A pilgrim from Mansarowar Lake--The spirits of the mountains--A
safeguard against them--Tibetan encampments--The Rajiwar--A
waterfall--Watermills.
HAVING returned to Askote from my excursion, I saw while going round the
town with Jagat Sing, in a low stone shed by the side of the palace, the
tall gaunt figure of a man emerging from a cloud of smoke.
"Who is that?" I inquired of my companion.
"Oh, that is a fakir returning from a pilgrimage to the sacred lake of
Mansarowar in Tibet. Many of these fanatics pass through here during the
summer on their religious journeys."
[Illustration: THE RAJIWAR OF ASKOTE, HIS BROTHER AND SON]
My curiosity drew me towards the weird individual. He was over six feet
in height, and his slim body had been covered with ashes, giving the dark
skin a tinge of ghastly grey. I asked him to come out into the light. His
masses of long hair had been plaited into small tresses which were wound
round his head in the fashion of a turban--the "_Tatta_." The hair, too,
had been whitened, while the long thin beard had been dyed bright red.
His eyes were sunken and, apparently to add to the ghastly and decidedly
repulsive effect, his forehead and cheeks were plastered with a thick
white paint. He seemed half stupefied, and had very little to say for
himself. As can be seen by the illustration, he was scantily clothed, but
he wore the _Kamarjuri_ or fakir's chain about his loins, and he had a
bead bracelet round his arm above the elbow. His waist was encircled with
a belt of wooden beads, and a necklace of plaited hair ornamented his
neck. He spent his days rolling himself in ashes and enduring
self-imposed bodily privations, with a view to attain a state of
sanctification.
[Illustration: FAKIR RETURNING FROM MANSAROWAR]
Rumours had reached me of some curious superstitions prevalent among
these mountain folk.
"Tell me," I said to Jagat Sing, "are there 'spirits of the mountain' in
these ranges? And do the people really believe in them?"
"Yes, sir," replied the young fellow, "there certainly are a number of
them, and they are often very troublesome, especially to certain people.
They are seldom known, however, to kill any one."
"Then they are not quite so bad as some human beings," I replied.
"Well, sir, they are very bad. They seize sleeping people by the throat
with claws like iron, sitting on the chests of their victims."
"Does not that sound more like an attack of indigestion?"
"No, sir. The ghosts of the mountains are the spirits of people that have
not gone to heaven. They are to be found in swarms at night in the
forest. The people are terrified of them. They haunt the mountain-tops
and slopes, and they can assume the semblance of a cat, a mouse, or any
other animal; in fact they are said to frequently change their
appearance. Where no man can tread, among rocks and precipices, or in the
thick jungle, the spirits seek their retreat, but often they abandon
their haunts to seek for men. The person who becomes possessed generally
remains in a semi-conscious condition and ejaculates mad cries and
unintelligible words. There are men who profess to know charms to draw
them out. Some remedies are for that purpose commonly used by the natives
with more or less success. A grass called _Bichna_ (nettles) has the
faculty of frightening the spirits away when applied on the body of the
sufferer, but the most effective remedy is to make pretence to beat with
a red-hot iron the person possessed. The spirits seem to fear that more
than anything else."
"Do the spirits ever speak?" I inquired, interested in the curious
superstitions of these hill men.
"No, sir, not often, nor usually directly, but they do it through people
who are possessed by them. It is they who tell many strange tales of the
spirits. One curious point about them is that they only seize people who
are afraid of them. If defied they vanish."
"Do the natives adopt any special method to protect themselves from these
mountain demons?"
"Fire is the only sure protection. Any one sleeping near a fire is safe,
and as long as there is a flame blazing the spirits keep away."
"Do you know any one who has seen them?"
"Yes. A chaprassi called Joga tells of having been compelled to travel at
night through a forest: he heard a voice calling him by name. Terrified,
he stopped, and for some moments his voice failed him. At last, trembling
all over, he replied, and instantly a swarm of spirits appeared and
challenged him to do them harm. Joga ran for his life and the demons
vanished. Spirits have been known to throw stones at passers-by."
"Have you ever seen a spirit, Jagat Sing?"
"Only once. I was returning to the palace late in the evening when up the
steep road I perceived a woman's figure. It was a beautiful moonlight
night. I walked up, and as I passed, the face of the strange being
appeared black, inhuman and ghastly. I staggered when I saw the weird
apparition approach, my blood ran cold with fear. I struck a mighty blow
with my stick, but behold! the cane whirled through the air and hit
nothing. Instantly the ghost vanished."
"I wish, Jagat Sing, that you could show me some of these spirits; I
would give anything to make a sketch of them."
"You cannot always see them when you want, sir, but they are always to be
avoided. They are evil spirits and can do nothing but harm."
* * * * *
Leaving Askote (4600 feet) by the winding road through a dense forest, I
crossed by a suspension bridge the Gori River at Gargia (2450 feet). The
track was along the low and unpleasantly hot valley of the Kali River, a
raging stream flowing with indescribable rapidity in the opposite
direction to that in which I was travelling. It formed the boundary line
between Nepal and Kumaon. Huts and patches of cultivation were to be seen
on the Nepalese side, whereas on our side we came upon deserted and
roofless winter dwellings of Shokas (usually but not correctly called
Botiyas) and Tibetans, who migrate to these warmer regions to graze their
sheep during the colder months of the year. The Shoka summer residences
are at greater elevations, mostly along the highways to Tibet and nearer
the Tibetan boundary. On arriving at the Kutzia Daramsalla, a messenger
brought me the news that the Rajiwar, whom I had missed seeing at Askote,
was now here for the purpose of making offerings to certain deities. He
would call upon me at 3 P.M., so, having some time to spare, I went to
bathe in the deliciously cold though, as I found, dangerously rapid
stream. Swimming was out of the question, and even an immersion bath was
attended with a certain amount of risk. The current caused me to lose my
footing, and I soon found myself washed with great force against some
rocks thirty or forty yards down stream. I came out of the water _minus_
a few patches of skin on my knees and shins, and while drying myself in
the sun, received a deputation of the _Patan_ (head village man) and
other natives, conveying with their most respectful salaams gifts of
milk, _kielas_ (bananas), _kakri_ (gigantic cucumbers), and nuts. These
hill fellows impressed me as being of a far superior standard to the
Hindoos of the plains. They were lightly yet strongly built, and showed
evidence of both character and dignity. With their fair complexion and
luxuriant black hair and moustache they resembled Spaniards or Southern
Italians. They lacked entirely the affected manner and falseness of
speech and demeanour, so common among the natives who are constantly in
contact with Europeans.
Below the Daramsalla, near the water-side, was a large Tibetan encampment
of some twenty or thirty tents which had all originally been white, but
were now black with smoke. In these were men, women, and children, with
all their paraphernalia; and the first thing that attracted my eye in
each tent was the quantity of shiny brass bowls strewn upon the ground,
the entire energy of the tent-owners seemingly being spent in keeping
these utensils clean and bright, to the utter neglect of their other
property. Walls of sheep-loads were erected either inside the tent or
directly outside, covered in the latter case with cloths in order to
protect them from the rain.
Punctually at 3 P.M. the Rajiwar arrived, carried in a _dandy_, and
followed by his brother, who sat in a mountain dandy. The Rajiwar's son
and heir rode a splendid grey pony. I went to assist the old Rajiwar to
alight, as for some years he had been paralysed. We shook hands heartily,
and I led him into the Daramsalla (2875 feet), where in default of
furniture we all sat on packing-cases. His refined, well-cut features,
his attractive manner, and the soft, dignified voice in which he spoke
clearly indicated a man of superior blood and uncommon ability. His
modesty and simplicity were delightful.
"I hope that your health is good and that you have not suffered too much
on your journey. I was grieved not to be in Askote to receive you. Are
your dear parents alive? Have you any brothers and sisters? Are you
married? I would much like to visit England. It must be a wonderful
country, and so much do I admire it that I have given my nephews a
British education, and one of them is now serving the Maharanee (Queen)
Victoria as Political Peshkar."
I answered his questions as best I could with the aid of a Hindustani
dictionary, expressive gestures, and quick sketches. He spoke of many of
our latest inventions with marked interest and intelligence.
He seemed greatly struck with my scientific instruments, but he and his
people were more particularly attracted by my rifles, revolvers, and
other weapons, especially the 256° Mannlicher, sighted to 1000 yards.
The Rajiwar pressed me to return with him to Askote, where he offered to
give me tiger, bear, and leopard shooting. Tempting as the invitation
was, I could not accept it, for my plans would lead me in the opposite
direction. His visit lasted for more than three hours; and I was pleased
to feel that we parted great friends.
[Illustration: THE RAJIWAR AND HIS BROTHER IN DANDIES.]
On the road to Dharchula, along the low-lying valley, the heat was
unbearable, although the sun was near the horizon. We came upon a
waterfall falling from a great height over a series of umbrella-like
stalactites covered with moss. The last rays of the sun shone on the
dropping water, brilliant and sparkling as a shower of diamonds. Several
small rainbows added to the beauty of the scene. I rested some time in
this cool and beautiful retreat. There were birds singing and monkeys
playing among the trees. Farther on, where the river bends, there are two
large caves hollowed in the rock; the smoke-blackened ceilings prove that
these are used as camping grounds by travelling Shokas and Hunyas
(Tibetans). Large black-faced, white-bearded monkeys swarmed everywhere,
frankly and gladly mischievous. They throw or roll stones down upon the
passers-by, often causing accidents, the track being rather narrow and
sheer above the river.
Previous to arriving at the spot where the Tsuagar flows into the Kali
River one meets with many Tibetan, Humli and Rongba encampments.
I camped at Kalika (3205 feet) by the side of a gigantic tree with boughs
spreading well over the road, the chaprassis and men erecting a
comfortable _chöpper_ of mats, foliage, and branches.
I was anxious to get through the hot valley with the greatest possible
speed, so, notwithstanding that we had halted very late at night, I
roused my men at 3 A.M. and again set forth on the march. Here and there
along the road we passed deserted winter dwellings of Shokas, nearly all
with broken thatched roofs. Some, however, were roofed with slate, the
distinctive mark of residence of the Darma Shokas.
The primitive Shoka water-mills were curious. By a very ingenious
contrivance the water of a stream propelled a heavy cylindrical stone
revolving on the top of another. The grain fell slowly from a magazine
above into a hole pierced in the centre of the upper wheel, and finding
its way through a channel between the two cylinders, was ground into fine
flour.
Dharchula (3550 _feet_) the largest Shoka winter settlement, is situated
on a fine stretch of flat land some hundred feet above the river; the
village consists of twelve long rows of roofless houses very similar in
size and shape. Four larger buildings at the extreme limit of the
settlement attract notice. One of these is a Daramsalla. The others, two
high stone buildings, are a school, hospital and dispensary belonging to
the Methodist Episcopal Mission and under the careful supervision of Miss
Sheldon, M.D., Miss Brown, and that wonderful pioneer, Dr. H. Wilson. A
bungalow of the same mission is built higher up on the hillside.
Between the two spots where from Nepal the Lachu and the Shakta join the
Kali, was Dubart (3700 feet), and from thence one gradually rose to 4120
feet at the Relegar River, also a tributary of the larger stream. Having
crossed the Rankuti River I ascended still higher by zigzag walking,
slowly leaving behind me range after range of mountains beyond the valley
of the river; while on the Nepal side, beyond the three nearer ranges,
snow peaks of great height and beauty stood out against the sky-line. The
highest point on the road was 5450 feet, after which we descended to 5275
feet at Khela Daramsalla, which we did not reach till late at night.
Near Khela on the top of a high mountain stood a tall quadrangular rock
not unlike a tower. The natives say that a mere touch causes it to shake
and revolve, but this belief is not general, for others deny that it ever
moves. I could not spare the time to go and test the facts, nor could I
obtain reliable information from any one who had had actual experience.
So far as I could see with the aid of my telescope, the rock seemed to be
standing firmly on a very solid base. To my regret also, I was unable to
visit the curious hot sulphur springs on the Darma Ganga, and the strange
cave in which much animal life is lost owing to the noxious gases rising
from the ground. I gathered from various reports that this cave or grotto
is packed with skeletons of birds and quadrupeds who have unknowingly
entered this chamber of death.