Led before the tribunal--The Pombo--Classical Tibetan beyond
me--Chanden Sing lashed--The Lamas puzzled--A sudden change in
the Pombo's attitude.
A NUMBER of soldiers now came for me, and I was first led, then pushed
violently before the tribunal.
On a high seat in the centre of the tent sat a man wearing ample trousers
of gaudy yellow and a short yellow coat with flowing sleeves. On his head
he had a huge four-pointed hat gilt all over, and with three great eyes
painted on it. He was young-looking, and his head was clean shaven, as he
was a Lama of the highest order, a Grand Lama and a _Pombo_, or Governor
of the province, with powers equivalent to those of a feudal king. On his
right stood a stout and powerful red Lama who held a huge double-handed
sword, and behind, and at the sides, were a number of other Lamas,
officers and soldiers. As I stood silent, and with my head held high
before him, two or three Lamas rushed at me and ordered me to kneel. They
tried to compel me to do so, by forcing me on my knees, but I succeeded
in maintaining an upright posture.
The Pombo, who was furious at my declining to kneel before him, addressed
me in words that sounded violent; but, as he spoke classical Tibetan, and
I only the colloquial language, I could not understand a word of what he
said, and I meekly asked him not to use such fine words, as they were
unintelligible to me.
[Illustration: CHANDEN SING BEING LASHED]
The great man was taken aback at this unheard-of request; and, with a
frown on his face, he pointed to me to look to my left. The soldiers and
Lamas drew aside, and I beheld Chanden Sing lying flat on his face,
stripped from the waist downwards, in front of a row of Lamas and
military men. Two powerful Lamas, one on each side of him, began again
to castigate him with knotted leather thongs weighted with lead, laying
on their strokes with vigorous arms from his waist to his feet. He was
bleeding all over. Each time that a lash fell on his wounded skin it felt
as if a dagger had been stuck into my chest; but I knew Orientals too
well to show any pity for the man, as this would have only involved a
more severe punishment for him. So I looked on at his torture as one
would upon a thing of everyday occurrence. The Lamas nearer to me shook
their fists under my nose, and explained that my turn would come next,
whereupon I smiled and repeated the usual "_Nikutza, nikutza_" ("Very
good, very good").
[Illustration: THE POMBO]
The Pombo and his officers were at a loss what to make of me, as I could
plainly see by their faces; so that the more I perceived how well my plan
was answering, the more courage I screwed up to play my part to the best
of my ability.
The Pombo, an effeminate, juvenile, handsome person, almost hysterical in
manner, and likely to make a splendid subject for hypnotic experiments (I
had reason to think, indeed, that he had already often been under
mesmeric influence), remained with his eyes fixed upon mine as if in a
trance for certainly over two minutes.
There was a wonderful and sudden change in the man, and his voice,
arrogant and angry a few moments before, was now soft and apparently
kindly. The Lamas around him were evidently concerned at seeing their
lord and master transformed from a foaming fury to the quietest of lambs.
They seized me and brought me out of his sight to the spot where Chanden
Sing was being chastised. Here again I could not be compelled to kneel,
so at last I was allowed to squat down before the Pombo's officers.