Picturesque Nepal/Chapter 11

by Percy Brown

CHAPTER XI

SKETCHES

The Water-Garden of Balaji—Fishponds and Fountains—The submerged Narain—Lamaism—The "Unko Vihar"—The High-priest—Gambling—The Day of Gifts.

The useful and refreshing qualities of good water in a hot country were not overlooked by the Newars, and wells, fountains, tanks, and watercourses abound in the villages and towns of the Valley. Some of these are of great antiquity, and a public fountain in Katmandu bears an inscription which indicates that it was built in the first part of the seventh century. Each city has several small artificial tanks, sunk in the vicinity of the various tols (squares), approached by flights of steps, and containing makara spouts, from which water continually flows. Similar arrangements are also met with by the roadside, and usually with some attribute of a presiding deity keeping watch and ward over the site. The most magnificent display of fountains is to be seen, however, at the "water-garden" of Balaji, situated about 2½ miles outside Katmandu, at the foot of a spur of the surrounding mountains now maintained in its primitive state as a royal game preserve. Here is a fine spring of water, which, gushing out of the hillside, is collected in a number of beautifully clear ornamental ponds, grouped about the terraced grounds of this delightful pleasaunce. Against a dark green background of bamboos, the crystal water in the grey stone tanks reflecting every hue, is a refreshing sight to the traveller, heated with his dry and dusty journey along the road from Katmandu, and the rippling waters overflowing from one terrace to another seem to invite him to stay and rest.

"Oh, blessed shades; Oh, gentle cool retreat
From all th' immoderate Heat,
In which the frantick World does burn and sweat."

In one reservoir, where the reflections of the foliage seem to suggest a subaqueous forest, hundreds of large fish disport themselves, and are fed by the people who visit this place as a pilgrimage. Great fat Asiatic carp most of them, wallowing about in the sunlit water, and taking on lovely combinations of colour as the light falls on their undulating sides; some with bronze body and pure purple fins and tail, others an exquisite olive green all over, while a few are a shimmering black, as they float about deep down among the reflections in rainbow-tinted shoals. Below the terrace of fishponds, the architect of this refreshing retreat has devised an exceedingly picturesque idea. Out of the castellated and buttressed retaining wall, charmingly relieved by niches containing deities, over twenty makara-headed spouts project, throwing out streams of water which fall, coolly splashing, into a tank beneath. The entire scheme fully coincides with Bacon's classical views on an ideal garden, especially where he states "that the water be in perpetual motion fed by a water higher than the pool, and delivered into it by fair spouts, and then discharged away under ground by some equality of bores, that it stay little." Some of the makaras, which form the most striking feature of this terrace, are enormous creatures, capable of discharging a considerable volume of water in case of an overflow, but many are more sizeable monsters, and make excellent drinking fountains for the use of visitors. These spirited dragon-spouts are well carved in stone, but to add to their ferocious appearance, they are extensively painted in bright pigments, vermilion maws, with a blue and green scheme of colour for their heads and foliated shoulders. Set among the most ideal surroundings of mountain and forest, this delightful garden is generally peopled by groups of pilgrims, or al fresco picnic parties from the neighbouring hamlets, who with gaily dyed robes add a touch of life and colour to the scene. Sitting about in small parties under the shadow of the trees, or lolling on the grassy sward in the bright sunlight, with quaint little children flitting about like butterflies, these terraces make an attractive picture. Some of the younger ones disport themselves in the stream ejected from the great grim dragon's mouth, laughing and without fear, although the monster face, with red dripping jaws, seems to be reaching out to devour their delicate bronze limbs. Their garments lie about, bright splashes of colour on the cool damp grass, the falling water bubbles and gurgles, little rills percolate from all sources, and the happy babbling song of the stream is heard dreamily issuing from everywhere.

It is hardly necessary to add that Balaji has its religious significance, and for this one must look into a small tank at the side and overhung with trees, near a temple decorated with Tantric carvings. Reclining full length in this receptacle, with all but the face submerged, is a carved stone figure of Narain, framed with a hood of snakes' heads projecting from the surface of the water. The statue of this deity is about ten feet long, and lies on a stone bed, the head and arms pillowed on stone cushions, all, with the exception of the features, being covered by the gently flowing crystal stream, the steady ripple of which suggests in a remarkable manner the movement of breathing. Small fish dart about, or endeavour to hide in the modelled surfaces of the god; the dappled shadows of the overhanging trees move across the surface of the tank, which is confined within low moss-green walls. Four carved stone posts—as of an old-fashioned bed—rise out of the water at each corner, evidently the supports of a canopy which has long since disappeared, and the face now gazes calmly into the waving tree-tops and the sky. Transversely across the broad forehead are painted the three white parallel lines of the caste mark of Shiva, while the head is crowned with a wreath of brilliant yellow marigold flowers—real blossoms placed there by some devout pilgrim. The moving water laps gently the stony face, and the god smiles serenely from his cool liquid bed where he has lain day and night, through sunshine, rain, and cold, for nearly two hundred years.

The visitor naturally asks, What is the story of this stony god in his watery bed? And the answer is an interesting Hindu legend. Narain is the creator Brahma, who, according to Manu, was so called because the waters (nara) were his first ayana, or place of motion. The name, as commonly used, applies to Vishnu, and is that under which he was first worshipped. He has been adopted by the Buddhist Newars and is worshipped by them, although not nearly to the same extent as by the Hindus. According to the ancient mythology of Nepal this deity, as Mahadeo, was present when the gods churned the ocean in order to obtain from it the water of immortality, and had drunk the poison which arose from the sea during the operation. This poison produced the most excruciating thirst, and caused a permanent blue discoloration of the throat, whence he received the name of Nila-kent or "Blue-neck." The story goes on to state that in his agony, and in order to assuage the burning thirst, he repaired to the snowy region of the Himalayas near Gosainthan, where, striking his trisul or trident into the mountain-side, three streams of water immediately gushed forth. These waters, collecting in a depression below, formed a lake which was called after the god, the Lake of Nila-kent. Mahadeo stretching himself along its margin managed to assuage his thirst by drinking the water. It is in this mountain tarn that the pilgrims to distant Gosainthan fancy they can trace in the great unhewn rock lying in its centre the shape of the god reclining full length upon a bed of serpents. In continuation of this idea, the believers in the myth have constructed at least two much reduced representations of the lake and its deity in different parts of the Valley. One of these reproductions is smaller than the other, and is called the Bala (little) Nila-kent, which, having been abbreviated to Balaji, now gives the name to the garden wherein it reclines. But the complete story of this legend continues right up to almost recent times, for it appears that tradition has ruled that if the reigning monarch of Nepal should ever visit the greater Nila-kent his death will follow almost immediately. Balaji was therefore built subsequently to the larger representation, and to this statue of Narain in its beautiful terraced garden the kings of Nepal may pay their devotions with impunity.

For obvious reasons there is a close

Black and white photograph of stone temple in the Durbar Square at Bhatgaon.

STONE TEMPLE IN THE DURBAR SQUARE AT BHATGAON.

association between Tibet and the Valley, and the intercourse between that country and Nepal, commercially, religiously, and also artistically, has been constant for many centuries. Tibet obtained much of its Buddhism from Nepal, when its king in the sixth century A.D. contracted a marriage with a Newar princess, and how much of the beautiful Lamaistic art of that country has been produced by Nepalese craftsmen, specially retained at Lhassa for this purpose, is a subject open to considerable discussion. One authority has gone so far as to state that the best metal figures produced in Tibet are the work of Newar artisans who have emigrated from Nepal in view of the inducements held out to them by the heads of the great religious order at Lhassa. In these circumstances it is not strange that a certain amount of Lamaistic influence is observable in the Buddhist buildings of the Valley, and the ritual in some of its temples has obviously been imported from Tibet. The principal temple of Shambu-Nāth is under the charge of a community of Lamas, supervised by a "Lama Superior" from Tibet, who lives in a vihar or monastic residence of his own situated in the vicinity of the temple. "This Lama is deputed by the religious authorities at Lhassa to watch over the spiritual interests of the numerous Tibetans who annually visit Nepal, and also to exercise a general superintendence over the repairs and expenditure of the two great Buddhist temples of Kasha (Bodhnāth) and Shambu-Nāth, which are the repositories of the sacred fire" (Oldfield). A number of vihars or monasteries, both large and small, are to be found scattered about the Valley, and several of these appear to be connected, in a greater or lesser degree, with the parent order in Tibet. Patan, ever the stronghold of Buddhism in Nepal, supports at least fifteen large and distinct vihars at the present day, all of which are buildings possessing characteristic architecture and a wealth of decorative accessories. Probably the most interesting, and, according to its records, the oldest building in the city, is the "Unko Vihar," or, to give this monastery its full name, the "Rudra Varna Maha Vihar." It is said to have been founded by a Newar Raja, Sheo Deo Brahma, and as an indication of its age existing records state that it required restoring as early as 880 A.D., which pious act was performed by Raja Rudra Deo, hence its name. While returning from a ramble among the alleys and byways of this wonderful old town, the writer happened to catch sight of this historic pile, a dark doorway with a medley of brass glinting in the dying sunlight attracting his eye, and the following description was taken down at the time.

As usual a crowd gathered around and choked the narrow gully, as I showed my interest, and, addressing the motley group collectively, I asked if a stranger might be permitted to enter the shrine. An animated discussion occurred, but, after a time, as no serious objection was raised, I passed through the first door. Beyond this lay a passage, profusely ornamented with heavy wood-carving, and through an opening at the far end a vision of colour and metalwork drew me on. Again the question was asked whether the entry of an unbeliever was forbidden, and again a long consultation among the attendant throng took place, with a small prospect of any unanimous decision either way. In all these matters the difficulty is to find one in authority, as each individual vociferated an opinion, but each apparently without any actual right or reason. It is, however, only fair to add here that, except in one or two isolated cases, the most courteous and broad-minded reception was accorded to all requests for admission into any shrine, temple, or other holy building within Nepalese territory. Eventually the problem was solved by an offer on my part to dispense with my boots, and my orderly, removing his shoes together with what appeared still more important, his kookri (Gurkha knife), we were laughingly admitted into the sacred precincts of the Vihar. During the discussion it transpired that the reason why no conclusion regarding my right of entry could be arrived at, was because according to report no European had ever been allowed inside the building before—in fact, it was doubtful whether any similar application had previously been made, hence the variety of opinions among the increasing throng of onlookers. Through the low archway therefore in my stockinged feet I bobbed, and the sight which met my eyes almost took my breath away. A crowded fantasy of gilt Buddhas, Bodhisatvas. Lamas, Garudas, rows of metal deities, massive bronze bells, and all the artistic attributes of the Buddhist, Lamaist, and Hindu religions, floated before my eyes. All the arts of Nepal seemed to be gathered in this one small courtyard and pagoda, with its carved and painted wood and plates of burnished brass as a background; right up into several stories it continued, finishing in a great gilt finial which flashed above like molten gold in the light of the dying sun. But hardly had I been permitted one short view of this absorbing picture, hemmed in by a packed mass of people attracted from the surrounding rabbit-warren of houses by my presence, when, suddenly, without any apparent cause, the whole crowd was thrown into violent commotion: men backed themselves against the walls or retired into recesses, children, with which the place swarmed, were swept to the sides in startled and crying heaps, while I was pushed unceremoniously from the doorway into a tight corner, jammed between a huge metal elephant with its rider nearly half life-size, and a dragon crawling up a lintel, whose spines of bronze pressed heavily into my back. Too astonished to attempt resistance I crouched in my uncomfortable position, while a passage was made through the living mass to the door, the scared children were hushed, and a solemn silence fell where before had been noise and laughter. Then broke on my ears the faint methodical sound of a tinkling bell some distance away, and a hoarse voice in my ear informed me that the "Great Lama arrives." The thin notes of the bell came nearer and nearer, visions of a grey-haired High-Priest with richly embroidered vestments, acolytes and incense, and all the gorgeous panoply of a religious procession, flashed across my mind, as it became evident that these suddenly improvised preparations were in view of some portion of an important Buddhist ceremonial. The bell had now reached the outer door and was rapidly approaching, the crowd became more impressively hushed and awed; nearer it advanced until I could tell it would pass through the entrance at the side of which I painfully crouched. And then the "Great Lama" came. I was astonished. A shabby diminutive boy of about ten years of age, bareheaded, wearing a greasy sort of "half coat" cut in a special fashion, and a dark maroon skirt, looking neither to the right nor the left passed rapidly down the human lane prepared for him, round the courtyard and into the darkness of the temple door. In one hand he held a wand, and suspended from his neck by a cord was a largish bell, which, falling on to his projecting waist-band, was jerked forward at every step, and in this manner caused to ring. Apparently oblivious of his surroundings, yet conscious of his unique position, and that the way would be prepared for his coming, he passed like an automaton before my eyes and disappeared. The crowd and myself breathed again, and I was allowed to dislodge my cramped body from between the elephant and dragon, and gaze around in the rapidly fading light at the wealth of art and ornament with which this extraordinary building was covered. In front a large metal "thunderbolt" lay enthroned amid a background of deities in niches, applied on the carved wood or riveted on to brass mouldings or embossed panels. On each side were metal screens of boldly hammered patterns with lifelike bronze lizards crawling over the blank spaces. But the light began to die out from the sky; as I looked the darkness came on apace, and all faded into a jumble of leering deities and scrambling griffins framed in an atmosphere of gloom. White slits of eyes blinked at me from dark corners, and strange animals glowered from diapers and doorways, so I reluctantly left this fascinating building with the feeling that I had seen one of the weirdest sights in the whole of Nepal.

As in India, two of the most popular festivals in Nepal are those of the "Dassera" and the "Dewali," and coming as they usually do

Black and white photograph of a brass temple utensil from Patan.

Brass temple utensil from Patan.

in immediate sequence, for a period extending over almost a month the Valley is given up to prayer, feast, and rejoicing. Added to these, one of the strange recreations of the festival, and one that seems difficult to reconcile with any religious function, is that of gambling. It is true that a portion of this holiday time is considered sacred to Lakshmi, the goddess of good fortune, and luck and gambling are not widely separated, but the fact remains that cards, dice, and kindred pastimes are indulged in excessively all over India by those who observe this feast. In Nepal this particular festival is the only time when public gambling is permitted by the authorities, and for several days it is carried to excess, the whole State being engaged in some form of licensed play. Within recent years strenuous efforts have been made by the administration to limit the number of days devoted to this sport, with very satisfactory results, and the evils attendant on this delirious outburst have been considerably mitigated. Extraordinary stories are told of the stakes which have been won and lost on these occasions, wives and children sometimes being gambled for, as the Nepali has the reputation for being an inveterate gamester. Wright states that "one man is said to have cut off his left hand and put it down under a cloth as his stake. On winning the game, he insisted on his opponent cutting off his hand, or else restoring all the money which he had previously won."

At this festival the signal is given by the authorities that the gambling may begin by the firing of a gun. Immediately every occupation is thrown to the winds, the streets are packed with little groups, and the city squares become one mass of excited people, as the entire place is simultaneously strewn with tables of "pice" and cowries. Each house and shop has its gambling party, all earnestly engaged in some form of play, either cards, dice, or "Tommy dod." The card game is generally a kind of three-card trick, European cards are mostly employed, but the old Indian "tash" is not uncommon, the circular papier-mâché article of great antiquity being sometimes seen, but this picturesque disc is rapidly dying out. When the common paper cards are used it is considered always correct to deal from the bottom, and as the packs are well thumbed and often damaged, it is not unusual for certain cards to be easily identified by all immediately they have left the dealer's hand, but this only seems to increase the hilarity of the players. The "Tommy dod" is played with cowries, fifteen of these being taken in the hand, shaken and thrown down on a board, the company betting on which side the most turn up, the split side or the smooth. People seem to drift from one "table" to another during the course of the night, for this aspect of the festival goes on without a break for some days, and where stakes run high, or the betting is keen, excited crowds gather round, cheering lustily at any unexpected turn of the game.

On the tenth and last day of the Dassera festival, it is usual for the Nepali to visit his superiors, in order to pay his respects and at the same time to present a small gift as a token of the burra din or "great day" of the year. The custom is, in one form or another, almost universal, and in India on Christmas Day it is not unusual for the European resident to be considerably embarrassed by the huge quantities of miscellaneous food, flowers, and fruit contributed by his subordinates to the "Protector," out of the fulness of their hearts. This manner of celebrating any festive occasion is in the East of great antiquity, and the ancient bas-reliefs of Egypt often depict interminable processions of menials, bearing in that characteristic attitude of the style, trays of good things as a thank-offering to their overlord. To be suddenly confronted with one of these pageants in the flesh, as if the mute figures had stepped down from the granite wall on which they had stood for thirty centuries, into the life of the present day, is naturally somewhat startling, but such is what takes place in the streets of Katmandu on every burra din of the Dassera. A long procession of five hundred servants, marching two and two, each one carrying his gift to the Maharaja, is one of the lesser sights at this time of peace and goodwill. These bearers are marshalled by soldiers and attendants on horseback, the leading man carrying a large silver candelabra, while the others of the front rank bear silver sticks, gold and silver goblets, and other valuable vessels. All these articles are carried on salvers draped with pink and green embroidered gauze coverings. Following the contingent entrusted with these precious utensils walk individuals in pairs, each holding a silver tray covered with the same coloured fabric, and containing all sorts of edibles such as sweetmeats, fruits, vegetables, and other delicacies of a like nature—great water-melons, huge bunches of bananas, and mounds of luscious peaches—the bearers groaning and perspiring under the weight of their offerings. After these march a similar group, but their burdens consist of various objects cunningly moulded in coloured sugar, such as castles and pavilions, summer-houses and pagodas, and all the picturesque habitations that man can conceive. These are succeeded by a file carrying horsemen and prancing chargers and all manner of gaily caparisoned steeds, each made up of sugar outlined in various bright colours. Horses singly and in groups, domestic and untamed, then take their place, all modelled in the same material, and are followed by clever representations of every known animal—buffaloes, dogs, tigers, leopards, etc., each most truthfully portrayed. More mounds of peaches, pears, melons, and other fruits then pass by, with variegated sweetmeats devised in numerous fantastic forms and in bewildering succession. Each bearer, conscious of his individual importance, solemnly carries his silver tray gracefully draped with the pink embroidered gauze in the orthodox manner that long usage has ordained for this performance. As the procession wends its way through the rabble attracted by this tempting display the remarks made by these onlookers are amusingly expressive, some with glistening eyes and longing looks naming audibly and unctuously each separate delectable as it passes so close within their grasp. But to the traveller the mind instinctively turns to a parched land in another continent, where, on a limestone wall carved by a hand now stilled three thousand years, an identical scene is depicted as it took place under the Pharaohs, tier upon tier of dark-skinned menials, each in the conventional costume and attitude, and bearing similar gifts on trays unto the king. There are the salvers of fruits and baked meats, the lotus flowers and other offerings; and here in Nepal the same scene was being enacted as in the days of the Israelites, with all the pomp, ceremony, and meaning of that bygone age.

Sketch map of Nepal.

SKETCH MAP OF NEPAL.