Even the Buddha himself, cross-legged and imperturbable, had to sit
for his portrait. As he was used to sitting--never, indeed, having done
anything else--he came out admirably.
Day after day passed; suns rose and suns set; and it was clear that
the monks did not mean to let us leave their precincts in a hurry. Lady
Meadowcroft, having recovered by this time from her first fright, began
to grow bored. The Buddhists' ritual ceased to interest her. To vary the
monotony, I hit upon an expedient for killing time till our too pressing
hosts saw fit to let us depart. They were fond of religious processions
of the most protracted sort--dances before the altar, with animal masks
or heads, and other weird ceremonial orgies. Hilda, who had read herself
up in Buddhist ideas, assured me that all these things were done in
order to heap up Karma.
"What is Karma?" I asked, listlessly.
"Karma is good works, or merit. The more praying-wheels you turn, the
more bells you ring, the greater the merit. One of the monks is always
at work turning the big wheel that moves the bell, so as to heap up
merit night and day for the monastery."
This set me thinking.
Pages:
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356