TALE OF A TOOTH.

THERE is an old nursery rhyme which says, "We never know its what
great things from little things may rise," and if we trace the history
of some little things and consider their influence upon the great
things of the world, we can easily verify the truth of the adage.  A
tooth, for instance, is an infinitesimal portion of a man; yet a'
tooth has figured in the lives of some very ancient kings; influenced
- nay, controlled - their history, and played its part in of the
longest dynasties on record. I speak of the tooth of Guatama Buddha,
which is considered by some fifty millions of people to be the most
sacred and heavenly object left upon the terrestrial globe. His tooth
is certainly the oldest in the annals of time, for it dates its
existence from six centuries before Christ, having passed ninety years
of infancy in a man 5 mouth.
 

The tale of this tooth is a romance of history as marvelous as the
story of the great Kohinoor diamond, or the Marie Antoinette necklace,
yet far surpassing these in antiquity, episodes, and influence, for
the latter had their intrinsic value to aid them, being always
convertible into hard cash-an immense advantage to romance now-a-days,
for, as the modern world wags, "~. s. d." is the great talisman. But
this morsel of ivory derives sole value from its repute of being the
tooth, the eye-tooth, of one of the greatest men ever defied - men who
have sent their names ringing down to ages and ages, and influenced
mankind with their special theories from generation to generation.
 

The precious ivory is now enshrined with much religious zeal in a
temple at Kandy, the late capital of Ceylon. That one famous Ceylon -
the Taprobane of the Greeks, Serendib of the Arabian Nights -sleeping
in the Indian Ocean, south east of the peninsula of Hindostan, from
which it is only separated by the Straits of Manaar, sometimes called
"Adam's Bridge," as he is reputed to have passed over to the Island of
Ceylon dry-shod, upon rocks, when driven from Paradise its by the
flaming sword, and settled upon the great mountain which bears his
name.
 

The sun was just setting over Kandy, as we reached it. We had come
from Point de Galle, the stopping-place of most China-bound
steamers. Visitors to the far East are usually contented with a drive
on shore at Galle, and except officials and planters few Europeans
travel in the interior of Ceylon.  The sun was setting as only a
tropical sun would dare to set, in splashes of purple, green, amber,
and crimson, which described on paper may seem to denote very bad
taste on the part of the sun, but in reality was a gorgeous spectacle.
The flowery hills around Kandy blushed a pale rose-tint, as though
they were not quite satisfied to reflect any of the deeper colors; but
the mountains, rearing their heads eight thousand feet, plunged their
purple peaks into the azure sky.
 

Few people would venture to dispute the beauty of Kandy at any time;
but, glowing with the brilliant sunset lights, it must win all hearts
not utterly callous to beauty. At present, it may be described as a
congregation of handsome objects rather than as a city. In the centre
is a large artificial lake-one of the famous tanks or reservoirs
constructed at various parts of the island, about two thousand years
ago, to irrigate the land, forming the glory of king and
kingdom. Reflected in its waters stands the Buddhist temple, with
numberless colonnades and towers, under which reposes the great
Dalada, the Tooth of Buddha; enshrined in temples, and altars, arid
reliquaires, of marble, ivory, ebony, silver, and gold; set with
precious stones-sapphires, pearls, rubies, topazes-for which the
island is renowned. Around the reservoir is a raised wall and
promenade, shadowed by tamarind-trees, and the male cotton with its
cherry-lipped flowers, which falling carpet the earth in a zone of
pinky leaflets. Below is a carriage-drive around the lake, four miles
in circumference. On the opposite side is the modern hotel, with its
wide verandah covered with creepers of every hue, and tempting long
chairs. A little farther on is an old Dutch church, which in its ugly
simplicity is a good foil to the graceful and elaborate pagoda
opposite; it seems to be sneering in a quiet and phlegmatic way at all
the vainglorious display of form and color which transfuse oriental
scenery. A long, narrow, picturesque Chinese street forms the business
portion of the town, and all around upon the green hills are the
planters' bungalows, climbing higher and higher up the mountains,
peeping out from a perfect sea of coffee-trees, whose white blossoms
exhale a perfume which hangs as a canopy over the whole country, and
whose scarlet berries, when the coffee is ripe, gladden the dark green
of the landscape.
 

To return to the temple, now the resting-place of the ivory trifle
whose history I am attempting to write. It is the core or nucleus of a
vast establishment of Buddhist priests, who lift their voices in
praise, morning, noon, and night, with an accompaniment of drums,
tom-toms, and big gongs. There is also a large stable of elephants and
horses, and serving-men, to officiate upon grand occasions, when the
tooth goes abroad and is exhibited to the faithful. This, however, it
very rarely does, for its guardians understand thoroughly that too
much familiarity breeds contempt, and fifty years sometimes elapse
between its appearances in public.
 

King Kriti Sri had been the last monarch to worship it in company with
his subjects, so that very few persons in the island had actually seen
it, though they earnestly believed in the potency of the relic, and
that the sight alone would confer prosperity upon the beholder. Great
preparations were, therefore, made in the city of Kandy; triumphal
arches erected, and whole trees transplanted to form bowers, altars,
and avenues for the procession to halt in or pass through.  Every
creature - man, woman, or child - that could use its own feet, came
from all parts of the island to witness the exposition and partake in
the consequent benefits, even as Italian peasantry assemble at Easter
in the vast amphitheatre of St.  Peter's, to catch the small slips of
paper which the Pope trusts to the wind as his messenger to convey
pardon for sins and immunity from punishment. But the Cingalese
consider that one divine benefit is enough for one life, therefore
this festival is not often repeated.
 

Formerly the high priest and the king were the officials at the
ceremony; but since the island and the tooth have fallen into British
hands, of course the Governor stands in lieu of the Queen. He and the
high priest, with attendant priests, private secretaries, and other
assistants, etc., enter the sanctum sanctorum where the singularly
long tooth dwells in costly obscurity. With the aid of a host of
attendants, the various tabernacles, pagodas, and altars are removed,
when the sumptuous caskets of gold and jewels are loosed. The tooth
then goes into its out-door garment, a pavilion of solid silver with
silver ornamented pillars, which covers the bawsewige, a small
octagonal cupola composed of burnished gold, rows of blue sapphires,
and rubies. The Dalada reposes in another gold casket, on a velvet
cushion fringed with precious pearls, such as would make the fortune
of a royal princess. This paraphernalia is placed on the back of a
most majestic elephant, richly caparisoned in crimson velvet with gold
embroidery. This gentleman, like many high officials, has a complete
sinecure, for his exclusive duty is to carry the Dalada twice or
thrice in his life, for which performance he lives in clover all the
rest of his existence, which is longer than that of a man. Upon the
occasion of his public appearance he is attended by his mahouts and
scores of lackeys, anyone of whom would hypothecate his head for a
situation equal to that of the beast.  All the high officials,
clerical, civil, and military-the two latter British-join in the
procession.
 

When the elephant carrying the Dalada appears at the gate of the
temple, a long double line of elephants kneel down to receive him,
while the nobles, priests, and populace bend their bodies at a right
angle, lifting their arms above their heads, and joining their
fingers. They raise a shout of triumph appalling in its power and
vehemence, which is caught up by the multitude, and far and wide from
every throat and voice it spreads over the whole city-one mighty,
solemn peal of adoration. "Horrible idolatry!"  exclaims a prudish
Protestant. So it may appear. But what, then, is the "Fete Dieu in
France, the " Holy Cross in Rome? What is our own impassioned embrace
of a faded photograph, not seen for years, which rouses the yearning
tear? We do not all of us understand our own emotions-can we fathom
those of the Cingalese?
 

The elephant, bearing the sacred Dalada, and followed by the whole
retinue -civilized, savage, sacred and profane, priest and parson (no
doubt the British chaplain would have to be present, politically, of
course), richly-robed Cingalese nobles, unclad Malabars, Tamuls, and
Madras men-proceeds through the leafy avenues made for him, trampling
with dignified tread the world of flowers spread for the feet which
bear the sacred load, until it reaches the altar or reposoir, into
which it is lifted by the ancient Adikar. Then the British governor,
holding back the velvet curtain, displays the relic to the ravished
multitude, whose hosannas reach the echoes of the purple mountains,
and swim along the valley, waking the nightingales that pipe their
exultant song to the heart of every dell.
 

All that can be effected by means of evergreens and flowers in our own
country falls far short in comparison with what is done in the
East. The graceful palm-leaves, and waving bananas - the luscious
magnolias, gorgeous sun flowers and shoe-blossoms, and the wonderful
decorative taste possessed in such an extraordinary degree by savage
over civilized people-the glowing light, and soothing perfume - the
yellow-robed monks, and the rich dresses of the nobles - the grand
background of purple mountains, and the inner amphitheatre of hills
covered with green coffee-the quaint old temple, and the mirror-like
lake-produce a combination of scenic effect unparalleled under our
duller sky.
 

The Dalada, or Sacred Tooth, is a piece of discolored ivory, over an
inch in length, and broad in proportion. The owner must have measured
at least from seven to eight feet in height, to have grown such a
tooth; and it was declared by the Portuguese, when they conquered the
country, to be an ape's tooth.  The history of this wonder-working
incisor, after it quitted its native jaw-bone, is as follows: The body
of Guatama Buddha was burned, according to the Indian custom, but
before its entire destruction on the funeral pyre a priest rushed
forward and rescued the eye-tooth from the flames. It was at once
venerated as miraculous, being the actual part of a body once a man,
now a deity-in fine, as a tangible piece of the body of God. This took
place five centuries before our Lord's Last Supper, where he gave his
flesh to eat and to remain on earth. As in all religions, schisms soon
arose, and kings and nations quarreled and went to war over a bit of
bone as over a bit of bread or wafer-one side declaring it was infamy
to worship an inanimate bit of rubbishy, discolored ivory; the other
protesting that it was the actual substance of God the Omnipotent, and
a sacrilege to profane it.
 

The tooth had been kept in great state in a city called Dantapoora
(from danta, tooth, and poora, city), and the King Kalinga, neglecting
Vishnu and Siva, worshiped only the tooth; for which he was called to
account by another king, Pandoowaf, the chief sovereign of all India,
who sent forth a mandate, and issued orders to his generals and his
armies to invade that country and stop the idolatry-in the name of the
true God to kill and slay, and give no quarter, but to bring back the
heretic king and the wretched bit of human bone he was adoring day and
night. The great general marched forth, fought and conquered, captured
the Dalada and the devotee, and reported them to his master. And now
commenced the trials of the tooth. The sovereign was resolved to go to
extremities, and decided to burn up the piece of bone, and have an end
of it. He, therefore, had prepared in the yard of his palace a pit
filled with glowing embers, into which the Dalada was cast. In the
usual course of chemical action, it would have been speedily reduced
to powder; but the legend of this relic, like the tales concerning
other miraculous objects, proceeds quite differently. The tooth rose
from the flames unscathed, emitting from itself a radiance which
ascended to the heavens and illumined the universe, or at least as
much of it as the writer of that period was acquainted with. Having
thus displayed itself fire-proof and non-combustible, the king, being
disgusted at the open defiance of his power, forth with ordered the
tooth to be buried deep in the earth and trodden down by elephants;
but, spurning the clay above it, it sprang up like the grain sowed by
the planter on a lotus-leaf, the emblem of the spouse of the mother of
Buddha, who is reported to have conceived as a virgin. Still the king
was not satisfied.  He naturally imagined some fraud had been
practiced, and ordered the tooth to be placed on an anvil. The
ponderous hammer was raised to crush it, but the tooth (it must surely
have been a wisdom tooth) sagely imbedded itself in the iron, and the
hammer fell harmlessly upon it.  The priestly enemies then declared
that the fraud consisted not in the relic itself, which, no doubt, was
part of the god Vishnu, but in the assertion that it was Guatama's. To
prove this, the king ordered them to petition that worthy to release
his own tooth from the iron shackles into which he had put it. The
priests commenced a series of incantations and supplications, enough
to move any god; but the obstinate tooth, like so many of its
successors (as dentists will vouch for), refused to be extracted. The
king, who appears to have been a practical,logical man, said, "Now you
priests have failed, let the Buddhists try" - whereupon great
offerings were made to the Dalada, and all the saintly deeds and holy
acts of Buddha recounted.  These exertions were rewarded by the tooth
getting up and showing itself again.  The king, delighted, placed it
in a gold goblet, when it was graciously pleased to float on the
water. These miracles confirmed the wavering, and converted the king,
though not the priests. Pandoowaf, however, discarded the heretics,
and loaded the wihares (temples) with treasure. He abdicated from the
throne, and retired to a Buddhist monastery, where he died in what we
should denominate the odor of sanctity. He entreated Buddha's
forgiveness for his doubts; not failing judiciously to point out that
his sins had, after all, a beneficial result, as proving the
authenticity of the relic-that all is well that ends well-and hinted
at a dogma, since termed Jesuitical, that evil might be committed that
good may result. Here he equivocated a little with Buddha, suggesting
that if he had not believed in the happy result, he (King Pandoowaf)
would never have permitted the indignity. Thus there have been more
Davids than one.
 

The tooth, after this triumph, went back to Dantapoora, to the keeping
of Goohasina. In a short time, King Qodaini came to worship at the
shrine of the Dalada, and made rich offerings. He also adored at
another shrine - that of the fair Ranawale, the King's daughter, whom
he married. But scarcely had they outlived that one blissful period of
human existence, the "honey moon," when the wicked nephews of
Pandoowaf (why are nephews always wicked?) waged war against the
tooth, and came down upon the city of Dantapoora to sack and otherwise
destroy it.  Now, the happy pair were still stanch adherents of the
tooth, and, fearful that even ivory could not resist such an army,
they disguised themselves in the garb of the despised and inimical
priest hood, and carried the treasure away to the sea-coast, where
they buried it in the sand. But as the war waged fiercer, Ranawale,
with true woman's wit, wove it into her long, luxuriant tresses, and,
drawing near to the ships, awaited the result of the battle then
raging around the doomed city of Dantapoora. A red flag was to be the
signal of defeat and despair, when the fair guardian of the relic was
to embark and proceed to Ceylon, which island had been foretold as the
future home of the Dalada. Thus, when the setting sun cast his last
lurid beams upon the bloody signal, and the whole eastern heaven
blushed in shame, the devout heroine entered the ship and passed with
her sacred burden to the friendly shores of Ceylon, where she was
received by the king with royal honors. Every mark of distinction was
heaped upon her head, and especially upon her hair, which had
performed such a wonderful service.
 

History does not say so, but I have a shrewd idea that the king
married her; her spouse (Oodaini) having been killed in the
battle. Not that this fact was material, for a Cingalese woman has
from time immemorial been allowed to take two or more husbands. The
king also dedicated the island to the Dalada, and built for it the
richest of shrines.  Since that time, A. D. 309, it has shared the
fate of the Cingalese, and under gone the vicissitudes of that
country; sometimes in triumphing over a million of heads bowed in
worship or reverence -for I do not believe Buddhists worship the thing
they clasp their hands and kneel to, any more than the Catholics
worship every wayside cross they bend the knee before-sometimes
wandering from place to place for safer keeping and to escape the
ferocious onslaught of the Malabar invasion; but wherever its sacred
presence beamed, it influenced the destinies of the country, and its
history forms a large portion of Cingalese chronicles. The people
place infinite confidence in its power to procure peace and prosperity
for the nation with whom it dwells. The Portuguese knowing this,
sought and obtained possession of it by force, and assert that they
ground it up in a mortar and publicly burnt it as an idol and false
god; that the Adikar Buddhist priests offered for its redemption three
hundred thousand ducats, which were refused by Constantine de
Braganza, the Portuguese leader. Nevertheless, another tooth is said
to have been manufactured so closely resembling the Dalada, that the
priests were deceived and accepted it.The Cingalese, however, declare
that the real Buddha dental was carefully hidden away, and that
Constantine de Braganza was deceived by an ape's tooth, palmed off
upon him, which he burned. The latter story is much more probable than
the former. This was in the sixteenth century.
 

In 1815, when the British became rulers of the island, they also
became guardians of the sacred Dalada, which was held as a sort of
insignia of royalty, like the crown jewels or regalia. In the
rebellion in 1817, the first act of the Cingalese was to steal the
tooth. A priest, one of the guardians of the sanctuary,
surreptitiously conveyed it and himself away to the mountains, where
he wandered unsuspected. The people, aware of this, considered their
triumph over their new lords and masters as a foregone conclusion. But
this becoming known, a strict search was made, and the priest was
eventually taken with the tooth upon him-his bald pate affording no
concealment like the locks of the fair Ranawale. The sacred ivory was
restored to its former shrine and temple in Kandy. This being made
public, the effect was magical on the people, who became convinced
that the guardians and possessors of the tooth must triumph, and that
it was the will of Buddha that the British should rule over
Ceylon. When peace and tranquillity was restored, the guardianship of
the tooth was divided between the governor of the island and the high
priest, and the reliquaire was so constructed that it required two
keys to open it.
 

In 1828 the Dalada was publicly exhibited for the benefit and
adoration of the faithful; and the Queen of England, sitting high upon
her Protestant throne in the far-advanced nineteenth century, is
virtually the showman to a deluded multitude, of a very large-sized
tooth-much too monstrous for any human mouth, unless that of a
giant-and which they reverence as the actual person of the Deity!