BACK TO CIVILISATION
When we turned our backs on Phari and started to march down the Chumbi
Valley, we had left the real Tibet behind us. I could not somehow look
upon the Chumbi Valley as being a part of Tibet. Its characteristics,
its houses, its people, its vegetation, are all so different from the
greater part of Tibet. There are not the same cold winds that freeze the
very marrow, nor are there the wide plains and the undulating hills with
their extensive views.
In spite of all discomforts, there is a very great charm and fascination
about travelling in Tibet. Is it partly because it is an unknown
country, and the unknown is always fascinating, or is it rather because
of the innate beauty of the country itself, with its landscapes so free
from all restraint and a horizon often 150 to 200 miles distant? Never
anywhere have I seen a country so full of colour as is Tibet. There is
not enough vegetation to hide the rocks and the stones. The foreground
as well as the distant view is wonderfully full of colour and variety.
Contrasts are one of the charms of life, and probably in this lies the
secret of the charm and attractiveness of Tibet. It is essentially a
country of contrasts. The climate, above all, has contrasts of its own.
The sun is burningly hot, but in the shade the cold may be intense. To
such a pitch can the extremes of heat and cold arrive, that a man may
suffer from sunstroke and frost-bite at one and the same time.
The Tibetans themselves are a strong, well-built and hardy
race--Mongolian in type. The women usually put a mixture of grease and
soot on their faces to protect them against the glare of the fresh snow
or the biting winds, for even they, with their thick skins, do not seem
to get used to the severity of the changes. How much more does the
European suffer when he travels in Tibet and seems to need a fresh skin
almost every day. The soot mixture does not add to the beauty of the
women, though I came across some who were not bad looking. Many of the
people are nomads, living in tents all the year round and moving about
from camp to camp pasturing their herds of yaks and their flocks of
sheep. It is curious that even in the winter-time they can find grazing
places, but the secret lies in the fact that the slopes face the South
in the regions where the wind blows strongest, so that the surface is
usually bare. The snowfall in winter in most parts of Tibet is not
heavy, and the climate being so dry, the snow is powdery, and the wind
blows it along and forms great drifts in the hollows, leaving the
exposed slopes usually clear. On these the herds, or flocks of sheep,
obtain sufficient nourishment from such scattered patches of frozen
grass or lichens as they are able to find. Of all the animals that the
Tibetans have, the yak is the most useful. His long black hair, which
reaches to the ground under his belly, is woven into tents or ropes. The
milk, after they have drunk what they want, is turned into butter and
cheese, of which they produce great quantities. When old, he is killed
and his flesh is dried, providing meat for a long time. His hide
supplies leather of every kind. It is always used untanned, for no
tanning is ever done in Tibet and any tanned skins always come up from
India. The yak dung is in many places the only fuel to be got and is
most carefully picked up. To the present generation of young children
the yak is probably familiar from that delightful rhyme in "The Bad
Child's Book of Beasts":--
As a friend to the children, commend me the Yak--
You will find it exactly the thing;
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back
Or lead it about with a string.
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet,
A desolate region of snow,
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know.
Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich,
He will buy you the creature--or else he will not;
I cannot be positive which.
The traveller in Tibet can easily live on such supplies as can be drawn
from the country. The Tibetan is always hospitable and will provide
sheep, milk, cheese and butter almost everywhere. Vegetables, however,
of any kind are very scarce, though in the summer a species of spinach
can be got in some places. Living, as the Tibetans do, far away from all
outside influences, their customs and manners have not changed, and are
the same as they were several hundred years ago. I can fully sympathise
with their present desire for seclusion and their eagerness not to be
exploited by foreigners. They sent a few years ago some young Tibetan
boys to Rugby to be educated in different professions. These boys have
now returned again to Lhasa, and with their aid, and with the aid of
others who are being sent out into the world to learn, they hope to be
able to develop the resources of their own country at leisure, in their
own way, and by themselves, without being exploited commercially by
foreigners.
The staple food of the Tibetans is tsampa (parched barley). This is
ground up and either milk or tea is added, forming it into a kind of
dough. This is put in a little bag, which they carry about with them
when travelling, and is often their only food for several days. Tsampa
can be obtained everywhere in Tibet, though it is easier to get it in
the villages than from the tents of the nomads. Tea can, of course, be
obtained everywhere, and, as I have described before, is mixed with salt
and butter, churned up with great violence, and then poured into
teapots. At every camp, and at every house, will be met fierce dogs.
These dogs guard the flocks, or the nomad camps, and rather resemble
large collies; as a rule, they are black and very fierce. The Tibetans
were, however, always very good in tying them up before we approached
their camps. In many of the houses we found tied up just outside the
door another kind of dog, a huge brute of the mastiff type, always
extremely savage and ready, if he had not been tied up, to tear the
intruder to pieces. The peasants are still treated as serfs, though only
in a mild form. For all Government officials, when on tour, they have to
supply free transport and supplies of all kinds, so that official visits
are not popular. At first the villagers were afraid that we might follow
the example of the Tibetan officials and were much relieved to find that
we did not do so.
I cannot leave the subject of Tibet without a few words about the
monasteries. These are divided into two great schools, the Red Cap
School and the Yellow Cap School. The former was founded by the Buddhist
Saint, Padma Sambhava or Guru Rimpoche, in A.D. 749. They are the older
of the two monastic sects, but their morals are much looser than those
of the Yellow Sect, and the Lamas or monks of this sect are often
married. In one monastery belonging to the Red Sect near Kharta, the
Lamas and their wives were all living together. The Yellow Cap, or
Gelukpa Sect, was founded in the fifteenth century by Tsong Kapa, who
instituted a very much stricter moral code, and this sect looks down
very much upon the Red Caps. The State religion of the country is
Buddhism. By the middle of the seventeenth century, after a series of
reincarnations, Nawang Lobsang had made himself master of Tibet and
transferred his capital to Lhasa. He accepted the title of Dalai Lama
(Ocean of Learning) from the Chinese, hence the Dalai Lama at Lhasa, by
this doctrine of political reincarnation, has absorbed all the political
power in the country into his own hands, although the Tashi Lama at
Tashilumpo is in theory his senior and superior in spiritual matters.
The old simple creed of the Buddhists can scarcely be recognised
nowadays and is overlaid with devil worship in all its forms,
supernatural agencies abounding everywhere. The top of a pass, a
mountain, a river, a bridge, a storm; each will have its own particular
god who is to be worshipped and propitiated. In many of the larger
monasteries, too, they have oracles who are consulted far and wide and
supposed to be able to foretell the future. These often acquire
considerable power and influence by methods not unlike those resorted to
in ancient Greece. It has been estimated that a fifth of the whole
population of Tibet has entered monastic life. The conditions probably
much resemble those which prevailed in mediaeval Europe. The monasteries
contain nearly all the riches of the country. They own large estates;
they are the source of all learning, and all the arts and crafts seem to
take their inspiration from articles for use in the monasteries. The
ordinary Tibetan, surrounded as he is by the various spirits which
occupy every valley and mountain top, is very superstitious. He
therefore has inside his house his prayer wheel and his little shrine,
before which he offers up incense daily. His Mani walls or mendongs,
covered with inscribed stones or carved figures of Buddha, are alongside
the paths he daily uses; on the top of the mountains or passes, in
addition to these prayer-covered stones, flutter rags printed over with
prayers. All these are intended to propitiate the evil spirits. In
places where there are particularly malignant devils, it may be
necessary to build several Chortens in order to keep them in subjection,
and these Chortens are filled with several thousands of prayers and
sacred figures stamped in the clay.
The country is divided up into districts, each under its own Jongpen,
who is responsible direct to Lhasa or Shigatse and has yearly to send
the revenue collected to headquarters. A certain percentage of the crops
is collected every year, and in a year of good harvest the Jongpen is
able to make a certain amount of money for himself in addition to what
he has to send to Lhasa. Our visit to the Kharta Valley was an
unexpected windfall for the Kharta Jongpen, as I fancy that much of the
money that we paid out to the different villages for supplies or coolie
hire eventually found its way into his pocket and was not likely to find
its way to Lhasa. This may possibly have accounted for his pleasure in
entertaining us and his desire to keep us there as long as possible. The
Tibetans, however, everywhere have good manners and are invariably most
polite--a pleasant characteristic. Although they are all Buddhists, and
accordingly object to the taking of life, they do not in the least mind
killing their sheep or their yaks for food, but they objected to our
shooting wild sheep or gazelles or wild birds for food. I could have
understood this objection better had they been vegetarians and not
killed their sheep for eating purposes, but a real vegetarian, except in
the strictest monasteries, is very rare in Tibet.
There was a great fascination in roaming through the country as we did.
It was the fascination of the unknown, this travelling in regions where
Europeans had never travelled before, and where they had never even been
seen. The people had exaggerated notions of our ferocity, and were full
of fears as to what we might be like and as to what we might do. In
these out-of-the-way parts they had heard vaguely of the fighting in
1904, and they imagined that our visit might be on the same lines. They
imagined, too, that all Europeans were cruel and seized what they wanted
without payment. They were therefore much surprised when they found that
we treated them fairly and paid for everything that we wanted at very
good rates. The Expedition may, I venture to think, take credit to
itself for having certainly done a great deal of good in promoting more
friendly relations between the Tibetans and ourselves, and in giving
them a better understanding of what an Englishman is. Their ignorance of
the outside world was at times astounding. Tibetan officials and traders
were an exception, but it was seldom that the ordinary Tibetan ever left
the valley in which he was born and bred, with the result that except
for the wildest rumours, they knew nothing of the outside world. For
long-distance journeys, the Tibetans used ambling mules or ponies, which
were capable of going long distances and keeping up a speed of about 5
miles an hour. To our idea, the Tibetan saddle with its high wooden
framework is very uncomfortable, but on the top of their saddles they
would put their bedding, spreading over it a brilliant and often
beautifully coloured carpet as a saddle cloth. On the top of this the
rider would sit perched, and, with a good ambling pony, could get along
very comfortably.
I always enjoyed travelling and moving about in Tibet. It hardly has the
climate of Tennyson's Island Valley of Avilion--"Where falls not hail or
rain or snow, nor ever wind blows loudly"--for we used to get samples of
nearly all of these almost every day. But no matter how barren nor how
bare the immediate surroundings were there was a sense of exhilaration
and freedom in the air. There was never a sense of being confined in a
narrow space. There was always some distant view where the colours would
be continually changing. In the summer-time the climate was not
unpleasant, and there was always the pleasure of finding some new and
beautiful flower, oftentimes springing up out of the driest sand.
Wherever there was water, there was sure to be vegetation and many
bright-coloured flowers with every kind of wild-bird life. The shrill
whistle of the marmot would often alone break the silence of the scene.
Animal life in some form was almost always visible, whether it was the
wild kiang roaming on the plains, or the gazelle, or the wild sheep,
there was always something of interest to watch. The little mouse hares
which lived in great colonies would constantly dodge in and out of their
holes and the song of the larks could always be heard.
By the end of October the climate was beginning to get very cold, the
thermometer descending at times to Zero Fahrenheit, so that we were
quite ready to leave the country, being anxious to get warm again, if
only for a short time. There was sorrow in our hearts, however, at
parting with the friendly and hospitable folk whom we had encountered,
and at leaving behind us the familiar landscapes with the transparent
pale blue atmosphere that is so hard to describe, and the distant views
of range upon range of snowy mountains often reflected in the calm
waters of some blue coloured lake. The attractions of Tibet may yet be
strong enough to draw us back again once more. Many years ago the same
attraction impelled me to cross the Himalayan mountains and to visit
another part of Tibet, but my excursion was, I am afraid, not favourably
regarded by the Indian Government and my leave was stopped for six
months. The same attraction, however, still exists for this land of many
colours with its lonely sunsets full of beauty, with its nights where
the eager stars gleam bright as diamonds, and where the full moon shines
upon the nameless mountains covered with snow and still as death.
As we turned our backs upon the country we left winter behind us, and
descending the Chumbi Valley once more found ourselves in autumnal
surroundings. The Himalayan larch were all of a beautiful golden colour;
the birch were all turning brown, and the berberis were a brilliant
scarlet. Red currants and the scarlet haws of the rose were still on the
bushes. The currants were no longer sour to eat raw, and we picked many
of them on the way down. Our pockets, too, were filled with seeds of
rhododendrons and other flowers. On the way I was met by the native
officer commanding the garrison at Yatung, which was now found by the
90th Punjabis. As I passed their quarters, the guard turned out,
presenting arms very smartly, and all the detachment came out and
saluted. They were certainly a very well-trained detachment. Once more
the Macdonald family most kindly sent over a generous meal, besides
presents of every sort and kind of European vegetable. From Yatung we
obtained forty-five mules for our transport. These came along very much
faster than the yaks and the donkeys that we had been using. Here
Gyalzen Kazi, one of our interpreters, left us to return to his home at
Gangtok. I was very sorry to lose him. He had been a pleasant companion
and had been of great assistance to the Expedition. He was always most
willing to undertake any difficult or unpleasant job there might be, and
I never heard a murmur or grumble from him of any kind during the whole
time that he was with us. Our march was only a short one of 11 miles to
Langra, where there was a Tibetan rest-house built in the Chinese style
and rather reminding me of our rest-house at Tingri. It was a most
perfect autumnal day, with scarcely a cloud in the sky. The woods
everywhere were very beautiful, the dark silver fir trees showing up the
scarlet and yellow of the bushes and the gold of the larch. Our cook,
Acchu, was drunk again, but Poo prepared us a good meal instead. The
next morning, to our surprise, on looking out we found a couple of
inches of fresh snow on the ground and the snow was still falling
steadily. The mules, nevertheless, were all loaded up in good time, and
I followed on foot to the top of the Jelep Pass, snow falling steadily
all the way--a fine granular snow. At the top of the pass the wind was
blowing keenly, driving the snow into our faces. Besides the 6 inches of
fresh snow here, there was a good deal of the old snow that had fallen a
week or more ago, and in some places formed drifts several feet deep. It
is seldom that a clear view is ever obtained on the Jelep Pass. It
rained when we came over in May and it snowed now, and twice before,
when I have crossed it, it rained all the time. Snow fell all the way
down to Gnatong, where there were already a couple of inches of slush.
The next morning was luckily fine, as we were to do a long march to
Rongli--a distance of only 18 miles, but with a descent of 9,500 feet.
The first few miles we walked through the fresh snow, but in the
afternoon we were wandering among the sweet scents of a tropical jungle
with orchids still flowering on the trees and ripe oranges in the garden
of our bungalow. We had jumped from winter to summer in a few hours. The
Tibetan mules came along excellently, doing the march in just over eight
hours, a very different proceeding to our Government mules on the way
up, which we were compelled to discard at Sedongchen. We reached
Darjeeling on October 25. Lord Ronaldshay was unfortunately away on tour
on his way to Bhutan, and as he had travelled via Gangtok, we had missed
seeing him on the way. The next few days we spent in getting rid of the
remainder of our stores, selling anything perishable that we could,
getting tents dried and mended, and storing everything else in view of a
second Expedition. We here said good-bye to our other interpreter,
Chheten Wangdi, who had served us most faithfully throughout the
Expedition, and it was with the greatest regret that we took leave of
him on the railway station at Darjeeling.
[Illustration: MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION.
_Standing_: WOLLASTON. HOWARD-BURY. HERON. RAEBURN.
_Sitting_: MALLORY. WHEELER. BULLOCK. MORSHEAD.]
Our Expedition had accomplished all that it had set out to do. All the
approaches to Mount Everest from the North-west, North, North-east and
East had been carefully reconnoitred and a possible route to the top had
been found up the North-east ridge. Climatic conditions alone had
prevented a much greater height being attained. Friendly relations had
been established with the Tibetan officials and people wherever we went.
Our travels had taken us through much unexplored and new country wherein
we had discovered some magnificent and undreamt-of valleys where
primeval forests existed such as we had never imagined to find in Tibet
and where deep filled glens with the richest semi-tropical vegetation
descended as low as 7,000 feet. Many beautiful flowers were discovered
in these Alpine valleys, and we were able to collect a quantity of seeds
from these which I hope may help to enrich and to beautify our gardens
at home. A new part of the country has been opened up to human
knowledge. It has been photographed and described. The surveyors have
made an original survey at a scale of 4 miles to the inch of an area of
some 12,000 square miles; a detailed photographic survey of 600 square
miles of the environs of Mount Everest has been worked out, and, besides
this, the maps of another 4,000 square miles of country have been
revised. Dr. Heron, our indefatigable geologist, himself travelled over
the greater part of this area, and has carefully investigated the
geology of the whole region. That the Expedition was able to accomplish
so much in such a short time was due to the hearty co-operation and
keenness of all the members of the party. We were a happy family and, to
use a rowing expression, we all "pulled together." Such success as we
attained is entirely due to their strenuous and ceaseless efforts, and I
can only express my gratitude to them for the unselfish way in which
they helped and assisted me on every occasion.
The Expedition of 1921 is over; many problems have been solved, much new
country has been brought within our ken, and many new beauties have been
revealed, but the soul of man is never content with what has been
attained. The solution of one problem only brings forward fresh problems
to be solved, so this Expedition into unknown country brings within the
realms of possibility further travels and further problems to be solved.
There is much that yet remains to be done, much that remains to be
discovered; and though we may not be privileged to discover a new race
of hairy snow men, yet there is a wild and uncharted country full of
beauty and interest that awaits those who dare face the discomfort and
hardships of travelling in Tibet--discomforts which are soon forgotten
and leave behind them only the memories of very wonderful scenes and
places which the passing of time can never efface.
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us,
Let us journey to a lonely land I know;
There's a whisper in the night wind, there's a star, a gleam to guide us,
And the wild is calling, calling, let us go.
R. W. S.
THE RECONNAISSANCE OF THE MOUNTAIN
By
GEORGE H. LEIGH-MALLORY