The word _Bhot_ and its meaning--Tibetan influence--Tibetan
abuses--The ever-helpful Chanden Sing--The first Shoka
village--Chanden Sing in disgrace--Weaving-loom--Fabrics--All's
well that ends well!
THE name _Bhot_, pronounced Bod, Pote, Tüpöt, or Taipöt, by which this
inter-Alpine region is called, means Tibet. In fact _Tibet_ is probably
merely a corruption of _Tüpöt_. These lofty "pattis" of Darma, Bias, and
Chaudas nominally form part of the British Empire, our geographical
boundary with Nari Khorsum or Hundes (Great Tibet), being the main
Himahlyan chain forming the watershed between the two countries. In spite
of this actual territorial right, I found at the time of my visit in 1897
that it was impossible not to agree with the natives in asserting that
British prestige and protection in those regions were mere myths; that
Tibetan influence alone was dominant and prevailing, and Tibetan law
enforced and feared. The natives invariably showed abject obsequiousness
and servile submission to Tibetans, being at the same time compelled to
display actual disrespect to British officials. They were driven to bring
the greater number of civil and criminal cases before Tibetan magistrates
in preference to having them tried in a British court.
The Tibetans, in fact, openly claimed possession of the "pattis"
bordering on Nari Khorsum; and the more obviously to impress our natives
with their influence as superior to British, they came over to hibernate
on our side, and made themselves quite at home in the warmer valleys and
in the larger bazaars. They brought their families with them, and drove
before them thousands and thousands of sheep to graze on our
pasture-lands; they gradually destroyed our forests in Bias to supply
South-Western Tibet with fuel for the summer months. For this they not
only paid nothing, but our native subjects had to convey the timber over
the high passes without remuneration. Necessarily such unprincipled
task-masters did not draw the line at extorting from our natives under
any pretence money, food, clothes, and everything else they could
possibly levy. Some were known to travel yearly as far south as Lucknow,
Calcutta, and Bombay.
[Illustration: SHOKA WEAVERS]
So much for the gentleness of the Tibetans--a hermit nation living in a
closed country!
Chanden Sing, ever anxious to be polite and helpful, would not hear of my
carrying my own sketch and note books as had always been my custom, but
insisted on doing so himself.
"_Hum pagal neh!_" ("I am no fool!") said he with an expression of
wounded feelings. "I will take great care of them."
We started up the steep road, having first descended to the level of the
River Dholi, 800 feet lower than Khela, crossing by a wooden bridge. The
zigzag up the mountain-side seemed endless. Here and there a cool spring
of crystal water quenched our thirst, welcome indeed on that tedious
ascent in the broiling sun. Six miles above Khela we had risen to 7120
feet, and from this point the incline became less trying. Still we rose
to 7450 feet two miles farther on, where under the shade of some
magnificent old trees, at Pungo, I halted for lunch. We had entered the
first inhabited village of the Shokas, visually but erroneously called
Botiyas, and were now in that part of their country called Chaudas.
A pleasant surprise awaited me. A smart-looking lad in European clothes
came boldly forward, and, stretching out his hand, shook mine for some
considerable time in a jovial and friendly fashion.
"I am a Christian," said he.
"I should say that you were by the way you shake hands."
"Yes, sir," he proceeded. "I have prepared for you some milk, some
_chapatis_ (native bread), and some nuts. Please accept them."
"Thank you," I said. "You do not seem to be a bad Christian. What is your
name?"
"Master G. B. Walter, sir. I teach in the school."
A crowd of Shokas had collected. Their first shyness having worn off,
they proved to be polite and kind. The _naïve_ nature and graceful manner
of the Shoka girls struck me particularly on this my first introduction
to them. Much less shy than the men, they came forward, and joked and
laughed as if they had known me all their lives. I wished to sketch two
or three of the more attractive.
"Where is my book, Chanden Sing?" I inquired of my bearer.
"_Hazur hum mallum neh!_" ("I do not know, sir!") was his melancholy
answer as he searched his empty pockets.
"Ah! you villain! Is that the care you take of my notes and sketches?
What have you done with them?"
"Oh Sahib, I drank some water at the Dholi River. I had the book then in
my hand. I must have left it on a stone when I stooped to drink water
from the stream," the wretched man explained.
It is hardly necessary to say that Chanden Sing was promptly despatched
to the spot he had named, with strict orders not to appear before me
again without the book. I spent two or three pleasant hours in having
the primitive Shoka weaving-looms, the processes of spinning and cloth
manufacture, explained to me. As can be seen from the illustration on p.
42, the weaving looms of the Shokas are in every way similar to those
used by the Tibetans proper, and are quite simple in construction. The
warp is kept at great tension, and the cloth-beam on which the woven
tissue is rolled rests on the woman's lap during the process of weaving.
There are no treadles in the Shoka loom, by which the two sets of warp
threads are alternately raised or depressed between each time that the
transverse thread is passed, and all work is done by hand. The transverse
thread is beaten firmly home by means of a heavy prismatic piece of wood.
The material used in weaving is yak or sheep's wool, either in its
natural colour or dyed in the primary colours of red and blue and yellow,
and one secondary only, green. Blue and red are used in the greater and
equal proportion; then green. Yellow is very parsimoniously used. The
thread is well twisted and is subjected to no preparation before
spinning, leaving thus a certain greasiness in the closely-woven material
that renders it waterproof. In weaving colour fabrics several shuttles
are used.
Shoka women are very adept at this ancient art, and they patiently sit
out of doors day after day weaving most intricate and artistic patterns.
These coloured tissues, if we except the simpler ones with blue ground
and lines for women's garments, are usually very narrow (about seven
inches in width), whereas the less elaborate ones, such as the white
material of which men's clothes are made, average sixteen inches.
The patterns in these many-coloured materials are woven from memory, and
do not contain curves or circles, but are entirely composed of lines and
angles, combinations of small lozenges and squares separated by long
tri-coloured parallel lines, forming, so far as weaving is concerned, the
main Shoka ideas of decoration and ornament. The fabrics are
extraordinarily strong. The narrow coloured cloth of better quality is
used mostly for making bags in which money and food are carried; the
coarser kind for the double sheep-loads.
The more talented of the Shoka young women show much ingenuity in carpet
or rather rug making. They have copied the idea from old Chinese rugs
which have found their way here _viâ_ Lhassa, and though upon close
examination it is true they differ considerably in quality and
manufacture, they are pleasing enough to the eye. These rugs are woven
upon coarse thread matting, the coloured material being let in
vertically. A soft surface is obtained not unlike in general appearance
to that of Persian carpets, but not quite so pleasant to the touch. These
small rectangular rugs are offered in the house of Shoka gentlemen to
guests to sit on, and are also used to render the Tibetan saddles less
uncomfortable.
As time went on I became very anxious as to the missing book, for it
contained all my notes of the journey. The thought of its being deposited
on a rock washed by a rapid stream into which it might easily slip and be
carried away kept me in a state of suspense. At last a staggering figure
approached; it was Chanden Sing waving the book triumphantly in the air.
He had run the distance of many miles down to the river and back so
quickly that when he reached me he was utterly exhausted. He handed me
the book, and once more we started, followed by Walter and the whole
community, down the steep incline to the river. At this place some of the
Shokas seized my hands and placed them on their foreheads, at the same
time making deep bows. Others embraced my feet, while the women folks
bade me the usual Hindustani "_Acha giao_" ("Go well").
After some time had been wasted, or at least spent, in receiving these
odd salutations, I persuaded them to retrace their steps, and they left
me.