labour, found and procured, in the Burmese capital, a very rare palm-leaf manuscript, the contents of which have supplied us with copies and interesting details respecting the sayings and doings of Gaudama.

The book is known under the Pali name of Tatha-gatha-oudana, the meaning of which is Joyful Utterance, or Praises, of the Tatha-gatha. The latter expression is one of the many titles given to Gaudama: it means, he who has come like all his predecessors. In the opinion of Buddhists, the Buddhas who appear throughout the duration of a world, or in the various series of succeeding worlds, have all the same mission to accomplish; they are gifted with the same perfect science, and are filled with similar feelings of compassion for and benevolence towards all beings. Hence the denomination which is fitly given to Gaudama, the last of them.

In the course of the Work will be found some particulars concerning the author of the manuscript referred to, and the place where it was composed. We have only to state here that we have gathered therefrom much information on the condition of Gaudama, previous to his last existence, on the origin of the Kapilawot country, where he was born, and on the kings he has descended from. We have also met with many new details on the great intellectual working of Gaudama's mind, during the forty-nine days he spent in meditation around the Bodi-tree, particularly on the important theory of the twelve Nidanas, or causes and effects, which, with the four sublime truths, constitutes the very essence of the system. We have also found many important particulars concerning the whereabouts of Gaudama during the first twenty years of his public life, and the conversions he effected whilst engaged in the work of an itinerant preacher. Here, too, we have gleaned and selected a few of the instructions he delivered to the people that crowded about him. The story of Dewadat is narrated at great length. We have carefully written down what is said of the three Assemblies, or Councils, held at Radzagio, Wethalie, and Pataliputra, and what is mentioned of the kings who reigned in Magatha, from Adzatathat to Dammathoka. We have mentioned the great fact of the spread of Buddhism beyond the boundaries of Magatha after the holding of the third Council, taking care to relate what we have found stated concerning its diffusion in Pegu and Burmah.

Numerous notes have been added to those of the First Edition, for the purpose of elucidating and explaining, as far as we are able, the principles of Buddhism and whatever is connected with that religious system.

Rangoon, May 1866.

CONTENTS.

LEGEND OR LIFE OF THE BURMESE BUDDHA,
CALLED GAUDAMA.

LEGEND OF THE BURMESE BUDDHA
CALLED
GAUDAMA.

CHAPTER I.

Invocation of the Burmese translator—Slow but steady progress of Phralaong towards the Buddhaship—Promise made to him by the Buddha Deipinkara—Origin and beginning of the Kapilawot country and of its Rulers—Birth of Thoodaudana—His marriage with the Princess Maia—Rumour of the coming birth of a Buddha—Phralaong in the seat of Nats—Dream of Maia—Conception of Phralaong—Wonders attending that event.

I adore[1] Buddha who has gloriously emerged from the bottomless whirlpool of endless existences, who has extinguished the burning fire of anger and other passions, who has opened and illuminated the fathomless abyss of dark ignorance, and who is the greatest and most excellent of all beings.

I adore the Law which the most excellent Buddha has published, which is infinitely high and incomparably profound, exceedingly acceptable, and most earnestly wished-for by Nats and men, capable to wipe off the stains of concupiscence, and is immutable.

I adore the Assembly of the Perfect, of the pure and illustrious Ariahs in their eight sublime states, who have overcome all the passions that torment other mortals, by eradicating the very root of concupiscence, and who are famous above all other beings.

I undertake to translate from the Pali[2] text the history of our most excellent Phra, from the period he left Toocita,[3] the fourth abode of Nats, to the time he entered into the state of Neibban.

Previous, however, to commencing the work, I will relate succinctly what is found in our books respecting the great Being who, by a slow but sure process, was qualifying himself for his great and high destiny. It is stated that all the following particulars were narrated by Gaudama himself to the great disciple Thariputra.

For seven thingies of worlds, he who was to become a Buddha felt, during that immense number of revolutions of nature, a thought for the Buddhaship awakening in his soul. This thought was succeeded by a wish, a desire, and a longing for that extraordinary calling. He began to understand that the practice of the virtues of the highest order was requisite to enable him to attain the glorious object of his ardent wishes, and no less than 125,000 Buddhas appeared during that space of time.

When the above period had at last come to an end, the inward workings of his soul prompted him to ask openly for the Buddhaship. The period of asking lasted nine thingies of worlds. It was brightened and illustrated by the successive manifestation of 987,000 Buddhas. In the beginning of this latter period, the future Gaudama was a prince of the name of Laukatara, ruler of the Nanda country. At that time there appeared in the country of Kapilawot a Buddha called Thakiamuni Paurana Gaudama. As he happened to travel through the Nanda country, with the twofold object of preaching the law and begging for his food, the ruler Laukatara made great offerings to him. Meanwhile, with a marked earnestness, he solicited at the feet of Thakiamuni the favour of becoming, at some future time, a Buddha like himself. He expressed the wish to be born in the same country, from the same father and mother, to have for his wife the very same queen, to ride the same horse, to be attended by the same companions and the same two great disciples on the right and on the left. To this request Thakiamuni replied in the affirmative, but he added that an immense length of time had still to elapse ere the objects of his petition could be fully granted. A similar application was repeatedly made to all the other succeeding Buddhas, and a like promise was held out to him.

The third period of four thingies of worlds was remarkable for the complete absence of all that could enlighten or illustrate the various states of existence. A complete moral and intellectual darkness was spread over all beings, and kept them wrapped up in utter darkness. No Buddhas, no Pitzekabuddhas appeared to illuminate by their doctrine and science the minds of men. No Tsekiawade, or king of the world, made his appearance to infuse life and energy in the midst of the universal slumbering.

But the hundred thousand revolutions of nature that followed were more fortunate. There flourished no less than twenty-seven Buddhas, from Tahingara, the first in the series, to Kathaba, the last one immediately preceding Gaudama.

During the period when the Buddha named Deipinkara was the teacher of all beings, our future Gaudama was born in the country of Amarawatti, from illustrious and rich parents belonging to the caste of Pounhas.

While still a youth, he lost both his parents and inherited their property.

In the midst of pleasure and plenty he one day made this reflection:—The riches that I now possess were my parents' property, but they have not been able to save them from the miseries attending death. They will not, alas! afford to me a better and more secure fate. When I go into the grave, they will not come along with me. This bodily frame I am clad in is not worthy to be pitied. Why should I bestow signs of compassion upon it? Filled with impurities, burdened by rottenness, it has all the elements of destruction in the compounded parts of its existence. Towards Neibban I will turn my regards; upon it my eyes shall be riveted. There is the tank in which all the impurities of passion may be washed away. Now I will forsake everything, and go forthwith in search of a teacher that will point out to me the way that leads to the state Neibban.

Full of these thoughts, the young man gave away to the needy all that he possessed, reserving nothing to himself. Freed from the trammels of riches, he withdrew into a lonely place, where the Nats had prepared beforehand all that was necessary to minister to his wants. He embraced the profession or mode of life of a Rahan, or perfect. Attired in the dress of his new profession, he lived for some time on this spot under the name of Thoomeda. Displeased, however, with the too easy mode of life he was leading, he left that spot, and contented himself with dwelling under the shade of trees. He, however, went forth from time to time in quest of his food.

A few years previous to the retirement of Thoomeda into solitude, he who was to be the Buddha Deipinkara migrated from one of the Nats' seats, and was incarnated in the womb of the Princess Thoomeda, wife of Thoodewa, king of the Ramawatti country. Subsequently he was married to the Princess Padouma, who bore unto him a son, named Oothabakanda. On the same year in which the child was born, the king left his palace on an elephant's back, withdrew into some lonely place, practised during ten months all sorts of self-inflicted penances, and, under the shade of the tree Gniaong Kiat, became a Buddha. On that occasion the earth quivered with great violence, but the hermit Thoomeda, being in ecstasy at that moment, knew nothing of the extraordinary occurrence.

On a certain day, Deipinkara was travelling through the country for the twofold purpose of preaching the law and collecting his food. Arrived near a place where the road was very bad, he stopped for a while until the road should be made passable. The people hastened from all parts to come and prepare the road for Deipinkara and his followers. Thoomeda, gifted with the privilege of travelling through the air, happened to pass over the spot where crowds of people were busily engaged in preparing and levelling a road. The hermit alighted on that spot, and inquired of the people what was the reason of their busy exertions. They told him that the most excellent Deipinkara was expected with a large retinue of disciples, and that they strained every nerve to have the road ready for them. Thoomeda begged to be permitted to bear a part in the good work, and asked that a certain extent of the road be assigned to him as his task. His request was granted, and he forthwith set to work with the greatest diligence. It was all but finished when Buddha Deipinkara, followed by forty thousand disciples, made his appearance. Thoomeda, actuated by an ardent desire of testifying his respect to the holy personage, without a moment's hesitation flung himself into the hollow that was as yet not filled, and lying on his belly, with his back upwards, bridged the place, and entreated the Buddha and his followers to cross the hollow by trampling over his body. Great and abundant shall be the merits that I, said he within himself, shall gain by this good work. No doubt I will receive from the mouth of Deipinkara the assurance that I shall, hereafter, obtain the Buddhaship. The Buddha, standing over him, admired the humble and fervent devotedness of Thoomeda. With one glance he perceived all that was going on in the hermit's mind, and with a loud voice, that could be heard by all his disciples, he assured him that four thingies and one hundred thousand worlds hence he would become a Buddha, the fourth that would appear during the world, called Badda. He went on to describe minutely the principal events that were to illustrate his future career. No sooner was this revelation made to him than Thoomeda hastened back to his forest. Sitting at the foot of a tree, he encouraged himself by fine comparisons to the practice of those virtues that were best suited to weaken in him the influence of the passions.

In the different existences that followed, Thoomeda, at all the periods of the appearance of some Buddhas, received a confirmation of the promise he had had from the lips of Deipinkara.

This present world we live in has been favoured above all others. Already three Buddhas have appeared, viz., Kaukkasan, Gaunagong, and Kathaba. These all belonged to the caste of Pounhas, and he who was to be hereafter our Gaudama, during the many existences he passed through, at the time of the manifestations of those three Buddhas, was always born of the same caste. Kathaba is said to have lived and preached during the ninth andrakap. It was he who, for the last time, assured the future Gaudama that he would obtain the Buddhaship during the tenth andrakap.

We will only mention his last existence in the seat of man, previous to the one in which he was to obtain the great prize he had laboured for with so much earnestness during innumerable existences. He became prince under the name of Wethandra, and practised to an eminent, nay heroic, degree the virtues of liberality and charity. To such an extent did he obey the dictates of his liberal heart, that, after having given away all the royal treasures, his white elephant, &c., he did not shrink from parting with his own wife, the Princess Madi, and his two children, Dzali and Gahna. He then died and migrated to the Toocita seat, and enjoyed the blissfulness and felicity of Nats, under the name of Saytakaytoo, during fifty-seven koudes of years.

The origin and beginning of the Kapilawot country, as well as of its rulers, are to be alluded to as briefly as possible. In the country of the middle, Mitzimadesa, the kings that ruled from the time of Mahathamadat to that of Ookakaritz, king of Benares, were 252,556 in number. The last-named monarch was married to five wives, and had children by them all. The first queen happening to die, the king became passionately enamoured of a young woman, whom he married. She soon presented him with a son, whom the king, pressed by his young wife's solicitations, declared heir-apparent, to the prejudice of his elder sons. As might have been expected, the four elder sons loudly complained of the preference given to their younger brother. To put an end to these domestic disputes, the king called his four sons and their five sisters, gave them a large retinue, and bade them go in a northerly direction, in search of a spot favourable for building a new city. They followed their father's advice. After long wandering through the forests, they came to a place where lived the Rathee Kapila, who, becoming acquainted with the object of their errand, desired them to stay with him and found a city. He also wished that on the very spot where his hut stood the king's palace should be erected. He predicted that this city would become great, powerful, and illustrious; that it would be a city of peace, since the animals in the forests lived peaceably, without ever attempting to inflict harm on each other. The proposal was cheerfully accepted. All the people set to work with great earnestness. When the work was completed, they offered the new city to Kapila, who was made their teacher. Hence the name of Kapilawottoo, or Kapilawot.

The four princes, finding that among their followers there were no daughters of the royal race whom they could marry, resolved, in order to keep pure the blood-royal, to marry their four youngest sisters. The eldest one was raised to the dignity of queen-mother. Ookamukka, the eldest of the brothers, was the first king of Kapilawot. Whilst these things were taking place, the king of Benares, having been attacked with leprosy, had left his throne and retired to a forest north of his capital. There he found his cure under the shade of the kalau tree. At the same time the eldest sister, named Peya, who had become queen-mother, was seized with the same distemper, and went into the same forest. She met with the king, whom she knew not. By his advice she sat under the kalau tree, and the beneficent smell of the leaves soon worked a perfect cure. They were subsequently married, and had a numerous progeny. They settled on this spot, and built the city of Kaulya. The small river Rohani flowed between Kaulya and Kapilawot.[A]

[A] When laying before the reader a short and concise account of the being who was to become the Buddha called Gaudama, the writer deems it necessary to make a general observation, which, he hopes, will greatly help the reader to understand correctly several passages of the following pages. Gaudama was a Hindu, brought up by Hindu masters, and initiated in all the knowledge possessed by the society he lived in. He accepted the fabulous genealogies of kings such as they were found in the writings of his days. The same may be said of the erroneous notions respecting our globe, the size and motions of the sun and the moon and other heavenly bodies, the explanations of many natural phenomena, the description of hell, of the seats of reward, &c. Teacher as he was of moral precepts, based upon metaphysical principles, Gaudama concerned himself very little about these things, which, in his eyes, were not worth the consideration of a sage. But he, or more probably his disciples, availed themselves of these notions for resting upon them some portions of their system, and giving them such developments as best suited their views. These notions, though wedded to the religious system originated by Gaudama, do not, strictly speaking, belong to it. They existed before his appearance in the schools of philosophy; they formed a part of the stock of knowledge possessed by the society in which he was reared. To account properly for these particulars and many others belonging to the disciplinary regulations, recourse must be had to the study of the ancient religion of the Hindus, Brahminism.

In the account of the foundation of the Kapilawot city, we find that the practice of leaving the eldest sister unmarried, and of the princes marrying their own sisters, is up to this day observed by the royal family of Burmah. The eldest daughter of the reigning monarch is to remain unmarried during her parents' life, and the first queen is often, if not always, the sister or half-sister of the king. The same unnatural practice prevailed in the royal family of the ancient Persians.

From Ookamukka, the first king of Kapilawot, to Prince Wethandra, there are but seven successive kings. From Dzali, the son of Wethandra, to Dzeyathana, the great-grandfather of Gaudama, there were 82,002 kings. Let it be borne in mind, that, during that period of time, our Phralaong, or future of Gaudama, was in one of the Nats' seats. The princes of Kapilawot were wont to go and sport on the water of a lake somewhat distant from the city. They at first erected a temporary place of residence in the vicinity of that sheet of water, and finally built a city which received the name of Dewaha. It had likewise its kings of the same Thagiwi race. Dzeyathana, the king of Kapilawot, had a son named Thiahanoo, and a daughter named Yathaudara. Aukaka, king of Dewaha, his contemporary, had also a son and a daughter, Eetzana and Kitzana. Thiahanoo was married to Kitzana, who bore unto him five sons, Thoodaudana, Kanwaudana, Thoukkaudana, Thekkaudana, and Amittaudana; and two daughters, Amita and Pilita. Eetzana, the son of the king of Dewa, married Yathaudara, daughter of Dzeyathana, king of Kapilawot. From this marriage were born two sons, Thoopabuddha and Dantapani, and two daughters, Maia and Patzapati.

When Eetzana became king of Dewaha, a considerable error had crept into the calendar. A correction was deemed necessary. There lived a celebrated hermit, or Rathee, named Deweela, well versed in the science of calculation. After several consultations held on this important subject in the presence of the king, it was agreed that the Kaudza era of 8640 years should be done away with on a Saturday, the first of the moon of Tabaong, and that the new era should be made to begin on a Sunday, on the first day of the waxing moon of the month Tagoo. This was called the Eetzana era.

On the 10th of the new era, Thoodaudana was born in the city of Kapilawot; and on the twelfth year, Maia was born at Dewaha. In the days of the Buddha Wipathi, the future Maia was then the daughter of a Pounha. Her father, who tenderly loved her, gave her one day a fine nosegay with a great quantity of the choicest perfumes and essences. The young girl, delighted with these articles, hastened to the place where lived Wipathi, and with pious and fervent earnestness laid at his feet all that she had received from her father. Wipathi, admiring the fervent liberality of the damsel, assured her that she would hereafter become the mother of a Buddha, who was to be called Gaudama.

When Thoodaudana was eighteen years of age, his father, King Thiahanoo, called eight Pounhas skilled in the science of astrology, and directed them to go with a large retinue and splendid presents in search of a royal princess to be married to his son. The eight Pounhas departed. They visited several countries, but all in vain; they could not find one princess worthy of their master's son. At last they came to the city of Dewaha. They had no sooner arrived in sight of it than they saw many signs which prognosticated that in the city would be found an accomplished princess, in every respect qualified to become the wife of the heir to the throne of Kapilawot. At that time the young Maia had gone to enjoy herself in a garden outside the city. It was situated on a gently sloping ground, covered with all sorts of the finest and rarest trees. A small brook, winding its course in various directions, shed on every hand, from its gently murmuring waters, a delicious freshness. Thither the royal messengers resorted. They found the princess in the midst of her companions, outshining them all in beauty, like the moon among the stars. Admitted into her presence, the head of the deputation attempted to speak and explain the object of his visit; but he was so much overwhelmed by the beauty and the graceful and dignified appearance of the princess, that his voice failed him, and he fainted three times in succession. As each fit came on him several damsels ran to his assistance with pitchers of fresh water, and brought him back to his senses. Having recovered his spirits, the chief Pounha felt encouraged by some graceful and kind words from the lips of the princess. He explained to her, in the choicest expressions, the object of his mission; and with a faltering and timid tone of voice stated to her that he had come to entreat her to accept presents from, and the hand of, Prince Thoodaudana. Meanwhile he poured at her feet the brightest jewels and rarest articles. The princess, with a sweet voice, modestly replied that she was under the protection and care of her beloved parents, whose will she never resisted; that it was to them that this affair should be referred. For her own part, she had but one thing to do—to abide by her parents' wishes.

Satisfied with the answer, the Pounhas retired, and hastened to the palace of King Eetzana, to whom they related all that had just happened. The king graciously agreed to the proposal, and, in proof of his perfect satisfaction, sent in return a deputation with many presents to Prince Thoodaudana and his father. As might be expected, the royal messengers were well received at Kapilawot. Thiahanoo and his son set out with a countless retinue for the city of Dewaha. In a grove of mango-trees an immense building was erected, out of the city, for their reception and accommodation; and in the middle of that building a spacious hall was arranged with infinite art for the marriage ceremony. When all the preparations were completed, the bridegroom, attended by his father, King Thiahanoo and the chief of Brahmas, went out to meet the bride, who was coming from the garden, accompanied by her mother and the wife of the great Thagia. Both advanced towards the centre of the hall, near a stand raised for the occasion. Thoodaudana first stretched forth his hand and laid it over that place. Maia gracefully did the same. They then took each other's hands, in token of the mutual consent. At that auspicious moment all the musical instruments resounded, and proclaimed in gladdening airs the happy event. The Pounhas, holding the sacred shell in their hands, poured the blessed water over their heads, uttering all sorts of blessings. The parents and relatives joined in invoking upon the young couple the choicest benedictions. The king, princes, Pounhas, and nobles vied with each other in making presents, and wishing them all sorts of happiness.

When the festival was over, Thiahanoo desired to go back to his country with his son and daughter-in-law. This was done with the utmost pomp and solemnity. On his return, he continued to govern his people with great prudence and wisdom, and at last died and migrated to one of the Nats' seats. He was succeeded by his son Thoodaudana, who, with his amiable wife, religiously observed the five precepts and the ten rules of kings. By his beneficence and liberality to all, he won the sincere affection of his people. It was on the twenty-eighth year of the new era that he was married. Soon after, he took for his second wife, Patzapati, the youngest sister of Maia. Thoodaudana's sister, Amitau, was married to Thouppabuddha, the son of king Eetzana.

About four thingies,[4] an hundred thousand worlds ago,[5] the most excellent Buddha, who is infinitely wise and far superior to the three orders of beings, the Brahmas, the Nats,[6] and men, received at the feet of the Phra Deipinkara the assurance that he would afterwards become himself a Buddha. At this time he was a Rathee,[7] under the name of Thoomeda. During that immense space of time, he practised in the highest degree the ten great virtues, the five renouncings, and the three mighty works of perfection.[8] Having become a great prince[9] under the name of Wethandra, he reached the acme of self-abnegation and renouncement to all the things of this world. After his death, he migrated to Toocita, the fourth abode of Nats. During his sojourn in that happy place, enjoying the fulness of pleasure allotted to the fortunate inhabitants of those blissful regions, a sudden and uncommon rumour, accompanied with an extraordinary commotion proclaimed the gladdening tidings that a Phra was soon to make his appearance in this world.[B]

[B] Remark of the Burmese translator.—There are three solemn occasions on which this great rumour is noised abroad. The first, when the Nats, guardians of this world, knowing that 100,000 years hence the end of this world is to come, show themselves amongst men with their heads hanging down, a sorrowful countenance, and tears streaming down their faces. They are clad in a red dress, and proclaim aloud to all mortals the destruction of this planet 100,000 years hence. They earnestly call upon men to devote themselves to the observance of the law, to the practice of virtue, the support of parents, and the respect due to virtuous personages. The second occasion is, when the same Nats proclaim to men that a thousand years hence a Buddha or Phra will appear amongst them; and the third is, when they come and announce to men that within a hundred years there will be in this world a mighty prince, whose unlimited sway shall extend over the four great islands.

On hearing that a Phra was soon to make his appearance amongst men, all the Nats, the peaceful inhabitants of the fortunate abode of Toocita, assembled in all haste and crowded around Phralaong,[10] eagerly inquiring of him, who was the fortunate Nat to whom was reserved the signal honour of attaining the incomparable dignity of Buddha. The reason which directed their steps towards Phralaong, and suggested their inquiry, was, that in him were already to be observed unmistakable signs, foreshadowing his future greatness.

No sooner did it become known that this incomparable destination was to be his happy lot, than Nats from all parts of the world resorted to the abode of Toocita, to meet Phralaong and to congratulate him upon this happy occasion. "Most glorious Nat," did they say to him, "you have practised most perfectly the ten great virtues;[11] the time is now come for you to obtain the sublime nature of Buddha. During former existences, you most rigidly attended to the observance of the greatest precepts, and walked steadily in the path of the highest virtues; you then sighed after and longed for the happiness of Nats and Brahmas; but now you have most gloriously achieved the mightiest work, and reached the acme of perfection. It remains with you only to aspire at the full possession of the supreme intelligence, which will enable you to open to all Brahmas, Nats, and men the way to the deliverance from those endless series of countless existences[12] through which they are doomed to pass. Now the light of the law is extinguished, a universal darkness has overspread all minds. Men are more than ever slaves to their passions; there is a total lack of love among them; they hate each other, keep up quarrels, strifes and contentions, and mercilessly destroy each other. You alone can free them from the vicissitudes and miseries essentially connected with the present state of all beings. The time is at last come, when you are to become a Buddha."

Unwilling to return at once a positive answer, Phralaong modestly replied that he wanted some time to inquire particularly into the great circumstances always attending the coming of a Buddha in this world, viz., the epoch or time when a Buddha appears, the place which he chooses for his apparition or manifestation, the race or caste he is to be born from, and the age and quality of her who is to be his mother. As regards the first circumstance, Phralaong observed that the apparition of a Buddha could not have taken place during the previous period[13] of 100,000 years and more that had just elapsed, because during that period the life of men was on the increase. The instructions on birth and death, as well as on the miseries of life, which form the true characteristics of Buddha's law, would not then be received with sufficient interest and attention. Had any attempt been made at that time to preach on these three great topics, the men of those days, to whom those great events would have appeared so distant, could not have been induced to look upon them with sufficient attention; the four great truths would have made no impression on their minds; vain and fruitless would have been the efforts to disentangle them from the ties of passions, then encompassing all beings, and to make them sigh after the deliverance from the miseries entailed upon mankind by birth, life, and death. The period when human life is under a hundred years' duration cannot at all be the proper period for such an important event, as the passions of men are then so many and so deeply rooted that Buddha would in vain attempt to preach his law. As the characters which a man traces over the smooth surface of unruffled water instantly disappear without leaving any mark behind, so the law and instructions that one should attempt to spread on the hardened hearts of men would make no lasting impression upon them. Hence he concluded that the present period, when the life of men was of about a hundred years' duration, was the proper one for the apparition of a Buddha. This first point having been disposed of, Phralaong examined in what part of the globe a Buddha was to appear.

His regards glanced over the four great islands[14] and the 2000 small ones. He saw that the island of Dzapoudiba, the southern one, had always been the favourite place selected by all former Buddhas; he fixed upon it, too, for himself. That island, however, is a most extensive one, measuring in length 300 youdzanas, in breadth 252, and in circumference 900. He knew that on that island former Buddhas and semi-Buddhas, the two great Rahandas,[15] or disciples of the right and left, the prince whose sway is universal, &c., had all of them invariably fixed upon and selected that island, and, amidst the various countries on the island, that of Mitzima, the central one, where is to be found the district of Kapilawot. "Thither," said he, "shall I resort, and become a Buddha."

Having determined the place which he was to select for his terrestrial seat, Phralaong examined the race or caste from which he was to be born. The caste of the people and that of merchants appeared too low, and much wanting in respectability, and, moreover, no Buddha had ever come out therefrom. That of the Pounhas was in former times the most illustrious and respected, but that of princes, in those days, far surpassed it in power and consideration. He therefore fixed his choice upon the caste of princes, as most becoming his future high calling. "I choose," said he, "prince Thoodaudana for my father. As to the princess who is to become my mother, she must be distinguished by a modest deportment and chaste manners, and must never have tasted any intoxicating drink. During the duration of 100,000 worlds she must have lived in the practice of virtue, performing with a scrupulous exactitude all the rules and observances prescribed by the law. The great and glorious Princess Maia is the only person in whom all these conditions are to be found. Moreover, the period of her life shall be at an end ten months and seven days hence;[16] she shall be my mother."

Having thus maturely pondered over these four circumstances, Phralaong, turning to the Nats that surrounded him, anxiously expecting his answer, plainly and unreservedly told them that the time for his becoming Buddha had arrived, and bade them forthwith communicate this great news to all the Brahmas and Nats. He rose up, and, accompanied by all the Nats of Toocita, withdrew into the delightful garden of Nandawon. After a short sojourn in that place, he left the abode of Nats, descended into the seat of men, and incarnated in the womb of the glorious Maia, who at once understood that she was pregnant with a boy who would obtain the Buddhaship. At the same moment also the Princess Yathaudara, who was to be the wife of the son of Maia, descended from the seats of Nats, and was conceived in the womb of Amitau, the wife of Prince Thouppabuddha.

At that time the inhabitants of Kapilawot were busily engaged in celebrating, in the midst of extraordinary rejoicings, the festival of the constellation of Outarathan (July-August). But the virtuous Maia, without mixing amidst the crowds of those devoted to amusements, during the seven days that preceded the full moon of July, spent her time among her attendants, making offerings of flowers and perfumes. The day before the full moon she rose up at an early hour, bathed in perfumed water, and distributed to the needy four hundred thousand pieces of silver. Attired in her richest dress, she took her meal, and religiously performed all the pious observances usual on such occasions. This being done, she entered into her private apartment, and, lying on her couch, fell asleep and had the following dream:—

Four princes of Nats, of the abode of Tsadoomarit, took the princess with her couch, carried it to the Mount Himawonta,[17] and deposited it on an immense and magnificent rock, sixty youdzanas long, adorned with various colours, at the spot where a splendid tree, seven youdzanas high, extends its green and rich foliage. The four queens, wives of the four princes of Tsadoomarit, approaching the couch where Maia was reclining, took her to the banks of the lake Anawadat, washed her with the water of the lake, and spread over the couch flowers brought from the abode of Nats. Near the lake is a beautiful mountain of a silvery appearance, the summit whereof is crowned with a magnificent and lofty palace. On the east of the palace, in the side of the mount, is a splendid cave. Within the cave, a bed similar to that of the Nats was prepared. The princess was led to that place and sat on the bed, enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest. Opposite this mount, and facing the cave where Maia sat surrounded by her attendants, rose another mount, where Phralaong, under the shape of a young white elephant, was roaming over its sides in various directions. He was soon seen coming down that hill, and, ascending the one where the princess lay on her bed, directed his course towards the cave. On the extremity of his trunk, lifted up like a beautiful string of flowers, he carried a white lily. His voice, occasionally resounding through the air, could be heard distinctly by the inmates of the grotto, and indicated his approach. He soon entered the cave, turned three times round the couch whereupon sat the princess, then, standing for a while, he came nearer, opened her right side, and appeared to conceal himself in her womb.

In the morning, having awoke from her sleep, the queen related her dream to her husband. King Thoodaudana sent without delay for sixty-four Pounhas.[18] On a ground lined with cow-dung, where parched rice, flowers, and other offerings were carefully deposited and profusely spread, an appropriate place was reserved for the Pounhas. Butter, milk, and honey were served out to them in vases of gold and silver; moreover, several suits of apparel and five cows were offered to each of them as presents, as well as many other articles. These preliminaries being arranged, the prince narrated to them the dream, with a request for its explanation.

"Prince," answered the Pounhas, "banish from your mind all anxious thoughts, and be of a cheerful heart; the child whom the princess bears in her womb is not a girl but a boy. He will, after growing up, either live amongst men, and then become a mighty ruler, whose sway all the human race will acknowledge; or, withdrawing from the tumult of society, he will resort to some solitary place, and there embrace the profession of Rahan. In that condition he will disentangle himself from the miseries attending existence, and at last attain the high dignity of Buddha." Such was the explanation of the dream. At the moment Phralaong entered into Maia's womb, a great commotion was felt throughout the four elements, and thirty-two wonders simultaneously appeared. A light of an incomparable brightness illuminated suddenly ten thousand worlds. The blind, desirous, as it were, to contemplate the glorious dignity of Phralaong, recovered their sight; the deaf heard distinctly every sound; the dumb spoke with fluency; those whose bodies were bent stood up in an erect position; the lame walked with ease and swiftness; prisoners saw their fetters unloosed, and found themselves restored to liberty; the fires of hell were extinguished; the ravenous cravings of the Preithas[19] were satiated; animals were exempt from all infirmities; all rational beings uttered but words of peace and mutual benevolence; horses exhibited signs of excessive joy; elephants, with a solemn and deep voice, expressed their contentment; musical instruments resounded of themselves with the most melodious harmony; gold and silver ornaments, worn at the arms and feet, without coming in contact, emitted pleasing sounds; all places became suddenly filled with a resplendent light; refreshing breezes blew gently all over the earth; abundant rain poured from the skies during the hot season, and springs of cool water burst out in every place, carrying through prepared beds their gently murmuring streams; birds of the air stood still, forgetting their usual flight; rivers suspended their course, seized with a mighty astonishment; sea water became fresh; the five sorts of lilies were to be seen in every direction; every description of flowers burst open, displaying the richness of their brilliant colours; from the branches of all trees and the bosom of the hardest rocks, flowers shot forth, exhibiting all around the most glowing, dazzling, and varied hues; lilies, seemingly rooted in the canopy of the skies, hung down, scattering their embalmed fragrance; showers of flowers poured from the firmament on the surface of the earth; the musical tunes of the Nats were heard by the rejoiced inhabitants of our globe; hundreds of thousands of worlds[20] suddenly approached each other, sometimes in the shape of an elegant nosegay, sometimes in that of a ball of flowers or of a spheroid; the choicest essences embalmed the whole atmosphere that encompasses this world. Such are the wonders that took place at the time Phralaong entered his mother's womb.

When this great event happened, four chiefs of Nats, from the seat of Tsadoomarit,[21] armed with swords, kept an uninterrupted watch round the palace, to avert any accident that might prove hurtful to the mother or her blessed fruit. From 10,000 worlds, four Nats from the same seat were actively engaged in driving away all Bilous[22] and other monsters, and forcing them to flee and hide themselves at the extremity of the earth. Maia, free from every disordered propensity, spent her time with her handmaids in the interior of her apartments. Her soul enjoyed, in a perfect calm, the sweetest happiness; fatigue and weariness never affected her unimpaired health. In his mother's womb, Phralaong appeared like the white thread passed through the purest and finest pearls; the womb itself resembled an elegant Dzedi.[23][C]

[C] Remark of the Burmese Translator.—It is to be borne in mind that mothers of Buddhas having had the singular privilege of giving birth to a child of so exalted a dignity, it would not be convenient or becoming that other mortals should receive life in the same womb; they therefore always die seven days after their delivery and migrate to the abode of Nats, called Toocita. It is usual with other mothers to be delivered, lying in an horizontal position, and sometimes before or after the tenth month. But with the mother of a Buddha the case is not the same; the time of her confinement invariably happens at the beginning of the tenth month, and she is always delivered in an erect and vertical position.

With the solicitous care and vigilant attention with which one carries about a thabeit[24] full of oil, the great Maia watched all her movements, and during ten months unremittingly laboured for the safe preservation of the precious fruit of her womb.

FOOTNOTES

[1] All Buddhistic compositions are invariably prefaced with one of the following formulas of worship, always used by writers on religious subjects. The one relates to Buddha alone, and the other to the three most excellent things, ever deserving the highest veneration. The first, always written in Pali, beginning with the words Namau tassa, may be translated as follows: I adore thee, or rather adoration to, the blessed, perfect, and most intelligent. Here are proposed to the faith, admiration, and veneration of a true Buddhist, the three great characteristics of the founder of his religion, his goodness and benevolence, his supreme perfection, and his boundless knowledge. They form the essential qualifications of a being who has assumed to himself the task of bringing men out of the abyss of darkness and ignorance, and leading them to deliverance. Benevolence prompts him to undertake that great work, perfection fits him for such a high calling, and supreme science enables him to follow it up with a complete success. They are always held out to Buddhists as the three bright attributes and transcendent qualities inherent in that exalted personage, which are ever to attract and concentrate upon him the respect, love, and admiration of all his sincere followers.

The second formula may be considered as a short act of faith often repeated by Buddhists. It consists in saying—I take refuge in Buddha, the Law, and the Assembly. This short profession of faith is often much enlarged by the religious zeal of writers and the fervent piety of devotees. From the instance of this legend we may remark how the compiler, with a soul warmed by fervour is passing high encomiums upon each of the three sacred objects of veneration, or the sacred asylums wherein a Buddhist delights to dwell. There is no doubt that this formula is a very ancient one, probably coeval with the first age of Buddhism. The text of this legend bears out the correctness of this assertion. It appears that the repetition of this short sentence was the mark that distinguished converts. Ordinary hearers of the preachings of Buddha and his disciples evinced their adhesion to all that was delivered to them by repeating the sacred formula. It was then, and even now it is to Buddhists, what the celebrated Mahomedan declaration of faith—there is but one God, and Mahomed is his prophet—is to the followers of the Arabian Prophet. It is extremely important to have an accurate idea of the three sacred abodes in which the believer expects to find a sure shelter against all errors, doubts, and fears, and a resting-place where his soul may securely enjoy the undisturbed possession of truth. They constitute what is emphatically called the three precious things.

Phra and Buddha are two expressions which, though not having the same meaning, are used indiscriminately to designate the almost divine being, who after having gone, during myriads of successive existences, through the practice of all sorts of virtues, particularly self-denial and complete abnegation of all things, at last reaches to such a height of intellectual attainment that his mind becomes gifted with a perfect and universal intelligence or knowledge of all things. He is thus enabled to see and fathom the misery and wants of all mortal beings, and to devise means for relieving and filling them up. The law that he preaches is the wholesome balm designed to cure all moral distempers. He preaches it with unremitting zeal during a certain number of years, and commissions his chosen disciples to carry on the same benevolent and useful undertaking. Having laid on a firm basis his religious institution, he arrives at the state of Neibban. Buddha means wise, intelligent. Phra is an expression conveying the highest sense of respect, which was applied originally only to the author of Buddhism, but now, through a servile adulation, it is applied to the king, his ministers, all great personages, and often by inferiors to the lowest menials of Government. The word Phra, coupled with that of Thaking, which means Lord, is used by Christians in Burmah to express the idea of God, the supreme being.

From the foregoing lines the reader may easily infer that the author of Buddhism is a mere man, superior to all other beings, not in nature, but in science and perfection. He lays no claim whatever to any kind of superiority in nature; he exhibits himself to the eyes of his disciples as one of the children of men, who has been born and is doomed to die. He carries his pretensions no farther. The idea of a supreme being is nowhere mentioned by him. In the course of his religious disputations with the Brahmins, he combats the notion of a god, coolly establishing the most crude atheism. No one, it is true, can deny that in certain Buddhistic countries the notion of an Adibudha, or supreme being, is to be found in writings as well as popular opinions, but we know that these writings are of a comparatively recent date, and contain many doctrines foreign to genuine Buddhism. This subject will, however, receive hereafter further developments.

The Law, the second object of veneration, is the body of doctrines delivered by Buddha to his disciples during the forty-five years of his public career. He came to the perfect knowledge of that law when he attained the Buddhaship under the shade of the Bodi tree. At that time his mind became indefinitely expanded; his science embraced all that exists; his penetrating and searching eye reached the farthest limits of the past, saw at a glance the present, and fathomed the secrets of the future. In that position, unclouded truth shone with radiant effulgence before him, and he knew the nature of all beings individually, their condition and situation, as well as all the relations subsisting between them. He understood at once the miseries and errors attending all rational beings, the hidden causes that generated them, and the springs they issued from. At the same time he perceived distinctly the means to be employed for putting an end to so many misfortunes, and the remedies to be used for the cure of those numberless and sad moral distempers. His omniscience pointed out to him the course those beings had to follow in order to retrace their steps back from the way of error, and enter the road that would lead to the coming out from the whirlpool of moral miseries in which they had hitherto wretchedly moved during countless existences. All that Gaudama said to the foregoing effect constitutes the law upon which so many high praises are lavished with such warm and fervent earnestness. A full and complete knowledge of that law, in the opinion of Buddhists, dispels at once the clouds of ignorance, which, like a thick mist, encompass all beings, and sheds bright rays of pure light which enlighten the understanding. Man is thus enabled to perceive distinctly the wretchedness of his position, and to discover the means wherewith he may extricate himself from the trammels of the passions and finally arrive at the state of Neibban, which is, as it shall be hereafter fully explained, exemption from all the miseries attending existence. The whole law is divided into three parts; the Abidama or metaphysics, Thouts or moral instructions, and the Wini or discipline. According to the opinion of the best informed among Buddhists, the law is eternal, without a beginning or an author that might have framed its precepts. No Buddha ever considered himself, or has ever been looked upon by others, as the inventor and originator of the law. He who becomes a Buddha is gifted with a boundless science that enables him to come to a perfect knowledge of all that constitutes the law: he is the fortunate discoverer of things already existing, but placed far beyond the reach of the human mind. In fact, the law is eternal, but has become, since the days of a former Buddha, obliterated from the minds of men, until a new one, by his omniscience, is enabled to win it back and preach it to all beings.

The third object of veneration is the Thanga, or Assembly. The meaning of the Pali word Thanga is nearly equivalent to that of church or congregation. In the time Gaudama lived the Assembly was composed of all individuals who, becoming converts, embraced the mode of living of their preacher, and remained with him, or if they occasionally parted from him for a while, always kept a close intercourse with him, and spent a portion of their time in his company. Having left the world, they subjected themselves to certain disciplinary regulations, afterwards embodied in the great compilation called Wini. The members of the Assembly were divided into two classes; the Ariahs or venerables, who by their age, great proficiency in the knowledge of the law, and remarkable fervour in the assiduous practice of all its ordinances, occupied deservedly the first rank amongst the disciples of Buddha, and ranked foremost in the Assembly. The second class was composed of the Bickus, or simple mendicant Religious. It is difficult to assert with any degree of probability whether the Upasakas, or ordinary hearers, have ever been regarded as members of the Thanga, and forming a portion thereof. The Upasakas were believers, but continued to live in the world, and formed, as it were, the laity of the Buddhistic church. According to the opinion of Buddhists in these parts, the laity is not considered as forming or constituting a part of the Thanga; those only who abandon a secular life, put on the yellow canonical dress, and endeavour to tread in the footsteps of their great teacher, are entitled to the dignity of members of the Assembly, to which a veneration is paid similar to that offered to Buddha and the law. The Ariahs, or venerables, are divided into four classes, according to their greater or less proficiency in knowledge and moral worth. They are called Thotapan, Thakadagan, Anagam, and Arahat. In the class of Thotapan are included the individuals who have entered into the current, or stream, leading to deliverance, or, in other terms, who have stepped into the way of perfection. The Thotapan is as yet to be born four times ere he can obtain the deliverance. Those who belong to the second class glide rapidly down the stream, following steadily the way leading to perfection, and are to be born once more in the condition of Nat, and once in that of man. Those of the third class are to be born once in the condition of Nats. Finally, those of the fourth class have gone over the fourth and last way to perfection, reached the summit of science and spiritual attainments, and are ripe for the state of Neibban, which they infallibly obtain after their death. The Ariahs are again subdivided into eight classes, four of which include those who are following the four ways of perfection; the four others comprehend those who enjoy the reward of the duties practised in following the ways of perfection.

[2] The Burmese translator of the Pali text gives us to understand that his intention is not to give the history of our Buddha during the countless existences that have preceded the last one, when he obtained the supreme intelligence. Buddhists keep five hundred and ten histories or legends of Buddha purporting to give an account of as many of his former existences; and to enhance the value of such records, the contents are supposed to have been narrated by Buddha himself to his disciples and hearers. I have read most of them. Two hundred of these fabulous narrations are very short, and give few particulars regarding our Phra when he was as yet in the state of animal, man, and Nat. They are, except the heading and the conclusion, the very same fables and contes to be met with amongst all Asiatic nations, which have supplied with inexhaustible stores all ancient and modern fabulists. The last ten narratives are really very complete and interesting stories of ten existences of Buddha preceding the one we are about to describe, during which he is supposed to have practised the ten great virtues, the acquisition of which is an indispensable qualification for obtaining the exalted dignity of Phra. Some of these legends are really beautiful, interesting, and well-composed pieces of literature.

[3] Toocita, or the joyful abode, is one of the seats of the Nats. But in order to render more intelligible several passages of this work, it is almost indispensable to have an idea of the system adopted by Buddhists in assigning to rational beings their respective seats or abodes. There are thirty-one seats assigned to all beings, which we may suppose to be disposed on an immense scale, extending from the bottom of the earth to an incommensurable height above it. At the foot we find the four states of punishment, viz., hell, the states of Athourikes, Preithas, and animals. Next comes the abode of man. Above it are the six seats of Nats. These eleven seats are called the seats of passion, or concupiscence, because the beings residing therein are still subject to the influence of that passion, though not to an equal degree. Above the abodes of Nats we meet with the sixteen seats, called Rupa, disposed perpendicularly one above the other to an incalculable height. The inhabitants of those fanciful regions are called Brahmas, or perfect. They have freed themselves from concupiscence and almost all other passions, but still retain some affection for matter and material things. Hence the denomination of Rupa, or matter, given to the seats. The remaining portion of the scale is occupied by the four seats called Arupa or immaterials, for the beings inhabiting them are entirely delivered from all passions. They have, as it were, broken asunder even the smallest ties that would attach them to this material world. They have reached the summit of perfection; one step farther, and they enter into the state Neibban, the consummation, according to Buddhists, of all perfection. To sum up all the above in a few words: there are four states of punishment. The seat of man is a place of probation and trial. The six abodes of Nats are places of sensual pleasure and enjoyments. In the sixteen seats of Rupa are to be met those beings whose delights are of a more refined and almost purely spiritual nature, though retaining as yet some slight affections for matter. In the four seats of Arupa are located those beings who are wholly disentangled from material affections, who delight only in the sublimest contemplation, soaring, as it were, in the boundless regions of pure spiritualism.

[4] Thingie is a number represented by a unit, followed by sixty-four ciphers; others say, one hundred and forty.

[5] Buddhists have different ways of classifying the series of worlds, which they suppose to succeed to each other, after the completion of a revolution of nature. As regards Buddhas, who appear at unequal intervals for illuminating and opening the way to deliverance to the then existing beings, worlds are divided into those which are favoured with the presence of one or several Buddhas, and those to which so eminent a benefit is denied. The present revolution of nature, which includes the period in which we live, has been privileged above all others. No less than five Buddhas, like five shining suns, are to shoot forth rays of incomparable brilliancy, and dispel the mist of thick darkness that encompasses all beings, according to their respective laws of demerits. Of these five, four, namely, Kaukassan, Gaunagong, Kathaba, Gaudama, have already performed their great task. The fifth, named Aremideia, is as yet to come. The religion of Gaudama is to last five thousand years, of which two thousand four hundred and eight are elapsed. The names of the twenty-eight last Buddhas are religiously preserved by Buddhists, together with their age, their stature, the names of the trees under which they have obtained the universal intelligence, their country, the names of their father and mother, and those of their two chief disciples. Deinpakara occupies the fourth place in the series. He is supposed to have been eighty cubits high, and to have lived one hundred thousand years.

It is not without interest to examine whether there have existed Buddhas previous to the time of Gaudama, and whether the twenty-eight Buddhas above alluded to are to be considered as mythological beings who have never existed. It cannot be denied that mention of former Buddhas is made in the earliest sacred records, but it seems difficult to infer therefrom that they are real beings. 1st. The circumstances respecting their extraordinary longevity, their immense stature, and the myriads of centuries that are supposed to have elapsed from the times of the first to those of Gaudama, are apparently conclusive proofs against the reality of their existence. 2d. The names of those personages are found mentioned in the preachings of Gaudama, together with those individuals with whom he is supposed to have lived and conversed during former existences. Who has ever thought of giving any credence to those fables? They were used by Gaudama as so many means to give extension and solidity to the basis whereupon he intended to found his system. 3d. There are no historical records or monuments that can give countenance to the opposite opinion. The historical times begin with Gaudama, whilst there exist historical proofs of the existence of the rival creed of Brahminism anterior to the days of the acknowledged author of Buddhism.

It cannot be doubted that there existed in the days of Buddha, in the valley of the Ganges and in the Punjaub, a great number of philosophers, who led a retired life, devoting their time to study and the practice of virtue. Some of them occasionally sallied out of their retreats to go and deliver moral instructions to the people. The fame that attended those philosophers attracted round their lonely abodes crowds of hearers, eager to listen to their lectures and anxious to place themselves under their direction for learning the practice of virtue. In the pages of this legend will be found passages corroborating this assertion. Thence arose those multifarious schools, where were elaborated the many systems, opinions, &c., for which India has been celebrated from the remotest antiquity. The writer has had the patience to read two works full of disputations between Brahmins and Buddhists, as well as some books of the ethics of the latter. He has been astonished to find that in those days the art of arguing, disputing, defining, &c., had been carried to such a point of nicety as almost to leave the disciples of Aristotle far behind. It has been said that the gymnosophists whom Alexander the Great met in India were Buddhist philosophers. But the particulars mentioned by Greek writers respecting their manners and doctrines contradict such a supposition. They are described as living in a state of complete nakedness, and as refusing to deliver instructions to the messenger of Alexander, unless he consented to strip himself of his clothes. On the other hand, we know that Buddha enjoined a strict modesty on his religious, and in the book of ordinations the candidate is first asked whether he comes provided with his canonical dress. The gymnosophists are represented as practising extraordinary austerities, and holding self-destruction in great esteem. These and other practices are quite at variance with all the prescriptions of the Wini, or book of discipline. It is further mentioned that the Macedonian hero met with other philosophers living in community; but whether these were Buddhists or not, it is impossible to decide. It can scarcely be believed that Buddhism in the days of Alexander could have already invaded the countries which the Grecian army conquered.

[6] Nat in Pali means Lord. Its signification is exactly equivalent to that of Dewa, Dewata. The Nats are an order of beings in the Buddhistic system, occupying six seats or abodes of happiness, placed in rising succession above the abode of man. They are spirits endowed with a body of so subtle and ethereal nature as to be able to move with the utmost rapidity from their seat to that of man, and vice versa. They play a conspicuous part in the affairs of this world, and are supposed to exercise a considerable degree of influence over man and other creatures. Fear, superstition, and ignorance have peopled all places with Nats. Every tree, forest, fountain, village, and town has its protecting Nat. Some among the Nats having lost their high station through misconduct, have been banished from their seats and doomed to drag a wretched existence in some gloomy recess. Their power for doing evil is supposed to be very great. Hence the excessive dread of those evil genii entertained by all Buddhists. A good deal of their commonest superstitious rites have been devised for propitiating those enemies to all happiness, and averting the calamitous disasters which they seem to keep hanging over our heads.

Though the Nats' worship is universal among the Buddhists of all nations, it is but fair to state that it is contrary to the principles of genuine Buddhism and repugnant to its tenets. It is probable that it already existed among all the nations of Eastern Asia at the time they were converted to Buddhism.

The tribes that have not as yet been converted to Buddhism have no other worship but that of the Nats. To mention only the principal ones, such as the Karens, the Khyins, and the Singphos, they may differ in the mode of performing their religious rites and superstitious ceremonies, but the object is the same, honouring and propitiating the Nats. This worship is so deeply rooted in the minds of the wild and half-civilised tribes of Eastern Asia, that it has been, to a great extent, retained by the nations that have adopted Buddhism as their religious creed. The Burmans, for instance, from the king down to the lowest subject, privately and publicly indulge in the Nats' worship. As to the tribes that have remained outside the pale of Buddhism, they may be styled Nats' worshippers. Hence it may be inferred that previous to the introduction or the preaching of the tenets of the comparatively new religion in these parts, the worship of Nats was universal and predominating.

[7] Raci or Rathee means an hermit, a personage living by himself in some lonely and solitary recess, far from the contagious atmosphere of impure society, devoting his time to meditation and contemplation. His diet is of the coarsest kind, supplied to him by the forests he lives in; the skins of some wild animals afford him a sufficient dress. Most of those Rathees having reached an uncommon degree of extraordinary attainment, their bodies become spiritualised to a degree which enables them to travel from place to place by following an aërial course. In all Buddhistic legends, comedies, &c., they are often found interfering in the narrated stories and episodes.

There is no doubt but those devotees who, in the days of Buddha, spent their time in retreat, devoted to study and meditation, were Brahmins. In support of this assertion we have the highest possible native authority, the Institutes of Menoo, compiled probably during the eighth or ninth century before Christ. We find in that work, minutely described, the mode of life becoming a true Brahmin. During the third part of his life, a Brahmin must live as an anchorite in the woods. Clad in the bark of trees or the skins of animals, with his hair and nails uncut, having no shelter whatever but that which is afforded him by the trees of the forest, keeping sometimes a strict silence, living on herbs and roots, he must train himself up to bearing with entire unconcern the cold of winter and the heat of summer. Such is the course of life, according to the Vedas, which the true Brahmin is bound to follow during the third portion of his existence. Some Buddhistic zealots have sometimes endeavoured to emulate the ancient Rathees in their singular mode of life. It is not quite unfrequent in our days to hear of some fervent Phongies who, during the three months of Lent, withdraw into solitude, to be more at liberty to devote their time to study and meditation. This observance, however, is practised by but very few individuals, and that, too, with a degree of laxity that indicates a marked decline of the pristine fervour that glowed in the soul of primitive Buddhists.

[8] The three great works are; the assistance afforded to his parents and relatives, the great offerings he had made, coupled with a strict observance of the most difficult points of the law, and benevolent dispositions towards all beings indiscriminately.

[9] This extraordinary monarch, called Tsekiawade, never makes his appearance during the period of time allotted to the publication and duration of the religious institutions of a Buddha.

[10] Here I make use of the expression Phralaong, or more correctly Phraalaong, to designate Buddha before he obtained the supreme knowledge, when he was, as it were, slowly and gradually gravitating towards the centre of matchless perfection. In that state it is said of him that he is not yet ripe.

This word involves a meaning which ought to be well understood. No single expression in our language can convey a correct idea of its import, and for this reason it has been retained through these pages. Alaong is a derivative from the verb laong, which means to be in an incipient way, in a way of progression towards something more perfect. A Buddha is at first a being in a very imperfect state; but passing through countless existences, he frees himself, by a slow process, from some of his imperfections; he acquires merits which enable him to rise in the scale of progress, science, and perfection. In perusing the narrative of the five hundred and ten former existences of Gaudama which have come down to us, we find that, when he was yet in the state of animal, he styled himself Phralaong. The Burmese have another expression of similar import to express the same meaning. They say of a being as yet in an imperfect condition that he is soft, tender as an unripe thing; and when he passes to the state of perfection, they say that he is ripe, that he has blossomed and expanded. They give to understand that he who is progressing towards the Buddhaship has in himself all the elements constitutive of a Buddha lying as yet concealed in himself; but when he reaches that state, then all that had hitherto remained in a state of unripeness bursts suddenly out of the bud and comes to full maturity. Similar expressions are often better calculated to give a clear insight into the true and real opinions of Buddhists than a lengthened and elaborate dissertation could do.

[11] The ten great virtues or duties are, liberality, observance of the precepts of the law, retreat into lonely places, wisdom, diligence, benevolence, patience, veracity, fortitude, and indifference. The five renouncements are, renouncing children, wife, goods, life, and one's self.

[12] Metempsychosis is one of the fundamental dogmas of Buddhism. That continual transition from one existence to another, from a state of happiness to one of unhappiness, and vice versa, forms a circle encompassing the Buddhist in every direction. He is doomed to fluctuate incessantly on the never-settled waters of existence. Hence his ardent wishes to be delivered from that most pitiable position, and his earnest longings for the ever-tranquil state of Neibban, the way to which Buddha alone can teach him by his precepts and his examples.

This dogma is common both to Brahmins and Buddhists. The originator and propagator of the creed of the latter found it already established; he had but to embody it among his own conceptions, and make it agree with his new ideas. His first teachers were Brahmins, and under their tuition he learned that dogma which may be considered as the basis on which hinge both systems. In fact, the two rival creeds have a common object in view, the elevating of the soul from those imperfections forced upon her by her connection with matter, and the setting of her free from the sway of passions, which keep her always linked to this world. According to the votaries of both creeds, transmigration has for its object the effecting of those several purposes. There is a curious opinion among Buddhists respecting the mode of transmigrations, and there is no doubt it is a very ancient one, belonging to the genuine productions of the earliest Buddhism. Transmigration, they say, is caused and entirely controlled by the influence of merits and demerits, but in such a way that a being who has come to his end transmits nothing of his entity to the being to be immediately reproduced. The latter is a being apart, independent of the former, created, it is true, by the influence of the late being's good or bad deeds, but having nothing in common with him. They explain this startling doctrine by the comparison of a tree successively producing and bearing fruits, of which some are good and some bad. The fruits, though coming from the same tree, have nothing in common, either with each other or with those that were previously grown, or may afterwards grow out of the same plant; they are distinct and separate. So they say, kan, or the influence of merits and demerits, produces successively beings totally distinct one from the other. This atheistic or materialistic doctrine is not generally known by the common people, who practically hold that transmigration is effected in the manner professed and taught by Pythagoras and his school.

If between the adherents of the two creeds there is a perfect agreement respecting the means to be resorted to for reaching the point when man becomes free from miseries, ignorance, and imperfections, they are at variance as to the end to be arrived to. The Brahmin leads the perfected being to the supreme essence, in which he is merged as a drop of water in the ocean, losing his personality, to form a whole with the Divine substance. This is Pantheism. The Buddhist, ignoring a supreme being, conducts the individual that has become emancipated from the thraldom of passions to a state of complete isolation, called Neibban. This is, strictly speaking, Annihilation.

[13] The duration of a revolution of nature, or the time required for the formation of a world, its existence and destruction, is divided into four periods. The fourth period, or that which begins with the apparition of man on the earth until its destruction, is divided into sixty-four parts, called andrakaps. During one andrakap, the life of man increases gradually from ten years to an almost innumerable number of years; and having reached its maximum of duration, it decreases slowly to its former short duration of ten years. We live at present in that second part of an andrakap when the life of man is on the decline and decrease. If my memory serve me right, we have reached at present the ninth or tenth andrakap of the fourth period. Should the calculations of Buddhists ever prove correct, the deluded visionaries who look forward to an approaching Millennium, have still to wait long ere their darling wishes be realised.

Though it be somewhat tiresome and unpleasant to have to write down the absurd and ridiculous notions Burmans entertain respecting the organisation of matter, the origin, production, existence, duration, and end of the world, it appears quite necessary to give a brief account, and sketch an outline of their ideas on these subjects. The reader will then have the means of tracing up to their Hindu origin several of the many threads that link Buddhism to Brahminism, and better understand the various details hereafter to be given, and intended for establishing a great fact, viz., the Brahminical origin of the greater part of the Buddhistic institutions. He will, moreover, have the satisfaction of clearly discovering, buried in the rubbish of fabulous recitals, several important facts recorded in the Holy Scriptures.

Matter is eternal, but its organisation and all the changes attending it are caused and regulated by certain laws co-eternal with it. Both matter and the laws that act upon it are self-existing, independent of the action and control of any being, &c. As soon as a system of worlds is constituted, Buddhists boldly assert and perseveringly maintain that the law of merit and demerit is the sole principle that regulates and controls both the physical and moral world.

But how is a world brought into existence? Water, or rather rain, is the chief agent, operating in the reproduction of a system of nature. During an immense period of time rain pours down with an unabating violence in the space left by the last world that has been destroyed. Meanwhile strong winds, blowing from opposite directions, accumulate the water within definite and certain limits until it has filled the whole space. At last appears on the surface of water, floating like a greasy substance, the sediment deposited by water. In proportion as the water dries up under the unremitting action of the wind, that crust increases in size, until, by a slow, gradual, but sure process, it invariably assumes the shape and proportion of our planet, in the manner we are to describe. The centre of the earth, indeed of a world or system of nature, is occupied by a mountain of enormous size and elevation, called Mienmo. This is surrounded by seven ranges of mountains, separated from each other by streams, equalling, in breadth and depth, the height of the mountain forming its boundaries in the direction of the central elevation. The range nearest to the Mienmo rises to half its height. Each successive range is half the height of the range preceding it. Beyond the last stream are disposed four great islands, in the direction of the four points of the compass. Each of those four islands is surrounded by five hundred smaller ones. Beyond those there is water, reaching to the farthest limits of the world. The great island we inhabit is the southern one, called Dzampoudipa, from the Jambu, or Eugenia tree, growing upon it.

Our planet rests on a basis of water double the thickness of the earth; the water itself is lying on a mass of air that has a thickness double that of water. Below this aërial stratum is laha, or vacuum.

Let us see now in what manner our planet is peopled, and whence came its first inhabitants. From the seats of Brahmas which were beyond the range of destruction when the former world perished, three celestial beings, or, according to another version, six, came on the earth, remaining on it in a state of perfect happiness, occasionally revisiting, when it pleased them, their former seats of glory. This state of things lasts during a long period. At that time the two great luminaries of the day and the stars of night have not as yet made their appearance, but rays of incomparable brightness, emanating from the pure bodies of those new inhabitants, illuminate the globe. They feed at long intervals upon a certain gelatinous substance, of such a nutritious power that the smallest quantity is sufficient to support them for a long period. This delicious food is of the most perfect flavour. But it happens that at last it disappears, and is successively replaced by two other substances, one of which resembles the tender sprout of a tree. They are so nutritious and purified that in our present condition we can have no adequate idea of their properties. They too disappear, and are succeeded by a sort of rice called Tha-le. The inhabitants of the earth eat also of that rice. But alas! the consequences prove as fatal to them as the eating of the forbidden fruit proved to the happy denizens of Eden. The brightness that had hitherto encircled their bodies and illuminated the world vanishes away, and, to their utmost dismay, they find themselves, for the first time, sunk into an abyss of unknown darkness. The eating of that coarse food creates fæces and evacuations which, forcing their way out of the body, cause the appearance of what marks the distinction of the sexes. Passions, for the first time, burn and rage in the bosom of those hitherto passionless beings. They are deprived of the power to return to their celestial seats. Very soon jealousy, contentions, &c., follow in the train of the egotistical distinction of mine and thine. Finding themselves in the gloom of darkness, the unhappy beings sigh for and long after light, when, on a sudden, the sun, breaking down the barrier of darkness, bursts out, rolling, as it were, in a flood of light, which illuminates the whole world; but soon disappearing in the west below the horizon, darkness seems to resume its hold. New lamentations and bewailings arise on the part of men, when in a short time appears majestically the moon, spreading its silvery and trembling rays of light. At the same time the planets and stars take their respective stations in the sky, and begin their regular revolutions. The need of settling disputes that arise is soon felt by the new inhabitants; they agree to elect a chief, whom they invest with a sufficient authority for framing regulations which are to be obligatory on every member of society, and power for enforcing obedience to those regulations. Hence the origin of society.

Men, at first practising virtue, enjoyed a long life, the duration of which reached to the almost incredible length of a thingie. But they having much relaxed in the practice of virtue, it lessened proportionably to their want of fervour in the observance of the law, until, by their extreme wickedness, it dwindled to the short period of ten years. The same ascending and descending scale of human life, successively brought in by the law of merit and demerit, takes place sixty-four times, and constitutes an andrakap, or the duration of a world.

It remains only to mention rapidly some particulars regarding the end of a revolution of nature. The cause of such an event is the influence of the demerits, prevailing to such an extent as to be all-powerful in working out destruction. Two solemn warnings of the approaching dissolution of our planet are given by Nats, one nearly 100,000 and the other 100 years before that event. The bearers of such sad news make their appearance on earth with marks of deep mourning, as best suited to afford additional weight to their exhortations. They earnestly call on men to repent of their sins and amend their lives. These last summonses are generally heeded by all mankind, so that men, when the world is destroyed, generally migrate, together with the victims of hell who have atoned for their past iniquities, to those seats of Brahmas that escape destruction. There are three great principles of demerit, concupiscence, anger, and ignorance. The world also is destroyed by the action of three different agents, fire, water, and wind. Concupiscence is the most common, though the less heinous of the three. Next comes anger, less prevailing, though it is more heinous; but ignorance is by far the most fatal of all moral distempers. The moral disorder then prevailing causes destruction by the agency that it sets in action. Concupiscence has for its agency fire; anger, water; ignorance, wind; but in the following proportion. Of sixty-four destructions of this world, fifty-six are caused by conflagration, seven by water, and one by wind. Their respective limits of duration stand as follows: conflagration reaches to the five lowest seats of Brahmas; water extends to the eighth seat, and the destructive violence of the wind is felt as far as the ninth seat.

[14] Our planet or globe is composed, according to Buddhists, of the mountain Mienmo, being in height 82,000 youdzanas (1 youdzana is, according to some authorities, equal to little less than 12 English miles) above the surface of the earth, and in depth equal to its height. Around this huge and tall elevation are disposed the four great islands, according to the four points of the compass; and each of these again is surrounded by 500 small islands. The countries south of the great chain of the Himalaya are supposed to form the great island lying at the south.

It would be easy to give, at full length, the ridiculous notions entertained by Buddhists of these parts on geography and cosmography, &c., &c.; but the knowledge of such puerilities is scarcely worth the attention of a serious reader, who is anxious to acquire accurate information respecting a religious system, which was designed by its inventor to be the vehicle of moral doctrines, with but very few dogmas. Those speculations upon this material world have gradually found their place in the collection of sacred writings, but they are no part of the religious creed. They are of a Hindu origin, and convey Indian notions upon those various topics. These notions even do not belong to the system as expounded in the Vedas, but have been set forth at a comparatively modern epoch.

[15] A Rahanda is a being very far advanced in perfection, and gifted with high spiritual attainments, which impart to his mortal frame certain distinguished prerogatives, becoming almost spirits. Concupiscence is totally extinguished in a Rahanda; he may be said to be fit for the state Neibban. Several classes are assigned to Rahandas alone, according to their various degrees of advancement in the way of perfection.

[16] It is an immutable decree that she on whom has been conferred the singular honour of giving birth to a mortal who, during the course of his existence, is to become a Buddha, dies invariably seven days after her delivery, migrating to one of the delightful seats of Nats. The Burmese translator observes that a womb that has been, as it were, consecrated and sanctified by the presence of a child of so exalted a dignity, can never become afterwards the hidden abode of less dignified beings. It must be confessed that the conception of Phralaong in his mother's womb is wrapped up in a mysterious obscurity, appearing as it does to exclude the idea of conjugal intercourse. The Cochin-Chinese in their religious legends pretend that Buddha was conceived and born from Maia in a wonderful manner, not resembling at all what takes place according to the order of nature.

[17] The Mount Himawonta is famous in all Buddhistic compositions, as the scene where great and important events have happened. It is in all probability the Himalaya, as being the highest range of mountains ever known to Indian Buddhists.

[18] Pounhas are the Brahmins who, even in those days of remote antiquity, were considered as the wisest in their generation. They had already monopolised the lucrative trade of fortune-tellers, astrologers, &c., and it appears that they have contrived to retain it up to our own days. During my first stay in Burmah I became acquainted with a young Pounha, wearing the white dress, and getting his livelihood by telling the horoscopes of newly-born infants, and even grown-up people. I learned from him the mode of finding out by calculation the state of the heavens at any given hour whatever. This mode of calculation is entirely based on the Hindu system, and has evidently been borrowed from that people.

Though Brahmins in those days, as in our own, worked on popular ignorance and credulity in the manner abovementioned, we ought not to lose sight of the great fact, borne out by this legend in a most distinct and explicit way, that many among them devoted all their time, energies, and abilities to the acquirement of wisdom, and the observance of the most arduous practices. Their austere mode of life was to a great extent copied and imitated by the first religious of the Buddhist persuasion. Many ordinances and prescriptions of the Wini agree, in a remarkable degree, with those enforced by the Vedas. In the beginning, the resemblance must have been so great as to render the discrepancies scarcely perceptible, since we read in this very work of an injunction made to the early converts, to bestow alms on the Pounhas as well as on the Bickus or mendicant religious, placing them both on a footing of perfect equality.

[19] Preitha is a being in a state of punishment and sufferings on account of sins committed in a former existence. He is doomed to live in the solitary recesses of uninhabited mountains, smarting under the pangs of never-satiated hunger. His body, and particularly his stomach, are of gigantic dimensions, whilst his mouth is so small that a needle could scarcely be shoved into it.

[20] In the Buddhistic system of cosmogony, 100,000 worlds form one system, subject to the same immutable changes and revolutions as affect this one which we inhabit. They admit, indeed, that the number of worlds is unlimited, but they assert that those forming one system are simultaneously destroyed, reproduced and perfected, by virtue of certain eternal laws inherent in matter itself.

[21] Tsadoomarit is the first of the six abodes of Nats. The description of the pleasures enjoyed by the inhabitants of that seat is replete with accounts of the grossest licentiousness.

[22] A Palou, or rather Bilou, is a monster with a human face, supposed to feed on human flesh. His eyes are of a deep red hue, and his body of so subtle a nature as never to project any shadow. Wonderful tales are told of this monster, which plays a considerable part in most of the Buddhistic writings.

[23] A Dzedi is a religious edifice of a conical form, supported on a square basis, and having its top covered with what the Burmese call an umbrella, resembling in its shape the musical instrument vulgarly called chapeau chinois by the French. On each side of the quadrangular basis are opened four niches, in the direction of the four cardinal points, destined to receive statues of Buddha. This monument is of every dimension in size, from the smallest, a few feet high, to the tallest, of one or two hundred feet high. It is to be seen in every direction, and in the neighbourhood of towns every elevation is crowned with one or several Dzedis.

The word Dzedi means a sacred depository, that is to say, a place where relics of Buddha were enshrined. The word has been extended since to places which have become receptacles of the scriptures, or of the relics of distinguished religious, who had acquired eminence by their scientific and moral attainments. In the beginning, those Dzedis were a kind of tumuli, or mounds of earth or bricks, erected upon the shrine wherein relics were enclosed. In proportion as the followers of the Buddhistic faith increased in number, wealth, and influence, they erected Dzedis on a grander scale, bearing always a great resemblance in shape and form to the primitive ones. The stupas or topes discovered in the Punjaub, and in other parts of the Indian Peninsula, were real Buddhistic tumuli or Dzedis.

During succeeding ages, when relics could not be procured, the faithful continued to erect Dzedis, the sight of which was intended to remind them of the sacred relics, and they paid to those relics and monuments the same veneration as they would have offered to those enriched with those priceless objects. In Burmah, in particular, the zeal, or rather the rage, for building Dzedis has been carried to a degree scarcely to be credited by those who have not visited that country. In the following pages there will be found an attempt to describe the various forms given to those monuments.

[24] The thabeit is an open-mouthed pot, of a truncated spheroidical form, made of earth, iron, or brass, without ornaments, used by the Buddhist monks when going abroad, in their morning excursions, to receive the alms bestowed on them by the admirers of their holy mode of life.

CHAPTER II.

Birth of Buddha in a forest—Rejoicings on that occasion—Kaladewila—Prediction of the Pounhas—Vain efforts of Thoodaudana to thwart the effect of the Prediction.

The time of her approaching confinement being close at hand, the princess solicited from her husband, King Thoodaudana, leave to go to the country of Dewah,[1] amongst her friends and relatives. As soon as her request was made known, the king ordered that the whole extent of the road between Kapilawot and Dewah should be perfectly levelled, and lined on both sides with plantain trees, and adorned with the finest ornaments. Jars, full of the purest water, were to be deposited all along the road at short intervals. A chair of gold was made ready for conveying the queen; and a thousand noblemen, attended by an innumerable retinue, were directed to accompany her during the journey. Between the two countries an immense forest of lofty Engyin trees extends to a great distance. As soon as the cortège reached it, five water-lilies shot forth spontaneously from the stem and the main branches of each tree, and innumerable birds of all kinds, by their melodious tunes, filled the air with the most ravishing music. Trees, similar in beauty to those growing in the seats of Nats, apparently sensible of the presence of the incarnated Buddha, seemed to share in the universal joy.

On beholding this wonderful appearance of all the lofty trees of the forest, the queen felt a desire to approach nearer and enjoy the marvellous sight offered to her astonished regards. Her noble attendants led her forthwith a short distance into the forest. Maia, seated on her couch, along with her sister Patzapati, desired her attendants to have it moved closer to an Engyin tree (shorea robusta), which she pointed out. Her wishes were immediately complied with. She then rose gently on her couch; her left hand, clasped round the neck of her sister, supported her in a standing position. With the right hand she tried to reach and break a small branch, which she wanted to carry away. On that very instant, as the slender rattan, heated by fire, bends down its tender head, all the branches lowered their extremities, offering themselves, as it were, to the hand of the queen, who unhesitatingly seized and broke the extremity of one of the young boughs. By virtue of a certain power inherent in her dignity, on a sudden all the winds blew gently throughout the forest. The attendants, having desired all the people to withdraw to a distance, disposed curtains all round the place the queen was standing on. Whilst she was in that position, admiring the slender bough she held in her hands, the moment of her confinement happened, and she was delivered of a son.[D]

[D] On the same day a son was born to Amitaudana, called Ananda. The wife of Thouppaboudha of Dewah was delivered of a daughter, called Yathaudara, who became afterwards the wife of Phralaong. Anouroudha, the son of Thookaudana, was ushered into existence on the same solemn occasion. The above-named Ananda was first cousin to the Buddha, and subsequently became the amiable, faithful, and devoted disciple who, during twenty-five years, attended on the person of Buddha, and affectionately ministered to all his wants. After the death of his mother Maia, Phralaong was nursed and brought up with the greatest care by his aunt Patzapati, sometimes called Gautamee.

Four chief Brahmas[2] received the new-born infant on a golden net-work, and placed him in the presence of the happy mother, saying, "Give yourself up, O Queen, to joy and rejoicing; here is the precious and wonderful fruit of your womb."[E]

[E] Remarks of the Burmese Translator.—When children are born they appear in this world covered all over their bodies with impure and disgusting substances. But an exception was made in favour of our infant Phralaong. He was born without the least stain of offending impurity; he was ushered into this world, pure and resplendent, like a fine ruby placed on a piece of the richest cloth of Kathika. He left his mother's womb with his feet and hands stretched out, exhibiting the dignified countenance of a Pundit descending from the place where he has expounded the law. Though both mother and child were exempt from the humiliating miseries common to all other human beings, there came down from the skies upon both, by way of a respectful offering, gentle showers of cold and warm water, succeeding each other alternately in a regular order.

From the hands of the four chiefs of Brahmas, four chiefs of Nats received the blessed child, whom they handed over to men, who placed him on a beautiful white cloth. But to the astonishment of all, he freed himself from the hands of those attending upon him, and stood in a firm and erect position on the ground, when casting a glance towards the east, more than one thousand worlds appeared like a perfectly levelled plain. All the Nats inhabiting those worlds made offerings of flowers and perfumes, exclaiming with exultation, "An exalted personage has made his appearance;—who can ever be compared to him? who has ever equalled him? He is indeed the most excellent of all beings." Phralaong looked again towards the three other directions. Raising his eyes upwards, and then lowering them down, he saw that there was no being equal to him. Conscious of his superiority, he jumped over a distance of seven lengths of a foot, in a northern direction, exclaiming,—"This is my last birth; there shall be to me no other state of existence; I am the greatest of all beings."[3] He then began to walk steadily in the same direction. A chief of Brahmas held over his head the white umbrella.[4] A Nat carried the golden fan. Other Nats held in their hands the golden sword, the golden slippers, the cope set with the rarest precious stones, and other royal insignia.[F]

[F] Remarks of the Burmese Translator.—In former existences, our Phralaong is said to have spoken a few words immediately after his birth, viz., when he was Mahauthata and Wethandra. In the first, he came into this world holding in his hands a small plant, which a Nat had brought and placed in his tender hands at that very moment. He showed it to his mother, who asked him what it was. "This is a medicinal plant," replied he, to his astonished mother. The plant was cast into a large jar full of water, and the virtualised liquid ever retained the power of curing every kind of bodily distemper. When he was born, or rather began the existence in which he was called Wethandra, he stretched out his hands asking something from his mother which he might bestow on the needy. The mother put at his disposal one thousand pieces of silver.

Thirty-two mighty wonders had proclaimed the incarnation of Phralaong in his mother's womb, and the same number of wonders announced his birth to the earth. Moreover, in that same moment were born the beautiful Yathaudara, Ananda, the son of Amitaudana, the noblemen Tsanda and Kaludari, and the horse Kantika. The great tree Bodi also sprung from the ground, in the forest of Oorouwela, about two youdzanas distant from the city of Radzagio, and in a north-easterly direction from that place, and the four golden vases suddenly reappeared.

The inhabitants of Dewah, joining those of Kapilawot, set out for the latter country with the newly-born infant, to whom they rendered the greatest honours. The Nats of the seat of Tawadeintha, on hearing that a son was born to King Thoodaudana, and that under the shade of the tree Bodi[5] he would become a true Buddha with a perfect knowledge of the four great truths, gave full vent to their boundless joy, hoisting unfurled flags and banners in every direction, in token of their indescribable rejoicings.

There was a celebrated Rathee, named Kaladewila, who had passed through the eight degrees of contemplation, and who was in the habit of resorting daily to the prince's palace for his food. On that very day, having taken his meal as usual, he ascended to the seat of Tawadeintha,[6] and found the fortunate inhabitants of that seat giving themselves up to uncommon rejoicings. He asked them the reason of such an unusual display of enrapturing transports of exultation. "It is," replied they to the inquiring Rathee, "because a son is born to King Thoodaudana, who will soon become a true Buddha. Like all former Buddhas, he will preach the law and exhibit in his person and throughout his life the greatest wonders and a most accomplished pattern of the highest virtues. We will hear the law from his very mouth."

On hearing the answer of the Nats, Kaladewila immediately left the seat of Tawadeintha, and directed his aërial course towards the palace of Thoodaudana. Having entered into the palace and occupied the place prepared for him, he conveyed to the king the good tidings of a son having been born unto him.

A few days after this message, the royal child was brought into the presence of his rejoicing father. Kaladewila was present on the occasion. Thoodaudana ordered that the child should be attired with the finest dress, and placed in the presence of the Rathee, in order to pay him his respects. But the child rose up and set his two feet on the curled hair of the venerable personage. The persons present on the occasion, not knowing that a Buddha in his last existence never bows down to any being, thought that the head of the imprudent child would be split into seven parts as a punishment for his unbecoming behaviour. But Kaladewila, rising up from his seat, and lifting up his hands to his forehead, bowed respectfully to the infant Phralaong. The king, astonished at such an unusual condescension from so eminent a personage, followed his example, and out of respect prostrated himself before his son.

By virtue of his great spiritual attainments, Kaladewila could recollect at once all that had taken place during the forty preceding worlds, and foresee all that would happen during the same number of future revolutions of nature. On seeing the high perfections shining forth in our Phralaong, he considered attentively whether he would become a Buddha or not. Having ascertained that such a dignity was reserved for him, he wished to know if the remaining period of his own existence would permit him to witness the happy moment when he would be a Buddha. To his deep regret, he foresaw that the end of his life would come before the occurrence of that great event, and that he would have then migrated to one of the seats of Arupa, and be, therefore, deprived of the favour of hearing the law from his mouth. This foresight caused a profound sadness in his heart, and abundant tears flowed from his eyes. But when he reflected on the future destiny of the blessed child, he could not contain within himself the pure joy that overflowed his soul. The people present on the occasion soon observed the opposite emotions which alternately affected the soul of Kaladewila. They asked him the reason of such an unusual occurrence. "I rejoice," said he, "at the glorious destiny of that child; but I feel sad and disconsolate when I think that it will not be given to me to see and contemplate him clothed with the dignity of Buddha. I bewail with tears my great misfortune."

With a view of assuaging his sorrow, Kaladewila, casting another glance towards future events, eagerly sought to discover if, among his relatives, there would not be at least one who would be so fortunate as to see Phralaong in the nature of Buddha. He saw with inexpressible delight that his nephew Nalaka would enjoy the blessing denied to himself. Thereupon he went in all haste to his sister's house, inquiring about her son. At his request the lad was brought into his presence. "Beloved nephew," said the venerable Rathee, "thirty-five years hence,[7] the son of King Thoodaudana will become a Buddha; you will contemplate him in that sublime and exalted nature. From this day, therefore, you shall embrace the profession of Rahan." The young man, who descended from a long succession of wealthy noblemen, said within himself, "My uncle, indeed, never says anything but under the impulse of irresistible and cogent motives. I will follow his advice and will become a recluse." He immediately ordered the purchase of the insignia of his new profession, a patta, a thingan,[8] and other articles. His head was shaved, and he put on the yellow garb. Attired in his new dress, he looked all round, and saw that, amongst all beings, the Rahans are by far the most excellent. Then turning towards the place which Phralaong occupied, he prostrated himself five successive times in that direction, rose up, placed the patta in its bag, threw it over his shoulder, and directed his steps towards the solitude of Himawonta, where he devoted himself to all the exercises of his profession. At the time Phralaong became a Buddha, our hermit went to that great master, learnt from him the works that lead to the state of perfect stability of mind, returned back to his solitude, and attained to the perfection of Rahanda by the practice of the eminent works. Seven months after his return, the end of his existence arrived, when, disentangled from all the ties that had hitherto kept him in the world of passions, he reached the happy state of Neibban.

FOOTNOTES

[1] This country of Dewah is one of the sixteen countries, so much celebrated in the Buddhistic annals, where the greatest religious events have taken place. They are placed in the centre, north, and north-west portions of Hindustan. In this place was born the celebrated Dewadat, who became brother-in-law to Buddha himself. But notwithstanding the close ties of relationship that united him to so saintly a personage, Dewadat is represented as the incarnation of evil, ever opposed to Buddha in his benevolent designs in favour of human kind. At last, in an attempt against his brother-in-law's life, he met with a condign punishment. The earth burst open under his feet, and, surrounded by devouring flames, he rolled down to the bottom of the lowest hell, acknowledging, however, in the accents of a true but tardy repentance, his errors and the unconquerable power of Buddha. Three red-hot iron bars transfix him perpendicularly, hanging him in an erect position, whilst three other bars pierce him through the shoulders and the side. For his repentance he is to be delivered hereafter from those torments, and restored to earth, in order to acquire merits that may entitle him to a better place in future existences. Some accounts mention that he is to become a Pietzega Buddha. This story respecting Dewadat has given rise in Burmah to a very strange misconception. The Burmese, with their usual thoughtlessness, on hearing of the particulars respecting the sufferings and mode of death of our Saviour, concluded that he must have been no other but Dewadat himself, and that, for holding opinions opposite to those of Buddha, he suffered such a punishment. The writer was not a little surprised to find in the writings of the old Barnabite missionaries a lengthened confutation of this erroneous supposition.

[2] According to Buddhistic notions, Buddha labours during his mortal career for the benefit of all living beings. His benevolent and compassionate heart, free from all partiality, feels an ardent desire of opening before them the way that leads to deliverance from the miseries of every succeeding existence, and of bringing them finally to the never troubled state of Neibban. Such a generous and benevolent disposition constitutes the genuine characteristic of Buddha. The Brahmas, inhabiting the sixteen seats of Rupa, are all but ripe for obtaining the crowning point of Buddhistic perfection. They only wait for the presence of a Buddha to unloose, by his preachings, the slender ties that keep them still connected with this material world. The Nats, though far less advanced in merits and perfection, eagerly look forward for the apparition of that great personage, who is to point out to them the means of freeing themselves from the influence of passions, and thereby destroying in them the principle of demerits. Men, also, in their state of probation and trial, want the mighty aid of a Buddha, who will enable them by his transcendent doctrine to advance in merits, so as either to arrive at once at the ever-quiescent state of Neibban, or progress gradually on the way. Hence, on his birth, Buddha is ministered to by those three sorts of intelligent beings, who are particularly destined to share in the blessings his coming is designed to shower on them.

The mission of a Buddha is that of a saviour. His great object, to make use of a Buddhistic expression, is, during his existence, to procure the deliverance of all the beings that will listen to his instructions and observe the precepts of the law. He is distinguished by feelings of compassion and an ardent love for all beings, as well as by an earnest desire of labouring for their welfare. These are the true characteristics of his heart. In this religious system mention is often made of Pitzegabuddhas, who have all the science and merits of a Buddha, but they are deficient in the above-mentioned qualities, which form, as it were, the essence of a true and genuine Buddha. They are never therefore honoured with the noble appellation of Buddha.

[3] The Chinese, Cochin-Chinese, Cingalese, and Nepaulese Legends all agree in attributing to Phralaong the use of reason from the moment he was born, as well as the power of uttering with a proud accent the following words: "I am the greatest of all beings; this is my last existence." To his own eyes he must have appeared in this world without any competitor, since he knew already that he was destined to release countless beings from the trammels of existence, and lead them to a state of perfect rest, screened for ever from the incessant action of merits and demerits. He alone whose mind is deeply imbued with Buddhistic notions can boast exultingly that he has at length arrived at his last existence, and that, within a few years, he will escape out of the whirlpool of endless existences, wherein he has been turning and fluctuating from a state of happiness to one of wretchedness. This perpetual vicissitude is to him the greatest evil, the opposite of which is, therefore, the greatest good. No wonder, then, to hear our Phralaong, who was better acquainted with the miseries attending existence than any one else, exclaiming with the accents of a complete joy—"This is my last existence."

The Burmese translator seems delighted to remark that on two former occasions Phralaong, then an infant, had spoken distinct words, which he addressed to his mother. This happened in the beginning of the two existences during which he practised two of the ten great virtues. It took place first on the day he was born to that existence, when, under the name of Mahauthata, he displayed consummate skill and wisdom. The legend of Mahauthata is a very amusing performance, written in a very pure language, and relating stories about as credible as those we read in the Arabian Tales of a Thousand and One Nights. What surprised the writer not a little, was to find, in perusing that composition, a decision given by our Mahauthata, in a case perfectly similar to that which showed forth, in the presence of all Israel, the incomparable wisdom of Solomon. When Phralaong practised the last and most perfect of virtues, liberality, carried to its farthest limits, ending in perfect abnegation of self, and renouncing all that he possessed, he entered, too, into this world with the faculty of speech, and became a prince under the name of Wethandra. The legend of Wethandra is by far the best of all. Taking it as a mere romance, it is replete with circumstantial details well calculated to excite the finest emotions of the heart. The latter part, in particular, can scarcely be read without heart-moving feelings of pity and commiseration, on beholding our Phralaong parting willingly with all his property, with his wife and his lovely children, and finally offering his own person, to satisfy the ever-renewed calls on his unbounded generosity.

[4] In Burmah the use of the white umbrella is limited to the king and idols. The former can never move without having some one to hold over his head this distinguishing mark of royalty. Any one who has been introduced into the palace of Amerapoora will not have forgotten how great was his satisfaction on beholding the white umbrella towering above the sides of passages, and moving in the direction he was sitting in. He knew that the time of his expectation was at an end, and that in a moment he would behold the golden face.

[5] In glancing over the genealogy of the twenty-eight last Buddhas, the writer has observed that every Buddha has always obtained the supreme intelligence under the shadow of some trees. Our Phralaong, as will be seen hereafter, attained to the exalted dignity of Buddha under the tree Baudhi (ficus religiosa), which grew up spontaneously at the very moment he was born. The writer has never been able to discover any well-grounded reason to account for this remarkable circumstance, so carefully noted down, relating the particulars attending the elevation of a being to this high station. For want of a better one, he will be permitted to hazard the following conjecture. Our Phralaong, previous to his becoming a Buddha, withdrew into solitude for the purpose of fitting himself for his future calling, in imitation of all his predecessors, leading an ascetic life, and devoting all his undivided attention and mental energies to meditation and contemplation, coupled with works of the most rigorous mortification. The senses, he knew well, were to be submitted to the uncontrolled sway of reason, by allowing to himself only what was barely requisite for supporting nature. Regardless of every comfort, his mind was bent upon acquiring the sublime knowledge of the principle and origin of all things, on fathoming the miseries of all beings, and on endeavouring to discover the most efficacious means of affording them a thorough relief, by pointing out to them the road they had to follow in order to disentangle themselves from the trammels of existence, and arrive at a state of perfect rest. In common with all other ascetics, our Phralaong had no other shelter against the inclemency of the seasons but the protecting shadow of trees. It was under the cooling and refreshing foliage of the trees of the forests, that he spent his time in the placid and undisturbed work of meditation, acquiring gradually that matchless knowledge and consummate wisdom which he needed for carrying on to perfection the benevolent undertaking he had in contemplation.

[6] It is a maxim generally received amongst Buddhists, that he who has far advanced in the way of perfection acquires extraordinary privileges both in his soul and his body. The latter obtains a sort of spiritualised nature, or rather matter becomes so refined and purified that he is enabled to travel over distances with almost the rapidity of the thought of the mind. The former, by the help of continual meditation on the causes and nature of all things, enlarges incessantly its sphere of knowledge. The remembrance of the past revives in the mind. From the lofty position such a being is placed in, he calmly considers and watches the movement of events that will take place in future times. The more his mind expands, and the sphere of his knowledge extends, the greater are the perfections and refinements attending the coarser part of his being.

[7] According to the prophecy of Kaladewila, Phralaong is to become Buddha when thirty-five years old. The total duration of his life being eighty years, it follows that he has lived as Buddha forty-five years. The advice of the old Rathee to his nephew Nalaka, to become a Rahan in order to better dispose himself to welcome the coming of Buddha, and listen with greater benefit to his preachings, leads me to make a remark and write down an observation that has been already alluded to. From this passage and many others which the reader will easily notice hereafter, as well as from the example of Buddha himself, one must suppose that at the time Phralaong was born, some institutions, the most important one at least, viz., that of the Rahans, recluses, or monks, already existed in a more or less perfect state. Relying solely on the authority of this Legend, no attempt at denying this supposition can ever be made. Kaladewila speaks of the order of Rahans as of a thing well known. Nalaka sends to the bazaar for the purchase of the dress and other articles he wanted for his new mode of life. Phralaong, on his way to his garden, sees a Rahan, whose habits and manners are described to him by his coachman. Having become Buddha, he meets with ascetics and recluses living in community, leading a life much resembling that which he is supposed to have hereafter instituted, holding but few opinions, which, according to his own standard, were heretical. From these facts flows the natural conclusion that Gaudama is not the inventor or originator of all the Buddhistic disciplinary institutions. He found among the multifarious sects of Brahminism many practices and ordinances which he approved of and incorporated or embodied in his new system. This is another proof, amounting to a demonstration, that Buddhism is an offshoot of the great Hindu system. In this respect, Gaudama borrowed largely from what he found existing in his own days, in the schools he resorted to, and re-echoed many tenets upheld by the masters under whom he studied the sciences and the training to morals and virtue. He enlarged and developed certain favourite theories and principles which had found favour with him; at the same time, for the purpose of leading his disciples to perfection, he enforced many disciplinary regulations, almost similar to those he had been subjected to during the years of his probation. He was certainly an ardent promoter of the perfected and improved system he endeavoured to introduce.

[8] The Thingan or Tsiwaran is composed of three parts—the thinbaing, resembling an ample petticoat, bound up to the waist, with a leathern girdle, and falling down to the heels; the kowot, which consists of a sort of cloak of a rectangular shape, covering the shoulders and breast, and reaching somewhat below the knee; and the dougout, which is a piece of cloth of the same shape, folded many times, thrown over the left shoulder when going abroad, and used to sit on when no proper seat has been prepared. The colour of these three pieces, constituting the dress of a recluse, is invariably yellow. The jack-tree supplies the material for dyeing the cloth yellow. In order to maintain a spirit of perfect poverty among the members of the order of the recluse, the Wini prescribes that the tsiwaran ought to be made up with rags picked up here and there, and sewed together. The rule, in this respect, at least as far as its spirit goes, is thoroughly disregarded, and has become almost a dead letter.

The hairs of the head and the beard, being too often objects which vanity turns to its own purposes, are, to say the least, mere superfluities. A stern contemner of worldly things must, of course, do away with things which may prove temptations to him, or at least afford him unnecessary trouble. Hence no layman can ever aspire to become a Rahan unless he has previously submitted to the operation of a complete shaving of the head, including even the eye-brows.

CHAPTER III.

A Name is given to the child—Prediction of the Pounhas respecting the child—Death of Maia—Miraculous occurrence at the child's cradle—Adolescence of the Phralaong—He sees the four signs—Return from the garden to the royal city.

Five days after the birth of Phralaong, took place the ceremony of washing the head and giving him a name. In the apartment of the palace several kinds of perfumed wood and essences, such as sandal-wood, lignum, aloes, camphor, &c., were strewed profusely, as well as the most exquisitely scented flowers and parched rice. The nogana (a sort of beverage made of milk, sugar, and honey) was prepared in great abundance. One hundred and eighty Pounhas,[1] the most versed in the science of astrology, were invited to partake of a splendid entertainment in the palace. The king made to every one of them costly presents, and desired them to examine carefully all the signs, prognosticating the future destiny of his son. Amidst that crowd of soothsayers, eight Pounhas were present, who explained the dream that Maia had in the beginning of her pregnancy. Seven of them, lifting up the index[2] of each hand of the child, were amazed at the wonderful signs their eyes met. "If this child," said they, "remain in the society of men, he will become a mighty ruler that will bring all nations under his sway; but if he embrace the profession of recluse, he will certainly become a Buddha." They began to foretell the incomparable glory and high honours that would attend his universal reign. The eighth Pounha, named Kauntagnia, the descendant of the celebrated son of Thoodata, and the youngest of all, raised up the index of one hand of the child. Struck with the wonderful and unmistakable signs that forced themselves on his view, he exclaimed, "No! this child will not remain long in the society of men; he will free himself from the vicissitudes[3] and miseries attending the existence of all beings, and will finally become a Buddha." As the child was to be the instrument for promoting the welfare and merits of all mortals, they gave him the name of Theiddat.

Seven days after her confinement Maia died, and by the virtue of her merits migrated to the seat of Toocita, and became the daughter of a Nat.[G] Her death was not the result of her delivery, but she departed this world because the term of her life had come. On their return to their home, the Pounhas assembled their children and said to them, "We are already advanced in years. We dare not promise to ourselves that we will ever see the son of King Thoodaudana become a Buddha; but to you such a favour is reserved. Listen respectfully to all his instructions, and endeavour to enter the profession of Rahan without delay, and withdraw into solitude. Let us also all join you in that holy vocation." Three Pounhas refused the invitation, and would not enter the profession. The five others cheerfully gave up everything, and became distinguished members of the ascetic body.

[G] Maia was confined in the beginning of the third age. This expression is rather a very loose and general one, and is far from indicating, with any approach to accuracy, the period of Maia's age when she was delivered of her son. The age of man is divided into three parts. The first extends from birth to the sixteenth or eighteenth year; the second goes to the forty-fifth year or thereabout; and the third, from the forty-fifth year to the end of life. Phralaong was born on the 68th year of the Eatzana era, on the 6th after the full moon of the month Katsong. Maia was therefore fifty-six years old. The author of this work strives hard to prove this the age, apparently advanced of Maia, was the best fitted for securing the safety and perfection of the fruit of her womb.

King Thoodaudana, hearing of the explanation given by the Pounhas, inquired whether his son was really to become a Rahan. Having been assured that all the signs predicted the future destiny of his son to such a calling, he desired to know what those signs were. He was told that the four following things were the very signs foreshowing the future career of his son, viz., an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and a recluse.[4] As soon as his son should successively remark those four signs, he would immediately come to the conclusion that the state of Rahan alone is worthy of the warm admiration and eager wishes of a wise man.

King Thoodaudana, who ardently wished to see his son become a great monarch, whose sway would extend over the four great islands and the two thousand smaller ones, gave the strictest orders that none of the four omens should ever meet his eyes. Guards were placed in every direction at distances of a mile, charged with but one care, that of keeping out of his son's sight the appearance of these fatal omens.

On that day eighty thousand noblemen, who were present at the great rejoicings, pledged themselves each one to give one of his male children to attend on the royal infant. "If he become," said they, "a mighty monarch, let our sons be ever with him, as a guard of honour to confer additional lustre on his wonderful reign. If he be ever elevated to the sublime dignity of Buddha, let our children enter the holy profession of recluse, and follow him whithersoever he may direct his steps."

Thoodaudana, with the tender solicitude of a vigilant father, procured for his beloved offspring nurses exempt from all corporeal defects, and remarkable for their beautiful and graceful appearance.

The child grew up, surrounded with a brilliant retinue of numerous attendants.

On a certain day happened the joyful feast of the ploughing season. The whole country, by the magnificence of the ornaments that decorated it, resembled one of the seats of Nats. The country people without exception, wearing new dresses, went to the palace. One thousand ploughs and the same number of pairs of bullocks were prepared for the occasion. Eight hundred ploughs, less one, were to be handled and guided by noblemen. The ploughs, as well as the yokes and the horns of the bullocks, were covered with silver leaves. But the one reserved for the monarch was covered with leaves of gold. Accompanied by a countless crowd of his people, King Thoodaudana left the royal city and went into the middle of extensive fields. The royal infant was brought out by his nurses on this joyful occasion. A splendid jambu tree (Eugenia), loaded with thick and luxuriant green foliage, offered on that spot a refreshing place under the shade of its far-spreading branches. Here the bed of the child was deposited. A gilt canopy was immediately raised above it, and curtains, embroidered with gold, were disposed round it. Guardians having been appointed to watch over the infant, the king, attended by all his courtiers, directed his steps towards the place where all the ploughs were held in readiness. He instantly put his hands to his own plough; eight hundred noblemen, less one, and the country people followed his example. Pressing forward his bullocks, the king ploughed to and fro through the extent of the fields. All the ploughmen, emulating their royal lord, drove their ploughs in a uniform direction. The scene presented a most animated and stirring spectacle on an immense scale. The applauding multitude filled the air with cries of joy and exultation. The nurses, who kept watch by the side of the infant's cradle, excited by the animated scene, forgot the prince's orders, and ran near to the spot to enjoy the soul-stirring sight displayed before their admiring eyes. Phralaong, casting a glance all round, and seeing no one close by him, rose up instantly, and, sitting in a cross-legged position, remained absorbed as it were in a profound meditation. The other nurses, busy in preparing the prince's meal, had spent more time than was at first contemplated. The shadow of the trees had, by the movement of the sun, turned in an opposite direction. The nurses, reminded by this sight that the infant had been left alone, and that his couch was exposed to the rays of the sun, hastened back to the spot they had so imprudently left. But great was their surprise when they saw that the shadow of the jambu tree had not changed its position, and that the child was quietly sitting on his bed. The news of that wonder was immediately conveyed to King Thoodaudana, who came in all haste to witness it. He forthwith prostrated himself before his son, saying, "This is, beloved child, the second time that I bow to you."

Phralaong[5] having reached his sixteenth year, his father ordered three palaces to be built for each season of the year. Each palace had nine stories; and forty thousand maidens, skilful in playing all sorts of musical instruments, were in continual attendance upon him, and charmed all his moments by uninterrupted dances and music. Phralaong appeared among them with the beauty and dignity of a Nat, surrounded with an immense retinue of daughters of Nats. According to the change of seasons he passed from one palace into another, moving as it were in a circle of ever-renewed pleasures and amusements. It was then that Phralaong was married to the beautiful Yathaudara, his first cousin, and the daughter of Thouppabudha and of Amitau. It was in the eighty-sixth year of his grandfather's era that he was married, and also consecrated Prince royal by the pouring of the blessed water over his head.

Whilst Phralaong was spending his time in the midst of pleasures, his relatives complained to the king of the conduct of his son. They strongly remonstrated against his mode of living, which precluded him from applying himself to the acquisition of those attainments befitting his exalted station. Sensible of these reproaches, Thoodaudana sent for his son, to whom he made known the complaints directed against him by his relatives. Without showing any emotion, the young prince replied, "Let it be announced at the sound of the drum throughout the country, that this day week I will show to my relatives in the presence of the best masters that I am fully conversant with the eighteen sorts of arts and sciences." On the appointed day he displayed before them the extent of his knowledge; they were satisfied, and their doubts and anxieties on his account were entirely removed.

On a certain day Phralaong, desiring to go and enjoy some sports in his garden, ordered his coachman to have his conveyance ready for that purpose. Four horses, richly caparisoned, were put to a beautiful carriage, that resembled the dwelling-place of a Nat. Phralaong having occupied his seat, the coachman drove rapidly towards the garden. The Nats, who knew that the time was near at hand when Phralaong would become a Buddha, resolved to place successively before his eyes the four signs foreshowing his future high dignity. One of them assumed the form of an old man, the body bending forward, with grey hairs, a shrivelled skin, and leaning languidly on a heavy staff. In that attire, he advanced slowly, with trembling steps, towards the prince's conveyance. He was seen and remarked only by Phralaong and his coachman. "Who is that man?" said the prince to his driver; "the hairs of his head, indeed, do not resemble those of other men." "Prince," answered the coachman, "he is an old man. Every born being is doomed to become like him; his appearance must undergo the greatest changes, the skin by the action of time will shrivel, the hairs turn grey, the veins and arteries, losing their suppleness and elasticity, will become stiff and hardened, the flesh will gradually sink and almost disappear, leaving the bare bones covered with dry skin." "What?" said to himself the terrified prince; "birth is indeed a great evil, ushering all beings into a wretched condition, which must be inevitably attended with the disgusting infirmities of old age!" His mind being taken up entirely with such considerations, he ordered his coachman to drive back to the palace. Thoodaudana, having inquired from his courtiers what motive had induced his son to return so soon from the place of amusement, was told that he had seen an old man, and that he entertained the thought of becoming a Rahan.[H] "Alas!" said he, "they will succeed in thwarting the high destiny of my son. But let us try now every means to afford him some distraction, so that he may forget the evil idea that has just started up in his mind." He gave orders to bring to his son's palace the prettiest and most accomplished dancing-girls, that, in the midst of ever renewed pleasure, he might lose sight of the thought of ever entering the profession of Rahan. The guard surrounding his palace was doubled, so as to preclude the possibility of his ever seeing the other signs.

[H] In the course of this work the word Rahan is often used. It is of the greatest importance that the reader should firmly seize the meaning that it is designed to convey. We find it employed to designate, in general, the religious belonging either to the Buddhistic or Brahminical sects. When Buddhists happen to mention their brethren of the opposite creed, who have renounced the world and devoted themselves to the practice of religious duties, they invariably call them Rahans. When they speak of Pounhas or Brahmins, who are living in the world, leading an ordinary secular mode of life, they never style them Rahans. Thence we may safely infer that the individuals to whom this denomination was applied formed a class of devotees quite distinct from the laymen.

That class, it appears, comprised all the individuals who lived either in community under the superintendence and guidance of a spiritual superior, or privately in forests under the protecting shade of trees, and in lonely and solitary places. The latter religious are, however, generally designated by the appellation of Ascetics and Rathees. They were the forefathers of those fanatics who up to our days have appeared through the breadth and length of the Indian Peninsula, practising penitential deeds of the most cruel and revolting description. They are described by Buddhists as wearing curled and twisted hair, clad in the skins of wild beasts, and not unfrequently quite destitute of any sort of clothing, and in a state of complete nakedness.

The former, who lived in community, did not lead the same course of life. We find some communities, the three, for instance, under the guidance of the three Kathabas, in the Ouroowela forest, not far from Radzagio, whose inmates are called either Rahans or Rathees. This indicates that their mode of life partook both of the common and hermitical life, resembling, to a certain extent, that which was observed by the Christian communities of cenobites established in the desert of Upper Egypt during the first ages of our era.

Those communities appear to have been the centres in which principles were established, opinions discussed, and theories elaborated. The chiefs enjoyed high reputation for learning. Persons desirous to acquire proficiency in science resorted to their abode, and, under their tuition, strove to acquire wisdom. The following pages of this work will afford several striking illustrations of the view just sketched out.

On another day, Phralaong, on his way to his garden, met with the same Nat under the form of a sick man, who appeared quite sinking under the weight of the most loathsome disease. Frightened at such a sight, Phralaong, hearing from the mouth of his faithful driver what this disgusting object was, returned in all haste to his palace. His father, more and more disturbed at the news conveyed to him, multiplied the pleasures and enjoyments destined for his son, and doubled the number of guards that had to watch over him. On a third occasion, whilst the prince was taking a walk, the same Nat, assuming the shape of a dead man, offered to the astonished regards of the prince the shocking sight of a corpse. Trembling with fear, the young prince came back forthwith to his residence. Thoodaudana, being soon informed of what had taken place, resorted to fresh precautions, and extended to the distance of one youdzana the immense line of countless guards set all round the palace.

On a fourth occasion, the prince, driving rapidly towards his garden, was met on his way by the same Nat under the meek form of a Rahan. The curiosity of the prince was awakened by the extraordinary sight of that new personage: he asked his coachman what he was. "Prince," answered the coachman, "he is a Rahan." At the same time, though little acquainted with the high dignity and sublime qualifications of a recluse, he was enabled, by the power of the Nats, to praise and extol in dignified language the profession and merits of Rahans. The prince felt instantaneously an almost irresistible inclination to embrace that attractive mode of life. He quietly went as far as his garden.

The whole day was spent in all sorts of rural diversions. Having bathed in a magnificent tank, he went a little before sunset to rest awhile on a large well-polished stone table, overshaded by the far-spread branches of beautiful trees hanging above it, waiting for the time to put on his richest dress. All his attendants were busily engaged in preparing the finest clothes and most elegant ornaments. When all was ready, they stood silent round him, waiting for his orders. Perfumes of every description were disposed in a circular row with the various ornaments on the table whereon the prince was sitting.

At that very moment a chief Thagia was quietly enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest on the famous stone table called Pantoo Kambala. On a sudden, he felt his seat as it were getting hot. "Lo! what does this mean?" said the astonished Thagia; "am I doomed to lose my happy state?" Having recollected himself, and reflected a while on the cause of such a wonderful occurrence, he soon knew that Phralaong was preparing to put on for the last time his princely dress. He called to him the son of a Nat, named Withakioon, and said to him, "On this day, at midnight, Prince Theiddat is to leave his palace and withdraw into solitude. Now he is in his garden, preparing to put on his richest attire for the last time. Go, therefore, without a moment's delay, to the place where he is sitting, surrounded by his attendants, and perform to him all the required services." Bowing respectfully to the chief of Thagias, Withakioon obeyed, and by the power inherent in the nature of Nats, he was in an instant carried to the presence of Phralaong. He assumed the figure of his barber, and immediately set to work to arrange the turban with as much taste as art round his head. Phralaong soon found out that the skilful hand which disposed the folds of his head-dress was not that of a man, but of a Nat. One fold of the turban appeared like one thousand, and ten folds like ten thousand folds, offering the magical coup-d'œil of as many different pieces of cloth, arranged with the most consummate skill. The extremity of the turban, which crossed vertically the whole breadth of the countless folds, appeared covered with a profusion of shining rubies. The head of Phralaong was small, but the folds of the turban seemed numberless. How could that be so? It is a wonder surpassing our understanding; it would be rashness and temerity to allow our minds to dwell too much upon it.

Having completely dressed, Phralaong[6] found himself surrounded by all sorts of musicians, singers, and dancers, vying with each other in their endeavours to increase the rejoicing. The Pounhas sang aloud his praise. "May he conquer and triumph! May his wishes and desires be ever fulfilled!" The multitude repeated incessantly in his honour stanzas of praises and blessings. In the midst of universal rejoicings, Phralaong ascended his carriage. He had scarcely seated himself on it, when a message, sent by his father, conveyed to him the gladdening tidings that Yathaudara had been delivered of a son. "That child," replied he with great coolness, "is a new and strong tie that I will have to break." The answer having been brought to his father, Thoodaudana could not understand its meaning. He, however, caused his grandson to be named Raoula. Phralaong, sitting in his carriage, surrounded by crowds of people, who rent the air with cries of joy and jubilation, entered into the city of Kapilawot. At that moment a princess, named Keissa Gautami, was contemplating from her apartments the triumphant entrance of Phralaong into the city. She admired the noble and graceful deportment of Prince Theiddat, and exclaimed with feelings of inexpressible delight, "Happy the father and mother who have such an incomparable son! happy the wife who is blest with such an accomplished husband!" On hearing those words, Phralaong desired to understand their meaning and know their bearing. "By what means," said he to himself, "can a heart find peace and happiness?" As his heart was already disentangled from the thraldom of passions, he readily perceived that real happiness could be found but in the extinction of concupiscence, pride, ignorance, and other passions. He resolved henceforth to search ardently for the happy state of Neibban, by quitting the world that very night, leaving the society of men, and withdrawing into solitude. Detaching from his neck a collar of pearls of immense value, he sent it to Keissa Gautami, as a token of gratitude for the excellent lesson she had given him by the words which she had uttered in his praise. The young princess received it as a mark of favour which she imagined Prince Theiddat intended to pay her. Without further notice of her, he retired into his own apartment to enjoy some rest.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Which of the two systems, Buddhism or Brahminism, is the most ancient? This is a question which learned Orientalists have in former days variously answered. If, however, some credit is to be given to this Legend, and the hero thereof is to be regarded as the author of Buddhism, the solution of that much-controverted question is comparatively easy, and seems to admit of no doubt. Priority of antiquity is decidedly in favour of Brahminism. At the time Buddha was born, and in his own country, we find already subsisting the great politico-religious fabric of Hinduism. The distinction of caste is already mentioned in several passages. We find the Pounhas or Brahmins already monopolising the lucrative trade of soothsaying, and regarded as the best informed among their countrymen. They are treated with great respect and consideration even by proud monarchs, who testify their regard for them by costly presents and every possible mark of distinction. It is true that their caste is not always spoken of with great regard by Buddhist authors; but this is to be attributed to the deadly enmity that prevailed at a later period between those two great rival sects, which have so long struggled for supremacy over the Indian Peninsula. The Brahminical creed is spoken of in very disparaging terms by Buddhists; and, as a matter of course, they have been reciprocally handled severely by their opponents. To those who feel inclined to regard Buddha as but a great reformer of a religious system already existing, the question will not appear cleared of all difficulty. But upon them rests the task of establishing on uncontrovertible grounds their hypothesis, ere any serious attention can be paid to the conclusion they would fain infer in favour of the superior antiquity of Buddhism. As for us, we believe Buddha to be the real author of the great religious system under examination. But, at the same time, we readily concede that many elements found existing in those days were seized upon by Buddha, and skilfully arranged so as to harmonise well with his plans.

[2] Superstition and ignorance seem to have been in all ages and under every climate the prolific source of human follies and mental delusions. Man has always been and will ever be the same ridiculously superstitious being, as long as his mind is left to itself, unenlightened by revelation. With few exceptions, the greatest men of Italy and Greece were as superstitious as the vulgus, to whom, in every other respect, they were so superior. The resemblance error bears to truth, when human passions have some interest at stake, deceives many; under deceitful appearances it finds its way to the mind, and then clings to the heart. There is in man an innate desire of tearing asunder the thick veil that hides from him the knowledge of future events. Unable to comprehend the perfect economy of an all-wise Providence in the disposition and management of the affairs of this world, he has recourse to the most absurd means for satiating the cravings of his inordinate curiosity. Hence the prevailing superstition of those days, which induced men to believe that Brahmins, on inspecting the inner part of the hand, could discover certain signs, foreshowing the good or bad destiny of every individual.

[3] Metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul from one state of existence into another in the same world, is one of the leading dogmas of Buddhism. Many passages of the present work, or rather the Buddhistic system as a whole, can never be understood unless this tenet be always borne in mind. It is by passing through countless existences that a being is slowly purified of his imperfections, and gradually advances in the way of merits and perfection. The sacred writings of Buddhists mention that our Phralaong had to range, during innumerable existences, the whole series of the animal kingdom, from the dove to the elephant, ere he could be born in the state of man, when, in this condition, he, as stated by himself, went often into hell to atone for certain trespassings. Pythagoras had likely borrowed, and received directly or indirectly from the East, this doctrine, which his school re-echoed throughout Greece and Italy. The end of metempsychosis is, according to Buddhists, the state of Neibban. On this point the author of Buddhism has been at variance with other religious schools, which in his own days held and professed the dogma of transmigration.

[4] The three first allegorical omens or signs which, according to the foretelling of the Pounhas, were to be seen and observed hereafter by Phralaong, are designed to mean and express the compound of all miseries attending human existence, from the moment man crosses the threshold of life to that of death. The view of these objects was intended to make him disgusted with a state necessarily accompanied with such an amount of wretchedness. He was soon induced by reflection to hold in contempt the things of this world, and consequently to seek with ardour some means of estranging himself from all visible and material objects. The fourth sign, that is to say, the view of a Rahan, or a contemner of this world, aspiring to perfect disengagement from the trammels of passion, and shaping his course towards Neibban, was the very pattern he had to imitate and follow for arriving to that state of perfection which he felt a strong, though as yet somewhat confused, desire of possessing.

The Nats or Dewatas are the ever-ready ministers for affording to Phralaong the assistance he requires to reach in safety the Buddhaship. They rejoice at the news of his approaching conception in the womb of Maia; they watch over the mother who is to give birth to so blessed a child; they receive the newly-born infant, and hand him over to men; they baffle, by their almost supernatural power, the obstacles which the worldly-minded Thoodaudana tries to throw in the way of his son's vocation; in a word, their angelical ministrations are always at hand to help and protect our Phralaong, and enable him to reach that state wherein he shall be fully qualified for announcing to men the law of deliverance. The belief in the agency of angels between heaven and earth, and their being the messengers of God for conveying, on solemn occasions, his mandates to men, is coeval, according to sacred records, with the appearance of man in this world. Innumerable are the instances of angelical ministrations mentioned in the holy writ. We look upon angels as mere spiritual substances, assuming a human form, when, by the command of God, they have to bring down to men some divine message. In the system of the Buddhists, Nats are described as having bodies indeed, but of such a pure nature, particularly those inhabiting the superior seats, that they are not only not subjected to the miseries inherent in our nature, but are moreover gifted with such superior attainments as almost to enjoy the perfections and qualifications inherent in the nature of spirits. On this occasion the Nats are endeavouring to make virtue triumph over vice; but, in the course of this legend, we will have several opportunities of remarking a counteraction worked up by evil or wicked Nats for upholding the reign of passion or of sin. In this system the two contending elements of good and evil have each its own advocates and supporters. A Hindu Milton might have found two thousand years ago a ready theme for writing, in Sanscrit or Pali, a poem similar to that more recently composed by the immortal English bard.

[5] From what has been already mentioned of the life of our Phralaong, we may see that many particulars regarding his birth and his childhood have been described with sufficient accuracy; but little or nothing is said of his adolescence, at least until the age of sixteen, when he gets united to the famous and youthful Yathaudara. In common with many other great men, almost all the years of the private life of this celebrated and extraordinary personage are wrapped up in a complete obscurity. We may conclude from his great proficiency in the knowledge of those sciences and attainments befitting his high situation, he was not remiss, since he was enabled to set at defiance the greatest masters of those days. In the midst of pleasures he knew how to devote the best part of his time to study, unless we suppose that science was infused into his mind by no exertion of his own. The Burmese have a regular mania for dividing with a mathematical precision what at first appears to admit of no such division. Virtues, vices, sciences, arts, &c., all, in a word, are subjected to a rigorous division, which, if arbitrary in itself, has the great advantage of conferring a substantial help to the memory.

[6] The triumphant return of Phralaong from his garden to the city, when he is attired with the richest dress, is commemorated by Buddhists, at least in Burmah, on the day a young boy is preparing to enter into a monastery of recluses for the purpose of putting on the yellow robe, and preparing himself to become afterwards a member of the order, if he feel an inclination to enlist in its ranks. Phralaong was bidding a last farewell to the world, its pomps and vanities. So the youthful candidate is doing who is led processionally through the streets, riding a richly-caparisoned horse, or sitting on an elegant palanquin, carried on the shoulders of men. A description of this ceremony will be found in the notice on the Buddhistic monks or Talapoins.

I am obliged to confess that I have found it somewhat difficult to discover any connection between the expressions made use of by Keissa Gautami and the inference drawn therefrom by Phralaong. The explanation of the difficulty may be, however, stated as follows:—Gautami bestows the epithet happy or blessed upon the father and mother as well as on the wife of Prince Theiddat, because she remarked and observed in him those qualities and accomplishments befitting a worthy son and a good husband. The words blessed and happy struck the mind of the future Buddha, attracted his attention, and drew forth his exertions to find out their true import. He asks himself, In what consists true and real happiness? Where is it to be found? By what means can such an invaluable treasure be procured? Can it be conferred upon man by the possession of some exterior object? Can his parents or wife be really happy by the mere accidental ties that connect them with his person? No, answers our young philosopher to himself: Happiness can be procured but by waging war against passions, and carrying it on until their total destruction. Then the victorious soul, sitting calmly on the ruins of her deadly opponents, enjoys in the undisturbed contemplation of truth an indescribable happiness. In this we clearly perceive the unmistakable bearing of Buddhistic morals. It is as it were the embryo of the whole system.

King Thoodaudana, influenced by worldly considerations, eagerly wished his son to become a great monarch instead of a poor and humble recluse, even a Buddha. This alone suggests the idea that in those days the rôle of a Buddha was not held in so great an esteem and veneration as it was afterwards. Had it been otherwise, the most ambitious father might have remained well satisfied with the certainty of seeing his own son becoming a personage before whom the proudest monarch would one day lower to the dust their crowned heads.

At that time a Buddha, or the personage honoured with that title, was looked upon as a mere sage, distinguished among his fellow-men by his great wisdom and eminent proficiency in the study of philosophy. It is highly probable that this name had been bestowed upon a great many illustrious individuals who lived before the days of Gaudama. Hence the fabricated genealogy of twenty-eight former Buddhas, supposed to have lived myriads of years and worlds previously, including the three that have preceded him during the continuance of this system of nature. Here a superstitious and ill-judged enthusiasm has raised up heaps of extravagancies, setting up a ridiculous theory, designed to connect the rôle of the present Buddha with those of a fabulous antiquity, and give additional lustre to it. There is no doubt that the glowing halo of sacredness and glory, encircling now the name of Buddha, has never adorned that of any former one. It has been created by the extraordinary progress his doctrines made at first in the Indian Peninsula, and next throughout eastern Asia, and kept up by the fervent admiration of his enthusiastic followers.

The means resorted to by Thoodaudana to retain his son in the world of passions, and thereby thwart his vocation, could not, we hardly need mention, be approved of by any moralist of even the greatest elasticity of conscience and principles; but they were eminently fitted to try the soundness of Phralaong's calling, and the strong and tenacious dispositions of his energetic mind. They set out in vivid colours the firmness of purpose and irresistible determination of his soul in following up his vocation to a holier mode of life; and what is yet more wonderful, the very objects that were designed to enslave him became the instruments which helped him in gaining and ascertaining his liberty. Magnificent, indeed, is the spectacle offered by a young prince remaining unmoved in the midst of the most captivating, soul-stirring, and heart-melting attractions; sitting coolly on his couch, and looking with indifference, nay, with disgust, on the crowd of sleeping beauties.

CHAPTER IV.

Phralaong leaves his palace, the royal city, and retires into solitude, amidst the plaudits of the Nats—He cuts his fine hair with a stroke of his sword, and puts on the habit of Rahan—He begs his food at Radzagio—His interview with the ruler of that place—His studies under two Rathees—His fast and penances in the solitude of Oorouwela during six years.

Phralaong had scarcely begun to recline on his couch, when a crowd of young damsels, whose beauty equalled that of the daughters of Nats, executed all sorts of dances to the sound of the most ravishing symphony, and displayed in all their movements the graceful forms of their elegant and well-shaped persons, in order to make some impression upon his heart. But all was in vain; they were foiled in their repeated attempts. Phralaong fell into a deep sleep. The damsels, in their disappointment, ceased their dances, laid aside their musical instruments, and, soon following the example of Phralaong, quietly yielded to the soporific influence caused by their useless and harassing exertions. The lamps, lighted with fragrant oil, continued to pour a flood of bright light throughout the apartments. Phralaong awoke a little before midnight, and sat in a cross-legged position on his couch. Looking all around him, he saw the varied attitudes and uninviting appearance of the sleeping damsels. Some were snoring, others gnashing their teeth, others had their mouths wide open; some tossed heavily from the right to the left side, others stretched one arm upwards and the other downwards; some, seized as it were with a frantic pang, suddenly coiled up their legs for a while, and with the same violent motion again pushed them down. This unexpected exhibition made a strong impression on Phralaong; his heart was set, if possible, freer from the ties of concupiscence, or rather he was confirmed in his contempt for all worldly pleasures. It appeared to him that his magnificent apartments were filled with the most loathsome and putrid carcasses. The seats of passions, those of Rupa and those of Arupa, that is to say, the whole world, seemed, to his eyes, like a house that is a prey to the devouring flames. "All that," said he to himself, "is most disgusting and despicable." At the same time his ardent desires for the profession of Rahan were increasing with an uncontrollable energy. "On this day, at this very moment," said he with an unshaken firmness, "I will retire into a solitary place." He rose instantly and went to the arched door of his apartment. "Who is here watching?" said he to the first person he met. "Your servant," replied instantly the vigilant nobleman Tsanda. "Rise up quickly," replied the prince; "now I am ready to retire from the world and resort to some lonely place. Go to the stable and prepare the fastest of my horses." Tsanda bowed respectfully to his master, and executed his orders with the utmost celerity. The horse Kantika, knowing the intentions of the prince, felt an inexpressible joy at being selected for such a good errand, and he testified his joy by loud neighs; but, by the power of the Nats, the sound of his voice was silenced, so that none heard it.

While Tsanda, in compliance with the orders he had received, was making the necessary preparations, Phralaong desired to see his newly born son Raoula. He opened gently the door of the room where the princess was sleeping, having one of her hands placed over the head of the infant. Phralaong, stopping at the threshold, said to himself:—"If I go farther to contemplate the child, I will have to remove the hand of the mother; she may be awakened by this movement, and then she will prove a great obstacle to my departure. I will see the child after I have become a Buddha." He then instantly shut the door and left the palace. His charger was waiting for him. "To your swiftness," said Phralaong to Kantika, "do I trust for executing my great design. I must become a Buddha, and labour for the deliverance of men and Nats from the miseries of existence, and lead them safely to the peaceful shores of Neibban." In a moment he was on the back of his favourite horse. Kantika was a magnificent animal; his body measured eighteen cubits in length, with which his height and circumference were in perfect proportion. The hair was of a beautiful white, resembling a newly cleaned shell; his swiftness was unrivalled, and his neighings could be heard at a very great distance; but on this occasion the Nats interfered, no sound of his voice was heard, and the noise of his steps was completely silenced. Having reached the gate of the city, Phralaong stopped for a while, uncertain as regarded the course he was to follow. To open the gate, which a thousand men could with difficulty cause to turn upon its hinges, was deemed an impossibility. Whilst he was deliberating with his faithful attendant Tsanda, the huge gate was silently opened by the Nats, and a free passage given to him through it. It was in the year 97 when he left Kapilawot.

Phralaong had scarcely crossed the threshold of the gate when the tempter endeavoured to thwart his pious design. Manh[1] Nat resolved to prevent him from retiring into solitude and becoming a Buddha. Standing in the air, he cried aloud, "Prince Theiddat, do not attempt to lead the life of a recluse; seven days hence you will become a Tsekiawaday; your sway shall extend over the four great islands; return forthwith to your palace." "Who are you?" replied Phralaong. "I am Manh Nat," cried the voice. "I know," said Phralaong, "that I can become a Tsekiawaday, but I feel not the least inclination for earthly dignities; my aim is to arrive at the nature of Buddha." The tempter, urged onward by his three wicked propensities, concupiscence, ignorance, and anger, did not part for a moment from Phralaong; but as the shadow always accompanies the body, he too, from that day, always followed Phralaong, striving to throw every obstacle in his way towards the dignity of Buddha. Trampling down every human and worldly consideration, and despising a power full of vanity and illusion, Phralaong left the city of Kapilawot, at the full moon of July under the constellation Oottarathan. A little while after, he felt a strong desire to turn round his head and cast a last glance at the magnificent city he was leaving behind him; but he soon overcame that inordinate desire and denied himself this gratification. It is said that on the very instant he was combating the rising sense of curiosity the mighty earth turned with great velocity, like a potter's wheel, so that the very object he denied himself the satisfaction of contemplating came of itself under his eyes. Phralaong hesitated a while as to the direction he was to follow, but he resolved instantly to push on straight before him.

His progress through the country resembled a splendid triumphal ovation. Sixty thousand Nats marched in front of him, an equal number followed him, and as many surrounded him on his right and on his left. All of them carried lighted torches, pouring a flood of light in every direction; others again spread perfumes and flowers brought from their own seats. All joined in chorus, singing the praises of Phralaong. The sound of their united voices resembled loud peals of continued thunder, and the resounding of the mighty waves at the foot of the Mount Oogando. Flowers, shedding the most fragrant odour, were seen gracefully undulating in the air, like an immense canopy, extending to the farthest limits of the horizon. During that night, Phralaong, attended with that brilliant retinue, travelled a distance of thirty youdzanas, and arrived on the banks of the river Anauma. Turning his face towards Tsanda, he asked what was the river's name. "Anauma is its name," replied his faithful attendant. "I will not," said Phralaong to himself, "show myself unworthy of the high dignity I aspire to." Spurring his horse, the fierce animal leaped at once to the opposite bank. Phralaong alighted on the ground, which was covered with a fine sand resembling pearls, when the rays of the sun fell upon it in the morning. On that spot he divested himself of his dress, and calling Tsanda to him, he directed him to take charge of his ornaments, and carry them back with the horse Kantika to his palace. For himself, he had made up his mind to become a Rahan. "Your servant too," replied Tsanda, "will become also a recluse in your company." "No," said the prince, "the profession of Rahan does not at present befit you." He reiterated this prohibition three times. When he was handing over to Tsanda his costly ornaments, he said to himself, "These long hairs that cover my head, and my beard too, are superfluities unbecoming the profession of Rahan." Whereupon with one hand unsheathing his sword, and with the other seizing his comely hairs, he cut them with a single stroke. What remained of his hairs on the head measured about one inch and a half in length. In like manner he disposed of his beard. From that time he never needed shaving; the hairs of his beard and those of the head never grew longer during the remainder of his life.[2] Holding his hairs and turban together, he cried aloud, "If I am destined to become a Buddha, let these hairs and turban remain suspended in the air; if not, let them drop down on the ground." Throwing up both to the height of one youdzana, they remained suspended in the air, until a Nat came with a rich basket, put them therein, and carried them to the seat of Tawadeintha. He there erected the Dzedi Dzoulamani, wherein they were religiously deposited. Casting his regards on his own person, Phralaong saw that his rich and shining robe did not answer his purpose, nor appear befitting the poor and humble profession he was about to embrace. While his attention was taken up with this consideration, a great Brahma, named Gatigara, who in the days of the Buddha Kathaba had been an intimate friend of our Phralaong, and who, during the period that elapsed between the manifestation of that Buddha to the present time, had not grown old, discovered at once the perplexity of his friend's mind. "Prince Theiddat," said he, "is preparing to become a Rahan, but he is not supplied with the dress and other implements essentially required for his future calling. I will provide him now with the thinbaing, the kowot, the dugout, the patta, the leathern girdle, the hatchet, the needle, and filter.[3] He took with him all these articles, and in an instant arrived in the presence of Phralaong, to whom he presented them. Though unacquainted with the details of that dress, and untrained in the use of those new implements, the prince, like a man who had been a recluse during several existences, put on with a graceful gravity his new dress. He adjusted the thinbaing round his waist, covered his body with the kowot, threw the dugout over his shoulders, and suspended to his neck the bag containing the earthen patta. Assuming the grave, meek, and dignified countenance of a Rahan, he called Tsanda and bade him go back to his father and relate to him all that he had seen. Tsanda, complying with his master's request, prostrated himself three times before him; then, rising up, he wheeled to the right and departed. The spirited horse, hearing the last words of Phralaong, could no more control his grief.[4]

"Alas!" said he, "I will see no more my master in this world." His sorrow grew so great that his heart split into two parts, and he died on the spot.

After his death, he became a Nat in the seat of Tawadeintha. The affliction of Tsanda at parting with his good master was increased by the death of Kantika. The tears that streamed down his cheeks resembled drops of liquid silver.

Phralaong, having thus begun the life of a recluse, spent seven days alone in a forest of mango trees, enjoying in that retirement the peace and happiness of soul which solitude alone can confer. The place, in the neighbourhood of which he began his religious life, is called Anupyia, in the country belonging to the Malla princes. He then started for the country of Radzagio, travelling on foot a distance of thirty youdzanas. Arrived near the gate of the royal city, Phralaong stopped for a while, saying within himself, "Peimpathara, the king of this country, will no doubt hear of my arrival in this place. Knowing that the son of King Thoodaudana is actually in his own royal city, he will insist upon my accepting all sorts of presents. But now, in my capacity of Rahan, I must decline accepting them, and by the rules of my profession I am bound to go and beg along the streets, from house to house, the food necessary for my support." He instantly resumed his journey, entered the city through the eastern gate, the patta hanging on his side, and followed the first row of houses, receiving the alms which pious hands offered him. At the moment of his arrival the whole city was shaken by a mighty commotion, like that which is felt in the seat of Thoora when the Nat Athoorein makes his apparition in it. The inhabitants, terrified at such an ominous sign, ran in all haste to the palace. Admitted into the presence of the monarch, they told him that they knew not what sort of being had just arrived in the city, walking through the streets and begging alms. They could not ascertain whether he was a Nat, a man, or a Galong. The king, looking from his apartments over the city, saw Phralaong, whose meek deportment removed all anxiety from his mind. He, however, directed a few of his noblemen to go and watch attentively all the movements of the stranger. "If he be," said he, "a Bilou, he will soon leave the city and vanish away; if a Nat, he will raise himself in the air; if a Naga, he will plunge to the bottom of the earth." Phralaong, having obtained the quantity of rice, vegetables, &c., he thought sufficient for his meal, left the city through the same gate by which he had entered it, sat down at the foot of a small hill, his face turned towards the east, and tried to make his meal with the things he had received. He could not swallow the first mouthful, which he threw out of his mouth in utter disgust. Accustomed to live sumptuously and feed on the most delicate things, his eyes could not bear even the sight of that loathsome mixture of the coarsest articles of food collected at the bottom of his patta. He soon, however, recovered from that shock; and gathered fresh strength to subdue the opposition of nature, overcome its repugnance, and conquer its resistance. Reproaching himself for such an unbecoming weakness:—"Was I not aware," said he, with a feeling of indignation against himself, "that when I took up the dress of a mendicant such would be my food? The moment is come to trample upon nature's appetites." Whereupon he took up his patta, ate cheerfully his meal, and never afterwards did he ever feel any repugnance at what things soever he had to eat.

The king's messengers, having closely watched and attentively observed all that had happened, returned to their master, to whom they related all the particulars that they had witnessed. "Let my carriage be ready," said the king, "and you, follow me to the place where this stranger is resting." He soon perceived Phralaong at a distance, sitting quietly after his refection. Peimpathara alighted from his conveyance, respectfully drew near to Phralaong, and, having occupied a seat in a becoming place, was overwhelmed with contentment and inexpressible joy to such an extent, indeed, that he could scarcely find words to give utterance to his feelings. Having at last recovered from the first impression, he addressed Phralaong in the following manner:—"Venerable Rahan, you seem to be young still, and in the prime of your life; in your person you are gifted with the most attractive and noble qualities, indicating surely your illustrious and royal extraction. I have under my control and in my possession a countless crowd of officers, elephants, horses and chariots, affording every desirable convenience for pleasure and amusement of every description. Please to accept of a numerous retinue of attendants, with whom you may enjoy yourself whilst remaining within my dominions. May I be allowed to ask what country you belong to, who you are, and from what illustrious lineage and descent you are come?" Phralaong said to himself:—"It is evident that the king is unacquainted with both my name and origin; I will, however, satisfy him on the subject of his inquiry." Pointing out with his hand in the direction of the place he had come from, he said:—"I arrive from the country which has been governed by a long succession of the descendants of Prince Kothala. I have, indeed, been born from royal progenitors, but I have abandoned all the prerogatives attached to my position, and embraced the profession of Rahan. From my heart I have rooted up concupiscence, covetousness, and all affections to the things of this world." To this the king replied:—"I have heard that Prince Theiddat, son of King Thoodaudana, had seen four great signs, portending his future destiny for the profession of Rahan, which would be but a step to lead him to the exalted dignity of a Buddha. The first part of the prediction has been already fulfilled. When the second shall have received its accomplishment, I beg you will show your benevolence to me and my people. I hope my kingdom will be the first country you will direct your steps to, after having acquired the supreme science." To this Phralaong graciously assented.

Phralaong, having left the king, resumed his journey, and fell in with a Rathee,[5] or hermit, named Alara, and inquired about the several Dzans. Alara satisfied him on four kinds of Dzans, but as regards the fifth, he was obliged to refer him to another Rathee, named Oudaka, who gave him the necessary explanations. Having nothing more to learn from these masters, Phralaong said to himself, "The knowledge I have thus acquired is not sufficient to enable me to obtain the dignity of Buddha." Whereupon he resolved to devote himself to the Kamatan[6] or meditation on the instability and nothingness of all that exists. To effectuate thoroughly his purpose, he repaired to the solitude of Oorouwela, where he devoted all his time to the deepest meditation. On a certain day it happened that five Rahans, on their way to a certain place to get their food, arrived at the spot where Phralaong lived and had already entered on the course of his penitential deeds. They soon became impressed with the idea that our hermit was to become a Buddha. They resolved to stay with him and render him all the needful services, such as sweeping the place, cooking rice, &c.

The time for the six years of meditation was nearly over, when Phralaong undertook a great fast,[7] which was carried to such a degree of abstemiousness that he scarcely allowed to himself the use of a grain of rice or sesame a day, and finally denied himself even that feeble pittance. But the Nats, who observed his excessive mortification, inserted Nat food through the pores of his skin. Whilst Phralaong was thus undergoing such a severe fasting, his face, which was of a beautiful gold colour, became black; the thirty-two marks indicative of his future dignity disappeared. On a certain day, when he was walking in a much enfeebled state, on a sudden he felt an extreme weakness, similar to that caused by a dire starvation. Unable to stand up any longer, he fainted and fell on the ground. Among the Nats that were present, some said, "The Rahan Gaudama is dead indeed;" some others replied, "He is not dead, but has fainted from want of food." Those who believed he was dead hastened to his father's palace to convey to him the sad message of his son's death. Thoodaudana inquired if his son died previous to his becoming a Buddha. Having been answered in the affirmative, he refused to give credit to the words of the Nats. The reason of his doubting the accuracy of the report was, that he had witnessed the great wonders prognosticating his son's future dignity that had taken place, first when Phralaong, then an infant, was placed in the presence of a famous Rathee, and secondly, when he slept under the shade of the tree Tsampoo-thabia. The fainting being over, and Phralaong having recovered his senses, the same Nats went in all haste to Thoodaudana, to inform him of his son's happy recovery. "I knew well," said the king, "that my son could not die ere he had become a Buddha." The fame of Phralaong's having spent six years in solitude, addicted to meditation and mortification, spread abroad like the sound of a great bell,[8] hung in the canopy of the skies.

Phralaong soon remarked that fasting and mortification were not works of sufficient value for obtaining the dignity of Buddha; he took up his patta and went to the neighbouring village to get his food. Having eaten it, he grew stronger; his beautiful face shone again like gold, and the thirty-two signs reappeared.[9] The five Rahans that had lived with him said to each other—"It is in vain that the Rahan Gaudama has, during six years of mortification and sufferings, sought the dignity of Buddha; he is now compelled to go out in search of food; assuredly, if he be obliged to live on such food, when shall he ever become a Buddha? He goes out in quest of food; verily, he aims at enriching himself. As the man that wants drops of dew or water to refresh and wash his forehead, has to look for them, so we have to go somewhere else to learn the way to, and the merit of, Dzan, which we have not been able to obtain from him." Whereupon they left Phralaong, took up their pattas and tsiwarans, went to a distance of eighteen youdzanas, and withdrew into the forest of Migadawon, near Baranathee.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Phralaong having overcome with uncommon fortitude the numberless obstacles which he had encountered on the part of men, will have now to meet another foe, perhaps more formidable, a wicked Nat, or demon. His name, according to its orthography, is Mar or Mara, but the Burmese call him Manh, which means pride. Manh is, therefore, the evil spirit of pride, or rather personified pride, and the enemy of mankind, ever ready to oppose the benevolent designs and generous efforts of Buddha in carrying on his great undertaking, conceived to benefit humanity, by teaching men the way that leads to deliverance from all miseries. The first plan concocted by Manh for stopping, at the very outset, the progress of Phralaong, was to flatter his ambition by promising him all the kingdoms of this world and their glory. From that day the tempter never lost sight of the benevolent Buddha, but followed him everywhere, endeavouring to prevent the immense success that was to attend his future mission. The evil propensities which constitute, as it were, the very essence of Manh's nature, are concupiscence, envy, and an irresistible proneness to do harm. The devil indeed could hardly be made up of worse materials.

It is really interesting through the course of this Legend to read of the uninterrupted efforts made by the personification of evil to thwart Buddha in all his benevolent designs. The antagonism begins now, but it will be maintained with an obstinate and prolonged activity during the whole life of Buddha.

[2] This circumstance explains one peculiarity observable in all the statues representing Buddha. The head is invariably covered with sharp points, resembling those thorns with which the thick envelope of the durian fruit is armed. Often I had inquired as to the motive that induced native sculptors to leave on the head of all statues that sort of inverted nails, without ever being able to obtain any satisfactory answer. It was only after having read this passage of the life of Buddha that I was enabled to account for this apparently singular custom, which is designed to remind all Buddhists of the ever-continued wonder whereby the hairs which remained on Buddha's head never grew longer from the day he cut them with his sword.

[3] Every talapoin or recluse must be provided with one needle, wherewith he is to sew his dress, one hatchet to cut the wood he may be in need of, either for erecting a shelter for himself or for other purposes, and one filter to strain the water he intends to drink, that it might be cleared from all impurities, but chiefly of insects or any living body that might be in it, which would expose the drinker thereof to the enormous sin of causing the death of some animal.

[4] The various accounts that are given of the horse Kantika, and the grief he feels at parting with his master, grief which reaches so far as to cause his death, may appear somewhat extraordinary, puerile, and ridiculous to every one except to Buddhists. One great principle of that religious system is that man does not differ from animals in nature, but only in relative perfection. In animals there are souls as well as in men, but these souls, on account of the paucity of their merits and the multiplicity of their demerits, are yet in a very imperfect state. When the law of demerits grows weak, and that of merits gathers strength, the soul, though continuing to inhabit the body of animals, has the knowledge of good and evil, and can attain to a certain degree of perfection. Buddhistic writings supply many instances of this belief. Whilst Buddha was in the desert, an elephant ministered to all his wants. As a reward for such a series of services, Buddha preached to him the law, and led him at once to the deliverance, that is to say, to the state of Neibban. When one animal has progressed so far in the way of merits as to be able to discern between good and bad, it is said that he is ripe, or fit to become man. The horse Kantika seems to have reached that state of full ripeness, since, after his death, he passed to the state of Nat. This peculiar tenet of Buddhistic faith accounts for the first of the five great commands, which extends the formal injunction of "thou shalt not kill" to animals. When a candidate is admitted, according to the prescriptions contained in the sacred Kambawa, into the order of Rahans, he is expressly and solemnly commanded to refrain from committing four sins, which would deprive him de facto of the dignity he has been elevated to. The taking away willingly of the life of anything animated, is one of these four trespassings.

[5] The fact of Buddha placing himself under the tuition of two masters or teachers, leading an ascetic life, to learn from them notions of the most abstruse nature, establishes, beyond all doubt, the high antiquity of the existence in India of a large number of individuals, who, living in some retired spot, far from the tumult of society, endeavoured, by constant application, to dive into the deepest recesses of morals and metaphysics. The fame of the learning of many among them attracted to their solitude crowds of disciples, anxious to study under such eminent masters. Hence we see some of these Rathees at the head of four or five hundred disciples. There is no doubt that the most distinguished Rathees became the founders of many of those philosophico-religious schools for which India was renowned from the remotest antiquity. Like many others who thirsted for knowledge, Phralaong resorted to the schools of the Rathees, as to the then most celebrated seats of learning.

From this fact we may be allowed to draw another inference, which may be considered as a consequence of what has been stated in a foregoing note, regarding the superior antiquity of Brahminism over Buddhism. Phralaong was brought up in the bosom of a society regulated and governed by Brahminical institutions. He must have been imbued from the earliest days of his elementary education with the notions generally taught, viz.: the Brahminical ones. When he grew up and began to think for himself, he was displeased with certain doctrines which did not tally with his own ideas. Following the example of many that had preceded him in the way of innovation, he boldly shaped his course in a new direction, and soon arrived at a final issue on many points, both with his teachers and some of the doctrines generally received in the society in which he had been brought up. We may, therefore, safely conclude that the doctrines supposed to have been preached by the latest Buddha are but an off-shoot of Brahminism. This may serve to account for the great resemblance subsisting between many doctrines of both creeds. The cardinal points on which these two systems essentially differ are the beginning and the end of living beings. Between these two extremes there is a multitude of points on which both systems so perfectly agree that they appear blended together.

The Rathees seem, according to the institutes of Menoo, to have been first in observing two practices, much enforced by the Wini in subsequent times. They were supported by the alms bestowed on them by their disciples and the admirers of their singular mode of life. They were courted and esteemed by the world, in proportion to the contempt they appeared to hold it in. Denying to themselves the pleasures which were opposed to their austere life, they observed, as long as they remained Rathees, the rules of the strictest celibacy.

Phralaong, preparing himself for his future high calling, began to study the science of Dzan under distinguished masters. What is meant by Dzan? This Pali word means thought, reflection, meditation. It is often designed by the Burmese to mean a peculiar state of the soul that has already made great progress in the way of perfection. Phralaong intended, by placing himself under the direction of those eminent teachers, to learn the great art of training his mind for the obtaining, by constant and well-directed meditations, of high mental attainments. In the book of Buddhistic metaphysics, I have found the science of Dzan divided into five parts, or rather five steps, which the mind has to ascend successively ere it can enjoy a state of perfect quiescence, the highest point a perfected being can arrive at before reaching the state of Neibban. In the first step the soul searches after what is good and perfect, and having discovered it, turns its attention and the energy of its faculties towards it. In the second, the soul begins to contemplate steadily what it has first discovered, and rivets upon it its attention. In the third stage, the soul fondly relishes, and is, as it were, entirely taken with it. In the fourth, the soul calmly enjoys and quietly feasts on the pure truths it has loved in the former state. In the fifth, the soul, perfectly satiated with the knowledge of truth, remains in a state of complete quietude, perfect fixity, unmoved stability, which nothing can any longer alter or disturb. The Burmese and all Buddhists, always fond of what is wonderful, attribute supernatural perfections to those who have so far advanced in mental attainments. Their bodies become, as it were, half-spiritualised, so that they can, according to their wishes, carry themselves through the air from one place to another, without the least hindrance or difficulty.

[6] Kamatan means the fixing of the attention on one object, so as to investigate thoroughly all its constituent parts, its principle and origin, its existence and its final destruction. It is that part of metaphysics which treats of the beginning, nature, and end of beings. To become proficient in that science, a man must be gifted with a most extensive knowledge and an analysing mind of no common cast. The process of Kamatan is as follows. Let it be supposed that man intends to contemplate one of the four elements, fire, for instance; he abstracts himself from every object which is not fire, and devotes all his attention to the contemplation of that object alone; he examines the nature of fire, and finding it a compound of several distinct parts, he investigates the cause or causes that keep those parts together, and soon discovers that they are but accidental ones, the action whereof may be impeded or destroyed by the occurrence of any sudden accident. He concludes that fire has but a fictitious ephemeral existence. The same method is followed in examining the other elements, and gradually all other things he may come in contact with, and his final conclusion is, that all things placed without him are destitute of real existence, being mere illusions, divested of all reality. He infers, again, that all things are subjected to the law of incessant change, without fixity or stability. The wise man, therefore, can feel no attachment to objects which, in his own opinion, are but illusions and deception: his mind can nowhere find rest in the midst of illusions always succeeding to each other. Having surveyed all that is distinct of self, he applies himself to the work of investigating the origin and nature of his body. After a lengthened examination, he arrives, as a matter of course, at the same conclusion. His body is a mere illusion without reality, subjected to changes and destruction. He feels that it is as yet distinct from self. He despises his body, as he does everything else, and has no concern for it. He longs for the state of Neibban, as the only one worthy of the wise man's earnest desire. By such a preliminary step, the student, having estranged himself from this world of illusions, advances towards the study of the excellent works which will pave the way to Neibban. The Burmese reckon forty Kamatans. They are often repeated over by devotees, whose weak intellect is utterly incapable of understanding the meaning they are designed to convey to the mind.

Notwithstanding his singular aptitude in acquiring knowledge, Phralaong devoted six whole years, in the solitude of Oorouwela, busily engaged in mastering the profound science he aimed at acquiring. It was during that time that he received the visits of five Rahans, whose chief was named Koondanha. They were very probably, like so many of their profession, travelling about in search of knowledge. They placed themselves under the direction of Phralaong, and in exchange for the lessons they received from him, they served him as humble and grateful disciples are wont to attend on a highly esteemed teacher. In this, as well as many other circumstances, we see that, previous to Gaudama's preachings, there already existed in India an order of devotees or enthusiasts, who lived secluded from the world, devoted to the study of religious doctrines and the practice of virtues of the highest order. The order of Buddhistic monks or talapoins, which was subsequently established by the author of Buddhism, is but a modification of what actually subsisted in full vigour in his own country and in his own time.

[7] In a Buddhistic point of view the only reason that may be assigned for the extraordinary fast of Phralaong is the satisfaction of showing to the world the display of wonderful action. Fasting and other works of mortification have always been much practised by the Indian philosophers of past ages, who thereby attracted the notice, respect, admiration, and veneration of the world. Such rigorous exercises, too, were deemed of great help for enabling the soul to have a more perfect control over the senses, and subjecting them to the empire of reason. They are also conducive towards the calm and undisturbed state in which the soul is better fitted for the arduous task of constant meditation. The fast of Gaudama, preparatory to his obtaining the Buddhaship, recalls to mind that which our Lord underwent ere He began His divine mission. If the writer, in the course of this work, has made once or twice a remark of similar import, he has done so, not with the intention of drawing a parallel as between facts, but to communicate to the reader the feelings of surprise and astonishment he experienced when he thought he met with circumstances respecting the founder of Buddhism which apparently bore great similarity to some connected with the mission of our Saviour.

[8] Bells are common in Burmah, and the people of that country are well acquainted with the art of casting them. Most of the bells to be seen in the pagodas are of small dimensions, and differing in shape somewhat from those used in Europe. The inferior part is less widened, and there is a large hole in the centre of the upper part. No tongue is hung in the interior, but the sound is produced by striking with a horn of deer or elk the outward surface of the lower part. No belfry is erected for the bells; they are fixed on a piece of timber, laid horizontally, and supported at its two extremities by two posts, at such a height that the inferior part of the bell is raised about five feet above the ground.

The largest specimens of Burmese art in casting bells of great weight are the two bells to be seen, the one in the large pagoda of Rangoon, called Shway Dagon, and the other at Mingon, about twelve or fifteen miles north of Amerapoura, on the western bank of the Irrawaddy. The first, in the town of Rangoon, was cast in 1842, when King Tharawaddy visited the place, with the intention of founding a new city, more distant from the river, and nearer to the mount upon which rises the splendid Shway Dagon. In its shape and form it exactly resembles the kind of bells above described. Here are some particulars respecting that large piece of metal, collected from the inscription to be seen upon it. It was cast on the fifth day of the full moon of Tabodwai (February), 1203 of the Burmese era. The weight of metal is 94,682 lbs.; its height 9½ cubits; its diameter 5 cubits; its thickness 20 fingers or 15 inches. But during the process of melting, the well-disposed came forward and threw in copper, silver, and gold in great quantities. It is supposed, says the writer of the inscription, that in this way the weight was increased one-fourth.

The bell of Mingon was cast in the beginning of this century. In shape and form it resembles our bells in Europe. It is probable that some foreigner residing at Ava suggested the idea of giving such an unusual form to that monumental bell. Its height is 18 feet, besides 7 feet for hanging apparatus. It has 17 feet in diameter, and from 10 to 12 inches in thickness. Its weight is supposed to exceed two hundred thousand English pounds.

In the interior large yellowish and greyish streaks indicate that considerable quantities of gold and silver had been thrown in during the process of melting. No idea can at present be had of the power of the sound of that bell, as its enormous weight has caused the pillars that support it partially to give way. To prevent a fatal disaster, the orifice of the bell has been made to rest on large short posts, sunk in the ground and rising about three feet above it. In no respect can these bells bear any comparison with those of Europe. They are mightily rough and rude attempts at doing works on a scale far surpassing the abilities of native workmen, who otherwise succeed tolerably well in casting the comparatively small bells commonly met with in the courtyards of pagodas.

[9] One of the genuine characters of Buddhism is correctly exhibited in this observation of Phralaong's respecting fasts, mortifications, and other self-inflicted penances. They are not looked upon as the immediate way leading to perfection, nor as a portion or a part of perfection itself. Such deeds are but means resorted to for weakening passions and increasing the power of the spiritual principle over the natural one: they are preparatory to the great work of meditation or the study of truth, which is the only high-road to perfection. To the sage that has already begun the laborious task of investigating truth, such practices are of no use, and are nowhere insisted on as necessary, or even useful. In the book of discipline, no mention is made of them. The life of the initiated is one of self-denial; all superfluities and luxuries are strictly interdicted; all that is calculated to minister to passions and pleasure is carefully excluded. But the great austerities and macerations practised by the religious of the Brahminical sect are at once rejected by the Buddhist sages as unprofitable and unnecessary to them. The inmates of the Buddhist monasteries in our days are never seen indulging in those cruel, disgusting, and unnatural practices performed from time immemorial by some of their brethren of the Hindu persuasion. This constitutes one of the principal differences or discrepancies between the two systems. With the founder of Buddhism fasts and penitential deeds are of great concern to him who is as yet in the world, living under the tyrannical yoke of passions and the influence of the senses. By him they are viewed as powerful auxiliaries in the spiritual warfare for obtaining the mastery over passions. This point once gained, the sage can at once dispense with their aid as being no longer required. The follower of the Hindu creed looks upon those practices as per se eminently meritorious and capable of leading him to perfection; hence the mania for carrying those observances to a degree revolting to reason, and even to the plain good sense of the people.

CHAPTER V.

Thoodzata's offering to Phralaong—His five dreams—He shapes his course towards the gniaong tree—Miraculous appearance of a throne—Victory of Phralaong over Manh Nat—His meditations during forty-nine days near the Bodi tree—He at last obtains the perfect science—He overcomes the temptation directed against him by the daughters of Manh—Buddha preaches the law to a Pounha and to two merchants.

At that time, in the solitude of Oorouwela, there lived in a village a rich man, named Thena. He had a daughter named Thoodzata. Having attained the years of puberty, she repaired to a place where there was a gniaong tree, and made the following prayer to the Nat guardian of the place[1]:—"If I marry a husband that will prove a suitable match, and the first fruit of our union be a male child, I will spend annually in alms deeds 100,000 pieces of silver, and make an offering at this spot." Her prayer was heard, and its twofold object granted. When Phralaong had ended the six years of his fasting and mortification, on the day of the full moon of the month Katson, Thoodzata was preparing to make her grateful offering to the Nat of the place. She had been keeping one thousand cows in a place abounding with sweet vines; the milk of those thousand was given to five hundred cows; these again fed with their own milk two hundred and fifty others, and so on, in a diminishing proportion, until it happened that sixteen cows fed eight others with their milk. So these eight cows gave a milk, rich, sweet, and flavoured beyond all description.

On the day of the full moon of Katson,[2] Thoodzata rose at an early hour to make ready her offering, and disposed everything that the cows should be simultaneously milked. When they were to be milked, the young calves of their own accord kept at a distance; and as soon as the vessels were brought near, the milk began to flow in streams from the udders into the vessels. She took the milk and poured it into a large caldron, set on the fire which she had herself kindled. The milk began to boil; bubbles formed on the surface of the liquid, turned on the right and sunk in, not a single drop being spilt out; no smoke arose from the fireplace. Four kings of Nats watched about while the caldron was boiling; the great Brahma kept open an umbrella over it; a Thagia brought fuel and fed the fire. Other Nats, by their supernatural power, infused honey into the milk, and communicated thereto a flavour, such as the like is not to be found in the abode of men. On this occasion alone, and on the day Phralaong entered the state of Neibban, the Nats infused honey into his food. Wondering at the so many extraordinary signs which she saw, Thoodzata called her female slave, named Sounama, related to her all that she had observed, and directed her to go to the gniaong tree, and clear the place where she intended to make her offering. The servant, complying with her mistress' direction, soon arrived at the foot of the tree.

On that very night Phralaong had had five dreams.[3] 1st, It appeared to him that the earth was his sleeping place, with the Himawonta for his pillow. His right hand rested on the western ocean, his left on the eastern ocean, and his feet on the southern ocean. 2nd, A kind of grass, named Tyria, appeared to grow out of his navel and reach to the skies. 3rd, Ants of a white appearance ascended from his feet to the knee and covered his legs. 4th, Birds of varied colour and size appeared to come from all directions and fall at his feet, when, on a sudden, they all appeared white. 5th, It seemed to him that he was walking on a mountain of filth, and that he passed over it without being in the least contaminated.

Phralaong, awaking from his sleep, said to himself, after having reflected for a while on those five dreams,—"Today I shall certainly become a Buddha." Thereupon he rose instantly, washed his hands and face, put on his dress, and quietly waited the break of day, to go out in quest of his food. The moment being arrived to go out, he took up his patta, and walked in the direction of the gniaong tree. The whole tree was made shining by the rays which issued from his person; he rested there for a while. At that very moment arrived Sounama, to clear, according to her mistress' orders, the place for her offering. As she approached, she saw Phralaong at the foot of the tree. The rays of light which beamed out of his person were reflected on the tree, which exhibited a most splendid and dazzling appearance. On observing this wonder, Sounama said to herself: "Of course the Nat has come down from the tree to receive the offering with his own hands." Overcome with an unutterable joy, she immediately ran to her mistress and related her adventure. Thoodzata was delighted at this occurrence, and wishing to give a substantial proof of her gratitude for such good news, she said to Sounama: "From this moment you are no more my servant; I adopt you for my elder daughter." She gave her instantly all the ornaments suitable to her new position. It is customary for all the Phralaongs to be provided, on the day they are to become Buddha, with a gold cup of an immense value. Thoodzata ordered a golden vessel to be brought, and poured therein the nogana or boiled milk. As the water glides from the leaf of the water-lily without leaving thereon any trace, so the nogana slided from the pot into the golden cup and filled it up. She covered this cup with another of the same precious metal, and wrapped up the whole with a white cloth. She forthwith put on her finest dress, and, becomingly attired, she carried the golden cup over her head; and with a decent gravity walked towards the gniaong tree. Overwhelmed with joy at seeing Phralaong, she reverentially advanced towards him, whom she mistook for a Nat. When near him, she placed gently the golden vessel on the ground, and offered him in a gold basin scented water to wash his hands. At that moment, the earthen patta offered to Phralaong by the Brahma Gatikara disappeared. Perceiving that his patta had disappeared, he stretched forth his right hand, and washed it in the scented water; at the same time Thoodzata presented to him the golden cup containing the nogana. Having observed that she had caught the eyes of Phralaong, she said to him: "My Lord Nat, I beg to offer you this food, together with the vessel that contains it." Having respectfully bowed down to him, she continued: "May your joy and happiness be as great as mine; may you always delight in the happiest rest, ever surrounded by a great and brilliant retinue." Making then the offering of the gold cup, worth 100,000 pieces of silver, with the same disinterestedness as if she had given over only the dry leaf of a tree, she withdrew and returned to her home with a heart overflowing with joy.

Phralaong rising up took with him the golden cup, and having turned to the left of the gniaong tree, went to the bank of the river Neritzara, to a place where more than 100,000 Buddhas had bathed, ere they obtained the supreme intelligence. On the banks of that river is a bathing-place. Having left on that spot his golden cup, he undressed himself, and descended into the river. When he had bathed, he came out and put on his yellow robe, which in shape and form resembled that of his predecessors. He sat down, his face turned towards the east; his face resembled in appearance a well-ripe palm-fruit. He divided his exquisite fruit into forty-nine mouthfuls, which he ate entire, without mixing any water with it. During forty-nine days he spent round the Bodi tree, Buddha never bathed, nor took any food, nor experienced the least want. His appearance and countenance remained unchanged; he spent the whole time absorbed, as it were, in an uninterrupted meditation. Holding up in his hands the empty golden vessel, Phralaong made the following prayer: "If on this day I am to become a Buddha, let this cup float on the water and ascend the stream." Whereupon he flung it into the stream, when, by the power and influence of Phralaong's former good works, the vessel, gently gliding towards the middle of the river, and then beating up the stream, ascended it with the swiftness of a horse to the distance of eighty cubits, when it stopped, sunk into a whirlpool, went down to the country of Naga, and made a noise, on coming in contact with and striking against the three vessels of the three last Buddhas, viz.: Kaukathan, Gaunagong, and Kathaba. On hearing this unusual noise, the chief of Nagas awoke from his sleep, and said: "How is this? yesterday, a Buddha appeared in the world; today, again, there is another." And in more than one hundred stanzas he sung praises to Buddha.

On the banks of the river Neritzara there is a grove of Sala trees, whither Phralaong repaired to spend the day under their cooling shade. In the evening he rose up and walked with the dignified and noble bearing of a lion, in a road eight oothabas wide, made by the Nats, and strewed with flowers, towards the gniaong tree. The Nats, Nagas, and Galongs joined in singing praises to him, playing instruments, and making offerings of the finest flowers and most exquisite perfumes, brought from their own seats. The same rejoicings took place in ten thousand other worlds. Whilst on his way towards the tree, he met with a young man, just returning with a grass-load he had cut in the fields. Foreseeing that Phralaong might require some portion of it for his use, he presented him an offering of eight handfuls of grass, which were willingly accepted.

Arrived close to the gniaong tree,[4] Phralaong stopped at the south of the tree, his face turned towards the north, when, on a sudden, the southern point of the globe seemed to lower down to the hell Awidzi, the lowest of all, whilst the northern one appeared to reach the sky. Then he said, "Verily this is not the place where I shall become a Buddha." Thence Phralaong went on his right side towards the east of the tree, and standing up, his face turned towards the west, he said, "This is indeed the place where all the preceding Buddhas have obtained the supreme intelligence. Here, too, is the very spot whereupon I shall become a Buddha, and set up my throne." He took, by one of their extremities, the eight handfuls of grass and scattered them on the ground, when, on a sudden, there appeared emerging, as it were, from the bottom of the earth, a throne fourteen cubits high, adorned with the choicest sculptures and paintings, superior in perfection to all that art could produce. Phralaong, then facing the east, uttered the following imprecation: "If I am not destined to become a Buddha, may my bones, veins, and skin remain on this throne, and my blood and flesh be dried up." He then ascended the throne, with his back turned against the tree, and his face towards the east. He sat down in a cross-legged position, firmly resolved never to vacate the throne, ere he had become a Buddha. Such firmness of purpose, which the combined elements could not shake for a moment, no one ought to think of ever becoming possessed of.

Whilst Phralaong was sitting on the throne in that cross-legged position, Manh Nat said to himself, "I will not suffer Prince Theiddat to overstep the boundaries of my empire." He summoned all his warriors and shouted to them. On hearing their chief's voice, the warriors gathered thick round his person. His countless followers in front, on his right and on his left, reached to the distance of eighteen youdzanas, and above him to that of nine only. Behind him, they extended to the very limits of the world. The cries of that immense multitude were re-echoed at a distance of ten thousand youdzanas, and resembled the roaring of the mighty sea. Manh Nat rode the elephant Girimegala, measuring in length five youdzanas. Supplied with one thousand right arms, he wielded all sorts of the most deadly weapons. His countless warriors, to avoid confusion, were all disposed in ranks, bearing their respective armour. They appeared like immense clouds, slowly rolling on and converging towards Phralaong.

At that time, Nats surrounded Phralaong, singing praises to him; the chief Thagia was playing on his conch, whereof a single blowing resounds for four entire months; the chief Naga was uttering stanzas in his honour; a chief Brahma held over him the white umbrella. On the approach of Manh Nat's army, they were all seized with an uncontrollable fear, and fled to their respective places. The Naga dived into the bottom of the earth, to a depth of five hundred youdzanas, and covering his face with his two wings, fell into a deep sleep. The Thagia, swinging his conch upon his shoulders, ran to the extremity of the world. The Brahma, holding still the umbrella by the extremity of the handle, went up to his own country. Phralaong was, therefore, left alone. Manh Nat, turning to his followers, cried to them, "There is, indeed, no one equal to the Prince Theiddat; let us not attack him in front, but let us assail him from the north side."

At that moment, Phralaong, lifting his eyes, looked on his right, left, and front, for the crowd of Nats, Brahmas, and Thagias that were paying him their respects. But they had all disappeared. He saw the army of Manh Nat coming thick upon him from the north, like a mighty storm. "What!" said he, "is it against me alone that such a countless crowd of warriors has been assembled? I have no one to help me, no father, no brothers, no sisters, no friends, and no relatives. But I have with me the ten great virtues which I have practised; the merits I have acquired in the practice of these virtues will be my safeguard and protection; these are my offensive and defensive weapons, and with them I will crush down the great army of Manh." Whereupon he quietly remained meditating upon the merits of the ten great virtues.

Whilst Phralaong was thus absorbed in meditation, Manh Nat began his attack upon him. He caused a wind to blow with such an extraordinary violence that it brought down the tops of mountains, though they were one or two youdzanas thick. The trees of the forests were shattered to atoms. But the virtue of Phralaong's merits preserved him from the destructive storm. His tsiwaran itself was not agitated. Perceiving that his first effort was useless, Manh caused a heavy rain to fall with such violence that it tore the earth, and opened it to its very bottom. But not even a single drop touched Phralaong's person. To this succeeded a shower of rocks, accompanied with smoke and fire; but they were changed into immense masses of flowers, which dropped at Buddha's feet. There came afterwards another shower of swords, knives, and all kinds of cutting weapons, emitting smoke and fire. They all fell powerless at the feet of Phralaong. A storm of burning ashes and sand soon darkened the atmosphere, but they fell in front of him like fragrant dust. Clouds of mud succeeded, which fell like perfumes all round and over Phralaong. Manh caused a thick darkness to fill the atmosphere, but to Phralaong it emitted rays of the purest light. The enraged Manh cried to his followers, "Why do you stand looking on? Rush at once upon him and compel him to flee before me." Sitting on his huge elephant, and brandishing his formidable weapons, Manh approached close to Phralaong and said to him, "Theiddat, this throne is not made for you; vacate it forthwith; it is my property." Phralaong calmly answered, "You have not as yet practised the ten great virtues, nor gone through the five acts of self-denial; you have never devoted your life to help others to acquire merits; in a word, you have not yet done all the needful to enable you to attain the supreme dignity of Phra. This throne, therefore, cannot be yours." Unable to control any longer his passion, Manh threw his formidable weapons at Phralaong; but they were converted into garlands of beautiful flowers, that adapted themselves gracefully round his body. His sword and other weapons, that could cut at once through the hardest rocks, were employed with no better success. The soldiers of Manh, hoping that their united efforts would have a better result, and that they could thrust Phralaong from his throne, made a sudden and simultaneous rush at him, rolling against him, with an irresistible force, huge rocks, as large as mountains; but by the virtue of their opponent's merits, they were converted into fine nosegays, that gently dropped at his feet.

At that time the Nats, from their seats, looked down on the scene of the combat, suspended between hope and fear. Phralaong at that moment said to Manh: "How do you dare to pretend to the possession of this throne? Could you ever prove, by indisputable evidence, that you have ever made offerings enough to be deserving of this throne?" Manh, turning to his followers, answered: "Here are my witnesses; they will all bear evidence in my favour." At the same moment they all shouted aloud, to testify their approval of Mania's words. "As to you, Prince Theiddat, where are the witnesses that will bear evidence in your favour and prove the justness of your claim to the possession of this throne?" Phralaong replied: "My witnesses are not like yours, men or any living beings.[5] The earth itself will give testimony to me. For, without alluding even to those offerings I have made during several previous existences, I will but mention the forty-seven great ones I made whilst I lived as Prince Wethandra." Stretching out his right hand, which he had kept hitherto under the folds of his garments, and pointing to the earth, he said with a firm voice: "Earth, is it not true that at the time I was Prince Wethandra I made forty great offerings?" The earth replied with a deep and loud roaring, resounding in the midst of Manh's legions, like the sound of countless voices, threatening to spread death and destruction in their ranks. The famous charger of Manh bent his knees, and paid homage to Phralaong. Manh himself, disheartened and discomfited, fled to the country of Wathawatti. His followers were so overpowered by fear that they flung away all that could impede their retreat, and ran away in every direction. Such was the confusion and disorder that prevailed that two warriors could not be seen following the same course in their flight.

Looking from their seats on the defeat of Manh and the glorious victory of Phralaong, the Nats[6] rent the air with shouts of exultation. The Brahmas, Nagas, and Galongs joined the Nats in celebrating his triumph over his enemies. They all hastened from more than ten thousand worlds to pay their respects and offer their felicitations, presenting him with flowers and perfumes, saying: "Victory and glory to Phralaong! Shame and defeat to the infamous Manh!"

It was a little while before sunset when Phralaong had achieved his splendid victory over his proud foe. At that time he was wrapped up, as it were, in the profoundest meditation. The extremities of the branches of the Bodi tree[7] fell gently over him, and, by their undulations, seemed caressing, as it were, his tsiwaran; they resembled so many beautiful nosegays of red flowers that were offered to him. At the first watch of the night Phralaong applied all the energies of his powerful mind to ascertain the laws of the causes and effects, in order to account for all that is in existence. He argued in the following manner: "Pain and all sorts of miseries do exist in this world. Why do they exist? Because there is birth. Why is there birth? Because there is conception. Now conception does take place, because there is existence, or that moral state produced by the action or influence of merits and demerits. Existence is brought in by Upadan, or the combining of affections calculated to cause the coming into existence. The latter has for its cause the desire. The desire is produced by sensation. The latter is caused by the contact. The contact takes place because there are the six senses. The six senses do exist, because there is name and form, that is to say, the exterior sign of the ideal being and the type of the real being. Name and form owe their existence to erroneous knowledge; the latter in its turn is produced by the imagination, which has for its cause ignorance.[8]

Having followed in his mind the succession of the twelve causes and effect, and reached the last link of that chain, Phralaong said to himself: "Ignorance, or no science, is the first cause which gives rise to all the phenomena I have successively reviewed. From it springs the world and all the beings it contains. It is the cause of that universal illusion in which man and all beings are miserably lulled. By what means can this ignorance be done away with? Doubtless by knowledge and true science. By means of the light that science spreads I clearly see the unreality of all that exists, and I am freed from that illusion which makes other beings to believe that such thing exists, when, in reality, it does not exist. The imagination, or the faculty to imagine the existence of things which do not exist, is done away with. The same fate is reserved to the false knowledge resulting therefrom to the name and form, to the six senses, to contact, to sensation, to desire, to conception, to existence, to birth, and to pain or miseries."

Then Phralaong says to himself: "The knowledge of the four great truths is the true light that can dispel ignorance and procure the real science, whereby the coming out from the whirlpool of existences, or from the state of illusion, can be perfectly effected. These four truths are: 1, The miseries of existence; 2, The cause productive of misery, which is the desire, ever-renewed, of satisfying oneself without being able ever to secure that end; 3, The destruction of that desire, or the estranging oneself from it, is the important affair deserving the most serious attention; 4, The means of obtaining the individual annihilation of that desire is supplied solely by the four Meggas, or highways, leading to perfection. But these Meggas can be followed only by those who have a right intention, a right will, and who, throughout life, exert themselves to regulate their action, conduct, language, thought, and meditations." It was then that the heart of Phralaong acquired an unshakable firmness, a perfect purity or exemption from all passions, an unutterable meekness, and a strong feeling of tender compassion towards all beings.

When these fundamental truths had been known, felt, and relished,[9] Phralaong's mind, casting a glance over the past, was able to discover at once all that had taken place during the countless states of his former existences. He recollected the name he had borne, those of his parents, the places he had seen and visited, the caste he had belonged to, and all the chief events that had marked the course of his progress through the continual migrations. He likewise saw reflected, as in a mirror, the former conditions of existence of all other beings. The immense development and expansion of his mind, which enabled him to fathom the depth of the past, happened during the first watch of the night.

He applied now all the expanded powers of his incomparable mind to take a correct survey of all the beings now in existence. He glanced over all those that were in hell, and the other three states of punishment, those living on earth, and those dwelling in the twenty-six superior seats. He at once understood distinctly their state, condition, merits, demerits, and all that appertained to their physical and moral constitutive parts. This labour occupied his mind up to midnight.

Urged by the merciful and compassionate dispositions of his soul, Phralaong often revolved within himself the following: "All is misery and affliction in this world; all beings are miserably detained in the vortex of existences; they float over the whirlpool of desire and concupiscence; they are carried to and fro by the fallacious cravings of a never-obtained satisfaction. They must be taught to put an end to concupiscence by freeing themselves from its influence. Their minds must be imbued with the knowledge of the four great truths. The four ways that I have discovered shall inevitably lead men and Nats to that most desirable end. These ways ought to be pointed out to them, that, by following them, men and Nats may obtain the deliverance."

Whilst these thoughts thronged through his mind, a little before break of day, in the 103rd year of the Eatzana era, on the day of the full moon of Katson, the perfect science broke at once over him: he became the Buddha.

When this great wonder took place, ten thousand worlds were shaken twelve times with such a violence as to make hairs stand on one end. These words, "Most excellent being," were heard throughout the same series of worlds. Magnificent ornaments decorated all places. Flagstaffs appeared in every direction, adorned with splendid streamers. Of such dimensions were they that the extremities of those in the east reached the opposite side of the west; and those in the north, the southern boundary. Some flags, hanging from the seats of Brahmas, reached the surface of the earth. All the trees of ten thousand worlds shot out branches, loaded with fruits and flowers. The five sorts of lilies bloomed spontaneously. From the clefts of rocks beautiful flowers sprang out. The whole universe appeared like an immense garden, covered with flowers; a vivid light illuminated those places, the darkness of which could not be dispersed by the united rays of seven suns. The water, which fills the immensity of the deep, at a depth of eighty-four thousand youdzanas, became fresh and offered a most agreeable drink. Rivers suspended their course; the blind recovered their sight, the deaf could hear, and the lame were able to walk freely. The captives were freed from their chains and restored to their liberty. Innumerable other wonders took place at the moment Phralaong received the supreme intelligence. He said then to himself, "Previous to my obtaining the supreme knowledge, I have, during countless generations, moved in the circle of ever-renewed existences, and borne-up misery. Now I see this distinctly. Again, I perceive how I can emancipate myself from the trammels of existence, and extricate myself from all miseries and wretchedness attending generation; my will is fixed on the most amiable state of Neibban. I have now arrived to that state of perfection that excludes all passions."

It was at the full moon of the month Katson, when these memorable occurrences took place, and it was daylight when Phralaong at last obtained the fulness of the Buddhaship. After this glorious and triumphant achievement, Phralaong, whom from this moment we must call Phra or Buddha, continued to remain on the throne, in a cross-legged position, with a mind absorbed in contemplation during seven days. Mental exertion and labour were at an end. Truth in its effulgent beauty encompassed his mind and shed over it the purest rays. Placed in that luminous centre, Phra saw all beings entangled in the web of passions, tossed over the raging billows of the sea of renewed existences, whirling in the vortex of endless miseries, tormented incessantly and wounded to the quick by the sting of concupiscence, sunk into the dark abyss of ignorance, the wretched victims of an illusory, unsubstantial, and unreal world. He said then to himself: "In all the worlds there is no one but me who knows how to break through the web of passions, to still the waves that waft beings from one state into another, to save them from the whirlpool of miseries, to put an end to concupiscence and break its sting, to dispel the mist of ignorance by the light of truth, to teach all intelligent beings the unreality and nonexistence of this world, and thereby lead them to the true state of Neibban." Having thus given vent to the feelings of compassion that pressed on his benevolent heart, Phra, glancing over future events, delighted in contemplating the great number of beings who would avail themselves of his preachings, and labour to free themselves from the slavery of passions. He counted the multitudes who would enter the ways that lead to the deliverance, and would obtain the rewards to be enjoyed by those who will follow one of those ways. The Baranathee country would be favoured first of all with the preaching of the law of the wheel. He reviewed the countries where his religion would be firmly established. He saw that Maheinda, the son of king Asoka, would carry his law to Ceylon, two hundred and thirty-six years after his Neibban.

When these and other subjects were fully exhausted, the most excellent Phra came down from his throne and went to a distance of ten fathoms from the Bodi tree, in a north-east direction. There he stood, his eyes fixedly riveted on the throne, without a single wink, during seven consecutive days, given up to the most intense and undisturbed meditation. The Nats, observing this extraordinary posture, imagined that he regretted the throne he had just vacated, and that he wanted to repossess himself of it. They concluded that, such being the case, Prince Theiddat had not as yet obtained the Buddhaship. When the period of seven days was over, Buddha, who knew the innermost thoughts of the Nats, resolved to put an end to their incredulous thinking respecting his person. For that purpose, he had recourse to the display of miraculous powers.[10] He raised himself high up in the air, and, to their astonished regards, he wrought at once more than a thousand wonders, which had the immediate effect of silencing all their doubts, and convincing them that he was indeed the Buddha.

Having come down to the place which he had started from, for the display of prodigies, Buddha went to the north of the tree Bodi at a distance of only two fathoms from it. He spent this time in walking to and fro from east to west, during seven days, over a road, prepared for that purpose by the Nats. He was engaged all the while in the work of the sublimest contemplation.

He then shaped his course in a north-west direction, at a distance of thirteen fathoms from the sacred tree. There stood a beautiful house, shining like gold, resplendent with precious stones. It was a temporary residence, purposely prepared for him by the Nats. Thither he repaired, and sat down in a cross-legged position during seven days. He devoted all his time to meditating on the Abidamma, or the most excellent science. This science is divided into seven books. Phra had already gone over the six first and fully mastered their contents, but the six glories had not as yet shot forth from his person.

It was only after having mastered the contents of the last division, named Pathan, divided into twenty-four parts, that the six glories appeared. Like the great fishes that delight to sport only in the great ocean, the mind of Buddha expanded itself with indescribable eagerness, and delighted to run unrestrained through the unbounded field opened before him by the contents of that volume. Brown rays issued from his hairs, beard, and eyelids. Gold-like rays shot forth from his eyes and skin; from his flesh and blood dashed out purple beams, and from his teeth and bones escaped rays, white like the leaves of the lily; from his hands and feet emanated rays of a deep-red colour, which, falling on the surrounding objects, made them appear like so many rubies of the purest water. His forehead sent forth undulating rays, resembling those reflected by cut crystal. The objects which received those rays appeared as mirrors, reflecting the rays of the sun. Those six rays of various hues caused the earth to resemble a globe of the finest gold. Those beams at first penetrated through our globe, which is eighty-two thousand youdzanas thick, and thence illuminated the mass of water which supports our planet. It resembled a sea of gold. That body of water, though four hundred and eighty thousand youdzanas thick, could not stop the elastic projection of those rays, which went forth through a stratum of air nine hundred and sixty thousand youdzanas thick, and were lost in the vacuum. Some beams, following a vertical direction, rushed through the six seats of Nats, the sixteen of Brahmas, and the four superior ones, and thence were lost in vacuum. Other rays, following a horizontal direction, penetrated through an infinite series of worlds. The sun, the moon, the stars appeared like opaque bodies, deprived of light. The famous garden of Nats, their splendid palace, the ornaments hanging from the tree Padetha were all cast into the shade and appeared obscure, as if wrapped up in complete darkness. The body of the chief Brahma, which sends forth light through one million of systems, emitted then but the feeble and uncertain light of the glowworm at sunrise. This marvellous light, emanating from the person of Buddha, was not the result of vowing or praying; but all the constituent parts of his body became purified to such an extent by the sublime meditation of the most excellent law that they shone with a matchless brightness.

Having thus spent seven days in that place, close to the Bodi tree, he repaired to the foot of another gniaong tree, called adzapala, or the shepherds' tree, so called because, under its cooling shade, shepherds and their flocks of goats rested during the heat of the day. It was situated at the east of the Bodi, at a distance of thirty fathoms. There he sat in a cross-legged position, during seven days, enjoying the sweetness of self-recollection. It was near to that place that the vile Manh, who, since his great attack on Buddha, had never lost sight of him, but had always secretly followed him with a wicked spirit, was compelled to confess that he had not been able to discover in that Rahan anything blamable, and expressed the fear of seeing him at once pass over the boundaries of his empire. The tempter stooped in the middle of the highway, and across it drew successively sixteen lines, as he went on reflecting on sixteen different subjects. When he had thought over each of the ten great virtues, he drew, first, ten lines, saying: "The great Rahan has indeed practised to a high degree those ten virtues. I cannot presume to compare myself to him." In drawing the eleventh, he confessed that he had not, like that Rahan, the science that enabled to know the inclinations and dispositions of all beings. In drawing the twelfth, he said that he had not as yet acquired the knowledge of all that concerns the nature of the various beings. Drawing the four remaining lines, he confessed successively that he did not feel, like that Rahan, a tender compassion for the beings yet entangled in the miseries of existence, nor could he perform miracles, nor perceive everything, nor attain to the perfect and supreme knowledge of the law. On all these subjects he avowed his decided inferiority to the great Rahan.

Whilst Manh was thus engaged with a sad heart in meditating over those rather humiliating points, he was at last found out by his three daughters, Tahna,[11] Aratee, and Raga, who had for some time been looking after him. When they saw their father with a downcast countenance, they came to him, and inquired about the motive of his deep affliction. "Beloved daughters," replied Manh, "I see this Rahan escaping from my dominion, and notwithstanding my searching examination, I have not been able to detect him in anything reprehensible. This is the only cause of my inexpressible affliction." "Dear father," replied they, "banish all sorrows from your mind, and be of a good heart; we will very soon find out the weak side of the great Rahan, and triumphantly bring him back within the hitherto unpassed limits of your empire." "Beware of the man you will have to deal with," replied Manh. "I believe that no effort, however great, directed against him, will ever be rewarded with success. He is of a firm mind and unshaken purpose. I fear you shall never succeed in bringing him back within my dominions." "Dear father," said they, "we women know how to manage such affairs; we will catch him like a bird in the net of concupiscence; let fear and anxiety be for ever dispelled from your heart." Having given this assurance, forthwith they went to Buddha, and said to him, "Illustrious Rahan, we approach you respectfully and express the wish of staying with you, that we may minister to all your wants." Without in the least heeding their words, or even casting a glance at them, the most excellent Buddha remained unmoved, enjoying the happiness of meditation. Knowing that the same appearance, face, and bodily accomplishments might not be equally pleasing, they assumed, one the appearance of a heart-winning young girl, another that of a blooming virgin, and the third that of a fine middle-aged beauty. Having thus made their arrangements, they approached Buddha, and several times expressed to him the desire of staying with him and ministering to his wants. Unmoved by all their allurements, Buddha said to them, "For what purpose do you come to me? You might have some chance of success with those that have not as yet extinguished the fire of passion, and rooted it from their heart; but I, like all the Buddhas, my predecessors, have destroyed in me concupiscence, passion, and ignorance. No effort, on your part, will ever be able to bring me back into the world of passions. I am free from all passions, and have obtained supreme wisdom. By what possible means could you ever succeed in bringing me back into the whirlpool of passions?" The three daughters of Manh, covered with confusion, yet overawed with admiration and astonishment, said to each other, "Our father forsooth had given us a good and wise warning. This great Rahan deserves the praises of men and Nats. Everything in him is perfect; to him it belongs to instruct men in all things they want to know." Saying this, they, with a downcast countenance, returned to their father.

It was in that very same place, at the foot of the adzapala gniaong, that a heretic Pounha, named Mingalika, proud of his caste, came with hasty steps, speaking loudly, and with little respect approached the spot where Buddha was sitting.[12] Having entered into conversation with him, the Pounha heard from his mouth instructions worthy of being ever remembered. He said to Buddha, "Lord Gaudama, I have two questions to put to you. Whence comes the name Pounha? What are the duties to be performed in order to become a real Pounha?" Buddha, penetrating with the keen eye of wisdom into the innermost soul of his interlocutor, answered, "The real and genuine Pounha is he who has renounced all passions, put an end to concupiscence, and has entered the ways leading to perfection. But there are others, who are proud of their origin, who walk hastily, speak with a loud voice, and who have not done what is needful to destroy the influence of passions. These are called Pounhas because of their caste and birth. But the true sage avoids everything that is rash, impetuous or noisy: he has conquered all his passions, and put an end to the principle of demerits. His heart loves the repetition of formulas of prayers, and delights in the exercise of meditation. He has reached the last way to perfection. In him there is no longer wavering, or doubt, or pride. This man really deserves the name of Pounha, or pure: he is indeed the true Pounha according to the law." The instruction being finished, the Pounha rose respectfully from his place, wheeled to the right and departed.

Buddha continued the sublime work of contemplating pure truth through the means of intense reflection. Having remained seven days in that position, Buddha arose in an ecstasy and went to the south-eastern side of the Bodi tree, to a distance of an oothaba (1 oothaba=to 20 tas, 1 ta=to 7 cubits), on the sixth day after the full moon of Nayon. On that spot there was a tank called Hidza-lee-dana. On the bank of that tank, he sat under the shade of the Kiin tree, in a cross-legged position during seven days, enjoying the delight of meditation. During those seven days rain fell in abundance, and it was very cold. A Naga, chief of that tank, would have made a building to protect Buddha against the inclemency of the weather, but he preferred, in order to gain greater merits, to coil himself up sevenfold round his person, and to place his head above him, with his large hood extended. When the seven days were over and the rain had ceased, the Naga quitted his position; then assuming the appearance of a young man, he prostrated himself before Buddha and worshipped him. Buddha said: "He who aims at obtaining the state of Neibban ought to possess the knowledge of the four roads leading thereto, as well as that of the four great truths and of all laws. He ought to bear no anger towards other men, nor harm them in any way soever. Happy he who receives such instructions."

Buddha moved from that place, and went to the south of the Bodi tree, to a distance of forty fathoms. At the foot of the linloon tree he sat in a cross-legged position, having his mind deeply engaged in the exercise of the sublimest contemplation. In that position he spent seven entire days, which completed the forty-nine days which were to be devoted to reflection and meditation around the Bodi tree. When this period of days was over, at daybreak, on the fifth day after the full moon of Watso, he felt the want of food. This was quickly perceived by a Thagia, who hastened from his seat to the spot where Buddha was staying, and offered him some Thit khia fruits, others say Kia-dzoo fruits, to prepare his system to receive more substantial food. After he had eaten them, the same celestial attendant brought him some water to rinse his mouth, and to wash his face and hands. Buddha continued to remain in the same position under the cooling and protecting shade of the linloon tree.

To consecrate, as it were, and perpetuate the remembrance of the seven spots occupied by Buddha during the forty-nine days that he spent round the tree Bodi, a Dzedy was erected on each of those seven places. King Pathenadi Kosala surrounded them with a double wall, and subsequently King Dammathoka added two others. There were only three openings, or gates, to penetrate into the enclosed ground, one on the north, another on the east, and the third on the south. The river Neritzara rolls its deep blue waters in a south-eastern direction from the Bodi tree, to a distance of eight oothabas from it. On the eastern bank of that stream another Dzedy has been erected on the spot where, previous to his becoming a Buddha, he had eaten the forty-nine mouthfuls of the delicious Nogana offered to him by the pious Thoodzata.

Whilst Buddha was sitting in a cross-legged position under the linloon tree, two brothers named Tapoosa and Palekat, merchants by profession, arrived with five hundred carts in the Oorouwela forest, at the very place where Buddha was staying. They had sailed from their native town, called[13] Oukkalaba, which lies in a south-eastern direction from the Mitzima country, bound for the port of Adzeitta. After landing, they hired five hundred carts to carry their goods to a place called Soowama. They were on their way to their destination when they arrived in the Oorouwela forest. Great was their surprise when they saw on a sudden all their carts unable to move, and arrested by some invisible power.

A Nat who had been formerly their relative stopped by his power the wheels of the carriages. Surprised at such a wonder, the merchants prayed to the Nat who was guardian of that place. The Nat, assuming a visible shape, appeared before them and said to them: "The illustrious Buddha who by the knowledge of the four great truths has arrived to the nature of Phra, is now sitting at the foot of the linloon tree. Go now to that place, and offer him some sweet bread and honey; you shall derive therefrom great merits for many days and nights to come." The two brothers, joyfully complying with the Nat's request, prepared the sweet bread and honey, and hastened in the direction that had been indicated to them. Having placed themselves in a suitable position and prostrated themselves before Buddha, they said: "Most glorious Phra, please to accept these offerings; great merits doubtless will be our reward for many days to come." Buddha had no patta to put those offerings in, for the one he had received from the Brahma Gatigara had disappeared when Thoodzata made him her great offerings. Whilst he was thinking on what he had to do, four Nats came and presented him each with one patta, made of nila or sapphire stone. Phra accepted the four pattas, not from motives of covetousness, but to let each Nat have an equal share in such meritorious work. He put the four pattas one in the other, and by the power of his will they on a sudden became but one patta, so that each Nat lost nothing of the merit of his offerings. Buddha received the offerings of the two merchants in that patta, and satisfied his appetite. The two brothers said to Buddha: "We have on this day approached you, worshipped you, and respectfully listened to your instructions; please to consider us as your devoted followers for the remainder of our lives."[14] They obtained the position of Upathaka. They continued addressing Buddha, and said: "What shall we henceforth worship?" Buddha, rubbing his hand over his head, gave them a few of the hairs that had adhered to his fingers, bidding them to keep carefully those relics. The two brothers, overjoyed at such a valuable present, most respectfully received it, prostrated themselves before Buddha, and departed.

FOOTNOTES

[1] The Nats or Dewatas play a conspicuous part in the affairs of this world. Their seats are in the six lower heavens, forming, with the abode of man and the four states of punishment, the eleven seats of passions. But they often quit their respective places, and interfere with the chief events that take place among men. Hence we see them ever attentive in ministering to all the wants of the future Buddha. Besides, they are made to watch over trees, forests, villages, towns, cities, fountains, rivers, &c. These are the good and benevolent Nats. This world is also supposed to be peopled with wicked Nats, whose nature is ever prone to the evil. A good deal of the worship of Buddhists consists in superstitious ceremonies and offerings made for propitiating the wicked Nats, and obtaining favours and temporal advantages from the good ones. Such a worship is universal, and fully countenanced by the talapoins, though in opposition to the real doctrines of genuine Buddhism. All kinds of misfortunes are attributed to the malignant interference of the evil Nats. In cases of severe illness that have resisted the skill of native medical art, the physician gravely tells the patient and his relatives that it is useless to have recourse any longer to medicines, but a conjuror must be sent for to drive out the malignant spirit, who is the author of the complaint. Meanwhile directions are given for the erection of a shed, where offerings intended for the inimical Nat are deposited. A female relative of the patient begins dancing to the sound of musical instruments. The dance goes on, at first in rather a quiet manner, but it gradually grows more animated until it reaches the acme of animal frenzy. At that moment the bodily strength of the dancing lady becomes exhausted; she drops on the ground in a state of apparent faintness. She is then approached by the conjuror, who asks her if the invisible foe has relinquished his hold over the diseased. Being answered in the affirmative, he bids the physician give medicines to the patient, assuring him that his remedies will now act beneficially for restoring the health of the sick, since their action will meet no further opposition from the wicked Nat.

Ignorance brings everywhere superstition in its train. When man is unacquainted with the natural cause that has produced a result, or an effect, which attracts powerfully his mind's attention and affects him to a great degree, he is induced by his own weakness to believe in the agency of some unknown being, to account for the effect that he perceives. He devises the most ridiculous means for expressing his gratitude to his invisible benefactor, if the result be a favourable one; and has recourse to the most extravagant measures to counteract the evil influence of his supposed enemy, if the result be fatal to him. Having once entered into the dark way of superstition, man is hurried on in countless false directions by fear, hope, and other passions, in the midst of the daily occurrence of multifarious and unforeseen events and circumstances. Hence the expression or manifestation of his superstition assumes a variety of forms, and undergoes changes to an extent that baffles every attempt at either counting their numberless kinds or following them up through their ever-changing course. In addition to the stores of superstitions bequeathed by the generation that has preceded him, man has those of his own creation; and the latter, if the thought of his mind and the desires of his heart could be analysed, would be found far exceeding the former in number. Having spent many years in a country where Buddhism has prevailed from time immemorial, and observed the effects of superstition over the people in their daily doings, the writer has come to the conclusion that there is scarcely an action done without the influence of some superstitious motive or consideration. But the most prolific source of superstition is the belief in the existence of countless good and evil Nats, with whom the imagination of Buddhists has peopled this world.

It can scarcely be understood how the followers of an atheistical creed can make, consistently with their opinions, an attempt at prayer. Such an act of devotion implies the belief in a being superior to men, who has a controlling power over them, and in whose hands their destinies are placed. With a believer in God, prayer is a sacred, nay, a natural duty. But such cannot be the case with atheists. Despite the withering and despairing influence of atheism, nothing can possibly obliterate from the conscience and heart of man that inward faith in a supreme being. The pious Thoodzata has in view the attainment of two objects: she prays, without knowing to whom, that by the agency of some one she might obtain the objects of her petition; she is anxious to show her gratitude when she sees that her prayer has been heard. Her faith in the quasi omnipotence of the genii makes her address thanks to them. The Nat is not the person to whom her prayer appears directed, but he is rather a witness of her petition. The Burmese, in general, under difficult circumstances, unforeseen difficulties, and sudden calamities, use always the cry, Phra kaiba—God assist me—to obtain from above assistance and protection. Yet that Phra cannot be their Buddha, though he be in their opinion the Phra par excellence, since they openly declare that he in no way interferes in the management of this world's affairs. Whence that involuntary cry for assistance, but from the innate consciousness that above man there is some one ruling over his destinies? An atheistical system may be elaborated in a school of metaphysics, and forced upon ignorant and unreflecting masses, but practice will ever belie theory. Man, in spite of his errors and follies, is naturally a believing being; his own weakness and multiplied wants ever compel him to have recourse to some great being that can help and assist him, and supply, to a certain extent, the deficiency which, in spite of himself, he is compelled to acknowledge existing in him as a stern and humiliating reality.

[2] The Burmese, like all trans-Gangetic nations, divide the year into twelve lunar months of twenty-nine and thirty days alternately. Every third year they add one month, or as they say, double the month of Watso (July). The year begins on, or about, the 12th of April. The days of worship are the days of the four quarters of the moon; but the days of the new and full moon seem to have preference over those of the two other quarters, which latter are scarcely noticed or distinguished from common days. It was on the day of the full moon of April that Thoodzata made her grand offering.

[3] The Burmese translator, not having given in his remarks the explanation or interpretation of Phralaong's five dreams, it seems rather presumptuous to attempt doing a thing, the neglect of which, on the part of the author, may be attributed either to voluntary omission or to incapacity and inability. Let us try to make up, in part, for the deficiency. The first dream prognosticated the future greatness of Phralaong, whose sway, by the diffusion of his doctrines throughout the world, was to be universal, extending from one sea to the other sea. The grass growing out of his navel and reaching to the sky was indicative of the spreading of his law, not only amongst the beings inhabiting the seat of men, but also amidst those dwelling in the abodes of Nats and Brahmas. The ants covering his legs offer an enigma, the explanation of which is reserved to some future Œdipus. As to the birds of various colours, gathering round him, from the four points of the compass, and on a sudden becoming all white, by their contact with him, they represent the innumerable beings that will come to hear the preaching of the future Buddha with divers dispositions, and different progress in the way of merits, and will all be perfected by their following the true way to merit, that he will point out to them. The fifth dream in which Phralaong thought he was walking on a mountain of filth, without being in the least contaminated by it, foreshowed the incomparable perfection and purity of Buddha, who, though remaining in the world of passions, was no more to be affected by their influence.

[4] We have now reached the most interesting episode of Phralaong's life. He is to become a perfected Buddha under the shade of the gniaong or banyan tree (ficus indica, ficus religiosa). There are two circumstances attending that great event, deserving peculiar notice. The first is the preference given to the east over the three other points of the compass, and the second, the mighty combat that takes place between Phralaong and the wicked Nat Manh, or Mar. I notice the first circumstance because it agrees with the tradition prevailing amongst most nations previous to or about the coming of our Lord, that from the east there was to come an extraordinary personage, who would confer on the human race the greatest benefits, and cause the return of happy times, like the golden age so much celebrated by poets. The Roman historian Suetonius bears testimony to the existence of that tradition as being universally known in his own days. It is not impossible that the same notion, not unknown in the far east, might have induced Phralaong to look towards the east at the supreme moment when perfect intelligence was to become his happy lot. It may be said in opposition to this supposition, that the splendour and magnificence of the sun, emerging from the bosom of night, and dispelling darkness by pouring a flood of light on the face of the earth, restoring nature to life and action, was a sufficient inducement to Phralaong for giving preference to the east. But to an ascetic like him, who is convinced that this world is a mere illusion, such a consideration would weigh very little on his mind, and would not be a sufficient motive to induce him to give so marked a preference to the east.