CHAPTER XVI
OUR FORTUNES ON THE WAY TO THE BOGTSANG-TSANGPO
During the preceding five days we had covered forty-two miles in a direction 33 degrees east of south, and on November 22 travelled a little farther on the same course. We are now on a great, easily recognizable road, consisting of about fifty paths running parallel to one another, which have been worn by the sheep of the salt caravans and the yaks of the gold-diggers. In the country Kebechungu, where nomads were encamped, our new friends turned back. In this part of Tibet the sharply-defined configuration of the mountains occurring farther east, where longitudinal valleys alternate with lateral ranges, does not prevail. Here one travels day after day among crowded hills of gentle outline, and small, level expanses are much less common. No lofty commanding mountain masses rise above this maze, and the eye searches in vain for the isolated, glaciated summits seen in East Tibet.
The weather had been quite calm during the season of severe cold, but when the storms returned at night, the temperature fell only to −4.7° Next day it was hard riding. We marched to the south-south-east in a strong south-west storm, and were almost suffocated in the gusts of dust-laden air which swept along the ground. We suffer greatly and cannot use our hands, the map-sheet is torn in pieces, and we wonder if we shall live to reach the next camp. Our faces are distorted and assume quite a different expression, for we involuntarily draw the facial muscles together in the wind, to protect the eyes, producing a quantity of fresh wrinkles which are filled with white dust. The eyes are bloodshot and water, tears run down the cheeks, catch the dust, and freeze. The lips swell and burst, and the skin round the nails cracks so that the finger-tips bleed.
At last, more dead than alive, we reach the camp, where the men have, with great exertion, set up Muhamed Isa’s tent, and after many attempts have induced the fire to burn, which, now that it has caught, blazes with flickering tongues of flame and scatters sparks all round into the gyrations of the whirlwind. We hasten to restore our circulation, but that takes time. By degrees our facial muscles recover their elasticity and return to their proper position, and we regain our former aspect; there is no longer a twitch at the corners of our mouths when we laugh, though, indeed, we have precious little cause for laughter. Half-a-dozen of our remaining mules come up, attracted by the warmth. Sonam Tsering wishes to drive them away, but I let the poor frozen creatures stay. The fewer they become, the more carefully we look after the survivors, and are always hoping to reach more hospitable country. There is, indeed, little hope of it; the barley and maize are almost consumed, and there is only one sack of rice left.
In such nights one longs for a warm bed. The noise outside is as though artillery waggons were racing over a pavement of undressed stones. The wind comes in gusts as though driven by pulsations. A gust is heard whistling through the grass and dying away in the distance, only to be followed by another which rushes down the mountains like a waterfall, and seems determined to carry away the tent with it in its headlong flight. One does not look back with regret on the day now drawing to a close, but longs to get away—away from the Chang-tang.
November 24. In a month it will be Christmas Eve. Shall we remain together so long? At the former camp the animals had no water, and at to-day’s camping-place also we found nothing but hard ice at the mouth of a very narrow gorge, and consequently two mules passed away in the night, and a third followed them in the morning. My dapple-grey was suffering; I now rode a tall, yellowish horse which had carried the boat, and afterwards the box of cooking utensils. The latter was transferred to a mule, but he died before the next camp and a horse had to fetch the box.
Four mules in one day! We had now only eight. The yaks, the splendid yaks, carried all the baggage. When we left the bodies a troop of wolves sneaked out of the ravines. Islam Ahun, who had travelled with Robert and myself since Rehim Ali’s adventure, tried to frighten them away, but in vain. Four great vultures had already mutilated one of the corpses; they must have begun early, for they were already satiated, and staggered slowly away as we rode past. The ravens waited at some distance for their turn to come.
Of 58 horses and 36 mules, 12 and 8 respectively now remained. The ratio between the survivors was therefore nearly the same as between the original numbers. It would, however, be hasty to infer that mules are as efficient as horses in the highlands of Tibet. Had we had small, tough Sanskar horses in the place of the Yarkand horses, the result would certainly have been in favour of the horses. On the other hand, our mules came from Poonch. Had we had Tibetan mules, they would probably have held out better than the horses. But Tibetan mules are seldom to be found in Ladak.
Lower down the valley we came to a mani-ringmo, a stone cist covered with mani slabs, and our men became quite lively at the sight, for it reminded them of their home. We rode up a height with an extensive view. To the south-east appeared rather a large lake, begirt with white fields of gypsum and terraces. Crossing three rocky ridges running out to its western shore, we reached the southern bank, where we encamped. This must be the Rinakchutsen (“The hot spring of the Black Mountain”), for every detail agreed with the description given us by Lobsang Tsering.
The date is November 25, the day I had fixed on, when with Colonel Dunlop Smith, as the most likely date of our arrival at the Dangra-yum-tso. The post must therefore be at the lake long before us. The post? We did not know whether we should find on the shore a hospitable tent or an impenetrable wall of soldiers and horses and a fence of matchlocks.
This is the lake which Dutreuil de Rhins discovered in 1893 and named “Lac Ammoniac.” We did not cross his route, for he skirted the lake on the east, we on the west side. But just to the south of the lake we crossed Bower’s route of the year 1891. We shall again remain for some days in unknown country until we intersect Littledale’s track of the year 1895, mine of 1901, and Nain Sing’s of 1873.
In the night the temperature sank to −27.8°, the greatest cold we had hitherto experienced. We were, however, advancing southwards to lower regions. Though the winter still continued, it could scarcely bring us lower temperatures. For four days we travelled towards the noonday sun, slowly marching over passes and through winding valleys, over small plains, where kiangs enjoyed their free delightful life, over a hard-frozen river, and by springs, round which emerald-green ice glittered in the sun, past a flock of sheep and four tents, and finally we emerged on to an open plain, enclosed by mountains, which sloped towards the south and contained in the middle a lake nearly dried up, where the crystallized salt and gypsum emitted a brilliancy like that of fresh-fallen snow.
The country was called Mogbo-dimrop; at the foot of the red mountains we descried six black tents surrounded by stone walls. Namgyal and Tundup Sonam found only eight inhabitants, children, boys, and old men, for the strong men and women had gone out with the cattle. These nomads belonged to the province of Naktsang, and were under the rule of the Devashung, the Government in Lhasa, and therefore could give us no information about the country near the Dangra-yum-tso, where the nomads are under the administration of Tashi-lunpo. They would be very glad to sell us yaks and sheep if we would be so good as to wait here till the next day.
Then Muhamed Isa went off to the tents, and came back full of gloomy forebodings. An elderly man from a neighbouring group of tents had come to warn the others. He had declared in sharp commanding tones: “We know that you have a European with you, and to such our land is closed. We cannot stop you at present, but we shall take care not to sell you yaks or sheep, and we cannot give you any information. It would be better for you to make haste back again, or you will get into trouble.”
“We are on the way to the Tashi Lama, who is expecting us.”
“Here we have nothing to do with the Tashi Lama; we are under the direct rule of the Government in Lhasa.”
Tundup Sonam, who had also gone to the tents, noticed that two youths were absent, and was convinced that they had been despatched as express messengers to the nearest Bombo or chief, in the south. We must therefore make all haste to reach a district which was under the control of Tashi-lunpo.
Later on a wanderer came to our camp. He was ragged and miserable, and said that he was one of a party of 35 pilgrims from Nakchu, who with 600 sheep and 100 yaks had visited the holy lake and mountain in Ngari-korsum, and were now on their way home to Nakchu, where they would arrive in three months. The pilgrimage takes two years or more to accomplish, for the people remain for days, and often weeks, together where there is good pasturage. They followed the north side of the Chargut-tso along an old established pilgrim route.
| 89. ”Where are you going?” they asked me. |
We broke up our camp early on December 1, with a temperature of −24.2°, which cost us the loss of another mule. He was at once devoured by the wolves, which were so bold that they did not go away when we rode past. When we had accomplished about half our march we came to a tent of which two snappy light yellow dogs seemed to be the only masters. But no doubt the inmates were afraid to show themselves, and examined us only through their spy-holes. Near this day’s camp there were more tents, and my usual dealers obtained two yaks, three sheep, and a can of dirty milk. Before the Tibetans would deal, they first inquired whether there was not a Peling (a European) in our party, and declared that they would visit our camp to convince themselves that such was not the case. The answer given them was that the principal personage in our company was a Kalun, or high official, from Ladak, and that we had several dangerous dogs. On that they gave up their visit. But when we started off two of them were present, one of whom Muhamed Isa took as a guide. The other remained standing by us and looked at me, trying to find out whether I was a Peling or a Kalun. He was certainly doubtful, for he looked exceedingly disturbed as we rode off.
This day Robert and I lost our way. We had taken the Hajji as guide, but he lost the trail, and stupidly wandered about aimlessly. As he had to seek for the track again, we settled down on an open space beside a fire, while the storm roared above our heads and dark threatening snow-clouds swept over the mountains to the north. At last Muhamed Isa became uneasy and sent out scouts, who at length found us out.
Camp No. 77 was situated in the higher part of a lateral valley, where a spring was frozen into huge clumps of ice. At the fire we encountered two strangers in red turbans, round which their locks were twisted, with ivory rings, silver image cases, and fur coats trimmed with red and green ribands; they were armed with sabres encased in silver-mounted scabbards, richly encrusted with inferior coral and turquoise; they wore new coloured felt boots, and had their black muskets hanging from their shoulders. They belonged to the troop of pilgrims from Nakchu. Our Ladakis, however, were convinced that they were come to spy upon us. If we seemed too strong for them, they would only ask—as, in fact, happened—if we had anything to sell; otherwise they would steal our horses. Meanwhile they behaved very civilly, were exceedingly friendly, and promised to return next morning with some yaks and sheep, which we might buy.
“We will remain near you till it is dark and will return before daybreak, for if any one saw us trading with a Peling, we should pay dearly for it.”
“You need not be afraid, we shall not betray you,” I said.
“Even if you did betray us, Bombo Chimbo, we should not be easily caught. There are many pilgrims on the way to the holy mountain Kang-rinpoche (Kailas).”
“You may be quite at ease. Come with your animals, and you shall be well paid.”
“Good. But tell me, are you not the Peling who came five years ago with two companions to Nakchu, and was compelled by the Governor to turn back?”
“Yes, that was I.”
“We did not see you ourselves, but all the province was talking about you, and you had Shereb Lama as a guide. You had also a large caravan with camels and several Russians in your service.”
“How can you remember all that?”
“Oh, it was repeatedly said that it would be a marvel if you escaped the robbers.”
I clearly perceived from this not very flattering popularity that, if the common people were so well informed of my doings, the authorities would find it easy to follow my track. Now the Tibetans knew that it was I, and no one else, who was penetrating to the heart of the forbidden land. How speedily this fact would be transmitted to the south! How quickly would the Devashung bring us to a halt! Where would our grand progress come to a standstill, checked by a peremptory “Thus far and no farther,” backed up by muzzle-loaders and sabres? Ah, where would my dreams again be shattered and my aspirations cease to pulsate?
In the morning, when the pilgrims had returned, I was waked early and went out to view the market that had been created in the wilderness as by an enchanter’s wand. The sun had not yet risen above the mountains, the camp lay in icy-cold shadow, and the air was dull and raw. The smoke circled round the fires in suffocating density, and through it I saw six splendid yaks with wooden saddles. The Tibetans in their picturesque costume, with sabres jingling at their sides, knives and amulets, gesticulated vehemently, and in a torrent of well-chosen words extolled the exceptional qualities of the grunting oxen. The result of the affair was that all six yaks passed into our possession, and we also bought two packets of brick-tea, a bag of Bhotan tobacco, and a couple of bladders of butter. Robert piled up the shining silver coins in rows at the door of my tent, and the eyes of the Tibetans shone with delight at the sight of so much money, and at hearing the ring of the silver. An empty tin and a tin cigarette box found their way, as usual, into the front of their fur coats.
“Do you know the way to the south?” I asked.
“Yes, we know it well.”
“If you are disposed to accompany us, you shall receive three rupees a day.”
“We should like to, but we dare not.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“We have heard that to the south of this pass the country has been roused and that soldiers are being collected to render your further journey impossible. We must go quickly northwards. Our people are already ahead.”
“Where do you think that the soldiers are waiting for us?”
“That no one knows, but it is certain that they are gathering together.”
“What, in your opinion, do they mean to do with us?”
“They will prevent you going farther southwards, but will do you no harm.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the Bombo Chimbo was friendly last time, and did not refuse to march westwards when he was required to do so.”
“Which way will they ask us to take this time?”
“Probably the same as before, to Ladak.”
The silver money rattled in the tin boxes as they mounted and disappeared down the valley, while we, now owners of eighteen fine yaks, struggled laboriously up the small steep pass overlooking camp No. 77. We had a wide view southwards over side ranges separated from one another by broad valleys. But it was not long before heavy snow drove us away. Numbed with cold, we rode down to the level country.
From the plain the Hajji pointed back to the pass, where three riders showed black against the snow; they rode down at a smart trot and soon overtook us. Their black, snorting horses steamed, they carried guns at their shoulder-belts, and sabres in their girdles. Their reddish-purple mantles were rolled up on the saddle behind them, and they rode in sheepskins, black and greasy from the soot of camp-fires, and the blood and fat of slaughtered game, which in the course of years had hardened into a smooth crust intersected with cracks. As we were the object of their ride, they followed at our heels, slackened their pace, and rode up to my side. A coarse fellow asked shortly and boldly (Illustration 89):
“What are you?”
“Pilgrims.”
“Where do you come from?”
“From Ladak.”
“Whither are you travelling?”
“To the Dangra-yum-tso.”
“People from Ladak never come from the north.”
“That is quite possible, but we come from the north. Where have you been yourself?”
“With relatives who are camping to the east. We have two more days’ journey before we reach home.”
Then they spurred their horses and rode after the caravan, which was encamped at the foot of a rock. Here they let their horses graze, behaved as though they were at home, and subjected Muhamed Isa to the same cross-examination. Shortly before sunset they rode off westwards. We had an uncomfortable feeling that something ominous, something decisive, was brewing, and that our fate might perhaps be settled next day. For it was clear as day that the men must have been spies. They were a patrol of the numerous express messengers sent into all the valleys by orders from Lhasa to beat up the men fit for military service. Soon these incorruptible riders would crop up like mushrooms from the ground.
The camp No. 78 and the weather were in harmony with our mood as we awaited our fate. There was no pasturage, only ice, and the fuel was scanty. Opaque clouds obscured the sky, snow was falling on the mountains, the north-west storm moaned round the corners, and whirled the ashes and scraps of dung about so that they found their way into my tent, where the dogs lay rolled in a corner to keep themselves warm.
Again, on December 4, we left a mule behind. The land was covered with snow, and the ride was fearfully cold, icicles hung from my moustache, and my right foot lost all feeling. Hundreds of antelopes and kiangs were grazing to the left of our road; the dogs dashed at them, but soon came back again, for the animals would not move an inch. No men appeared, and we thought that the real opposition would be encountered at the Bogtsang-tsangpo, that is, where I had last time been forced to turn westwards.
The next day’s march took us over rather tiring hills where small points of weathered porphyry cropped up here and there out of the ground. Spoors of wild animals ran in all directions, and cattle and sheep tracks were equally numerous.
But not even at the Bogtsang-tsangpo did anything suspicious appear. We calmed down again and rested here on the 6th. Our store of rice and flour was consumed; there was only a little for me, so that I had my freshly-baked bread every morning and evening. The others had to live exclusively on mutton, so that every day one sheep at least was needed. Just as Tundup Sonam and two other men returned from a foray, bringing with them six fat sheep, we saw six men on foot coming to our camp. Our grand vizier, Muhamed Isa, received them before they were brought before me. The principal among them thus introduced himself:
“I am the Gova (District Chief) of this country, and have received tidings from the north that you are on the way southwards. You passed through here five years ago with twenty-five camels. I am now come to inquire your name, how many servants and pack-animals you have, and whither you intend to go.”
“Why do you put these questions?”
“Because I must forward information to the Governor of Naktsang; if I do not, he will cut my head off.”
He was given the particulars he wanted, and then he asked:
“Will the Bombo Chimbo be so kind as to wait here until the answer comes back?”
“Where is the Governor of Naktsang?”
“In Shansa-dzong on the Kyaring-tso.”
“How long will it take a messenger to reach him?”
“Ten days.”
“Then the answer will be here in twenty days. No, thank you, we have no time to wait so long.”
“But you must wait three days, until I have sent for a man who can write.”
“No, we are off to-morrow.”
So far all had passed off well. Instead of encountering an armed force, we found the country open for twenty days longer. But after that things would be different; the Governor of Naktsang would not let me take another step farther southwards; I knew him in the year 1901 and found him inflexible. The least we could expect was that he would detain us till the answer of the Government was received. Like Dutreuil de Rhins and Grenard, I should have to wait one, perhaps even two, months.
Our chief, however, pursued a little private policy of his own, and said that the relations of the Devashung and India were now friendly, and therefore he would treat us as friends. He dared not sell us baggage animals or provide us with guides without the consent of the Governor, but he would gladly impart to us all the information we desired. He mentioned some names according with those given by Nain Sing, and showing how conscientiously the celebrated Pundit had performed his task. The conical height to the north of our camp he named Tugu-lhamo; the Gobrang is a ridge to the north-east of it, and a side valley is called Ragok. Nain Sing gives the names Dubu Lhamo, Gobrang, and Ragu. He reckons the distance to the Dagtse-tso, the salt lake by which I encamped in 1901 at the mouth of the Bogtsang-tsangpo, at nine days’ journey. It is easily explained how Nain Sing fell into an error here, and also represented the river as flowing into the Chargut-tso, for he was not there himself and trusted too much to the frequently unreliable information of the chiefs.
In the course of the evening the chief became still more friendly, and proposed to travel with us for three days under the pretence of keeping an eye on us. He would, however, keep some distance from us, and, like a night-owl, join us only when it had become quite dark. In the night he pitched his chieftain’s tent, green above and white below, beside ours.
We passed quickly eastwards along the Bogtsang-tsangpo in only five and a half short marches, partly close beside the river, partly along parallel valleys which skirt its southern bank. On December 7 we lost sight of it, but in the district Pati-bo it again emerged from a narrow transverse valley. Eastwards the fall is extremely slight, and the river winds in most capricious curves, so that the path touches the bank only at the southern bends. A quantity of hearthstones and fenced-in sheepfolds show that many nomads spend the summer on the Bogtsang-tsangpo. The volume of water is very insignificant, for the river is principally fed by sources which are called into existence only by the autumn rains, and fail in winter. Thick ice lies over it all, and is deeply hollowed by the constant fall of the river. The ranges on both sides run in an east and west direction, and frequently three such crests are seen at the same time towards the south. One is often astonished at the whim of the stream in turning sharply to cut through a rocky crest, whereas it would seem much easier to flow on along the open longitudinal valley. But, like most mountainous countries, Tibet presents many such puzzling problems, difficult of solution. At a place where comparatively warm rivulets flow in on our side there is a short, wide reach of the river where Robert caught fish, a very welcome variation in our monotonous diet.
In the night we had 54 degrees of frost, and on December 12 the thermometer sank to −24.7°. The caravan now consisted of 11 horses and 4 mules, besides the 18 yaks. The yaks are not accustomed to long day’s marches, so we proceeded very slowly eastwards. We could not hurry our marches, much as we should have liked to do so. There were several men sickly, and the medicine chest was in great demand. Muhamed Isa especially suffered from headache, and many a time as we passed by he was lying on his back on the ground. He was dosed with antipyrine and quinine, and I advised him to walk as little as possible.
The chief became more and more at home with us, and no longer observed his former caution. He sometimes called on nomads on the way, but his tent was always set up among ours. Every day he brought to me one or two nomads, who gave me information about the country and sold us milk and sheep. Several were from Ombo, a village and district on the north shore of the Dangra-yum-tso, where a couple of stone huts stand and barley is cultivated. The pasturage round the lake is said to be so poor that the inhabitants of its shores have to migrate northwards with their flocks in winter. Unfortunately they had not heard of a post messenger from Shigatse, but they were equally ignorant of any order directed against us.
On December 12 we left the Bogtsang-tsangpo and directed our steps towards the south-east. At night a violent storm arose, but the minimum temperature was only 13.5°; the night before there were 56.7 degrees of frost.
Another mule died in the night, and the surviving animals had to be carefully guarded from the wolves, which were unusually daring. We started on December 13 to the pass La-ghyanyak (16,932 feet high), where a pyramidal cairn marks the divide between the Bogtsang-tsangpo and the Dangra-yum-tso. The former can be seen meandering along its valley to its termination in the lake Dagtse-tso; the latter is not yet visible, but we can guess where its basin lies among the huge mountain massives. Yonder lay the holy lake Dangra-yum-tso, which had long been our aim, and whither I had requested Colonel Dunlop Smith to send my letters. To the south-west arose two dominating snowy peaks above a sea of mountainous undulations, and in the same direction lay a small round lake, the Tang-yung-tsaka, already seen by Nain Sing, and named by him Tang-yung-tso (Illustration 90). The country seemed desolate and uninhabited, and no riders spurred through the valleys to block our way. Farther down we passed two tents, where the inmates told us we were on the wrong way if we wished to go to the Dangra-yum-tso, for it could be reached in a direction due south in four short marches. All Naktsang knew, they said, that a Peling was coming, a report that, however, had probably spread from the north, not from the south. If the mail-runner had actually reached the lake, he would hear that we were not far off, and would look out for us.
Now the thermometer sank to −24° again, and we let the animals rest a day. Meanwhile I, with Robert and Shukkur Ali, made an excursion on foot through a singularly wild romantic valley, which was little over a yard broad in some places, and was cut out between vertical walls. Often the bottom is filled with fallen blocks, which obstruct the way, but elsewhere it is occupied by a brook, now frozen up. The rapids and waterfalls of this brook are also congealed into glassy ice, and shine with a bluish-green tinge in the depth of the valley, where the summer flood has excavated curious caves. Here the wind is confined as in a pair of bellows, and roars and whistles round the cliffs. In an expansion of the valley we kindle a fire and take a rest. Along the precipice above us six proud eagles soar with motionless wings.
According to previous arrangement Rabsang came to meet us with some of our yaks, so that we could ride back. He brought us disturbing news. At the tents we had seen farther up the valley on the day before, twelve armed men had collected to waylay us. An express messenger had, it seems, brought word from Shigatse that we must be driven back to the north. I did not question him further, and we rode home in silence. It was a bitter experience now, when we had looked down from La-ghanyak on the great unknown country crossed only by Nain Sing’s route of the year 1874, which we had intended to intersect at one point only, to see all the grand discoveries, of which I had dreamt so long, blown away like mist. And it was especially irritating to think that others might come here later and rob me of these conquests. Reminiscences of the past autumn and early winter came into my head; we had successfully executed an immense traverse over the Chang-tang, and at the critical moment the nomads had come to our assistance. It had been a splendid bold journey hitherto, but I had always considered it only as a prologue to the grand plans which kept me awake at night and had occupied my thoughts during the long weary ride. And now they would receive their death-blow. Now my dreams of victory would be resolved into blue haze, like the smoke of the camp-fire which marked the southernmost point of our advance into the forbidden land.
CHAPTER XVII
CHRISTMAS IN THE WILDS
Much depressed but outwardly composed, I dismounted from the yak and entered my tent just as Tsering brought in the brazier. The tent seemed more dismal than usual, the brazier made me feel weary, and at this moment I seemed to realize how lonely and dull my life had been all through the winter; but Tsering was as tranquil as usual, and raked the fire with the tongs to remove some still smoking dung.
“Now you see that I was right; how often have I told you that we should be ordered to halt at the Bogtsang-tsangpo?” I said.
“Ordered to halt?” exclaimed Tsering in astonishment.
“Yes, now we are stuck fast, but I will not move a step from the spot until the Tibetans have provided me with a new caravan, though I have to wait all the winter. Then we will go north-eastwards, look for the Mongolian pilgrim road, and hasten to Pekin. I will force the Mandarins to allow me to see the parts of Tibet where no European has yet been.”
“I do not understand what the Sahib means; hitherto no one has hindered us, and the country southwards lies open before us.”
“What are you talking about? Have they not come this very day to stop our further progress?”
“No, on the contrary, three Tibetans are sitting with Muhamed Isa, and they are most civil and friendly.”
“Has, then, Rabsang played a trick on me and the Babu Sahib?”
“Ah,” replied Tsering, laughing, “now I understand the matter. Rabsang was up at the tents this morning, and allowed himself to be frightened by a Tibetan, who told him that we should be forced to remain where we are, for we had no right to travel southwards to Naktsang. But that was only the Tibetan’s own notion, and Rabsang, who had to go immediately after to the valley with the yaks, had not heard how matters really stood with us.”
“Bravo, Tsering, slay the fattest sheep we have got, and invite every one to a feast. I will have the kidneys fried in their own fat.”
Now the storm-beaten tent seemed more comfortable and the brazier sent out a pleasant kindly heat. I sat buried in thought, wondering whether this were a good omen, when Muhamed Isa announced a visit of the three Tibetans. I invited them to take a seat at the fire. Turning to the chief man, who wore a blood-red fur coat and a brick-red fox-skin cap, I asked him who he was.
“I am Karma Tamding from Tang-yung,” he answered; and I was astonished that he gave his name at once, for the Tibetans are generally shy of doing so, lest they should bring upon themselves retaliation on the part of their superiors when their names are known.
“We are, then, in the province of Tang-yung?”
“Yes, Bombo Chimbo, the pass you crossed yesterday is its northern boundary; to the west Tang-yung extends for three days’ journey, and as far to the east, and southwards to the Dangra-yum-tso.”
“Why have you come to my tent, Karma Tamding? Has one of your superiors sent you?”
“No, but idle rumours have been current here for some time. First it was an old woman, who would have it that two hundred men were coming down from the north. Large bands of robbers from Nakchu have plundered the nomads in the north, and we felt sure that they were robbers who were coming into our country. The day before yesterday we heard that it was only a peaceful European, who took, indeed, yaks, sheep, butter, and milk from our people, but always paid well for them. I am now come to see our guests with my own eyes, and I am very glad to find you instead of a robber band.”
“You have not heard, then, that any messenger from Shigatse has been inquiring about us?”
“No, not a word. But this very day I have heard that an express has been sent from the Bogtsang-tsangpo to Shansa-dzong, and that messengers will travel thence to Lhasa.”
“Will you be so good as to sell us yaks, Karma Tamding?”
“Yes, willingly. I saw you five years ago at the Bogtsang-tsangpo. Then you were conducted over the frontier by a large escort and two officers, but now Europeans seem to be privileged to pass through the country.”
“Will you procure us guides?”
“Certainly; but which way do you think of taking? If you wish to go to the Dangra-yum-tso, you must cross the Kam-la, which lies a little farther up this valley. But if you prefer the route to the Ngangtse-tso, you must travel on eastwards. It is all the same to us which way you take, but I must know for certain. I will ride back to my tent and fetch parched meal, which you can buy when I overtake you in a few days. The yaks I will send to-morrow morning.”
Karma Tamding seemed so trustworthy that I handed him half the purchase money in advance, and the next day we bought 3 yaks at 20 rupees a head, and received a guide, who conducted us over two difficult passes, eastwards to the Rara country, and on December 16 over the Pike-la, a gap in a longitudinal valley running parallel to the Bogtsang-tsangpo.
We were compelled to camp early by one of our three mules, which could not travel any farther. He came up to the fire with trembling legs and laid himself down. “The news of his death will be the first I shall hear in the morning,” I thought, but I had not to wait so long, for before the stars had begun to twinkle he lay stiff and cold in the smoke of the camp-fire. Only two of the Poonch mules were left.
Then Karma Tamding rode up with twelve other Tibetans, two of them women. They sat down by the fire and looked at me; and I looked at them. The older woman had a fine sheepskin, and on the forehead an ornament of pendent coral and silver coins from Lhasa. The younger was similarly dressed, and had a huge lambskin cap. Little could be seen of her, but the little that was visible was dirty beyond belief. The men were strongly built and well proportioned—one could perceive that, when they drew off the right sleeve and exposed their breasts to the heat of the fire.
When we had gazed at one another long enough, and I had learned that the small lake near by was called the Tarmatse-tso, the whole party crawled into Muhamed Isa’s tent to offer their edibles for sale. And there parched meal and barley was bought to the value of 68 rupees; it was quite a pleasure to see with what an appetite our last twelve animals emptied their bags of barley; they had so long had to put up with the execrable grass of the desert.
Next day we took leave of honest Karma Tamding. “On the boundary of Naktsang you will meet with an elderly man, named Chabga Namgyal, who is just as nice as I am,” were his last words. We continued our long winter journey through Tibet eastwards along the same convenient longitudinal valley, and bivouacked in the district Neka, an ominous name (it means in Swedish to refuse), which might perhaps have brought us bad luck had the supreme chief of Tang-yung, whose headquarters are here, been at home at the time. Fortunately he had a short time before set out with his wife and children to Tashi-lunpo for the New Year festival, and had consigned his large herd of yaks and flock of sheep to the care of his servants and his herdsmen. They sold us milk and butter, but disapproved of my disturbing the gentle fish in a neighbouring pool. Within an hour I had twenty-five on dry land, which were a great treat at dinner. Robert had been unwell for some days, and now developed high fever, which confined him to his bed. Sonam Tsering suffered from a curious mountain sickness, in consequence of which all his body swelled up and assumed a livid hue. Two others were unwell, and the medicine chest stood open again. Sonam Tsering’s tent was like an hospital, where all the sick found shelter as soon as they were incapacitated. Only old Guffaru was still healthy, did the work of two, and had at present no use for the shroud he brought from Leh. His large white beard had turned yellow in the smoke of the fires, and his hands, frost-bitten in winter, were dark and hard as iron. We stayed two days in camp No. 90, to give the invalids a rest. My dapple-grey from Yarkand was nearly drowned in a spring; fortunately he was seen from the camp, and ten strong men pulled him out of the mud. Then he was dried at the fire, rubbed well down, and covered with cloths. But his days were numbered.
On December 20 we ride on along the longitudinal valley parallel to the Bogtsang-tsangpo, and encamp at the mouth of a transverse valley, which belongs to the southern mountains, and is called Kung-lung. Frozen springs are seen on all sides; the farther we advance southwards the more the country is fertilized by the monsoon rains. The ground is honeycombed by millions of mouse holes; they are so close together that there is no room for more. The field-mouse here does the work of loosening and ploughing up the ground that the worm does in our soil. But the herbage derives no benefit from it, for the mice subsist on the roots and destroy the grass.
When we had passed the boundary between Tang-yung and Naktsang, and had just pitched our camp at the source of the brook draining the Kung-lung valley, three riders with guns suddenly appeared, who were making for the same spot, and behind them came a dark group, perhaps soldiers. Probably they were about to arrest us here, at the first camp in Naktsang. No; another false alarm. They were simply peasants from the Bogtsang-tsangpo, who had been to Naktsang to barter salt for tsamba (parched meal) and barley, and were now on their homeward journey. The troop consisted of members of several tent villages, among which the goods would be distributed. The tsamba and the barley were carried by yaks, horses, and sheep, and seemed sufficient to last many households all the winter.
Here I heard for the first time of the lake Shuru-tso, but I little thought that I should bivouac on its shore next spring. The range on the north, in which the Keva is the highest summit, is the water-parting between the Dagtse-tso and the Kung-tso, a lake visible to the east. On the south we had the range which we had first seen at the Dangra-yum-tso, and which afterwards skirts the south side of the Tang-yung-tso.
In the night the continued westerly storm increased to a hurricane, which blew down my tent. It was fastened up again, but at dawn I was awakened by a report like a gunshot, for one of the strained tent ropes broke, and another tore itself out of its iron cap, which fell with a sharp clatter against the tent. A shower of stones and coarse sand beat about my airy dwelling, so that it required a certain amount of resolution to issue forth in weather worse than we had experienced in Chang-tang.
“How much longer will the storm last?” I asked our guide, as he joyfully and thankfully pocketed his 18 rupees after he had handed us over to another guide of the Naktsang tribe.
“Six months,” he replied.
We marched eastwards, gradually diverging to the south, and thus passed round the chain which had hitherto lain on our right. On the way we found Adul in a hollow, and asked him how he was.
| 90. Near the Dangra-yum-tso. In the Valley below is seen the Little Lake Tang-yung-tso. Sketch by the Author. |
“I am dying,” he answered, without moving a muscle. I sent one of his comrades and a horse from the camp to bring in his corpse, but next morning he was as lively as a cricket. Such weather is certainly not enjoyable, but it is no use to complain of wind and weather. My horse staggers about as if he had drunk too much. At the opening of every lateral valley we may be sure of a buffet that will make us reel in our saddles. We bend sideways against the wind to help the horse in maintaining his equilibrium, and we draw ourselves together so as to present a smaller surface to the wind—indeed, we are like a sail that must always be set according to the direction of the wind, and we have to trim ourselves just as one would handle a sailing-boat in a high sea. We rested awhile in the shelter of a rock, to recover our breath, and when at length we reached the camp in Nadsum we had suffered as much as we were able to bear. To the north-east, beyond the mountains, lies the Dagtse-tso, which Bower, Dutreuil de Rhins, Littledale, and I have visited; on the way thither a lake is passed, called the Goang-tso.
On the 22nd we took our way to the south, where a range of considerable height bars the road to the Ngangtse-tso. We followed the river Sertsang-chu upwards; a little water still bubbled and trickled down under its thick covering of ice. In the evening we received a visit from eight Tibetans, two of whom had lost all their yaks by a kind of cattle-plague. We ascended the same valley for another day’s journey, and found five tents in an expansion of the valley which was called Torno-shapko; at several spots we saw large flocks of sheep guarded by dogs as snappy and impudent as the nomads themselves. Some of these fellows came into our camp and used very rude language, daring even to say that we must not remain here but must pack off with all speed. To buy milk and butter was out of the question. Muhamed Isa drove them away and threatened to report their conduct to the Governor of Naktsang. Our guide, a boy of fifteen, was frightened, but was persuaded to accompany us a day longer.
December 24. When I woke an old mendicant lama sat singing before my tent. He had a little withered woman with him, and their small light tent was pitched quite close to us. In his hand he held a staff bedecked with coloured strips and with brass plates, coral, shells, tassels, and other ornaments, which he made to spin round as he sang. The old man had in his lifetime wandered far and wide, begging his way from tent to tent, but when I asked him to accompany us and to bring in the Christmas festival with song at our camp at night he declared he was too tired.
The road led us higher up the same valley, soon leaving the sources behind. We passed two manis with prayers inscribed on the slabs, one of which was 23 feet long. Two tents stood at a spot where two large valleys converged. The unfriendly men we had met yesterday had gone on before us and had warned the people not to sell us anything if we asked them. Two of our men tried to trade, but met with a refusal, whereupon Muhamed Isa laid his riding-whip smartly across the backs of the mischief-makers. Then the whole company fell on their knees, became remarkably civil, and brought out at once all the butter and milk they had on hand.
Our valley now runs eastwards, and at last rises in a south-easterly direction to a pass. Evidently no great road runs over it, for there is no cairn on the summit. It turned out later that the youth had led us astray, omitting to turn aside through a southern valley to the pass Gurtse-la. However, it was of no consequence, for the view from our pass was grand, and below us lay a lake not marked on Nain Sing’s map. The valley descending from the pass is so deeply eroded that we had to keep for some distance to the heights on the right side. Islam Ahun led my tall dapple-grey, which was weak and sickly; he took only a few steps at a time, but he could still graze. We had made a long march, and the camp could not be far distant, so he would perhaps reach it. I therefore only stroked him as I passed, while he held his nose to the ground and plucked up the grass. But when I left him to his fate and rode on, he raised his head, sighed heavily, and gazed after me. I was deeply grieved afterwards that I did not remain with him. He had carried me faithfully on the long dreary journey from our departure from Leh until his back became one great sore; then he was not worked till his back was healed. Afterwards he was degraded to a pack-horse, but when our caravan was reinforced with yaks, he was exempted from work of any kind. Latterly we had had abundance of barley for the animals, but he had shown no signs of recovery. This day, however, he had managed to climb the pass, and would surely be able to get over the short remaining distance. But Islam Ahun came into camp alone. The horse had stumbled on a very steep descent, rolled over several times in the débris, and then remained lying. Islam, who had received strict orders to be careful of the dapple-grey, stood and waited, but the horse did not move again, and died where he was. Why did I not understand him when he so plainly said a last good-bye? I was much grieved at it, and for a long time could not forget the troubled expression of his eyes as he saw me ride away. The remembrance haunted me when it grew dark at night and the winter storm howled in cold dreary Tibet.
Down below in the valley basin lay the Dumbok-tso asleep under its ice mantle, out of which rose a small rocky ridge, the Tso-ri or “Lake Mountain.” Up above the heights were still bathed in sunshine. The Dumbok-tso was the most important discovery of the day. The watch-fires burned in front of the tents and threw a yellow light on the surroundings.
Then the day’s notes were filled in, and Robert, as usual, labelled the rock specimens we had collected. “Dinner is ready,” says Tsering, as he brings in fresh fuel, and the shislik and sour milk are served and placed on the ground before my bed. Then I am left alone with a thousand memories of Swedish Christmas feasts, and the words: “Christmas is now under every roof,” and “Frozen is the limpid lake, it waits for the winds of spring,” from the poet Topelius’ Christmas song, rings in my ears. The Christian community in our camp consisted only of Robert and myself, but we determined to celebrate the Christmas festival so that the heathen also might have their share in the enjoyment. For some time we had kept all the candle ends, and now had forty-one pieces of various lengths. We set up a box in the middle of my tent, and arranged the candles on it so that the largest stood in the middle, and the others became smaller and smaller towards the corners. That was our Christmas-tree. When all the candles were lighted we threw back the flaps of the front of the tent, and the Ladakis, who meanwhile had assembled outside, gave vent to a murmur of astonishment. They sang softly in rising and falling tones. I forgot for a time the solemnity of the moment, and gazing into the flickering flames of the candles let the minutes of the holy night glide slowly by. The sentimental air was now and then interrupted by a thundering khavash and khabbaleh in which all joined, howling like jackals. The flutes performed the accompaniment, and a saucepan served as a drum. Lamaist hymns at a Christmas festival under the constellation of Orion! Dimly illuminated from the tent, and flooded by the silvery light of the moon, my men presented a weird appearance as they turned themselves round in their native dance, keeping time to the noise of the saucepan. The Tibetans of the neighbouring tents perhaps thought that we had all gone mad, or perhaps that we were executing an incantation dance, and had lighted sacrificial lamps to propitiate our gods. What the wild asses, grazing on the lake shore, thought of it, no one can tell.
Our young guide, who had been placed in the middle of the tent door, caused us much amusement. He stared, now at the lights, now at me, without uttering a sound, sat like a cat on the watch with its fore-paws on the ground, and did nothing but gaze. He would have wonderful stories to tell his fellow-tribesmen, which would certainly lose none of their effect by the embellishments added by himself and amplified in the course of repetition. Perhaps the memory of our visit still survives in the country, in a legend of singular fire-worshippers who danced and bellowed round an altar adorned with forty-one burning candles. When the youth was asked how he liked the illumination, he made no answer. We laughed till our sides ached, but that did not disturb him; he continued to glare with eyes full of astonishment. When he had somewhat recovered his senses next morning, he told Tundup Sonam in confidence that he had had many experiences, but that he had never met with anything so extraordinary as the evening’s entertainment. He would not sleep with us that night, but went off to the tents of his people, and on the first holiday he begged permission to return home.
The lower the candles burned down, the brighter the stars of Orion shone into the opening of the tent. The corner lights had long gone out, and only a couple in the middle continued to flicker. Then I distributed a small sum of money among the men, beginning with Robert and Muhamed Isa. That was the only Christmas present. After this the men retired to their fires, which had in the meantime gone out. Two had to stay behind to explain to me one of the songs in which the word Tashi-lunpo had repeatedly occurred. It was more difficult than I expected to translate the song. In the first place, the men did not know it well themselves, and, secondly, they did not know the meaning of some of the words it contained. Other words they understood well enough, but they could not translate them into Turki or Hindustani. First we wrote out the hymn in Tibetan, then Robert translated it into Hindustani, and I into Turki, and finally from the two translations we concocted an English version which had no sense or meaning. But by repeatedly taking the song to pieces and analyzing it, we at last made out what the subject was—it was a glorification of the monastery Tashi-lunpo, which was the goal of our hopes. The learned who happen to be acquainted with ancient Tibetan hymns will be very much amused if they take the trouble to read the following translation. It certainly has the merit of forming a record in poetic license.
So ended our Christmas Eve in the wilderness, and while the glow of the Christmas fire sank down in the ashes I read the old Bible passages relating to this day, put out my light, and dreamed of Christmas festivals in the north, and of Tashi-lunpo down in the south behind the mountains, the goal towards which we had been struggling amid suffering and privation all through the cold winter, and which was still far off and perhaps even beyond our reach.