In pleasant company--Unpopularity of the Lamas--Soldiers--Towards
the Maium Pass--Grass--Threats--Puzzled Tibetans--The Maium
Pass--Obos.
DURING the evening the Tibetans came over to my camp and made themselves
useful. They helped us to get fuel, and brewed tea for me in Tibetan
fashion. They seemed decent fellows, although sly if you like. They
professed to hate the Lamas, the rulers of the country, to whom they took
special pleasure in applying names hardly repeatable in these pages.
According to them, the Lamas had all the money that came into the
country, and no one but themselves was allowed to have any. They were not
particular as to the means used to obtain their aim; they were cruel and
unjust. Every man in Tibet, they said, was a soldier in case of
emergency, and every one a servant of the Lamas. The soldiers of the
standing army received a certain quantity of _tsamba_, bricks of tea and
butter, and that was all, no pay being given in cash. Usually, however,
they were given a pony to ride, and when on travelling duty they had a
right to obtain relays of animals at post-stations and villages, where
also they were entitled to claim supplies of food, saddles, or anything
else they required, to last them as far as the next encampment. The
weapons (sword and matchlock) generally belonged to the men themselves,
and always remained in the family; but occasionally, and especially in
the larger towns, such as Lhassa and Sigatz, the Lamas provided them:
gunpowder and bullets were invariably supplied by the authorities. The
arms were manufactured mostly in Lhassa and Sigatz. Although the Tibetans
boasted of great accuracy in shooting with their matchlocks, which had
wooden rests to allow the marksman to take a steady aim, it was never my
pleasure to see even the champion shots in the country hit the mark. It
is true that, for sporting purposes and for economy's sake, the Tibetan
soldier hardly ever used lead bullets or shot, but preferred to fill his
barrel with pebbles, which were scarcely calculated to improve the bore
of the weapon. Furthermore, gunpowder was so scarce that it was but very
seldom they had a chance of practising.
[Illustration: FLYING PRAYERS ON THE MAIUM PASS]
At sunrise the view of Gunkyo was magnificent, with the snow-covered
mountains tinted gold and red, and reflected in their minutest details in
the still waters of the lake. We loaded our yaks, the Tibetans giving us
a helping hand, and started towards the Maium Pass, following a general
course of 109° up the river, which throws itself into the Gunkyo Lake.
[Illustration: MATCHLOCK]
The valley was very narrow, and ran in continuous zigzags; but although
the altitude was great, there was abundance of grass, and the green was
quite refreshing to the eyes, tired as we were of snow and reddish barren
mountains and desert-like stretches of land. We came to a basin where, on
the opposite bank of the stream, was a large Tibetan camping-ground with
a high wall of stones. Behind it I could see smoke rising, which made me
suspect that there were people concealed there.
Our Tibetan friends asked what we were going to do, and begged me to stop
there to talk and drink tea. I said I had had quite enough of both, and
would proceed.
"If you go on we will kill you," said one of the soldiers, getting into a
temper, and taking advantage of our politeness towards him and his mates.
"_Nga samgi ganta indah_" ("If you please"), I answered with studied
courtesy.
"If you go another step, we will cut off your head, or you will have to
cut off ours," cried two or three others, stretching their bare necks
towards me.
"_Taptih middù_" ("I have not got a small knife"), I replied, quite
seriously, and with assumed disappointment, twirling my hand in the air
in Tibetan fashion.
The Tibetans did not know what to make of me, and when I moved towards
the pass, on which hundreds of flying prayers flapped in the wind, after
politely bidding them good-bye with tongue out, and waving both my hands
palms upwards in front of my forehead in the most approved Tibetan style,
they took off their caps and humbly saluted us by going down on their
knees and putting their heads close to the ground.
We crossed the plain, and slowly wended our way up the pass. Near the top
we came to a track, the highway from Ladak to Lhassa _viâ_ Gartok, along
the northern side of the Rakstal, Mansarowar and Gunkyo Lakes. On the
pass itself were planted several poles connected by means of ropes, from
which flying prayers waved gaily in the breeze. _Obos_, or mounds of
stones, had also been erected here. The slabs were usually white, and
bore in many instances the inscription "_Omne mani padme hun_." Yak
skulls and horns, as well as those of goats and sheep, were laid by the
side of these Obos, the same words being engraved on the bone and stained
red with the blood of the animal killed.
These sacrifices are offered by Tibetans when crossing a high pass,
especially if there is a Lama close at hand to commemorate the event. The
meat of the animal killed is eaten by the people present, and, if the
party is a large one, dancing and singing follow the feast. As I have
already remarked, these Obos are found all over the country; they
indicate the points marking the passes or summits of hills, and no
Tibetan ever goes by one of them without depositing on it a white stone
to appease the possible wrath of their God.