larger than oars, and disappear in the rising steam, becoming visible
again, like shadow figures lighted from above, when a slight draught
from the door clears the air. They sing a slow rhythmical song over
their work.

When the tea is ready, it is poured into large bright copper pots with
shining yellow brass mountings, handles, and all kinds of ornamentation.
Novices carry the vessels on their shoulders to all the various halls
and cells. A loud signal is given on a sea-shell from a temple roof that
the monks may not miss their tea, but may be on the look-out. I
frequently looked into the kitchen, the scene was so picturesque, and
the cooks were ready for a joke and were not averse to being sketched
(Illustration 148).

Two large and several small _chhortens_ are erected on an open square in
front of the mausoleums, of exactly the same design as those so
frequently seen in Ladak. There are also stone niches filled with idols
and other objects. A crowd of people was collected on the terrace when I
was sketching, and it was not easy to get a clear view. It was a
striking picture, with all the red and many-coloured garments against
the background of the white-washed walls of the memorial towers
(Illustration 151).

[Illustration: 144. PART OF SHIGATSE.]

[Illustration: 145. THE TASHI LAMA RETURNING TO THE LABRANG AFTER A
CEREMONY.]

One day when I had sat a long time talking in the cell of the
photographing lama, it was dark when I went home. We passed, as we often
had before, the entrance gate to the forecourt of the Namgyal-lhakang,
the temple in which the Tashi Lama had once provided us with
refreshments. There the evening service was in full swing, and of course
we entered to look on. The illumination was more dimly religious than
usual, but we could at any rate make out our surroundings after coming
straight out of the outer darkness. The monks sat on long red divans,
and their black profiles were thrown up by the row of forty flames
burning in bowls before the altar. The gilded lotus blossoms of the
pedestal were brightly lighted, and the yellow silken scarves in the
hands of Tsong Kapa's statue and the garlands draped over the images
stood out conspicuously. But the upper parts of the figures under the
roof were plunged in darkness, and Tsong Kapa's countenance, with plump
rosy cheeks and broad nose, was so curiously lighted up from below that
his smile was not perceptible. The four coloured pillars in the middle
of the hall appeared black against the altar lamps. The monks wore
yellow robes, sat bare-headed, and chanted their melancholy litanies,
now and then interrupted by ringing of bells and the roll of drums. At
first the leather head of the drumstick falls slowly and regularly on
the tight skin, then the beats become more and more frequent, and at
last the drum becomes silent in an instant. A monk recites "Om mani
padme hum" in rising and falling tones with the rapidity of an expert,
and the others join in, making some kind of responses. The recitation
passes into a continuous hum, in which often only the words "Om mani"
are heard aloud, and the word "Lama" uttered more slowly. The whole
ritual has a singularly soporific effect; only Tsong Kapa listens
attentively, sitting dreamily with wide staring eyes, and ears hanging
down to the shoulders. Here, too, the indispensable tea is handed round;
a monk with an oil lamp attends the server that he may be able to see
the cups. The monks were now quite accustomed to my visits and took no
particular notice of me, but they always greeted me politely and asked
what I had been sketching during the day.

A lama gave me information about a remarkable custom. Certain monks
consent of their own free will to be walled up in dark grottoes or caves
for the space of three, six, or at most twelve years. Near a small
monastery, Shalu-gompa, a day's journey from Tashi-lunpo, there is a
monk who has already spent five years in his grotto, and is to remain
there seven more. In the wall of the grotto is an opening a span in
diameter. When the twelve years are over, and the hermit may return to
the light of day, he crawls out through this opening. I insinuated that
this was a physical impossibility, but the lama replied that the miracle
does take place, and, besides, the enclosed monk has become so emaciated
in the twelve years that he can easily slip through the opening. One of
the monks of the monastery goes daily to the grotto with tea, water, and
_tsamba_, and pushes these provisions through the opening, but he may
not speak to the prisoner or the charm would be broken. Only sufficient
light penetrates through the opening to allow the anchorite to
distinguish between day and night. To read the holy scriptures, which
he has taken with him into the cave, he must use an oil lamp, and a
fresh supply of oil is placed from time to time in the opening. He says
his prayers all day long, and divides the night into three watches, of
which two are spent in sleep and one in reading. During the twelve years
he may not once leave his grotto, never look at the sun, and never
kindle a fire. His clothing is not the usual monk's dress, but a thin
cotton shirt, and a girdle round the body; he wears no trousers,
head-covering, or shoes.

Among other abstruse subjects, this penitent must study a composition on
some kind of magic, which renders him insensible to cold and almost
independent of the laws of gravity. He becomes light, and when the hour
of release arrives, travels on winged feet: whereas he used to take ten
days to journey from Tashi-lunpo to Gyangtse, he can now cover the
distance in less than a day. Immediately the twelve years of trial are
ended, he must repair to Tashi-lunpo to blow a blast of a horn on the
roof, and then he returns to Shalu-gompa. He is considered a saint as
long as he lives, and has the rank of a Kanpo-Lama. No sooner has he
left his grotto than another is ready to enter the darkness and undergo
the same test. This lama was the only one in this neighbourhood then
confined in a grotto, but there are hermits in abundance, living in open
caves or small stone huts, and maintained by the nomads living near
them. We were later on to hear of fanatical lamas who renounce the world
in a much stricter fashion.

In Tashi-lunpo the cloister rule seems to be strictly enforced: there
are especial inspectors, policemen and lictors who control the lives of
the monks in their cells and take care that no one commits a breach of
his vows. Recently a monk had broken the vow of chastity; he was ejected
for ever from the Gelugpa confraternity and banished from the territory
of Tashi-lunpo. He has, then, no prospect of finding an asylum in
another monastery, but must embrace some secular profession.

One day we visited the Dena-lhakang, a temple like a half-dark corridor,
for it is lighted only by two quite inadequate windows. In the middle
of the corridor there is a niche which has doors into the hall, for the
walls are very thick. Thus between the doors and the window is formed a
small room in which the lama on duty sits as in a hut. He belongs to the
Gelong order, is named Tung Shedar, came from Tanak, and is now seventy
years old, has short white hair, and a skin as dry as an old yellow
crumpled parchment.

On entering, one sees on the right a bookcase with deep square
pigeon-holes, in which holy books are placed. On the outer, longer wall,
banners painted with figures hang between the two windows, in the
deepest shadow, most of which are of venerable age, and are dusty and
faded--a Lamaist picture gallery. Pillars are ranged along the longer
wall, of red lacquered wood, and between them is suspended trellis-work
of short iron rods, forming geometrical figures. They are intended to
preserve the valuables from theft. In such a niche we see hundreds of
small idols set round in rows, four to eight inches high, in silken
mantles. Before them are taller statues of gods, and Chinese vases of
old valuable porcelain. Especial reverence is shown to a cabinet with an
open door, within which is preserved a tablet, draped with _kadakhs_,
and inscribed with Chinese characters, in memory of the great Emperor
Kien-Lung who was admitted by the third Tashi Lama into the
confraternity of the yellow monks. Above, covering the capitals of the
pillars, is hung strange, shabbily-fine drapery, of pieces of variously
coloured cloth and paper strips. For the rest, the hall abounds in the
usual vessels, brazen elephants with joss-sticks, large chalices and
bowls, small and large flags, and other things.

Another time I had been drawing in a sepulchral chapel and taken the
opportunity of making a sketch of some female pilgrims who were praying
there. When the work was finished, we crossed a paved court fully 20
yards broad by 90 long, which was situated just under the façade of the
Labrang. It was full of people waiting to see the Tashi Lama, who was to
pass by on his way to some ceremony. He came in a red monk's frock and
the yellow mitre; above his head was held the yellow sunshade, and he
was accompanied by a train of monks. He walked with his body slightly
bent and an air of humility. Many fell down before him full-length and
worshipped him, while others threw grains of rice over him. He did not
see me, but his smile was just as kind and mild as when we last met. So
he is evidently affable to all alike.

I made daily visits to the monastery and so gained a thorough knowledge
of the solitary life of the monks. Gompa signifies "the abode of
solitude," or monastery; the monks in the convent certainly live
isolated from the outer world, its vanities and temptations. Once, in
the Kanjur-lhakang, I purposed to draw the images with the lamps burning
before them on the innermost, darkest wall, but just as I was about to
begin monks filled the hall. Their places on the long divans were made
ready for them, and before each seat a huge volume of the holy
scriptures, the Kanjur, lay on a long continuous desk. The large yellow
robes which are put on at service time, but may not be worn in the
open-air, were laid ready. The young, brown-skinned, short-haired monks
entered in red togas, threw the yellow vestments over their shoulders,
and sat down cross-legged before the books. An older lama, a Kanpo,
mounted the pulpit on the shorter wall and intoned the sacred text in a
harsh, solemn, bass voice. The pupils joined in a monotonous rhythm.
Some read from the pages in front of them, while others seemed to know
the words of the chant by heart--at any rate they looked all about.
Exemplary order is not observed. Some young fellows, who certainly were
much more at home in the world than in the Church, talked during the
chant, giggled, and buried their faces in their robes to stifle their
laughter. But no one took any notice of them; they caused no
disturbance. Others never raised their eyes from the book. The hall was
as dark as a crypt, being lighted only by a narrow skylight, and through
two small doors (Illustration 154).

[Illustration: 146. THE PANCHEN RINPOCHE, OR TASHI LAMA.]

After they had sung awhile there was an interval, and lama boys passed
along the gangways between the rows of benches and poured tea, with
wonderful adroitness and without spilling a drop, into the wooden cups
held out to them. But almost before the pupils have begun to drink,
the deep bass of the leader drones out in the gloom above, and the
proceedings recommence. Meanwhile pilgrims pass along the gangways to
the altar and place small heaps of _tsamba_ or meal in the bowls
standing before the images, from the bags and bundles they bring with
them.

A tall lama stands erect at the entrance door. A pilgrim says to him: "I
will pay 3 _tengas_ for a blessing." The lama sings out aloud the
contribution and the purpose for which it is given, and then a strophe
is sung especially on behalf of the pilgrim, after which all the monks
clap their hands. This is repeated whenever fresh pilgrims come up. I
myself paid 5 rupees for a blessing, and received it together with a
noisy clapping. For ten minutes the lamas stand up, run along the
passages outside the lecture-hall, or take stock of me while I am
sketching the schoolroom and the pupils. Often a handful of rice rains
down upon the youths--some pilgrim is passing by the window opening. At
these readings and at the high mass the monks who have been longest in
the monastery occupy the front seats, and the last-comers the back
seats. When the lecture is over the Kanpo-Lama counts the receipts that
have flowed in from the pockets of the pilgrims, wraps the coins in
paper, which is sealed up and conveyed to the treasury, and enters the
amount in a large account book.

The images on the altar table of the Kanjur-lhakang are small, and
composed of gilded metal, and most of the other idols in Tashi-lunpo are
of the same kind. Some are of carved wood, and a few, like the great
statue of Tsong Kapa, are composed of powdered spices cemented together
by a gum extracted from roots of plants. The statue of Tsong Kapa is
said to have been constructed seventy-two years ago, and to have cost as
much as one of gold. The Tashi Lama has 1500 small gods cast for the New
Year festival, each costing 7 rupees; they are manufactured in
Tashi-lunpo, and are given away or sold. The manufacture of these images
is regarded as a peculiarly blessed work, and the lamas engaged in it
may count with certainty on a long life. Especially is this the case
with those who make images of the Tsepagmed. The oftener they utter his
name and produce his likeness from the rough metal, the longer it will
be before their poor souls have to set out on their travels again. No
idol, however, possesses any miraculous power or the slightest shadow of
divine influence unless it is properly consecrated and blessed by an
incarnated lama.

I must by this time have tried the patience of my readers with my
personal recollections of the monastery of Tashi-lunpo. I have
unintentionally tarried too long with the fraternity of the yellow-caps,
and quite forgotten events awaiting our attention elsewhere. I might
have remembered that temples and monks' cells may not have the same
interest for others as they have for myself, but the remembrance of this
period is particularly dear to me, for I was treated with greater
friendliness and hospitality in Tashi-lunpo than in any town of Central
Asia. We came from the wastes of Tibet to the greatest festival of the
year, from solitude into the religious metropolis swarming with
thousands of pilgrims, from poverty and want to abundance of everything
we wanted, and the howling of wolves and storms gave place to hymns and
fanfares from temple roofs glittering with gold. The balls in Simla and
the desolate mountains of Tibet were strange contrasts, but still
greater the solitude of the mountain wilderness and the holy town, which
we entered in the garb of far-travelled pilgrims, and where we were
hospitably invited to look about us and take part in all that was going
on.

It is now time to say farewell to Tashi-lunpo, its mystic gloom and its
far-sounding trumpet blasts. I do so with the feeling that I have given
a very imperfect and fragmentary description of it. It was not part of
my plan to thoroughly investigate the cloister town, but on the contrary
it was my desire to return as early as possible to the parts of Tibet
where I might expect to make great geographical discoveries.
Circumstances, however, which I shall hereafter refer to in a few words,
compelled us to postpone our departure from day to day. As we were
always looking forward to making a start, our visits to the monastery
were curtailed. Moreover, I wished, if possible, to avoid exciting
suspicion. Tashi-lunpo had on two occasions, more than 100 years ago
indeed, been pillaged by Gurkhas from Nepal. The English had quite
recently made a military expedition to Lhasa. Many monks disapproved of
my daily visits, and regarded it as unseemly that a European, of whose
exact intentions nothing was known, should go about freely, sketch the
gods, see all the treasures of gold and precious stones, and make an
inventory. And it was known that the dominant race in Tibet, the
Chinese, were displeased at my coming hither, and that I had really no
right to sojourn in the forbidden land. If, then, I wished to accomplish
more, I must exercise the greatest caution in all my proceedings.

A few words on funeral customs before we take leave of Tashi-lunpo.

South-west of Tashi-lunpo lies a small village, Gompa-sarpa or the New
Monastery, where, according to tradition, a temple formerly stood which
was plundered by the Dzungarians. Here is now the cemetery of Shigatse
and of the monastery, the Golgotha where the bodies of monks and laymen
are abandoned to corruption in the same fashion.

When the soul of a lama grows weary of the earthly frame in which it has
spent its human life, and the lama himself, after living perhaps fifty
years in his dark cloister cell, perceives that the lamp of life is
going out for want of oil, some brethren gather round his sick-bed,
recite prayers, or intercede with the gods set up in his cell, whose
prototypes in Nirvana or in the kingdom of the dead have something to do
with death and the transmigration of souls. As soon as life is extinct,
special prayers for the dead are recited to facilitate the severance of
the soul from the body, and console it during its first steps on the
dark road beyond the bounds of this life. The corpse of a lama lies in
his cell for three days, that of a layman as long as five days, that
there may be sufficient time for all the funeral rites and services.
Rich people retain the corpse longer in the house, which is certainly
more expensive, but allows more time for prayers which will benefit the
deceased. Monks fix the date of interment and the moment when the soul
is actually freed from its earthly fetters and soars up in search of a
new habitation.

The dead lama in a new costume of the ordinary cut and style is wrapped
in a piece of cloth and is carried away by one or two of his colleagues;
a layman is borne on a bier by the corpse-bearers. These are called
_Lagbas_, and form a despised caste of fifty persons, who live apart in
fifteen small miserable cabins in the village Gompa-sarpa. They are
allowed to marry only within the guild of corpse-bearers, and their
children may not engage in any other occupation but that of their
fathers, so that the calling is hereditary. They are obliged to live in
wretched huts without doors or windows; the ventilators and doorways are
open to all the winds of heaven and all kinds of weather. Even if they
do their work well they are not allowed to build more comfortable
houses. It is their duty also to remove dead dogs and carcasses from
Tashi-lunpo, but they may not enter within the wall round the convent.
If they have any uneasiness about their souls' welfare, they pay a lama
to pray for them. When they die, their souls pass into the bodies of
animals or wicked men. But in consequence of the afflictions they have
endured they are spared too hard a lot in the endless succession of
transmigrations.

The Lagbas have only to hack in pieces lamas, their own relations, and
the bodies of the homeless poor. Well-to-do laymen have this operation
performed for their own people without calling in professional aid.

When the monks come with a dead brother to the place of dissection they
strip him completely, divide his clothes among them, and have no
compunction in wearing them the very next day. The Lagbas receive 2 to 5
_tengas_ (11d. to 2s. 3d.) for each body and a part of the old clothing
of a lama; in the case of a layman the Lagba receives all the raiment of
the deceased, and the ear-rings and other simpler ornaments of a woman.
The monks who have brought the body hurry off again with all speed,
partly because the smell is very bad and partly that they may not
witness the cutting up of the corpse, at which only the Lagbas need be
present; even when the body is that of a layman, it is divided only in
the presence of Lagbas.

[Illustration: 147. PORTRAIT OF THE TASHI LAMA.

  (before retouching.)]

A cord fastened to a post driven into the ground is passed round the
neck of the corpse, and the legs are pulled as straight as possible--a
feat requiring great exertion in the case of a lama, who has died and
become rigid in a sitting posture. Then the body is skinned, so that all
the flesh is exposed; the Lagbas utter a call, and vultures which roost
around come sailing up in heavy flight, pounce down on the prey, and
tear and pluck at it till the ribs are laid bare. There are no dogs here
as in Lhasa, and even if there were, they would get no share in the
feast, for the vultures do their work quickly and thoroughly. We
afterwards visited convents where sacred dogs were fed with the flesh of
priests. The Lagba sits by while the vultures feed, and these are so
tame that they hop unconcernedly over the man's legs.

The head is usually cut off as soon as the body is skinned. The skeleton
is crushed to powder between stones, and is kneaded with the brains into
a paste, which is thrown to the birds in small lumps. They will not
touch the bone-dust unless it is mixed with brains. The guild of
corpse-cutters pursue their task with the greatest composure: they take
out the brains with their hands, knead it into powder, and pause in the
midst of their gruesome employment to drink tea and eat _tsamba_. I am
exceedingly doubtful if they ever wash themselves. An old Lagba, whom I
summoned to my tent to supplement the information I had received from
the monks, had on that very morning cut up the body of an old lama.
Muhamed Isa held his cap before his face all through the conversation,
and had at last to go out, for he began to feel ill. The man had an
unpleasant rough aspect, wore a small grey soft cap, and was dressed in
rags of the coarsest sacking. He had his own theories of post-mortem
examination and anatomy. He told me that when an effusion of blood was
found in the brain it was a sign that the man had been insane, and that
when the substance of the brain was yellow the man had been an habitual
snuff-taker.

In some cases, so a monk assured me, the corpse is not skinned, but the
head is cut off, the trunk is divided in two along the spine with a
sharp knife, and each half is cut into small pieces, and the vultures
are not called till this has been done. Small children and grown-up men
are cut up in the same manner. There is not the least respect shown for
the nakedness of dead women. The whole aim of this method of disposing
of the body is that the deceased may have the merit of giving his body
to the birds, which would otherwise be famished. Thus even after his
death he performs a pious deed which will promote the peace of his soul.
The vultures here act the same part as in the Towers of Silence among
the Parsees of Bombay and Persia.

As soon as the demands of religion are fulfilled, the relatives take
leave of the deceased. He is then gone away, and his body is quite
worthless; when the soul has recommenced its wanderings, the body may be
consigned to the brutal treatment of the Lagbas without the least
hesitation. No one follows the corpse to the home of the vultures when
it is carried out of the house at night to be cut up before the sun
rises. There is no legal regulation, and when the bodies are numerous,
the sun has generally risen before the work is finished. After that,
one, or at most two, of the corpses are left till evening and are taken
in hand after sunset. This is also because the vultures are satiated
with their morning's feed and must have a rest before supper. It is
seldom that more than two deaths are reported in Gompo-sarpa in one day.
About twelve years ago when an epidemic of smallpox raged in Shigatse,
forty to fifty bodies were removed daily. Then, after the vultures had
gorged themselves, the rest of the bodies were wrapped in thin shrouds
and buried.

One would suppose that the dying man would shudder at the thought that,
at the very moment when the gates of death were opened for him, his
body, with which he was so closely connected during his life, which he
had cared for so anxiously, endeavouring to shield it from danger and
sickness, nay, from the slightest pain, would be consigned to such
barbarous treatment. But probably he thinks more of his soul in his last
moments, and counts up the good deeds he has performed and the millions
of _manis_ he has recited.

There is, then, not the slightest touch of sentiment in the funeral
customs of the Tibetans and their attitude towards the dead. The
children of Islam visit the graves of their loved ones and weep out
their sorrow under the cypresses, but the Tibetans have no graves and no
green-covered mounds where they may devote an hour to the remembrance of
a lost happiness. They weep not, for they mourn not, and they mourn not,
because they have loved not. How can they love a wife whom they possess
in common with others, so that there is no room for the idea of
faithfulness in marriage? The family ties are too loose and uncertain,
and the brother does not follow his brother, the man his wife, and much
less his child, to the grave, for he does not even know if the child is
really his own. And, besides, the corpse in itself is a worthless husk,
and even a mother who has tenderly loved her child feels not a shadow of
reverence for its dead body, and has no more horror of the knife of the
corpse executioner than we have of the doctor.

CHAPTER XXX

OUR LIFE IN SHIGATSE

The time that was not taken up by visits to Tashi-lunpo I occupied in
many ways. We had friends to visit us, and I frequently spent many hours
in transferring types of the people to my sketch-book, and I found good
material among the citizens and vagrants of the town and the monks of
the convent.

[Illustration: 148. LAMAS WITH COPPER TEA-POTS.

  149. FEMALE PILGRIM FROM NAM-TSO AND MENDICANT LAMA.

  Sketches by the Author.]

On one of the first days the Consul of Nepal paid me a visit. He was a
lieutenant, twenty-four years old, was named Nara Bahadur Chetteri, and
bore between his eyes the yellow marks of his caste. He was dressed in a
black close-fitting uniform with bright metal buttons, and a round
forage cap on his head without a shade, but with a gold tassel, and in
front the sun of Nepal surrounded by a halo of rays. He had been four
months in Lhasa and two here. He and his young wife had taken two months
to travel from Khatmandu; they had ridden the first week, but had then
sent their horses back, and had tramped through very dangerous,
pathless, mountainous regions for fifteen days; the rest of the journey
they had accomplished on hired Tibetan horses. Here he had to protect
the interests of the 150 Nepalese merchants and assist the pilgrims of
his country when they were in difficulties. The merchants have their own
_serai_, called Pere-pala, for which they pay an annual rent of 500
_tengas_; they buy wool from the nomads in the north, and pay for it
with corn and flour, which therefore is scarce and dear in Shigatse,
especially during the festival time when so many pilgrims flock in. The
Consul received 200 _tengas_ a month, or rather less than £60 a year,
and considered that the Maharaja paid him very badly. Bhotan has no
consul in Shigatse, though many pilgrims come from that country.

On February 14 I received a very unexpected visit, a lama and an
official from Lhasa. When the Devashung, the Government, had received
the letter of Hlaje Tsering announcing my arrival at the Ngangtse-tso,
the Chinese Ambassador and the Government, after consulting together,
had despatched these two gentlemen in forced marches to the lake, where,
however, they arrived several days after my departure. Singularly enough
they had been given quite erroneous information about the route we had
taken, perhaps because our wanderings over the ice across the lake in
all directions had confused the nomads. Therefore they had sought for us
for twenty-two days on the shores of the Ngangtse-tso and the
Dangra-yum-tso, until they had at length discovered that we had gone off
southwards a long time before. Then they had followed our track and had
made further inquiries among the nomads, all of whom said that they had
been kindly treated, and well paid for all they sold us. The gentlemen
rode on, and heard in Yeshung that we had passed through a couple of
days before; our camp-fires were scarcely cold. They changed horses, and
spurred them on at a faster pace, for they had been ordered to force us
at any cost to return northwards by the same way we had come. But I had
got the better of them, for they did not reach Shigatse till thirty-six
hours after us, and another party sent from Lhasa to intercept us by a
more direct road had quite lost our trail in the labyrinth of valleys
and mountains into which we had plunged.

"We have carried out our mission as well as we have been able," they
said, "and it only remains for us to ask for your name and all
particulars of your journey and companions."

"I have already communicated everything to Ma Daloi and Duan Suen, who
have seen my passport, but if you want a second edition, you are welcome
to it."

"Yes, it is our duty to send a report to the Devashung. In virtue of the
treaty of Lhasa only the market-towns of Yatung, Gyangtse, and Gartok
are free to the Sahibs under certain conditions, but no other routes.
You have come by forbidden roads and must turn back again."

"Why did you not close the way to me? It is your own fault. You can
inform the Devashung that I shall never be content till I have seen the
whole of Tibet. Besides, the Devashung will not find it worth their
while to place obstacles in my way, for I am on good terms with your
gods, and you have seen yourself how friendly the Tashi Lama has been to
me."

"We know it, and it seems as though you bore the sign of the favour of
the gods on your forehead like caste-markings."

"How is Hlaje Tsering getting on?"

"He is suspected of receiving a bribe from you; he has been dismissed,
and has lost his rank and all his property."

"It is very mean of the Devashung to persecute him. But the Government
is composed of the most despicable rogues in all Tibet. You ought to be
glad that you are at length properly under Chinese protection."

At first they exchanged meaning looks, but gradually they came round to
my opinion and admitted that their Government was a disagreeable
association. The reason they had not shown themselves immediately after
their arrival was that they wished first to spy out our occupations and
our associates; for, if they found out that we had friends, these would
of course be denounced. Otherwise they were decent men, and readily
partook of tea and cigarettes. Unfortunately Tsaktserkan was just then
with me, and he must have thought the affair serious, for he made
himself scarce as soon as they entered my tent, but afterwards asked me
to tell him what they had said.

It impressed them most of all that, in spite of all the ambushes and
traps in the form of scouting patrols, who were on the look-out for us,
we had after all succeeded in advancing to Shigatse. Now they would wait
for orders from Lhasa. No heed was paid to the Dalai Lama, who was as
good as dead and buried.

[Illustration: 150. THE GREAT RED GALLERY OF TASHI-LUNPO.

  Sketch by the Author.]

They came frequently during the following days to greet us, and then
expressed their opinions of their superiors more and more frankly.
Their remaining on the scene proved, however, that both the Chinese and
the Government had their eyes on me. I wondered how the affair would
terminate.

When I returned from the equestrian performance on the 15th, I found a
large packet of letters from Major O'Connor, and greedily seized letters
from home and from friends in India, Lady Minto, Colonel Dunlop Smith,
Younghusband, and O'Connor himself, who welcomed me most heartily, and
expressed a hope that we should soon meet. He had also kindly given me a
great surprise with two boxes containing preserved meats, cakes,
biscuits, whisky, and four bottles of champagne. Fancy my drinking
champagne alone in my tent in Tibet! I drank a glass at dinner every day
to the health of Major O'Connor as long as the supply lasted.

In the chapter on Leh I mentioned the Hajji Nazer Shah and his son Gulam
Razul. The old Hajji had another son in Shigatse, named Gulam Kadir, who
had been ten years in Tibet and now managed the branch in Shigatse. He
sold chiefly gold-embroidered stuffs from China and Benares, which the
lamas bought for state robes, and he told me that he made a yearly
profit of 6000 rupees. A bale of such material as he showed me was worth
10,000 rupees. Gulam Kadir rendered me many services at this time, and
supplied us with anything we wanted.

There is a fine view from the roof of his house of the Dzong, or fort,
the stately front of which seems to grow out of the rock. The windows,
balconies, roof decorations and streamers have a harmonious and
picturesque effect. In the middle of the structure is a red building;
all the rest is white, or rather an undecided greyish-yellow colour,
which the plaster has assumed in the course of time.

At the southern foot of the Dzong hill lies the open market-place, where
trade was carried on two hours a day. There are no tables and stands,
but the dealer sits on the dusty ground and spreads out his wares on
cloths or keeps them beside him in baskets. In one row sit the dealers
in implements and utensils, in others boards and planks are sold,
ironware, woven goods, coral, glass beads, shells, sewing thread,
needles, dyes, cheap oleographs, spices and sugar from India, porcelain,
pipes, figs and tea from China, mandarins from Sikkim, dried fruits and
turquoise from Ladak, yak hides and tails from the Chang-tang, pots,
metal dishes, covers and saucers manufactured in the town, religious
books and other articles for the use of pilgrims, etc. Straw and chaff,
rice, grain, _tsamba_ and salt are sold by many traders. Walnuts,
raisins, sweets, and radishes are other wares in which there is a large
trade. Horses, cows, asses, pigs, and sheep are also on sale; for the
last, 7 rupees a head are asked. In Chang-tang we had paid at most 4
rupees, and a sheep can be got for 2 rupees. Every kind of ware has its
particular place, but the traders, so far as I could see, were all
Tibetans; for the merchants of Ladak, China, and Nepal have shops in
their own houses.

[Illustration: 151. CHHORTEN IN TASHI-LUNPO.

  Sketch by the Author.]

Most of the traders are women, and they sell even hay, firewood, and
meat. They wear huge coils of hair with inferior turquoise, glass beads,
and all kinds of pendants, which contrast strongly with their faces
smeared with black salve. If they would dispense with this finery and
give themselves a good washing instead, some of them would perhaps look
quite human. What was the original colour of their clothes is hard to
guess, for they are now caked with dust, soot, and dirt. But these
hucksters are always polite and obliging; they sit in rows parallel to
the north wall of the Chinese town, which is little more than a ruin.
Now and then a mule caravan passes along the pathway between the rows,
bringing new goods to market. Frequently gentlemen partly dressed in
Chinese fashion ride past from the Dzong; and among the swarms of
customers are seen all kinds of people--clergy and pilgrims, children of
the country and strangers, white turbans from Ladak and Kashmir, and
black skull-caps from China. In the market all the gossip of Shigatse is
hatched; all sorts of reports more or less probable reach us from there.
As soon as any one comes from Lhasa he is driven almost frantic with
questions, for all take a deep interest in the new Chinese régime. It
was current in the bazaar that lamas in Lhasa were organizing a bloody
insurrection against the Chinese, because the latter had demanded
that half the lamas should serve in the army. It was further reported
that I and my companions would soon be compelled to leave the country,
and that before very long the English commercial agency in Gyangtse
would be closed. Every one who has heard anything fresh carries it at
once to the market, where the visitors who come to hear news are as
numerous as those who make purchases. In a word the market is Shigatse's
only newspaper.

Gulam Kadir told me that the two gentlemen from Lhasa employed spies,
who reported daily all that they could find out about us. These men used
to come as hawkers into our tents and sit there by the hour. Ma also
encompassed us with spies. With the help of Gulam Kadir I set two
Ladakis as spies to spy upon the spies of the Lhasa spies. We could now
be on our guard, for we knew what was going on around us.

My own Ladakis enjoyed in Shigatse a very necessary period of rest. I
gave them money for new clothes, which they made up themselves; in a few
days they appeared in all the glory of a new outfit from head to foot.
Nor could I refuse them a jug of _chang_ daily; they very seldom drank
too much, after one of them one day under the influence of beer painted
his face black, and in this guise made ridiculous pirouettes about the
court. Muhamed Isa happened to come home from the market just at the
moment, and, catching hold of the dancer, gave him such a thorough
drubbing that he never thought of painting himself again. Both Chinamen
and Tibetans said that the conduct of my men was exemplary and gave no
cause for quarrels. But to hear Tsering's singing in the evening! It was
like the creaking of a badly oiled wicket-gate to a shed in my own
country, and therefore I listened with pleasure to his rude song. When
he had sung for three hours on end, it became a little too much, but I
put up with it--it is so pleasant to have cheerful, contented men about
one.

Under February 19 the following entry stands in my diary: "In spite of
the windy, dusty weather I have all day long been sketching various
types, chiefly women, who sat for me as models in front of my tent."
The first were from Nam-tso (Tengri-nor) (Illustration 155), wore
head-dresses decorated with shells, china beads, and silver spangles,
and in their sheepskins trimmed with red and blue ribands looked like
girls from Dalecarlia. They had large bones, were strongly built, looked
fresh and healthy, and their broad faces were remarkably clean. The
women of Shigatse, on the other hand, had smeared their faces with a
brown salve mixed with soot which looked like tar. This mask makes them
hideous, and it is impossible to tell whether they are pretty or not;
the black colour interferes with the lights and shadows, and confuses
the portrait painter. One had painted only her nose and rubbed it bright
as metal. This singular custom is said to date from a time when the
morality of the Lhasa monks was at a low level, and a Dalai Lama issued
orders that no female should show herself out of doors unless painted
black, so that the charms of the women might be less seductive to the
men. Since then the black paint has remained in fashion, but seems now
to be going out.

The clothes are always black with age, dirt, and soot. The women pay
most attention to their head decoration, and the higher they are in the
social scale the more profusely they deck their coiffures with bows,
pendants, and jewelry. The hair is frequently so closely entwined with
all this finery that it can scarcely be let down every night, but only
when it becomes so entangled that it must be put straight. Those who are
rich wear large heavy ear-rings of solid gold and a few turquoises, but
others simpler and smaller rings. On the neck are worn chains of various
coloured beads and _gaos_, small silver cases studded with coral and
turquoise and containing amulets. Poor women have to be contented with
copper _gaos_ of the clumsy kind so common among the Tsaidam Mongols.

A woman of forty belonging to Shigatse was named Tashi-Buti; she looked
sixty, for women age very soon here. Above her ordinary clothing she
wore a coarse shawl over the shoulders, fastened in front with brass
clasps, plates, and rings.

[Illustration: 152. PORTAL IN TASHI-LUNPO.]

[Illustration: 153. GROUP OF LAMAS IN TASHI-LUNPO.]

A nomad woman from Kamba had the right arm and shoulder bare, and was
as powerfully and muscularly built as a man, but was so horribly dirty
that it was impossible to perceive her complexion. She had no
head-dress; but the dark hair was plaited into innumerable thin rat's
tails hanging over the shoulders, and tied together on the forehead into
a mane of cords. She would have been good-looking if her features had
not been so masculine; she sat still and solemn as a statue of Buddha. A
fifteen-year-old girl had a parting in the middle, and her hair frizzed
in two pads down to the ears, which were combed, oiled, and shiny like
those of a Japanese, and she wore a diadem studded with coral. She was
dainty and clean and had rosy cheeks (Illustrations 157, 158, 159).

Burtso was a little Shigatse lady of seventeen summers, and bore the
dirt of those seventeen summers on her face. Like most of the others her
features had the sharply marked characteristics of the Mongolian
race--oblique narrow eyes contracting to a point at the sides, and the
lower part of the eyelid telescoped into the upper so that a slightly
curved line is formed and the short lashes are almost covered; the iris
is dark chestnut brown, and appears black within the frame of the
eyelids; the eyebrows are usually only slightly marked, are thin and
irregular, and never form the finely curved Persian and Caucasian arch
like a crescent. The cheek-bones are rather prominent, but not so high
as with the Mongolians; the lips are rather large and thick, but the
nose is not so flat as among the Mongols. Faces with handsome features
are seen among the male Tibetans. But the differences between individual
Tibetans are often as great as between Tibetans on the one hand and
Mongols, Chinamen, and Gurkhas on the other. The nomads of the
Chang-tang are apparently a tribe of themselves, and seldom, if ever,
intermarry with the others. Otherwise the Tibetan people is undoubtedly
much mixed with neighbouring elements. Chinamen living in Lhasa and
Shigatse marry Tibetan women. In the Himalayas, south of the Tibetan
frontier, live the Bothias, a mixed people, sprung partly from Indian,
partly from Tibetan elements. The people of Ladak have mingled to a
large extent with their Aryan and Turkish neighbours, because they have
been in closer and more active contact with them. The Tibetan people
present remarkable and peculiar problems in anthropological,
ethnographical, and linguistic science, which must be solved by future
investigation.

I drew on and on, and one type after another found its way into my
sketch-book. The expression of my models is listless and devoid of
animation; they seem absent-minded and passionless. They take little
interest in the proceedings; all they care about is to pocket the rupees
after the sitting. They sit motionless, without laughing or complaining.
They are rather too solemn, and not a smile plays round the corners of
their mouths when their eyes meet mine. I passed the greater part of the
day in this silent, apathetic female society.

Now and then comes a party of inquisitive people to watch me, Tibetans,
Chinamen, or pilgrims who want to have something to tell when they get
home again to their black tents. They stand round me, wondering whether
it is dangerous to be drawn by a European and what is the object of it.
Of course there are many spies among them. There is an endless variety
of types and costumes, and as I ride through the streets and see the
inhabitants at their various occupations, I feel oppressed by the
thought that I have not time to draw them all. Here stands a man
splitting wood, there come two young fellows driving before them asses
laden with twigs and branches. There go a couple of women with large
water-jugs on their backs, while small girls collect cattle dung from
the street. Here a group of officials approaches in yellow garments on
fine horses, while some lamas stroll slowly towards the monastery. All
is so picturesque, so charming for the pencil; one is constantly
delighted with attractive subjects, genre pictures of unusual character,
strikingly grouped parties of salesmen and customers; one could spend
months here, drawing again and again. I am grieved at the prospect of an
early departure.

[Illustration: 154. LECTURE IN TASHI-LUNPO.

  Sketch by the Author.]

In the afternoon a company of dancers, male and female, frequently
appears in the court and gives no despicable performances, reminding me
strongly of the dances in Leh. They are always introduced by our
little old mother Mamu, who has the management of the garden, and hops
about smiling and friendly as a sparrow. She speaks Urdu, so Robert
employs her as interpreter. Then come caravans, bringing hay, firewood,
chaff, and barley for our remaining animals, or provisions for
ourselves, and people are constantly coming to sell all kinds of
goods--chickens, eggs, butter, or fish from the Tsangpo; milkmen run
with their clattering metal cans, and stringed instruments and flutes
make music in our groves. A beggar comes up like a troubadour to my tent
with a lute, and sings a melodious air. When I look at him he stops
singing and puts out his tongue. Barefooted boys, who could be no
blacker if they were drawn twice up a chimney, run about laughing
loudly, and peep out from among the trees. Three of them perform on a
tight rope, dance like professional rope-dancers, and beat drums, while
they turn summersaults all mixed up together (Illustration 164).

Pious visitors also frequent my courtyard: two nuns, for instance, with
a large _tanka_ representing a series of complicated episodes from the
holy scriptures. While one chants the explanation, the other points with
a stick to the corresponding picture (Illustration 165). She sings so
sweetly and with so much feeling that it is a pleasure to listen to her.
Or a mendicant lama comes with his praying mill in his hand and two
hand-grooves hung by a strap round his neck. In these he pushes his
hands as in a curry-comb, when he prostrates himself on the ground in
making a circuit of the temple. They are much worn, and this moves the
hearts of the people to generosity, so that his alms bowl is filled
daily.

These pious men are the parasites of Tibet, living at the expense of the
working population. And yet they are endured and treated by every one
with the greatest consideration and respect. To give them a mite brings
a blessing on the giver. The people are kept by the lamas in spiritual
slavery, and the lamas themselves are docile slaves to those tomes of
narrow-minded dogmas which have been stereotyped for centuries, which
may not be interfered with or criticised, for they are canonical,
proclaim the absolute truth, and stand in the way of all free and
independent thought. The clergy form a very considerable percentage of
the scanty population of this poor country. Without the Peter's pence
Tibet could not make both ends meet. Tashi-lunpo is, then, a huge
savings-box, in which the rich man places his pile of gold, the poor man
his mite. And with what object? To propitiate the monks, for they are
the mediators between the gods and the people. Scarcely any other land
is so completely under the thumb of the priests as Tibet. And while the
people toil, the monks gather round their tea-pots and bowls of _tsamba_
at the summons of the conch.

On three evenings in succession large numbers of wild-geese have flown
low over our garden from north-west to south-east. The ravens are as
bold as usual; of other birds only sparrows roost in our trees. Our camp
within the wall is quiet, but we have posted a night-watch outside, for
in a town like Shigatse, full of all sorts of vagabonds, there are many
scoundrels. Two monks, who were with me one evening to answer my
inquiries, durst not return to Tashi-lunpo in the dark, unless I sent
some of my men armed with guns to take them home. Recently a lama was
attacked at night between the town and the monastery and stripped to the
skin.

On February 20, after only 17.6 degrees of frost, it snowed all day
long, the wind howled dismally through the poplars, and the snow fell on
my tent. Nothing was to be seen of the golden temple roofs, and the
ground and the mountains were white; there was no one in the bazaar, and
no inquisitive visitors pestered us. It was just as in the Chang-tang.

[Illustration: 155. FEMALE PILGRIMS FROM THE NAM-TSO.]

[Illustration: 156. TIBETANS IN SHIGATSE.

  Sketches by the Author.]

On March 4 Gulam Kadir paid me a farewell visit, for he was going next
day to Lhasa, which, according to his reckoning, was nine days' journey
distant. As he would pass through Gyangtse, he took a large letter-bag
to Major O'Connor. On the day before, he had sent off a caravan of 201
yaks laden with brick tea to Ladak. A yak carries 24 bricks, and a brick
costs in Shigatse 6 rupees, but in Ladak 9 to 11. It is only the refuse
of the tea, which is despised in China, but is good enough for Tibetans
and Ladakis. Gulam Kadir hires the yaks at a cost of 5 rupees a head
to Gartok--uncommonly cheap, but they follow the mountain paths and
their keep costs nothing. They are five months on the way, for the
caravan makes short marches and stays at places where grass grows
luxuriantly. From Gartok, where the Hajji Nazer Shah has a large
warehouse, managed by Gulam Razul, the tea is transported on other yaks.
By a single caravan of this kind the commercial house of the Hajji makes
a very large profit. Musk, coral, Chinese textiles, and other valuable
goods are forwarded on mules along the great highway which runs along
the Tsangpo and the upper Indus.

I had on several occasions met Kung Gushuk, the Duke, in the monastery,
and had thanked him for his kindness in sending my letters to the lakes,
but it was not till March 7 that I paid him a visit in his house. The
walls in the entrance hall are painted with tigers and leopards. In the
court, round which the stables and servants' quarters are situated, a
large black watch-dog, with red eyes and a red swollen ring round his
neck, is chained up, and is so savage that he has to be held while we
pass. After mounting two ladder-like staircases we come to the
reception-room, which is very elegant, and has square red pillars with
carved capitals in green and blue. Along the walls stands a row of
shrines of gilded wood with burning butter-lamps in front of them, and
over them hang photographs of the Tashi Lama which were taken in
Calcutta. The rest of the walls are draped with holy banners
(Illustration 167).

The trellised window pasted over with paper, which occupies nearly the
whole length of the wall towards the courtyard, and is draped with white
curtains on the outside, is placed rather high above the floor.
Immediately below the window runs a long divan mattress, on which a
square cushion covered with panther skin marks the seat of honour.
Before this cushion stand two small stool-like lacquered tables on
golden feet. Seated here one has on the left hand, against the shorter
wall, a cubical throne with steps leading up to it, and here the Tashi
Lama takes his seat when he visits his younger brother, now twenty-one
years of age.

Kung Gushuk is, then, quite young. He is very shy, and is evidently
relieved when his guest talks and he is not obliged to strain his own
small, poorly furnished brain. His recollections of India, whither he
had accompanied his illustrious brother, were very hazy: he did know
that Calcutta is a large town, and that the weather was excessively hot
there, but for the rest the journey seemed to be to him only an
unintelligible dream. He did not venture to give an opinion on the
journey before me, but said openly that the lamas did not like to see me
so often in Tashi-lunpo. His wife had sent to ask me if I would take her
portrait, and I now begged to be told what time would suit her. "Any
time." When I went away, Her Highness was standing with her black court
ladies at the other end of the open gallery surrounding a court (Illust.
168). I saluted her politely, and certainly fascinated the lady as I
passed; there was no danger, as she was quite _passée_, for she had
belonged in common to Kung Gushuk and an elder brother, who died in
Sikkim on the return from India. It is said that she rules the house and
keeps the finances in order, and with good reason, for Kung Gushuk leads
a fast life, is over head and ears in debt, and plays hazard. This is
bad form in a brother of the Tashi Lama.

[Illustration: 157, 158, 159. TIBETAN GIRL AND WOMEN IN SHIGATSE.

  Sketches by the Author.]

On March 22 the portrait-drawing came off; it was executed in the large
saloon and in pencil. The Duchess is big and bloated, and asserted that
she was thirty-three years old--I should put her down at forty-five. Her
complexion is fair and muddy, the white of her eyes is dull. She had put
on for this occasion all the finery she could find room for; a pearl
pendant which hung on the left side of her façade had cost 1200 rupees.
In her hair were thick strings of pearls, bunches of coral and
turquoises. She was friendly and amiable, and said that she did not mind
how long she sat, if only the result were good. Her small carpet-knight
of a husband sat by and looked on, and round us stood the other inmates
of the house, including a small brother of Kung Gushuk and the Tashi
Lama. They drank butter tea, but did not offer me any, which made the
visit all the pleasanter (Illustration 170).

Then we were shown the other apartments, which even on sunny days are
dark as dungeons, for the windows are small, the paper thick, and the
white curtains outside help to increase the gloom. A small oratory with
red pillars was so dark that the images of the gods could scarcely be
distinguished. In the study of the Duke a low divan stood at the window,
with paper, inkstand, pens, and a religious book on a table in front of
it. The bedroom was adorned with _tankas_, statues, and cups. Here and
there butter-lamps struggled with the darkness, while braziers of brass
on stands of dark carved wood were used to counteract the chilliness of
the air. The whole house is like a temple, which is quite as it should
be when the owner is brother of the Grand Lama.

Two passages connecting parts of the upper storey are not covered in, so
are exposed to all the winds of heaven. A third staircase leads to the
top of the roof, which is surrounded by a parapet a yard high, and is
white-washed. A thicket of roof decorations and bundles of rods with
streamers frightens away evil spirits. There was a violent wind, and
dust and bits from the streets of Shigatse flew up in the air, so that
our eyes received their share. With the portrait-drawing the visit
lasted four good hours, and at the end I had become as intimate with the
family as if I had known them from childhood.

CHAPTER XXXI

POLITICAL COMPLICATIONS

In the first chapters of this book I described very briefly the
difficulties placed in my way by the English, and told how the Liberal
Government in London had not only refused the favours I had asked for,
but had even tried to suppress my expedition altogether. In consequence
I had been compelled to make a wide detour all through the Chang-tang,
where more than once our lives hung by a thread, and we had suffered
great losses. Then we met with a weak resistance on the part of the
Tibetans, but, nevertheless, came to Shigatse; it was pure good luck
that the patrols sent out to intercept us had not fallen in with us. On
February 14 the representatives of the Tibetan Government had intimated
to me that I had no right to make a prolonged sojourn in Tibet, and that
I must leave the country. As though I had not enough to do with the
English, Indian, and Tibetan Governments, the Chinese Government also
appeared on the scene on February 18. I was now opposed to a fourfold
combination of Governments, and wished all politics and diplomatists at
Jericho.

On this day the young Chinaman Duan Suen appeared on behalf of Gaw
Daloi, the Chinese political agent in Gyangtse. He brought me a letter
from him with the following curt contents:

[Illustration: 160. A CHINAMAN IN SHIGATSE.

  161. A TIBETAN IN SHIGATSE.

  162. A LAMA IN TASHI-LUNPO.

  163. DOOR-KEEPER IN TSONG KAPA'S TEMPLE.

  Sketches by the Author.]

  Agreement between Great Britain and China, signed in Pekin in the year
  1906, § 2: The Government of Great Britain binds itself not to annex
  any Tibetan territory, and not to interfere in the administration
  of Tibet. Convention concluded on September 7, 1904, § 9b: No
  representative or agent of any foreign Power shall receive permission
  to visit Tibet.

Duan Suen also conveyed to me by word of mouth Gaw Daloi's message that
I must on no account travel to Gyangtse, as I had forced my way to
Shigatse without a passport or permit, and that only one route was open
to me, that through the Chang-tang, by which I had come. I answered as
curtly that Gaw Daloi should apply to Major O'Connor, the British
representative in Gyangtse, if he wished to learn anything about me,
instead of sending me impertinent letters.

It had been my plan and desire to visit O'Connor. I knew him very well
by repute; he had loaded me with kindnesses, and I knew that he was one
of the very few who had a thorough knowledge of Tibet.

We had been in constant correspondence with one another since my
arrival. I had explained to him my ideas about the western continuation
of the great mountain system, and O'Connor had replied that he had
always longed to explore the extensive unknown parts in the interior of
Tibet, and had long suspected the existence of a mighty mountain system
to the north of the Tsangpo. I had still an imperfect knowledge of this
system, and therefore I proposed to O'Connor that we should in future
call the mountains Nien-chen-tang-la after the lofty peak on the south
shore of the Tengri-nor. It would have been of the greatest advantage to
me to meet a man like Major O'Connor just at this time (Illustration
171).

Meanwhile I soon began to regard the affair in a different light, for I
perceived that in Gyangtse I should find myself in a worse position than
in Shigatse. As long as I remained in Shigatse, the Chinese did not know
what to do with me, but in Gyangtse the provisions of the treaty would
at once become applicable to my case, and I might be obliged to retire
southwards to India. Gaw Daloi's prohibition with regard to Gyangtse
irritated me a little, but I suspected him of using it as a stratagem,
and all the more because the authorities of Shigatse offered at the same
time to let me baggage animals on hire for my journey thither.
Tsaktserkan, as well as Ma, knew that I had received a letter from Gaw,
and Ma had long negotiations with the gentlemen from Lhasa. Evidently a
political intrigue was going on, and all depended on my playing my cards
well.

As early as February 20 I had noticed that the lamas were afraid of the
Chinese because of my frequent visits to the monastery, and were
becoming more reserved daily. I, however, quietly continued to place
myself under their noses, and even to draw the Sakya-tubpa (Buddha). The
Chinese pretended to fear that the English would reproach them with a
breach of the treaty if they suffered me to sojourn on forbidden ground.
My English friends, on the contrary, rejoiced at my success and hoped
that I should continue to hold out. Meantime a change might come any
day, and therefore I lived in the greatest agitation.

In my answer to Gaw Daloi I begged him to have no anxiety lest I, a
Swede, should have any intention of annexing Tibetan territory, and as
to § 9, he had not quoted it fully, for it ran as follows: "The
Government of Tibet undertakes not to allow a representative or agent of
any foreign Power to visit Tibet without the previous consent of the
Government of Great Britain." This paragraph did not apply to my case,
for I was already in Tibet, and it did not concern me what agreements
the two Governments had made together. My case must be treated from
quite a different standpoint.

Ma had at first consented to send my letters to Gyangtse, but now he
refused, with the excuse that he might seem too ready to oblige me.
Therefore Muhamed Isa had to ride off on February 24 for Gyangtse, to
carry my letter and passport to Gaw Daloi, and also to take 3000 rupees
in sovereigns, which Major O'Connor had promised to exchange for silver
coins.

I also sent a long telegram to the English Prime Minister, asking for
the "consent of the Government of Great Britain," as the Government of
Tibet had hitherto placed no practical obstacles in my way. To this
telegram I received no reply.

[Illustration: 164. DANCING BOYS WITH DRUMS.

  Sketch by the Author.]

On February 27 Gaw's answer arrived--not by Muhamed Isa, but by a
special messenger; this was diplomatic but imprudent. Gaw wrote that he
could not believe I would break a treaty between two great nations for
the sake of scientific exploration, that my Chinese passport was not
valid here, and that if I were allowed to travel about in Tibet,
Russians and Englishmen might claim the same privileges. He concluded
with the words: "I have received orders from my Government to arrest you
at once, should you come to Gyangtse, and send you with a guard of
soldiers across the Indian frontier." I afterwards learned that he had
not a single soldier, and that if he had had the whole Chinese army at
his command, he could not have used it against me, if I were staying in
Gyangtse as a guest in the British Agency. I replied, however, that I
was quite willing to set out, in a north-westerly direction, if Gaw
could provide me with a sufficiently large caravan.

On March 1 Ma visited me. He was quite beside himself. The Amban Lien in
Lhasa had sharply reprimanded him because, with 1000 native and 150
Chinese soldiers under his command, he had not been intelligent and
watchful enough to prevent my coming to Shigatse. He had now to inform
me that I must leave the town at once, and asked me to tell him on what
day I proposed to start. "Not for a good while yet," I replied. "The
caravan which is to take me back across the Chang-tang must be ready
first." The monks also had been advised from Lhasa to have as little to
do with me as possible.

My sojourn in Shigatse had, then, given rise to an exchange of notes and
telegrams between Lhasa, Gyangtse, Shigatse, Pekin, Calcutta, and
London, and quite against my will I had become a small apple of discord
among politicians. My position was so uncertain that I left no stone
unturned. The Swedish Minister, Herr G. O. Wallenberg, did all he could
in Pekin to obtain for me the permission of the Chinese Government and a
passport; he spoke with all the high mandarins, but they with the
greatest affability appealed to the treaties in force. The Japanese
Embassy in Pekin also made representations, at the request of Count
Otani (Kioto), but received the astonishing answer that, if I were in
Tibet at all, which was very doubtful, I must be at once expelled from
the country. So I met with refusals on all sides. But I was strong in
one respect: I stood alone, while my opponents were hampered by having
to pay respect to one another's susceptibilities.

Meanwhile I was initiated little by little into the mysteries of Tibetan
politics. Tsaktserkan, sent by the Tashi Lama, used to visit me at dusk.
He asked me how it came about that, after the English had been
victorious against Tibet, China reaped all the advantages of the
victory, and China's power increased in the country while England's
prestige declined. The Tashi Lama was much disturbed by the continued
absence of the Dalai Lama. Immediately after his return from India he
had sent presents to the Dalai Lama, and written several letters to him,
but had never received a reply. The Dalai Lama had been his tutor, and
he was grieved that he could not help him in his difficult situation.
The authorities at Lhasa were incensed against Tashi-lunpo, and asserted
that the Tashi Lama had been bribed by the English not to take part in
the war. The Tashi Lama sent to ask me if I thought that the Emperor of
China was angry with him because of his journey to India, to which I
answered that in my opinion the Emperor would be pleased if the Tashi
Lama maintained peace with his powerful neighbour to the south, and if
there was a good understanding between Tibet and India.

Then on March 5 I received a remarkable letter from Gaw Daloi. He
advised me "in strict confidence" to write to Chang Yin Tang (Tang
Darin, or the Imperial Chinese Chief Commissioner in Tibet), and to the
Amban Lien Yü in Lhasa, requesting Their Excellencies to grant me
permission as a particular favour to travel through Gyangtse to Sikkim;
he had no doubt that they would agree to the proposal. First, he had
written to me that his Government had ordered him to arrest me if I came
to Gyangtse, and now he advised me to go there. But by acting contrary
to the orders of his Government, he gave me a dangerous hold over him: I
had him now in my power, and regarded him as out of the running. I then
learned in a roundabout way that his letter had been written in
accordance with orders from Lhasa, where it was feared that I might not
be easily got rid of if I were permitted to penetrate further into Tibet
on my return journey. Ma informed me that he had orders to keep couriers
in readiness for me, and that a letter would reach Lhasa in five days.

I now wrote to the Tang Darin, telling him that I would on no account
act against the wishes of the Chinese Government by travelling through
Gyangtse, but intended to return towards the north-west, if His
Excellence would command that yaks should be placed at my disposal. As a
Swede, I belonged to a country which had from ancient times been on
friendly terms with China, and had no political interests in Tibet.

At the same time I wrote also to Lien Darin, and represented that
neither the Chinese nor the Tibetan Government had any reason to
complain of my journey to Shigatse; if my coming were displeasing to
them, they should have prevented me in good time. On the contrary, they
ought to be grateful to me for calling attention to the possibility of
traversing their country, and I advised them to be more watchful in
future if they wished to exclude Europeans. I should not think of
travelling to India, for my people were mountaineers and would drop down
in the heat like flies; they were, moreover, British subjects, and I was
answerable for their safe return to Leh. It was impossible to travel
through the Chang-tang, but I would willingly follow a route on the
north side of the Tsangpo, where there were nomads. If they wished to
get rid of me, they should not render my return more difficult, but
rather facilitate it in every way.

When, therefore, the Lhasa gentlemen and the deputies from the Shigatse
Dzong urged me that same day to start without delay, I was able to reply
that it could not possibly be done till ten days later, for it would
take so long to receive an answer from Lhasa.

Our position was still like an imprisonment, though everything was done
to get rid of us. On March 4 I was in Tashi-lunpo for the last time. Now
I was excluded from the monastery, for I had been expressly requested
to cease my visits for fear of the suspicion of the Chinese. I promised,
but on condition that I should first be permitted to see the Ngakang,
where the vestments and masks are stored. When this was declared
impossible, we at last came to an agreement that some vestments, masks,
and instruments should be brought to my garden, where I should have an
opportunity of sketching them. The objects were brought at night, and
while I drew them in the daytime, a watch was kept round the house so
that the lamas need not fear being caught. So we came to March 10, when
Tashi arrived with my last 13 yaks, which were so worn out that they
were handed over to a dealer at a nominal price.

[Illustration: 165. WANDERING NUN WITH A TANKA DEPICTING A RELIGIOUS
LEGEND AND SINGING THE EXPLANATION. (In our Garden in Shigatse.)]

[Illustration: 166. GANDÄN-CHÖ-DING-GOMPA, A NUNNERY IN YE.]

Under March 12 the following entry appears in my diary: "In this holy
land the spring is heralded in by kettle-drums and trumpets shriller
than any that are sounded at dawn from the temple roofs, and summon the
lamas to their first tea. Storms, dark masses of cloud, and dust
whirling along the ground, and hiding all the environs except the Dzong
fort, which peeps through dust-mist like a dismal phantom ship. The
temperature rises, and in the day is several degrees above
freezing-point, but there is no other sign of spring. It will come
sometime or other, if it is now turning in bed and trying to rub the
winter sleep out of its frozen eyes. To-day raged one of the most
violent storms we have experienced. The bells of the monastery rang like
storm bells, but their sound did not reach us amid the howling of the
tempest. The kitchen has been removed into the house, no one is seen on
the courtyard, and there is a cracking and whistling among the poplars.
Now and then are heard the bells of a courier's horse which canters by
the outer wall, and perhaps brings new instructions regarding me. Ma
makes no sign, Lobsang Tsering has disappeared, and Tsaktserkan comes
only when I send to ask him. We are more and more isolated, no one dares
associate with us. Our position is exciting and even interesting. It is
evident that we must leave Shigatse, but by which route? I have already
told them that I will not go through Gyangtse or Khatmandu (capital
of Nepal), as Ma proposed to me, and to equip here a caravan for the
Chang-tang is out of the question. I have only one goal, the north of
the Tsangpo, where most important discoveries await me. At the moment we
are on the point of leaving Shigatse we find ourselves for the first
time actually prisoners; as long as we remain here we have at any rate
freedom within our own walls. And as long as I am in Tibet, I am _tabu_
to the English, but as soon as I cross the British frontier I am done
for. I cannot go to Eastern Turkestan, for the Chinese Government has,
as I hear from Gaw, cancelled my passport, because it has been used for
another country. To travel direct to China with Ladakis will also not
do. But if I am compelled to make for Sikkim, I must dismiss the Ladakis
and travel alone to Pekin to explain the affair to the mandarins."

On March 15 the two gentlemen from Lhasa came to me again. They had been
to Gyangtse, and had received orders from Gaw to watch all my movements
carefully. Again they wished to know the day of my departure, and I
replied that I could come to no decision until I knew by what road I
should travel. If it were to the Chang-tang, they might count on a long
delay, and might meanwhile buy a house and marry at their leisure. They
now complained themselves of the increased power of the Chinese in
Tibet, and gave their opinion that only the unrest arising from the new
strict régime in Lhasa had rendered it possible for me to travel across
Tibet unnoticed.

In this they were probably quite right. The blunder of the Dalai Lama
and the unexpected change of front on the part of the English had given
the Chinese an opportunity of establishing their supremacy over Tibet
more securely than they had been able to do since the days of Kang Hi
and Kien Lung in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Of the
prestige of England I could not perceive a shadow, and I heard that the
Tashi Lama regretted his journey to India. Perhaps it was prudent of the
Liberal Government in London to give up Chumbi, and by barring the
frontier to exclude all possibility of boundary disputes and friction on
the Indian side; for in our times the old Asia is beginning to waken
out of its deep sleep, and the Great Powers of Europe which have
interests there should rather seek to retain what they already possess
than endeavour to make fresh acquisitions. At any rate the Chinese
statesmen exhibited on this occasion admirable prudence and vigilance,
and gathered in all that the English gave up. If ever the Dalai Lama
returns safely to Lhasa, he must content himself with the reverence
accorded to him in the Potala as an incarnation, and he will not be
allowed to have anything further to do with political affairs. The
country of Tibet will doubtless in the future be closed as strictly as
hitherto; for the supremacy over Tibet is a political question of the
first importance to China, not only because Tibet is, as it were, a huge
fortress with ramparts, walls, and ditches protecting China, but also on
account of the great spiritual influence which the two popes exercise
over all Mongolians. As long as China has the Dalai Lama in its power,
it can keep the Mongols in check, while in other circumstances the Dalai
Lama could stir them up to insurrection against China. And Mongolia is
also the buffer state between China and Russia.

On March 19 our prospects grew bright at last. Ma had had a meeting with
the two Lhasa gentlemen and the authorities of the Shigatse Dzong. The
last came to me and begged me to inform them whither I meant to travel.
I answered: "Along the Raga-tsangpo to its source."

The gentlemen who had held the meeting, had meanwhile apparently come to
the decision of taking the responsibility on themselves of the
consequences of my journey to the west. But they firmly insisted that I
must take exactly the same route back to Yeshung by which I had come,
that is, through Tanak and Rungma, or they would get into trouble.

When it was thus settled that we were not to go to Gyangtse, I sent
Muhamed Isa to Major O'Connor with all the maps, drawings, and the
results hitherto acquired; the whole despatch afterwards reached Colonel
Dunlop Smith in Calcutta in good condition. We had 3000 rupees more in
gold exchanged for silver money, and I wrote a letter of farewell to my
good friend O'Connor, and likewise to my numerous friends in India. I
also wrote home, as usual, in the form of a complete journal.

On the 20th Ma came through our gate, triumphantly waving a letter with
a large red seal, and called out from a distance: "From the Tang Darin."
The letter was dated on March 15 at Lhasa, and I reproduce it here as a
specimen of Chinese diplomatic correspondence:

  DEAR DR. SVEN HEDIN--I was much pleased to receive your letter of the
  5th instant, and to hear that you are come to Shigatse in order to
  investigate the geography of the unknown parts of this country. I know
  that you are one of the famous geographers of Europe, that you move
  about here without meddling in the affairs of Tibet, political or
  otherwise, and carry out only geographical work.

  I have a great respect for you as a man of science, who seriously
  advances the progress of earth knowledge. I always value such men most
  highly and show them the greatest reverence.

  But, to my great regret, I must inform you that the last treaty
  between China and Great Britain contains a paragraph declaring that no
  stranger, whether he be an Englishman or Russian, an American or
  European, has any right to visit Tibet, the three market-towns,
  Gyangtse, Yatung, and Gartok, excepted. You are, then, not the only
  one to whom the country is closed.

  I shall be glad, then, if you will return the same way you came, and
  you will thereby put me under a very great obligation.

  China and Sweden are really friendly Powers, and both peoples are true
  brothers.

  I hope you will not judge me harshly, for I am bound by the treaty not
  to suffer you to travel further.

  I have issued orders to the Chinese and native authorities along your
  route to afford you all the facilities in their power.

  Wishing you a successful journey, I am, yours truly,

    CHANG YIN TANG.

The letter leaves nothing to be desired as far as obliging amiability is
concerned, but its contents are diplomatically obscure. Chinese and
native authorities in the Chang-tang, where we had not seen a living
soul for eighty-one consecutive days! Like Gaw, he falls back on the
treaty signed by Great Britain to close the most interesting country in
the world to exploration.

Ma knew the contents of the letter, and asked if it were still my
determination to follow the Raga-tsangpo upwards. If so, the route was
open to me. I answered in the affirmative, without showing any sign of
my satisfaction, for this road was not sanctioned by Tang's letter. Now
some of the gentlemen of the Dzong had to look after the procuring of
provisions--all by Tang's orders.

All of a sudden the authorities of Shigatse became very polite, and
showered down visits on me, after they found that I was in the good
books of the most powerful man in Tibet in temporal affairs. Six sacks
of _tsamba_, a sack of rice, and twelve cubes of brick tea were brought
to my courtyard, and exact information was asked for as to the points I
intended to touch on beyond the mouth of the Raga-tsangpo. However, I
did not satisfy them, but said that not a single name up there was known
to me. I thought to myself that it was most prudent not to excite
suspicion by too many details; the farther we got away from the central
authorities the greater prospect we had of being left alone. They
inquired how many horses we wanted, and I at once said 65, so as to be
well provided; they went away very quietly, as though they thought that
this was a very large number.

[Illustration: 167. DUKE KUNG GUSHUK, BROTHER OF THE TASHI LAMA.]

On March 24 Muhamed Isa came back with the silver money, more letters,
and all kinds of articles which Major O'Connor, with his usual kindness,
had procured for me. In the afternoon a great council was held: Ma, the
two Lhasa gentlemen, the whole Shigatse Dzong, and Tsaktserkan--in all,
nearly 20 officials, about 100 servants, Chinese soldiers, and
newsmongers; so that the whole court was filled. The new passport was
solemnly read to me. Therein the places were mentioned through which I
might pass: the Raga-tsangpo, then Saka-dzong, Tradum, Tuksum, Gartok,
Demchok, and the Ladak frontier. I must not stop at any point, must make
long day's marches, and travel straight along the valleys of the
Brahmaputra and the Indus. I considered it useless to make any
objections to the regulations; not a word was said of the country north
of the Tsangpo, where I suspected the existence of the great mountain
system. But I thought that we might contrive ourselves in some way or
other an excursion thither, and resolved to give them plenty of trouble
before they got rid of me. Two Chinamen, an official of the Labrang
and one from the Shigatse Dzong, were to accompany me for the first part
of the journey, and then be relieved by four others. The escort was
introduced to me. The gentlemen insisted that we should start next day,
but I declared that we required two days more to complete our
preparations. All the provisions they had hurriedly collected were
weighed in their presence, and paid for by me.

The brown puppy arranged for the morning of the 25th an interlude which
certainly was not unexpected. Inspired by uncivilized ideas about the
sanctity of my tent, the bitch had not ventured in for a long time, but
now, just as I sat writing my last letter, she came and scratched a hole
with her fore-paws in a corner of my tent, whined uneasily, laid her
head on my knee, and looked very unhappy, as though she wished me to
understand how helpless she felt. Before I was aware two very small
puppies lay squeaking at my feet. While the young mother was licking her
first-born with great tenderness, Muhamed Isa made a soft lair for the
family. Puppy had scarcely taken her place on it when two more puppies
made their entrance into this queer world. Then she probably thought
that this was enough, for after a good meal of meat and a bowl of milk
she rolled herself up with her well-tended young ones and went to sleep.
The new puppies were black as coal and small as rats. I bought a basket
for them to travel in until they could follow on foot the caravan in
which they were born, and become good caravan dogs. We had tried here,
too, in vain to get some good dogs, for our vagabonds from the
Ngangtse-tso were good watch-dogs but unpleasant companions. Now we had
suddenly a whole pack, and it would be an amusement to us to watch their
development. Whatever might be our future fate, we could not reach Ladak
in less than half a year, and by that time the puppies would have grown
big and comical. Henceforth Puppy was allowed to live in my tent, and we
became the best friends in the world, for I was as anxious and careful
about the young ones as she. But she would not allow any one to approach
who had no business here; scarcely half an hour after the catastrophe
she dashed at two boys who were loitering about the court. There was a
dreadful whining in the corner of the tent, but both the mother and
young ones were as well as could be expected under the circumstances, as
it is expressed in society bulletins.

In the meantime there was a very busy commotion in our courtyard. The
heavy baggage was packed; rice and _tsamba_ for the men, and barley for
the horses, sewed up in bags accurately weighed; Chinese macaroni,
cabbages, onions, fine wheaten flour, spices, potatoes, and as many eggs
as we could get, were brought in from the market. The books, which I had
received from O'Connor, filled a box to themselves, and would be thrown
away, one after another, as soon as they had been read. When all had
been packed up, my tent looked very bare.

On March 26, our last day in Shigatse, the packing was finished and Ma
Chi Fu, a young official in Chumbi, came from Lhasa, bringing me
greetings from Their Excellencies. He was a Dungan (Mohammedan), spoke
gently and politely, and was one of the noblest, most refined, and
sympathetic Chinamen whom I have known. He was also exceptionally
handsome, had large bright eyes, which had scarcely any characteristics
of his race, and pure Aryan features, and wore a valuable silken cloak.
He regretted that he had had no opportunity of showing me hospitality,
and begged me to believe that the escort would be only a guard; it was
only to watch over our safety, and had orders to serve us to the best of
its ability. Ma Chi Fu brought a kind letter from Lien Darin, the Amban
of Lhasa, in which he wrote:

  I knew that you were a learned geographer from Sweden. I am sorry that
  in consequence of the treaty I am not now able to make better
  arrangements for you in Tibet, but you are a wise man, and will
  therefore understand the difficulty in which I find myself much
  against my will.

In all my personal contact and correspondence with the Chinese they
always showed me the greatest kindness and consideration. They were the
masters of the country, and I had no right to travel about in Tibet, yet
they never made use of hard words, much less of the means of actual
compulsion that were at their command, but carried their hospitality as
far as was consistent with loyalty to their own country. Therefore I
retain the most agreeable memories of this and all my former travels.

In the evening I bade farewell to good old Ma, gave him three useless
horses, which would, however, recover with good treatment, and thanked
him for all his kindness to me. He expressed a hope that we might meet
once more in this life. All who had been of service to us received
considerable presents of money, and Kung Gushuk demanded 45 rupees as
rent for his garden. I would have gladly given him several times the sum
for the memorable days I had spent under the slender poplars, when the
soughing of the spring winds roused me out of sleep.

CHAPTER XXXII

TARTING-GOMPA AND TASHI-GEMBE

I was awaked early on March 27. I mounted my horse, accompanied by
Robert, Muhamed Isa, and three men of the escort, while the fourth had
gone on with the caravan. Muhamed Isa conveyed my hearty greetings to
the Tashi Lama, and my wishes that the course of his life might run as
smoothly and happily as heretofore. Meanwhile, I paid a short return
visit to Ma Chi Fu, and had not yet left him when my excellent caravan
leader returned with the kindest greetings from the Tashi Lama and a
large silken _kadakh_, which I keep as a souvenir with the image he
presented to me. Then we rode in close order through the forbidden
streets for the last time, and the golden temple roofs disappeared
behind us. So, farewell for ever, grand, lovable, divine Tashi Lama!

[Illustration: 168. THE LITTLE BROTHER OF THE TASHI LAMA, THE WIFE OF
KUNG GUSHUK, AND HER FIVE SERVANTS.]

When we left the side valley of the Nyang-chu and came out into the
Tsangpo valley, we were exposed to the storm coming from the west and
covering all the country with a thick cloud of dust. The long white
foaming waves of the river rose so high that the farther bank was
invisible. The horses were restless and would not go into the skin boat,
but at last we brought them all safely over. I now rode a rather large
brown horse which I had bought in Shigatse. My small white Ladaki was
still in good condition, but he was exempt from work. Only three
veterans from Leh remained, two horses and a mule. Robert rode one of
the horses from the Ngangtse-tso, and Muhamed Isa a large white horse
from Shigatse, where we had also bought two mules; the baggage was
transported on hired horses and asses. The caravan had encamped in
the village of Sadung on the north bank of the Tsangpo. Ishe had carried
the four puppies in his dress on his breast, and had led Puppy with a
string, that the young ones might be suckled on the way.

Next morning we awoke in beautiful weather. Eastwards were seen a series
of brown mountain ridges with shading growing lighter and lighter as
they dipped to the river, which stood out in still brighter colouring.
The dwellers on the bank here called the Brahmaputra Tamchok-kamba, and
said that it would fall for two months more, and would then rise till it
attained its maximum at the end of July. Then it floods most of the
valley bottom, and rolls majestically down, while all around assumes a
fresher hue in the calm air of summer. At the end of September the level
of the water becomes lower, and the river freezes only in cold winters.

We again retire from the holy districts, and ride through villages
standing at the mouths of side valleys, past granitic promontories of
the northern mountains, over fields and dunes, and camp, as before, in
the garden of the Tashi Lama in Tanak. The four gentlemen that accompany
us have brought their servants with them, and provide their own shelter,
horses, and food. They have received on setting out a certain sum for
this purpose, but for all that live at the expense of the villagers, eat
and lodge free of cost, and order fresh horses for every day's march
without paying any hire. They keep their travelling money intact in
their pockets, and are therefore well pleased with their commission.

Both on the 28th and on the 29th, when we bivouacked in Rungma, we had
violent storms from noon onwards, which blew in our faces. Nothing could
be seen of the surroundings, and frequently I could not perceive the man
just in front of me. We were pestered with sand, which grated under our
teeth, irritated our backs, and made our eyes smart. Where the valley
was contracted, the compressed wind blew with double strength, and the
sand-clouds rolled in a greyish-yellow mass along the Brahmaputra
valley.

We went on the 30th on to Karu in brilliant weather, still along the
Tsangpo, which, green and free from ice, gently lapped against the
southern foot of the mountains. Occasionally a boat glided downstream.
The wild ducks on the shore are very tame, for no one is allowed to kill
them, and, indeed, no one wishes to do so. Only a slight local traffic
is noticeable. We miss the pilgrims we saw on the journey down; they are
now at home again. We leave on the right the small convent Chuding with
its nine nuns. On the steep mountain flanks are rocky paths used during
high water, for the road we follow is quite covered in summer when the
river is 5 feet higher.

In Karu wheat, barley, peas, and radishes are cultivated. We had made a
short march, and I had ample time to interrogate the wise men of the
village about the geography of the country, the means of communication,
the climate, the habits of the river, and the directions of the wind;
but I have no room for such particulars in this book. I would rather,
instead, introduce our escort to the reader. Vang Yi Tyn is a Dungan,
born in Shigatse; Tso Tin Pang has a Chinese father and a Tibetan
mother, has his home in Shigatse, holds the Lamaistic faith, and murmurs
prayers on the way; Lava Tashi and Shidar Pintso are pure Tibetans. All
four are friendly and ready to help, and tell me in confidence that they
mean to do their very best, that I may be pleased with them and give
them good testimonials.

The last day of the month of March is marked in my journal with an
asterisk. While the caravan marched straight towards Ye, the rest of us
rode up a side valley, at the mouth of which lies the village
Tarting-choro, surrounded by fields and willow trees. A small well-kept
_mani-ringmo_ is covered with stones polished by the river, in which the
usual formula is not incised, but another in red and blue characters,
namely, "Om mati moyi sale do." The figure [symbol: swastika] is many
times repeated, and indicates a connection with the Pembo sect, while
the figure [symbol: swastika] is a mark of the orthodox yellow-caps.

[Illustration: 169. THE LITTLE BROTHER OF HIS HOLINESS WITH A SERVANT.]

Farther up lies another village, having a _chhorten_ with a gilded
turret in a copse of old trees. A red house is the _lhakang_ (God's
House) of Tarting-gompa, and behind stands the house of the Grand Lama,
picturesque and unique, built in the usual cubical style, with white
steps and flat roof. Above it Tarting-gompa is throned on its hill like
Chimre or Tikze in Ladak (Illustrations 173, 174, 178).

We enter the court of the _lhakang_ with its red walls; on two sides a
roof is supported by posts, a shed for the riding horses, pack-mules,
men and women who carry firewood and goods--a cloister and a
caravanserai at the same time, where labour finds harbourage under the
protection of religion--and over it waves a long flag from a _tarchen_,
a mast standing in the midst of the court. The convent dog is chained
up. The gate has an unusually high threshold; on the side walls of the
entrance a tiger is painted in fresh colours. We now enter the
_lhakang_, and I must confess that I started with surprise in the
portal, for we had seen many halls of the gods in Tashi-lunpo, but never
yet one so large, ancient and so wonderfully fascinating in its
mysterious light.

What rich and subdued colouring! The Sego-chummo-lhakang, as it is
called, is like a crypt, a fairy grotto, recalling to mind the rock
temples of Elephanta; but here all is of red-painted wood, and 48
pillars support the roof. The capitals are green and gold, carved in
intricate and tasteful designs, and carved lions, arabesques, and
tendrils adorn the projecting beams of the ceiling. The floor consists
of stone flags, their cracks filled up with the dust of centuries, so
that it is smooth and even as asphalt. The daylight falls into the hall
through a square impluvium, spanned by a network of chains. There stands
the throne of the Tashi Lama, who visited the convent two years ago, and
is expected again in two years, and opposite is a pyramidal stand, which
is hung with lamps at certain festivals. A lama sits all day long at a
tall prayer-cylinder (_korlo_ or _mankor_) about 6 feet high, with a
pile of loose leaves a foot high in front of him, which he turns over
rapidly, and gabbles their contents so quickly that one wonders how his
tongue can move so fast. Frequently he beats a drum, then he clashes
cymbals, or turns the prayer-cylinder in the heterodox direction
(Illustrations 179, 254).

In another saloon, beside this, repose Grand Lamas of the Pembo sect,
high priests of Tarting-gompa. We find here the same four-sided passage
as round the sepulchres of Tashi-lunpo. But as I was going, as usual,
from right to left, lamas hurried up to stop me. The monuments are like
_chhorten_, and are covered with gold plaques and precious stones.
Twelve statues of deceased high priests have behind them huge gilded
halos, richly carved with carefully executed detail. Beside Shen Nime
Kudun's monument lie two black smoothly-polished round blocks,
apparently of porphyry or diabase. On one of them is seen the impression
of the foot of the above-named Grand Lama. On the edge of the other are
four impressions, his four fingers, just as though the flat hand with
the fingers a little expanded had been pressed against a piece of hard
butter. One can try it with one's own hand; the fingers fit in exactly,
and the hollows are about 3/4 inch deep. It is well and naturally
executed--_pia fraus!_

"When was the monastery founded?" I asked.

"That was so long ago that no one now living knows."

"Who founded it, then?"

"Gunchen Ishe Loto, long before Tsong Kapa's time."

The lamas spend all their lives in the convents, but have no idea how
old these are.

Then we ascend to the top of the hill, where several convent buildings
stand, and are received by a whole pack of vicious dogs. The chief
temple hall, Dokang-chummo, is built on the same plan as the one below,
and has numerous images, some of which are covered with strips and
silver cases. We are led from one sanctuary to another, and are
astonished at the extremely finely-executed frescoes that cover the
walls. A temple in an elevated situation is surrounded by an uncovered
passage with balustrades and prayer mills. A grand panorama of wild
fissured mountains extends all round.

[Illustration: 170. THE AUTHOR DRAWING THE DUCHESS KUNG GUSHUK.]

We had heard that the evening before our arrival an octogenarian lama
had died, and I begged to be allowed to see his cell. But the excuse was
made that some monks were reciting the prayers for the dead, and must
not be disturbed. However, the house of the deceased was pointed out
to us, and we went and knocked at the door of the courtyard. After a
long wait a man came and opened it. Half of the small court was occupied
by a black tent, where two men and a woman were cutting chips of wood 2
feet long, on which prayers and holy texts would be written, and then
they would be used to kindle the funeral pyre of the deceased. One was
drawing religious symbols and circles on a large paper, which would also
be burned. We mounted a short staircase and came to a narrow open
verandah before a store-shed with leathern chests containing the
clothing of the deceased, and a compartment where his servant lived, who
was now engaged in printing prayers in red, on white paper, with a
wooden stamp; 700 such strips of paper are burned with the body, and the
prayers follow the soul through the unknown realms of space.

From here we reach his cell, which is little more than double the size
of my tent. There sit two old monks, with their backs against the
trellised window. Books containing the prayers for the dead lie on a
table before them. Two others sit on the floor in the middle of the
room. All four must pray thrice twenty-four hours, day and night, for
the soul of the deceased. The cell has a pillar, and is full of idols,
holy vessels, banners, and books--a small museum. I asked if I might buy
any of the things, but was told that they must all be handed over to the
monastery.

The divan bed, partly draped with red hangings, stood against the
shorter wall, the head to the window. Here sat the body, bent very much
forward and with the legs crossed, and the back to the light. It was
dressed in coloured garments with shoes on the feet, a thin _kadakh_
over the face, and a head-covering of red and blue stuff somewhat like a
crown. Before it on the bed stood a stool with images, bowls, and two
burning candles.

The body is not consumed in this dress. A white frock is put on, and a
square cloth is spread over the knees, on which a large circle and other
symbols are drawn. A crown (_vangsha_) of paper is set on the head, a
square brimless hat, on which a button is fixed within eight broad
teeth; it resembles an imperial crown. Thus attired the body, in a
sitting position, is burned in the hollow of the valley below the
temple. A lama carries the ashes to Kang-rinpoche (Kailas), where they
are deposited in a holy _chhorten_.

At the age of five years this Yundung Sulting was consigned by his
parents in the year 1832 to the care of the confraternity of
Tarting-gompa, and his convent name was thenceforth Namgang Rinpoche.
He, too, was an incarnation, and stood in high repute for his holiness,
wisdom, and learning. On account of these merits he was burned, while
the other monks in Tarting are cut in pieces. His sister and only
relation, an old wrinkled woman, was present. The watchers of the dead
were just in the act of eating their dinner, which was placed on a
stool--cold dried meat, _tsamba_, and _chang_ (beer). They were shy and
astonished, had never seen a European, and did not know whether they
should answer my questions as I sat by them on the floor and took notes.
I noticed, however, that they were less concerned for themselves than
for the deceased. Twenty-four hours out of the prescribed seventy-two
had passed when I came to interrupt the masses for the dead, and to
disturb the soul which was nearly set free. But Namgang Rinpoche sat
still, meditating over the endless enigmatical perspective that the
formula "Om mati moyi sale do" opened out to him; and as long as I
remained in his cell, no awful wonders and signs were seen.

[Illustration: [Signature]

  171. MAJOR W. F. O'CONNOR, BRITISH TRADE AGENT IN GYANGTSE, NOW CONSUL
  IN SEISTAN.]

[Illustration: [Signature]

  172. CAPTAIN C. G. RAWLING.]

For my part, I thought of the singular fate of the man whose life had
come to an end the day before. As a novice he had left for ever in
childhood the free existence among the black tents and grazing herds,
said farewell to the world and its vanities, and was received into a
community of monks, of whom none now remained alive. He saw his elders
die one after another, the young ones grow up to manhood, and new
recruits come in. They wandered for a season through the temple halls,
lighted the candles, and filled the water-bowls before the statues of
the gods, and then passed on to other scenes on the endless road to
Nirvana. Seventy-five years he had been an inmate of the monastery, and
had lived in the cell in which his body now lay. How many soles must
he have worn out on the same stone floor! For seventy-five years he had
searched the holy scriptures and had pondered over an easier existence
beyond the funeral pyre; for seventy-five years he had seen the westerly
storms driving the sand along the Brahmaputra valley. Only yesterday, at
the point of expiring, he had listened to the sound of the temple bells,
which, with their clappers bound with large falcon's feathers, had rung
in his passage to the world beyond. And then with tottering steps he had
followed the uncertain track of the brethren who had passed away before
him.

Such a life seems hopelessly sad and gloomy. And yet a man who will
venture to shut himself day and night within the walls of a dim convent
must possess faith, conviction, and patience, for it is a prison which
he in the tumult of his mind has chosen of his own free will. He has
renounced the world when he allows himself to be walled in alive in the
dark courts of Tarting; and when the smoke of his pyre ascends, it must,
if equal justice be meted out to all, be a pleasant savour before the
eternal throne.

But evening was coming on, and we must set out again. Below in a field a
woman was ploughing with two oxen. She was singing loudly and cheerily
to lighten her work. We rode on between low mountains, leaving
Tanka-gompa on our left. When we came down to the plain the darkness was
impenetrable, being made denser by thick clouds. A violent north wind
arose, bringing cold air from the Chang-tang. At length we caught sight
of comet tails of shooting sparks--our camp-fire in the Ye, where we had
halted for a night's rest two months before.

We remained two days in the Ye or Yeshung, and here took some liberties
which were not in accordance with the terms of our passport, but the
escort made no protest. On the first day we rode to Tugden-gompa, a row
of cubical, two-storeyed houses painted dark greyish-blue with vertical
white and red stripes. The monastery is said to be of the same colour as
the famous Sekiya, south-west of Tashi-lunpo, and also belongs to the
sect which allows lamas to marry under certain conditions. The convent
has thirty monks, and is directly under the Labrang (Tashi-lunpo). I
will not enter into a full description, but will only say that the
_tsokang_, the assembly saloon and reading-room of the lamas, had four
red pillars, divans in the nave, and handsome banners on the walls of
the side aisles, which were painted on Chinese silk, some with dragons
on the lower border, some without. The statues for the most part
represent monks of high rank (Lama-kunchuk, _i.e._ divine lamas or
incarnations). Before the portal stands a huge bundle of rods with
streamers in all the colours of the rainbow, which are already torn by
the wind. In an upper hall is enthroned a figure of Hlobun-Lama, a
regular bishop, with mitre, cassock, and crozier. Some of these statues
are very comical--fat, jolly old boys with a divinely gentle smile on
their rosy lips, wide-opened eyes, and chubby cheeks, sometimes with
moustaches and imperials. The likeness is probably more than doubtful,
but at any rate they are very unlike one another. Most of them are
wrapped in silken mantles. The Labrang here was closed, for the head
lama of Tugden was gone to the tent of a dying nomad to the north. We
visited a monk's cell instead. It had a yard, a stall for the monk's
horse, a small dark closet for a kitchen, where a cat kept company with
two pots, and a large lumber-room crammed with clothes, rags, images of
Buddha, books, and tools, in which a novice, the pupil of the monk,
lodged.

Immediately to the south-east of Tugden a small poor nunnery,
Ganden-chöding, lies buried among hills. The _dukang_, a dark crypt with
red pillars and neatly carved capitals, is reached through an
unpretending portal in the middle of the façade. Beggarly offerings,
scraps of iron and other rubbish, are hung on nails driven into the
pillars. The _serku-lhakang_, the holy of holies, receives its light
from the larger hall, and as this is dark, it must be pitch dark in the
inner shrine. The statues of Chenresi (Avalokiteswara) and of the
Tsepagmed (Amitayus) can only be seen with a lamp.

[Illustration: 173, 174. TARTING-GOMPA.]

[Illustration: 175. LINGA-GOMPA.]

[Illustration: 176. LUNG-GANDEN-GOMPA NEAR TONG.]

[Illustration: 177. INSCRIPTION AND FIGURE OF BUDDHA CARVED IN GRANITE
NEAR THE VILLAGE OF LINGÖ.

  Sketches by the Author.]

The sixteen nuns of the convent are under the control of Tashi-lunpo,
and the Tashi Lama provides them with tea once a day; the rest of their
food they must beg in the houses and tents, so that some of them are
always on the road. Now there were only five sisters at home, all
dirty, with short hair, and poorly clad. Two were young and shy, the
others were old wrinkled women with silvery-grey bristles, and in
clothes which had been red once, but were now black with dirt, partly
soot from the kitchen--a miserable hole, where they spend most of the
day. I asked them whether they had attended the festival in Tashi-lunpo,
but they replied that their means would not allow them except when a
charitable person gave them travelling money. I always left a few rupees
in the convents I visited, and the inmates were never too holy to take
the valuable metal from the hands of an unbeliever.

The whole broad valley at Ye is begirt by a circle of monasteries. Our
Chinamen had given notice of my visit on April 2 to Tashi-gembe, a large
convent of 200 monks, who belong to the same colour as the monks of
Tashi-lunpo. We had an hour's ride to this town of white sanctuaries,
which are erected at the foot of a mountain spur. About 100 brethren
gave me a civil greeting at the entrance, and led me to the paved court
of ceremonies, which has the same appearance as the one in Tashi-lunpo,
is surrounded by pillared galleries, has numerous pictures of Buddha
painted in fresco on the walls, and a throne for the Tashi Lama, who
celebrates a mass here once a year. By a staircase of wood and stone,
between two pillars of the entrance hall, where the four spiritual kings
keep watch on the walls, we enter into a _dukang_, with the usual
pillars and divans. On two of these pillars hang complete suits of
armour with shirts of mail, casques and tasses of iron scales fastened
together with iron rings, maces, spears, tridents, and lances; on one of
these lances hangs a white pennant with a brown border; on the pennant
are written characters, and on the point of the lance a skull is placed.
Among the harness _tankas_ are suspended, which, surrounded by silken
cloths, look like escutcheons. Amid this harness and weapons, which are
worn by divine powers when contending with devils, one may fancy oneself
suddenly transplanted into an ancient Asiatic castle.

A gallery runs round three sides, and standards and banners hang down
from it, all in fresh colours, tasteful and handsome. In the middle of
the altar rank is enthroned Sakya-tubpa, the Buddha, and before the
statues stands a row of polished brass bowls with lights which, mingling
with the daylight, cast a magic gleam over the dusky hall. Some are
filled with crystal-clear water, the nectar of the gods.

On one of the longer sides the folios of the Kanjur, the collection of
canonical books contained in 108 volumes, as many as the beads in a
rosary, are arranged in pigeon-holes. The Tanjur, the other collection,
consists of 235 folios--a caravan of about 150 horses would be necessary
to carry the two bibles of the Tibetans. Only rich monasteries are able
to keep both. The thought that no one but themselves has waded through
these endless scriptures must inspire a feeling of security in the
monks. A layman is unable to confound a monk; he has never had an
opportunity of dipping deeply into these everlasting truths.

Above the idols and the altar runs a frieze of small Buddha images
forming, perhaps unintentionally, a highly decorative element of the
internal architecture of the hall.

Beside it lies the Kasang-lhakang, a temple with sixteen pillars and a
statue of the Sakya-tubpa. The hall is well lighted with skylights, and
abounds in gold and valuables, climbing flowers, sacred trees, and
lacquered shrines inlaid with gold. Here, too, are holy writings with
unusually elegant margins; an embroidered silk cover is laid over each
volume. A copper gong is sounded whenever fresh water is poured into the
votive bowls.

The Tsokang is a more elevated hall, which is draped with black hangings
striped white at the bottom.

Monks were sitting in a small open space with a quantity of small
articles before them; it was an auction, at which the worldly goods of a
departed brother were being sold. I acquired some wooden blocks with
which the holy scriptures are printed by hand.

[Illustration: 178. TARTING-GOMPA.]

[Illustration: 179. SEGO-CHUMMO LHAKANG IN TARTING-GOMPA.

  Sketch by the Author.]

In the Ganden-lhakang we see two _chhortens_ of gold and precious
stones. In one of them are preserved relics of a Grand Lama, some of his
blood, his bones, and his intestines. In a room situated beside this
hall we saw with surprise six curious figures of cast iron, representing
Europeans in the dress of the thirties of the nineteenth century,
with tall chimney-pot hats, stiff folded neck-cloths, upstanding
collars, and dress coats with high collars, whiskers, and moustaches.
They had come from Pekin, and were quite out of place here before the
tasteful group of Buddhas, which was set up in a red lacquered niche,
where climbing plants, dragons, and small figures like Cupids or angels
were beautifully carved.

The Mankang-lhakang has figures of the higher gods on the walls, and in
the middle a prayer cylinder rises from the floor up to the ceiling, 11½
feet high, and of such circumference that I laid my outstretched arms
four times round it, measuring from finger-tips to finger-tips. Its red
surface is covered with gigantic golden characters, and round the middle
of the cylinder dances a string of goddesses. A smaller hall of the same
kind is called Mankang-chang. On the upper edge of its prayer cylinder
is a peg which, as the cylinder revolves, strikes against the clapper of
a bell. An old lama sat before it and kept the cylinder in constant
motion by means of a string attached to a crank on the iron axle. It is
the duty of himself and another monk to keep this monstrosity humming
all the day and half the night, or from sunrise to midnight. As he sat
turning, he said his prayers, but he did not murmur them in the usual
way. No, he bellowed, he howled out inarticulate sounds, so that he
foamed at the mouth, perspired, and groaned, throwing himself violently
back at each revolution, and then bending forward again. He was, so I
was told, in a religious ecstasy, and did not hear, however loudly one
shouted to him. I should prefer the oar of a galley slave to this
monster, which cripples any capacity of thinking freely in the darkness
of the crypt, where only musty dumb gods can be witnesses of its
rotations. I looked at my watch; the bell sounded nine times in a
minute, so that the machine makes 10,000 revolutions before the midnight
hour comes to release the weary monk.

We passed the whole day in the wonderful monastery Tashi-gembe, which,
after Tashi-lunpo, is the richest and finest I have seen in Tibet. As to
cleanliness and good taste, it surpasses all. The temple halls were
well lighted by numerous windows, the mid-day sun shone in between the
pillars and produced a bewitching play of light and shade, and revealed
a charming arrangement of colours between red and gold. Some monks sat
on a divan and conversed with our companions; they made a clear and
effective picture in the sunlight, red on a red background. Others
leaned against the pillars, solemn as Roman senators in their togas, in
a flood of sunshine, while a dense group of their brethren was dimly
seen under the shadows of the gallery. And where the sunbeams played on
the gold of Buddha's robe and broke on the leaves of the golden
lotus-flower, out of which he rises, reflexions were scattered through
the fairy hall, and the pillars shone like transparent rubies. We were
dazzled by these effects of light, and might have been transplanted to
the halls of the gnomes.

In contrast to all this wealth, an old blind man of eighty sat at a
street-corner with a staff in each hand, and sang a beggar's ditty.
Beside him lay a half-starved dog, his only friend in this world. The
pitying love of Sakya-muni did not extend so far as to release this old
man from the bonds of age and suffering. He also found a place in the
picture gallery of my sketch-book, which on this memorable day received
considerable additions. As ever, I felt myself to be only a passing
pilgrim, a wanderer who had crossed the threshold of Tashi-gembe for a
few hours, and a stranger and guest in the dreary valleys of Tibet and
its mysterious enchanting temples.

The sun had set when we rode home, but the crests of the eastern
mountains still glowed as in a rain of transparent gold. In the gently
rippling water-channels the wild-geese gathered, screaming, for their
spring migration, and the shadows of evening fell over the wide fields
of Yeshung.

[Illustration: 180. BRIDGE TO THE MONASTERY PINZOLING (ON THE RIGHT).]

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE RAGA-TSANGPO AND THE MY-CHU

On April 3 we journeyed steadily along the way to the west by smiling
villages and small convents, and again we approached the bank of the
Tsangpo, at a place where a swaying rope-bridge is stretched between two
loose blocks on the banks. Here the river forms rapids, and above this
point it is only 50 yards broad, often still less, and the valley above
the Yeshung expansion is narrow and confined. From the village Pusum,
where we encamp, is seen the mountain Nayala, one of the fixed points in
Ryder's triangulation. His and Rawling's expedition travelled to the
south of the Tsangpo, and it would be two months more before I should
first come in contact with their route. The river will rise a month
longer in consequence of the melting of ice in the higher parts of its
course in the distant west.

The village Pusum lies on a steep terrace above the river. Cones of
detritus descend to the bank, and steep mountains rise on the southern
side. The valley is narrow and quite straight, so that Pinsoling, the
end of the next day's march, can be seen from Pusum; it is perched on
its rocky promontory like a castle on the Rhine. The path passes over
steep disagreeable slopes of pebbles. Only grey and red granite, with
black schist, is seen both in the solid rock and in the débris.

Almost immediately south of Chagha, a village of a couple of stone
houses in a grove of old willows, the monastery and dzong of Pinzoling
appear on the right bank. The river is narrow, and the bank full of
round granite boulders a yard in diameter, so the necessary material
for a bridge is at hand. Two huge pyramids of stone are erected on the
banks, and two smaller ones behind them. Two thick chains are stretched
between them, which pass on to the smaller pyramids, and are made fast
again to them. Between the chains a network of ropes is stretched like a
hammock, and on this narrow planks are laid; on these passengers walk,
using the chains as hand-rails. The Pinzoling bridge has not been used
for three years; any one who wants to cross to Pinzoling from Chagha
must go upstream to Ladse-dzong and make use of the ferry there. I
inquired how old the bridge was. "As old as the monastery," was the
answer. "And how old is the monastery?" A villager answered at random,
"A thousand years." Another said that this was an exaggeration, for the
monastery had been founded two hundred and fifty years ago by a lama
named Yitsyn Tara Nara. Two hundred monks belong to the monastery of
Pinzoling, but half of them had gone on their travels. An official of
the dzong, with the title of Dsabo, lived in Chagha, and examined our
passport (Illustration 180).

The river was at its lowest level, but during high-water it is said to
come up to the chains of the bridge, which seems to me improbable, for
they hang fully 6 feet above the surface of the water at their lowest
part. A channel remains open in the middle of the river even in cold
winters. Boats reach the side valley in which Shigatse lies in four to
five days, but during the summer in two or three days, for then the
river flows down with tremendous velocity. It is considered less
dangerous to travel in a high flood, for then the boats glide smoothly
over boulders and sandbanks, and it is said that a man is very seldom
drowned, or a boat's cargo lost.

Black and dark-purple mountains rise around the village, their surface
only visible in some places in strips between belts of drift-sand; they
are like tiger skins. Near a ridge to the south-west lies a large dune
as though it were attached to it.

The order of the day for April 5 was that Muhamed Isa with the hired
animals and the baggage should encamp at the point where the
Raga-tsangpo flows into the upper Brahmaputra. The rest of us rode up to
a small pass, Tsukchung-chang, on a spur of the mountains which extends
to the bank of the main river. From the summit there is a grand view
over the main valley and its stream, which meanders over gravel and sand
in two arms. Below we caught sight of mule caravans, mere specks, but
their bells filled the valley with their noise. The way runs headlong
down to the valley bottom so that we had to engage extra men to carry
the baggage, with which the horses could not clamber down the
precipitous slopes. Large dark fish swam in a stopped-up arm of the
river, and here sat Shukkur Ali with his rod. Sand-dunes ten feet high
are a common occurrence, and on the steep side, turned from the wind,
that is, the east side, pools are often formed.

To the south-west opens a large portal with shelving mountains in the
background and short side valleys, the whole forming a beautiful scene.
Through this portal the Brahmaputra comes down towards the Raga-tsangpo,
but this river is known here in its lowest course by the name Dok-chu,
while the main river is known as the Dam-chu (= Tamchok). At the
confluence no tents were to be seen, and Muhamed Isa told me afterwards
that he could not stay there as the country was quite barren. We
therefore rode up the Dok-chu valley to the village Tangna, consisting
of ten stone houses. The inhabitants cultivate peas, wheat, and barley,
but cannot count with certainty on a harvest.

I would on no account miss seeing the confluence of the two rivers, and
therefore ordered my men to descend the Dok-chu valley next day to this
point. But the escort would not hear of it. It was clearly stipulated in
the passport that we must not go backwards and forwards as we liked, but
must march straight to Ladak. At last they yielded under the condition
that the excursion should not last more than one day.

In the morning Muhamed Isa took the boat and the oars down to the river,
while ropes, stakes, axes, poles, and provisions were carried by Ladakis
down to the confluence by the way we had come the day before. On
arriving at the bank I found the boat already put together, and took my
seat in it with a Tibetan who was familiar with the river and handled
the oars as skilfully as though he had done nothing else all his life,
but he was accustomed to steer his own boat between the banks at Tangna,
and knew the channel downstream.

Our voyage through the rapids is exciting and adventurous. The fall of
the river is by no means uniform, but changes from place to place,
roaring rapids alternating with deep quiet basins. Large and small
boulders have fallen into the river from the mountain flanks and
sometimes it seems impossible to get through them. But the oarsman knows
how to steer the boat. We hear the roar of the next rapid from a
distance, and keep a sharp look-out in front. Some of our Ladakis run
along the path on the bank and warn us of serious dangers.

[Illustration: 181. GROUP OF TIBETANS IN THE VILLAGE OF TONG.]

[Illustration: 182. INHABITANTS OF THE VILLAGE OF GOVO.]

The boat rushes flying downstream. The boatman sits silent with his
teeth clenched and his feet firmly planted against the bottom, and
grasps the oars so tightly in his horny hands that the knuckles become
white. We had passed successfully several rapids and were gliding
pleasantly over a reach of smooth water, when we heard the warning roar
of the next rapids, this time louder than ever, and two Ladakis stood
shouting and gesticulating. I got up in the boat and saw that the
Dok-chu split into two arms, and that the water dashed foaming among
dark sharp-edged boulders. The place looked impassable, the intervals
between the boulders seemed much too narrow for the boat, which might
any moment have its bottom torn by treacherously hidden stones; over
some of these the water poured in bright-green hillocks, and then was
scattered into foaming spray. "I shall be glad if all goes well," I
thought, but I left the boatman to his own devices. We were soon in the
sucking current, which endures no resistance, and flew quicker and
quicker towards the two rapids. With powerful strokes the oarsman forced
the boat to enter the left branch. The Ladakis stood speechless on the
bank, and waited till we were wrecked to wade into the rapids and rescue
us. Now we dashed towards the first block, but the boatman guided his
boat into the deepest water and let it slip down a small waterfall,
after which we received a thrust from the other side. Now the channel
became broader but also shallower, and we grazed the bottom, fortunately
only with the keel and without springing a leak. The current was strong
enough to carry us away over stones and rubbish.

After a while the two arms re-unite and the river becomes smooth and
deep. The boatman has never changed countenance, and now he helps on
with the oars. We are on the north side of the valley, and just at the
bend where the river turns southwards the water rages and boils more
furiously than ever, and here the undaunted boatman declares that we can
go no farther. I hold my breath at the sight of the white foaming water
which breaks over the threshold of the fall; the boat will be carried
away in a second by the suction of the water and will be infallibly
capsized. But just at the right moment the boatman steers our nutshell
aside into a bay with a back current, and we are able to land. The
Ladakis hurry up, draw the boat ashore, and set it afloat again below
the waterfall.

Now we float pleasantly past the steep rocky walls of the southern bank,
where the depth is sometimes 5 feet, and sometimes less than a foot. I
have a pole and help to hold off the boat from the bank. Again we are
carried to the northern side of the valley and dance and rock through a
series of small lively rapids, usually quite deep enough. Now and then
we graze the bottom, but the wooden keel resists the thumps. Below a
gigantic boulder lying in the middle of the stream is a sucking
whirlpool, into which we nearly stumble, but we get past safely, and at
last arrive at the point where the Dok-chu pours its snow-fed waters
into the flood of the Brahmaputra.

The tributary here forms a delta with two branches between gravelly
banks 5 feet high. A post was driven in on the left bank of the main
arm, to which we fastened one end of a rope, with the other end I rowed
over to the right bank, where the rope was fastened to another post. The
breadth was 59 yards. Then I measured the depth at eleven points at
equal distances apart, and found that it did not exceed 3-1/3 feet. The
velocity was measured on the surface, half-way down, and at the bottom,
with Lyth's current meter. Taking the breadth and the average velocity
we arrive at the discharge, which in the two arms of the Dok-chu
amounted to 1165 cubic feet per second.

Where the two streams unite the Dok-chu is rapid and tumultuous, the
Brahmaputra slow, deep, and quiet. Its breadth was 50 yards and its
maximum depth 15.3 feet; the bed is therefore narrow and very deeply
excavated. The discharge amounted to 2966 feet in the second, or two and
a half times that of its tributary the Dok-chu.

When I had finished this work, our friends Tso Ting Pang and Lava Tashi
accompanied me on a short excursion down the main stream, and then we
landed on a promontory where our men lighted a fire and served up the
best provisions we had, namely, hard-boiled eggs, slices of cold
chicken, and milk. A cordial and mixed party, a Swede among Tibetans,
Chinamen and Ladakis, we partook of our late dinner amidst the grandest,
and most boldly sculptured landscape conceivable. While the others
smoked their pipes and sipped their greasy tea, I drew a sketch of the
mighty gate of solid granite through which the Brahmaputra rolls its
volumes of water on its way to the east, to the valley of the Dihong and
the plains of Assam. We should have liked to stay here longer, watching
how moment after moment the insatiable stream gathers in its abundant
tribute from the Dok-chu, but it was growing dark and we had a long way
to go back, so we packed up our boat and stowed it on hired horses with
the other baggage, mounted into the saddle, and rode up the valley. As
had often happened before, we were to-day overtaken by the darkness.
Rabsang went in front with a Tibetan on either side, and all three
bellowed as loud as they could. All were in excellent spirits, it was so
fresh and pleasant under the twinkling stars, and the merry singers,
accompanied by the jingle of the bells on the Chinese horses, awoke a
shrill echo in the recesses of the mountains. At a dangerous place near
a village, where the road runs above the river over a ledge built up of
stones, men came to meet us with paper lanterns, and soon after we sat
resting in our tents after a hard but very instructive day's work. Next
day we marched gently up the Dok-chu valley in a north-westerly
direction, a charmingly beautiful road, where one would like to dismount
repeatedly to enjoy conveniently the wild mountain scenery.

But now I cannot loiter; one page after another of my journal must be
turned over if I am ever to come to an end of my description of this
journey on which so many hard experiences and disagreeable adventures
awaited us.

We ride through rubbish and coarse sand, the weathering products of the
grey granite, and pass a succession of transverse valleys and several
picturesque villages. One of these, Machung, is finely situated at the
foot of steep rocks on the northern side of the valley, from which an
oval block has fallen down and stands like a gigantic egg in the sand, a
pedestal waiting for an equestrian statue. On its eastern side, smoothly
polished by wind and weather, a regular tricolour is painted, white in
the middle, red on the left and blue on the right, but neither Bonvalot
nor Dutreuil de Rhins has left this memorial behind, for no traveller
has ever been in the neighbourhood. It is the inhabitants of the village
who have made this flag, and beside the tricolour is another symbolical
painting, a white cross on a black field. Near the village some gnarled
trees are reflected in a pool. The villagers stand staring at the
corners and in the house-doors, and a man offers my servants a drink of
_chang_ from a wooden bowl. The rocks are sculptured into singular
forms; the granite is in vertical dykes and stands in perpendicular
crags in the valley. We often pass by _mani_ cists, for we are in a
country where monasteries are numerous and the whole road is adorned
with religious tokens. At every cist the road divides, for no one,
except adherents of the Pembo sect, omits to pass it on the left, the
direction in which the prayer mills revolve. On the tops of many of the
rocks are seen ruins of walls and towers, a proof that the valley in
bygone times was more densely peopled. At two places sheltered clefts in
the rock harbour some stunted juniper trees. On the northern side of the
valley the river has at some time polished the base of the granite
wall, and on the smooth surface two rock drawings have been executed.
They consist of outlines of Buddha pictures, and are very artistically
drawn. The western has two others beside it, now scarcely traceable, and
below them all kinds of ornamentation, tendrils, and designs are hewn in
the granite. We encamped just above this spot in a very picturesque and
interesting expansion of the valley at the village Lingö.