A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan StatesHallett, Holt S. (Holt Samuel)
History
A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States
Hallett, Holt S. (Holt Samuel)
Laos -- Description and travel; Thailand -- Description and travel
The floor of the temple is generally of brick covered with a hard white
cement, and the walls of the temples are frequently adorned with fresco
paintings representing incidents in the lives of Gaudama Buddh, as
related in the Zahts,—the favourite one being the Jataka of Naymee,
where he is represented as a white ghostly figure in a chariot, passing
through the eight hells and the six heavens of the Dewahs. The
punishments depicted as happening to various evildoers in the hells make
one’s flesh creep. Other pictures portraying the occupations of daily
life, the different nationalities seen in the country, and even sepoys
and British soldiers, besides civilians with great tall hats or enormous
sola-topees, adorn the walls of some of the temples.
Groups of women and children are squatting about on the floor.
Neighbours who have not met for a time are chatting together in an
ordinary tone of voice. Youths and maidens are joking together, or
having a quiet flirtation. Here an aged woman, telling her beads and
mumbling her prayers, presses her hands together, and lifting them above
her head, inclines her body in a low bow to the great image of Buddha,
till her head and hands are pressing the floor. There a mother with her
little child on her knee, closes its tiny palms on the stalk of a
flower, and teaches the infant how to worship the great lawgiver Buddha.
Presently the abbot, or one of the elderly monks, commences in a
monotonous tone to read one of the sacred books, which, being written in
Pali, none of the women or children can understand. The service being
over, the ceremony of bathing the images commences. All rise to their
feet, and the men carry the smaller images into a miniature temple of
bamboo, that has been erected in the grounds. When they are all
arranged, the women gather around, and each one, taking her basin,
dashes the water over the images, which are too sacred for a woman’s
hand to touch.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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