The Perfume of Egypt by C. W. Leadbeater (smart ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Your travellers and missionaries have allowed themselves to be deceived by the statements of the priests and devotees of that horrible worship — statements which were doubtless intentionally misleading. Why, I have actually seen in one of your books the remark that the cult in question is merely a variety of that of Vishnu! Perhaps long ago it was, but for centuries it has been simply the worship of an earth-spirit of the most bloodthirsty description.

I will tell you the true story of the matter. There will be no harm in my doing so, for if you repeat it no one will believe you — unless, indeed, it be a man who already knows all about it, and he will at once deny its truth, lest the ghastly horror of it should come to the knowledge of the Government, from which it has always been (and always will be) hidden with such elaborate care. Wildly incredible as it may seem to the Occidental unbeliever, it is nevertheless terribly true, as I have good cause to know.

To make my story intelligible I must begin at the beginning. Long ago — long before what you acknowledge as history begins — a mighty convulsion in a far-distant continent drove away from their home some of the priests of the old Nature-religion, and after weary wandering they at last settled down at the spot now called Jagannath. Their power over the elements, which for many years they used only for good, gained them respect and fear among the inhabitants; but as the ages passed on their successors degenerated into utter selfishness, and their college became a mere school of evil magic.

At last a leader, more unscrupulous or more daring than his predecessors, succeeded in invoking and partially subjugating a malignant earth-spirit of terrible power, by whose assistance he committed so abominable that even his abandoned followers rose against him and assassinated him. But though they could slay him they could not dismiss the demon he had raised, and it carried destruction far and wide throughout the district, so that the affrighted priests knew not what to do.

Eventually they bethought them of applying for aid to a celebrated magician of the north, whose power was used always for purer and nobler purposes than theirs had been. After much persuasion he consented, not for their sake but for that of the helpless populace around, to do what was now possible to restrain the evil influence so recklessly invoked. But bad was the best that could be done; for strange as it may appear to your ideas, the laws of magic require that strict justice shall be shown even to such an entity as this. All that was found possible was to limit the evil — so to arrange matters that the priests might make a kind of agreement with the fiend that, instead of indulging in promiscuous destruction, it should be satisfied with taking such lives as were voluntarily yielded to it; and all through the centuries since, the strange wild covenant then made has been duly fulfilled.

The terms of the treaty will be unfolded as I relate to you what it is that really happens at each of the great septennial festivals which have ever since been regularly held in honour of the so-called god. First comes what is known as “The Day of the Wood”. On a certain morning a vast but silent crowd assembles before daybreak on the seashore. On the beach the priests of the temple are grouped round their chief; and a little in advance of them, nearest to the water, stand two doomed men — the priest and the carpenter — doomed by the terms of that terrible compact.

For, when first that unholy agreement was made, seven families of the hereditary priesthood and seven families of carpenters (you know that trades also are hereditary with us) vowed in return for a promise of temporal prosperity — which has always been honourably kept — to devote, each in turn, a representative to the service of the deity at the septennial festivals. So the two who have been chosen for the dread honour on this occasion stand apart, regarded with awe as already half-belonging to the realms of the supernatural.

As the sun rises from the ocean all eyes are eagerly strained towards the eastern horizon, and a proud man is he who first catches sight of a tiny black speck far out at sea drawing steadily nearer and nearer to the awe-stricken crowd on shore. When the object approaches it is seen to consist of three logs of wood, floating side by side, though not fastened together — moving with undeviating course, though without any apparent motive power. A trick of the priests, you think? You would not say so if you had seen it, my friend! Possibly your boasted western science might succeed in imitating the phenomenon by the aid of elaborate and costly machinery; but how could it be done by these priests who know nothing of such means, and are besides in the midst of a multitude who watch their every movement?

Be that as it may, the logs at last reach the shore, and are reverently lifted by the priests and borne away to a hut in the temple enclosure, where the chosen carpenter is to do his work. Eagerly he sets about his task, which is to carve from these mysterious logs three images in exact imitation of those already standing in the innermost shrine of the temple; and day after day he labour, on with an ardent devotion to his object, which leaves him hardly time for food or sleep. First the two attendant figures or supporters are finished; then he commences upon the central image — the representation of the deity himself. And the neighbours tell with bated,breath how at this period of his arduous labour he is always encouraged by the apparition of the “god” himself — an apparition visible to him only, but thence forward never absent from his consciousness, whether waking or sleeping, and ever drawing steadily nearer and nearer to him as his work approaches completion.

At last the image is finished, and the workman who has spent so much loving care and devoted energy upon it lies down beside it, and resigns himself altogether to the dread apparition. Nearer and nearer it comes, and more and more rapid becomes the action of that intense magnetic attraction that is draining the man’s life away. The effect of imagination, you say? Perhaps; but the result is the same; in no case has the carpenter survived the accomplishment of his task by as much as twelve hours.

Almost immediately after this comes “The Day of Procession”, the culminating point of the festival; and it is on this occasion that the doomed priest performs his share of the terrible contract. Early on the day appointed, in the presence of an immense gathering, the new images are reverently borne by the priests into the innermost sanctuary, and there laid on the ground before the platform on which their three predecessors have stood for the last seven years. All but the chosen priest then retire from the sanctuary, and the great doors which shut it off from the body of the temple are closed, leaving the especial minister of the “god” alone to perform the mystic rites which no human eye but his may see.

Exactly what takes place within those closed doors no one has ever known — no one will ever know; for none of those who alone could tell ever live long enough to lift the veil from the awful mystery. The priests lie prostrate in adoration outside the doors as a guard of honour to prevent any possibility of disturbance; but their office is a sinecure, for no native of India could be bribed to enter that sanctuary during the Hour of Silence, even by all the fabled jewels of Golconda. The vast crowd in the body of the temple remains wrapped in the most profound stillness until the hour is over; when the high priest rises from the ground and with reverent awe opens the great doors once more.

Not the faintest sound has reached the listening ears without, but the heavy images have changed places; the new ones are in position on the platform, while the older ones are cast aside on the ground, and beside them lies the priest, speechless — dying. It is recorded that he expires always within a few minutes of the opening of the doors, and never yet has any victim been able to indicate by word or sign the nature of the ordeal through which he has passed.

This much is known — that the carpenter is instructed when making the idols to drill a long cylindrical hole of a certain given diameter in each figure, roughly corresponding in location to the spinal column in a human being, and tradition whispers that one of the duties of the doomed priest is to remove something — something that none may see and live — from this strange receptacle in the old images to a corresponding place in the new ones. For the rest the will of the deity is said to impress upon the mind of its devoted servant the ceremonial which has to be carried out.

Meanwhile, outside the temple, all has been prepared for the great procession, and the huge wooden car of the deity has been dragged to the door. This vehicle is a curious one, and rather difficult to describe without the aid of a picture or a model. The lower part of it may be said to resemble an immense oblong chest richly carved round the sides with figures of the Gods, each in its separate shrine, deeply recessed and protected by beautifully moulded pillars; and upon this as a platform, or pedestal, stands a colossal statue of a rampant lion, bearing on its back a sort of canopied pulpit.

When the hour arrives the chief priest, bending low before the new image, hangs garlands of flowers round its neck in the usual Hindu fashion, and fastens round its waist a magnificently jewelled belt. And now by the strength which it has absorbed front its victims, this demon favours its faithful votaries with a marvellous exhibition of its uncanny powers. A piece of thin silk cord about twenty feet long is passed through the idol’s belt, and its ends are held by two priests, who are thus some ten feet in advance of the image, though not directly in its path. The central passage of the temple is cleared, and the two priests gently pull the cord. On receiving this signal the heavy wooden idol advances by a series of bounds down the path left for it, the priests retiring before it, and, apparently, initiating each leap by the same gentle pull. Quite impossible, you say? or if actually done, then a trick of the priests. Think so, if you will; but how is it done? The pull given by the priests is a mere movement of the finger and thumb, scarcely strong enough even to tighten the cord, and it is certain that no other mechanical force is employed.

But a still greater wonder is to come. When the idol, in the manner described, has reached the door where its car awaits it, the two priests climb upon the platform, still holding the ends of their line. At their next pull the image springs upon the platform beside them, and then, without waiting for any further guidance, makes another leap into its pulpit, and turns itself half round so as to face the front of the car! Incredible, is it? Yet there are thousands who can bear testimony to it. And