TRANS-HIMALAYA
[Illustration]
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: Aron Jonason Photogr.
189. SVEN HEDIN.
_Frontispiece_]
TRANS-HIMALAYA
DISCOVERIES AND ADVENTURES IN TIBET
BY
SVEN HEDIN
WITH 388 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS, WATER-COLOUR
SKETCHES, AND DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR
AND 10 MAPS
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1910
_First Edition 1909_
_Reprinted 1910_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXXV PAGE
IMMURED MONKS 1
CHAPTER XXXVI
OVER THE CHANG-LA-POD-LA 12
CHAPTER XXXVII
TARGO-GANGRI AND THE SHURU-TSO 25
CHAPTER XXXVIII
TO THE OUTLET OF THE CHAKTAK-TSANGPO IN THE
BRAHMAPUTRA 38
CHAPTER XXXIX
MUHAMED ISA'S DEATH 52
CHAPTER XL
ALONG BYWAYS TO TRADUM 64
CHAPTER XLI
A PEEP INTO NEPAL 77
CHAPTER XLII
IN SEARCH OF THE SOURCE OF THE BRAHMAPUTRA 89
CHAPTER XLIII
THE SOURCE OF THE SACRED RIVER--A DEPARTURE 99
CHAPTER XLIV
A NIGHT ON MANASAROWAR 110
CHAPTER XLV
MORE LAKE VOYAGES 122
CHAPTER XLVI
A STORMY VOYAGE OVER THE HOLY LAKE 133
CHAPTER XLVII
ON THE ROOF OF THE GOSSUL MONASTERY 144
CHAPTER XLVIII
OUR LAST DAYS ON TSO-MAVANG 154
CHAPTER XLIX
ADVENTURES ON LANGAK-TSO 166
CHAPTER L
THE SOURCE OF THE SUTLEJ 178
CHAPTER LI
A PILGRIMAGE ROUND KANG-RINPOCHE 189
CHAPTER LII
OM MANI PADME HUM 200
CHAPTER LIII
THE DISCOVERY OF THE SOURCE OF THE INDUS 207
CHAPTER LIV
A RESOLUTION 215
CHAPTER LV
A NEW CHAPTER 226
CHAPTER LVI
UP TO THE HEIGHTS OF DAPSANG 237
CHAPTER LVII
ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD 248
CHAPTER LVIII
FORTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO 258
CHAPTER LIX
IN THE SNOW 267
CHAPTER LX
DEATH OF THE LAST VETERAN 272
CHAPTER LXI
THIRTY DAYS OF STORM 282
CHAPTER LXII
ADVENTURES OF OURSELVES AND PUPPY IN NAGRONG 292
CHAPTER LXIII
THROUGH THE HIGHLANDS OF BONGBA 302
CHAPTER LXIV
TSONGPUN TASHI 313
CHAPTER LXV
BUPTSANG-TSANGPO, ONE OF THE LARGEST RIVERS OF THE
HEART OF TIBET 321
CHAPTER LXVI
IN THE ROBBERS' PARADISE 332
CHAPTER LXVII
APRIL 24 343
CHAPTER LXVIII
HIS EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR OF SAKA 353
CHAPTER LXIX
KAMBA TSENAM, FATHER OF THE ROBBERS 364
CHAPTER LXX
THE SEVENTH CROSSING OF THE TRANS-HIMALAYA--TO THE
HEAVENLY LAKE OF THE THRONE MOUNTAIN 374
CHAPTER LXXI
ANOTHER JOURNEY ACROSS THE WHITE PATCH 385
CHAPTER LXXII
THE LAST DAYS IN UNKNOWN COUNTRY 395
CHAPTER LXXIII
THE TRANS-HIMALAYA 401
CHAPTER LXXIV
SIMLA 415
INDEX 425
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
189. Sven Hedin _Frontispiece_
190. Hermit's Grotto near the Chang-la-Pod-la 12
191. Robert and Rabsang by the Ice on the Way to the
Chang-la-Pod-la 18
192. A Lhadse decked with Mani-Stones and Prayer-Streamers 18
193, 194. Nomads south of Targo-gangri 24
195. Mendicant Lama blowing on a Human Bone 24
196. Tibetan Boy 24
197. Kubi-gangri from Camp 201 26
198. Targo-gangri from a Hill near Camp 150 26
199. The Chomo-uchong Group from the Kinchen-la, May 23, 1907 26
200. Lundup's Squadron. To the left a part of Targo-gangri, Camp
150 28
201. Lundup (on horseback to the left) and his Retinue prevent me
from proceeding to the Dangra-yum-tso 30
202, 203, 204. Targo-gangri from the South 32
205. The Shuru-tso, with Targo-gangri in the Background 34
206. On the Upper Raga-tsangpo 36
207. Angden-la 36
208. Chomo-uchong from the east 36
209, 210. Angden-la, a Pass on the Trans-Himalaya 38
211. Manis on the Way to the Angden-la 40
212. Chomo-uchong from Lamlung-la 44
213. Panorama from the Ta-la. The Brahmaputra Valley and the
Himalayas in the Background 44
214. Beggar at Tashi-gembe 50
215. Young Tibetan at the Mouth of the Chaktak-tsangpo 50
216. Wandering Lama with a Wooden Glove in his Hand, such as is
used to protect the Hands in the Prostration Pilgrimage
round the Holy Mountain Kailas 50
217. The Corpse of Muhamed Isa 54
218. Muhamed Isa's Funeral Procession 56
219, 220, 221. The Interment of Muhamed Isa 58
222. Woman at the Mouth of the Chaktak-tsangpo in the Tsangpo 64
223. Tibetan of Saka 64
224. Lama in Saka-dzong 64
225, 226, 227, 228. Tibetan Boys and Girls of Saka and Tradum 70
229. Woman of Nyuku 74
230. Two Tibetans 74
231. The Gova of Tuksum 74
232. Girl at Pasa-guk 74
233. View from the Kore-la towards the south-west 78
234. Gulam Razul's Tents in Gartok 82
235. Landscape in Upper Nepal 82
236. A Chhorten in Nepal 84
237. Group of Tibetan Women 84
238. Women in the Village of Namla 88
239. Inhabitants of the Village of Namla 88
240. Lama in my Boat 92
241. Loading the Boat with Boxes on crossing the Brahmaputra 92
242. Panorama of Kubi-gangri and the Langta-chen Glacier, with the
Source of the Brahmaputra (from a height of 16,453 feet,
July 13, 1907) 102
243, 244, 245. The Mountains at the Source of the Brahmaputra 106
246. Tibetans on the Bank of the Soma-tsangpo 110
247. Group of Natives of Langmar 110
248. Robert in the Boat 118
249. Sheep-shearing at Tugu-gompa on Manasarowar 124
250. The God of the Lake rising from Tso-mavang 130
251. Temple Hall of the Lake-God of Tso-mavang 134
252. Chenresi's Image in Tugu-gompa 134
253. The Lhakang Hall in Tugu-gompa 138
254. Lama with Prayer-Drum 140
255. Lama before the Temple Door in Tugu-gompa 140
256. Yanggo-gompa 146
257. Interior of the Temple, Tugu 146
258. A Dreamer. Lama in Yanggo-gompa on Manasarowar 148
259. The old Nun in Yanggo-gompa 150
260. The Holy Lake Manasarowar from Tugu-gompa, with Kailas
in the Background _Coloured_ 152
261. Boy on the Upper Tsangpo 162
262. The young Prior of Langbo-nan 162
263. Temple Vessels in Chiu-gompa 166
264. Two Children in Shigatse 166
265. Kailas behind Nyandi-gompa 170
266. My Pack-Sheep 170
267. Part of Kailas 174
268. Kailas from Diri-pu 182
269. Confluence of the Two Arms of the Indus 182
270. Tibetan Female Pilgrims at Kailas 188
271. The Gova by whose help the Source of the Indus was
discovered (seated) and Tibetans at Kailas 194
272. Gulam Razul beside Bales of Chinese Brick-Tea 198
273. Tibetan Tent 202
274. Monastery of Gar-gunsa 202
275. Images at Chushut 202
276. The Policemen from Simla 206
277. My Boat on the Indus 206
278. Ladaki Women 206
279, 280, 281. At the Monastery Door in Tashi-gang between Gartok
and Ladak 210
282. Dancing Women in Chushut, a Village on my Way back to Ladak 212
283. Old Woman 216
284. Lama in Chushut 216
285. On the Way to Tankse 220
286. In the Indus Valley on the Way to Ladak 220
287. The new Horses and Mules at Drugub 220
288. Robert in Winter Dress 224
289. Abdul Kerim, the new Caravan Leader 226
290, 291, 292. Lobsang, Gulam, Kutus--my last trusty Followers 228
293. Beggars 230
294. Abdul Kerim's new Tent 230
295. My Brown Puppy with my Cook, Tsering 234
296, 297, 298. My White Ladaki Horse 234
299. Panorama from Camp 422, Bongba 238
300. Panorama from Camp 277, Shyok Valley 238
301. View from Camp 307 _Coloured_ 258
302. The small salt Lake south of Camp 309 _Coloured_ 258
303. Horses going to drink at the Lake near Camp 310. Abdul Kerim
on the left _Coloured_ 258
304. Mountain north-east of Camp 310; the freshwater Lake in the
Foreground _Coloured_ 258
305. Storm Clouds over the Snowy Mountains south of Camp 312
_Coloured_ 258
306. Camp 307 262
307. Camp 333. The Beginning of a Storm 262
308. Camp 335. Lemchung-tso, looking east 262
309. Camp 401. Kanchung-gangri from the north 262
310. My Dying Pony 264
311. Lost beyond Recovery 268
312. "If this continues a few days longer, we are lost" 270
313, 314, 315, 316, 317. Panoramas from the Camps 318, 333, 335,
359, 360; in the last two, Sha-kangsham 284
318. The Author as a Shepherd 298
319, 320, 321. The Summits of Lunpo-gangri from Camps 379, 381,
and 383 326
322. Wrestling 332
323. Two Guides 332
324. Boy with Hat 332
325. Shepherd Boy 332
326. Sonam Ngurbu, Chief of the Chokchu Province 334
327. Dorche Tsuen, Governor of the Saka Province 334
328. Man with a singular Cap, in Sonam Ngurbu's Escort 334
329. Tagla Tsering, the Chief who refused to let me go to the
Dangra-yum-tso 334
330. Travelling Ladaki Merchant in West Tibet 340
331. Oang Gye, Son of the Governor of Saka 340
332. Panchor, the Yak-slayer, my Guide on the Journey to the
Teri-nam-tso 340
333. Woman of Yumba-matsen 340
334. Tibetans with Yaks 344
335. Dorche Tsuen on the March 344
336. Farewell Entertainment for the Tibetans on May 5, 1908 348
337, 338, 339, 340. The Dancers at the Camp-fire: Tubges, Kunchuk,
Suen 350
341. Inner Court of Selipuk 354
342. Dorche Tsuen and Ngavang on Horseback 354
343. The Author in Tibetan Dress 358
344, 345. Soldiers of the Garrison of Saka-dzong, belonging to our
Escort 360
346. Armed Tibetan from the Country between the Teri-nam-tso
and the Dangra-yum-tso 360
347. Boy with small Gun on the southern Shore of the Teri-nam-tso 360
348. Trooper of the Escort 364
349. Tibetan of Teri-nam-tso 364
350. Young Shepherd of Bongba 364
351. Guests at the Opening of my Tent on the Bank of the
Teri-nam-tso 366
352. The Yaks fording the River Soma-tsangpo 366
353. Nima Tashi, Commander of the Government Escort on the
way to the Teri-nam-tso _Coloured_ 368
354. Nuns of Mendong _Coloured_ 368
355. A High Lama of Chokchu _Coloured_ 368
356. The Prior of Selipuk _Coloured_ 368
357. Two Lamas of Mendong 370
358. My Sheep crossing the River Soma-tsangpo 370
359. Village below Lunkar-gompa on the Tarok-tso _Coloured_ 374
360. Mendong Monastery west of the Teri-nam-tso _Coloured_ 374
361. Selipuk Monastery south-west of the Nganglaring-tso
_Coloured_ 374
362. Holiday Costumes and Ornaments of Tibetan Women of Kyangrang
in the Trans-Himalaya _Coloured_ 374
363. Crossing the Kangsham River 376
364. The Village of Lunkar 378
365. Group of Tibetans at the Teri-nam-tso 378
366. The Village of Lunkar from the Temple Hill 382
367. The southern Shore of Manasarowar with grazing Yaks 382
368. Lunkar-gompa 386
369. Selipuk-gompa 386
370. The Trans-Himalaya from Abuk-la 388
371. Storm over the Trans-Himalaya 388
372. Sonam Ngurbu and his Followers on Horseback 392
373. Some of our Horses on the Way to Kamba Tsenam's Tent 392
374. Lama of Chokchu taking leave of the Prior of Selipuk 396
375. Lama of Chokchu on Horseback 396
376, 377. Boys sitting 398
378. Young Lama 398
379. Old Woman 398
380. Colonel T. G. Montgomerie 404
381. Abbé Huc 404
382. Altar Table with Images of Gods in Mangnang-gompa _Coloured_ 406
383. The Author in Tibetan Costume at the Mission Station in Poo 408
384. The last Members of the last Expedition in Poo 412
385. My Puppy 416
386. Takkar in his new Home with the Missionaries in Poo 416
387. Simla 418
388. The last Members of the Expedition at the Entrance of the
Viceregal Lodge in Simla 420
MAPS
8. The Sources of the Brahmaputra, Sutlej, and Indus.
9. A Map of the Trans-Himalaya by Dr. Sven Hedin.
10. A Map of Tibet showing Dr. Sven Hedin's Routes 1906-1908.
(_At end of Volume._)
CHAPTER XXXV
IMMURED MONKS
We had heard of a lama who had lived for the last three years in a cave
in the valley above the monastery of Linga, and though I knew that I
should not be allowed to see either the monk or the interior of his
ghastly dwelling, I would not miss the opportunity of at least gaining
some slight notion of how he was housed.
On April 16, 1907, eighteen months to a day after I had left Stockholm,
dreary windy weather prevailed, with thickly falling snow and dense
clouds. We rode up to Linga, past rows of fine _chhortens_, left the
last dormitories behind us, saw an old tree-trunk painted white and red,
passed a small pool with crystal-clear spring water thinly frozen over,
and heaps of _mani_ stones with streamer poles, and then arrived at the
small convent Samde-puk, built on the very point of a spur between two
side valleys. It is affiliated to the Linga monastery, and has only four
brethren, who all came to greet me heartily at the entrance.
It is a miniature copy, outwardly and inwardly, of those we have seen
before. The _dukang_ has only three pillars and one divan for the four
monks, who read the mass together, nine prayer-cylinders of medium size
which are set in motion by leathern straps, a drum and a gong, two masks
with diadems of skulls, and a row of idols, among which may be
recognized several copies of Chenresi and Sekiya Kongma, the chief abbot
of Sekiya.
A few steps to the south-west we passed over a sheet of schist with two
stone huts at its foot containing brushwood and twigs for burning. In
Samde-pu-pe were two small temples with altars of mud. In one of them
were idols of medium size and sea shells, and before them incense
smouldered, not in the usual form of sticks, but in powder. It was
strewn in a zigzag line, was lighted at one end, and allowed to smoulder
away to the other. Within was a statue of Lovun with two lights before
it, and a shelf with writings called Chöna. Rain water had percolated in
and formed white vertical channels in the plaster, and under the ceiling
_kadakhs_ and draperies fluttered in the draught. Here the mice were
less disturbed than in the ghostly castle Pesu.
Close at hand at the foot of the mountain is the hermitage, _dupkang_,
in which a hermit spends his days and years. It is built over a spring
which bubbles up in the centre of the single room, a square apartment
with each side five paces long. The walls are very thick, and are in one
solid mass, unbroken by windows. The doorway is very low, and the wooden
door is shut and locked; but that is not enough, so a wall of large
blocks and smaller stones has been built before the door, and even the
smallest interstices between them have been carefully filled up with
pebbles. Not an inch of the door can be seen. But beside the entrance is
a tiny tunnel through which the hermit's food can be pushed in. The
amount of daylight which can penetrate through the long narrow loophole
must be very small; and it does not shine in direct, for the front of
the hut is shut in by a wall, forming a small court, which only the monk
who brings the anchorite his daily ration may enter. A small chimney
rises from the flat roof, for the hermit may make himself tea every
sixth day, and for this purpose some sticks of firewood are pushed
through the loophole twice in the month. Through the chimney, too, a
feeble light may fall, and by means of these two vents the air is
renewed in the cell.
"What is the name of the lama who is now walled up in this cell?" I
asked.
"He has no name, and even if we knew it we durst not utter it. We call
him merely the Lama Rinpoche" (according to Köppen, lama means _quo nemo
est superior_, one who has no one over him; and Rinpoche means gem,
jewel, holiness).
"Where has he come from?"
"He was born in Ngor in Naktsang."
"Has he relations?"
"That we do not know; and if he has any, they do not know that he is
here."
"How long has he lived in the darkness?"
"It is now three years since he went in."
"And how long will he remain there?"
"Until he dies."
"May he never come out again into the daylight before his death?"
"No; he has taken the strictest of all oaths, namely, the sacred vow
only to leave the cell as a corpse."
"How old is he?"
"We do not know his age, but he looked about forty."
"But what happens if he is ill? Cannot he get help?"
"No; he may never speak to another human being. If he falls ill he must
wait patiently till he is better again or dies."
"You never know, then, how he is?"
"Not before his death. A bowl of _tsamba_ is pushed every day into the
opening, and a piece of tea and a piece of butter every sixth day; this
he takes at night, and puts back the empty bowl to be filled for the
next meal. When we find the bowl untouched in the opening we know that
the immured man is unwell. If he has not touched the _tsamba_ the next
day our fears increase; and if six days pass and the food is not taken,
we conclude he is dead and break open the entrance."
"Has that ever happened?"
"Yes; three years ago a lama died, who had spent twelve years in there,
and fifteen years ago one died who had lived forty years in solitude and
entered the darkness at the age of twenty. No doubt the Bombo has heard
in Tong of the lama who lived in the hermitage of the monastery
Lung-ganden-gompa for sixty-nine years, completely shut off from the
world and the light of day."
"But is it not possible that the prisoner may speak to the monk who
pushes the _tsamba_ dish into the loophole? There is no witness present
to see that all is correct."
"That could never happen and is not allowed," answered my informant with
a smile; "for the monk outside would be eternally damned were he to set
his mouth to the loophole and try to talk to the recluse, and the latter
would break the charm if he spoke from within. If the man in there were
to speak now, the three years he has passed there already would not be
put down to his credit, and he would not like that. If, however, a lama
in Linga or Samde-puk falls ill, he may write his complaint and a
request for the anchorite's intercession on a piece of paper, which is
placed in the _tsamba_ bowl and pushed into the opening. Then the
recluse prays for the sick man, and if the latter has faith in the power
of prayer, and holds no unseemly conversation in the meantime, the
intercession of the Lama Rinpoche takes effect after two days and the
patient gets well again. On the other hand, the recluse never makes any
communication in writing."
"We are now only a couple of paces from him. Does he not hear what we
are saying, or, at least, that some one is talking outside his den?"
"No, the sound of our voices cannot reach him, the walls are too thick;
and even if it were the case, he would not notice it, for he is buried
in contemplation. He no longer belongs to this world; he probably
crouches day and night in a corner, repeating prayers he knows by heart,
or reading in the holy books he has with him."
"Then he must have enough light to read by?"
"Yes, a small butter lamp stands on a shelf before two images, and its
light suffices him. When the lamp goes out it is pitch-dark inside."
Filled with strange thoughts, I took leave of the monk and went slowly
down the path which the recluse had only passed along once in his life.
Before us was the splendid view which might never delight his eyes. When
I had descended to the camp I could not look up the monastery valley
without thinking of the unfortunate man sitting up there in his dark
hole.
Poor, nameless, unknown to any one, he came to Linga, where, he had
heard, a cave-dwelling stood vacant, and informed the monks that he had
taken the vow to enter for ever into darkness. When his last day in this
world of vanity dawned, all the monks of Linga followed him in deep
silence, with the solemnity of a funeral, to his grave in the cave, and
the door was closed on him for the rest of his life. I could picture to
myself the remarkable procession, the monks in their red frocks, silent
and grave, bending their bodies forward and turning their eyes to the
ground, and walking slowly step by step as though they would let the
victim enjoy the sun and light as long as possible. Were they inspired
with admiration of his tremendous fortitude, compared with which
everything I can conceive, even dangers infallibly leading to death,
seems to me insignificant? For, as far as I can judge, less fortitude is
required when a hero, like Hirosé, blockades the entrance of Port
Arthur, knowing that the batteries above will annihilate him, than to
allow oneself to be buried alive in the darkness for forty or sixty
years. In the former case the suffering is short, the glory eternal; in
the latter the victim is as unknown after death as in his lifetime, and
the torture is endless, and can only be borne by a patience of which we
can have no conception.
No doubt the monks escorted him with the same tenderness and the same
sympathy as the priest feels when he attends a criminal to execution.
But what can have been his own feelings during this last progress in the
world. We all have to pass along this road, but we do not know when. But
he knew, and he knew that the sun would never again shine warmly on his
shoulders and would never produce lights and shadows on the
heaven-kissing mountains around the grave that awaited him.
Now they have reached their destination and the door of the tomb stands
open. They enter in, spread a mat of interlaced strips of cloth in a
corner, set up the images of the gods, and lay the holy books in their
place; in one corner they place a wooden frame like those go-carts in
which infants learn to walk, and which he will not use till death comes
upon him. They take their seats and recite prayers, not the usual
prayers for the dead, but others which deal with the glorified light
and life of Nirvana. They rise, bid him farewell, go out and close the
door. Now he is alone and will never hear the sound of a human voice
except his own, and when he says his prayers no one will be there to
hear him.
What were his thoughts when the others had gone, and the short hollow
echo had died away of the noise he heard when the door was shut for the
last time, only to be opened again when he was a corpse? Perhaps
something like what Fröding has expressed in his verse:
Here breaks the soul from every bond
That fetters to this life its pinion;
Here starts the way to the dark beyond,
The land of eternal oblivion.
He hears the brethren rolling the heavy stones to the door with levers,
piling them up one on another in several layers, and filling up all
chinks with smaller stones and fragments. It is not yet quite dark, for
there are crevices in the door, and daylight is still visible at the
upper edge. But the wall rises. At length there is only a tiny opening
through which the last beam falls into the interior of his tomb. Does he
become desperate; does he jump up, thrust his hands against the door and
try to catch one more glimpse of the sun, which in another moment will
vanish from his sight for ever? No one knows and no one will ever know;
not even the monks who were present and helped to block up the entrance
can answer this question. But he is but a man and he saw how a flagstone
was fitted over the hole through which a last ray of daylight fell; and
now he has darkness before him, and wherever he turns there is
impenetrable darkness.
He assumes that the other monks have gone down again to Samde-puk and
Linga. How shall he pass the evening. He need not begin at once to read
his holy books; there is plenty of time for that, perhaps forty years.
He sits on the mat and leans his head against the wall. Now all his
reminiscences come with great distinctness into his mind. He remembers
the gigantic characters in the quartzite, "Om mani padme hum," and he
murmurs half dreaming the holy syllables, "Oh! thou jewel in the lotus.
Amen!" But only a feeble echo answers him. He waits and listens, and
then hearkens to the voices of his memory. He wonders whether the first
night is falling, but it cannot be darker than it is already in his
prison, his grave. Overcome by the travail of his soul, he sleeps, tired
and weary, in his corner.
When he awakes, he feels hungry, crawls to the opening and finds the
bowl of _tsamba_ in the tunnel. With water from the spring he prepares
his meal, eats it, and, when he has finished, puts the bowl in the
loophole again. Then he sits cross-legged, his rosary in his hands, and
prays. One day he finds tea and butter in the bowl and some sticks
beside it. He feels about with his hands and finds the flint, and steel,
and the tinder, and kindles a small fire under the tea-can. By the light
of the flame he sees the interior of his den again, lights the lamp
before the images, and begins to read his books; but the fire goes out
and six days must pass before he gets tea again.
The days pass and now comes autumn with its heavy rains; he hears them
not, but the walls of his den seem to be moister than usual. It seems to
him a long time since he saw the sun and the daylight for the last time.
And years slip by and his memory grows weak and hazy. He has read the
books he brought with him again and again, and he cares no more for
them; he crouches in his corner and murmurs their contents, which he has
long known by heart. He lets the beads of his rosary slip through his
fingers mechanically, and stretches out his hand for the _tsamba_ bowl
unconsciously. He crawls along the walls feeling the cold stones with
his hands, if haply he may find a chink through which a ray of light can
pass. No, he hardly knows now what it is like outside on sunny paths.
How slowly time passes! Only in sleep does he forget his existence and
escape from the hopelessness of the present. And he thinks: "What is a
short earthly life in darkness compared to the glorious light of
eternity?" The sojourn in darkness is only a preparation. Through days
and nights and long years of solitude the pondering monk seeks the
answer to the riddle of life and the riddle of death, and clings to the
belief that he will live again in a glorified form of existence when his
period of trial is over. It is faith alone which can explain his
inconceivable fortitude of mind.
It is difficult to picture to oneself the changes through which the lama
passes during successive decades in the darkness of his cell. His sight
must become weak, perhaps be extinguished altogether. His muscles
shrink, his senses become more and more clouded. Longing for the light
cannot pursue him as a fixed idea, for it is in his power to write down
his decision to curtail his time of trial, and return to the light, on
one of the leaves of his books with a splinter dipped in soot. He has
only to place such a paper in the empty _tsamba_ bowl. But the monks had
never known a case of the kind. They only knew that the lama who had
been walled in for sixty-nine years had wished to see the sun again
before he died. I had heard from monks who were in Tong at the time that
he had written down his wish to be let out. He was all bent up together
and as small as a child, and his body was nothing but a light-grey
parchment-like skin and bones. His eyes had lost their colour, were
quite bright and blind. His hair hung round his head in uncombed matted
locks and was pure white. His body was covered only by a rag, for time
had eaten away his clothing and he had received no new garments. He had
a thin unkempt beard, and had never washed himself all the time or cut
his nails. Of the monks who sixty-nine years before had conducted him to
his cell, not one survived. He was then quite young himself, but all his
contemporaries had been removed by death, and new generations of monks
had passed through the cloisters; he was a complete stranger to them
all. And he had scarcely been carried out into the sunlight when he too
gave up the ghost.
In analysing the state of such a soul, fancy has free play, for we know
nothing about it. Waddell and Landon, who took part in Younghusband's
expedition to Lhasa, and visited the hermits' caves at Nyang-tö-ki-pu,
say that the monks who have there retired into perpetual darkness first
underwent shorter experiences of isolation, the first lasting six
months, and the second three years and ninety-three days, and that those
who had passed through the second period of trial showed signs that they
were intellectually inferior to other monks. The cases which the two
Englishmen have described seem not to have been so severe a trial as the
one I saw and heard about in Linga, for in the Nyang-tö-ki-pu caves the
lama who waited on the recluse tapped on a stone slab which closed the
small opening, and at this signal the immured lama put his hand out of
this door for his food; he immediately drew the stone shutter to again,
but in this way he would at least see the light of the sun for a moment
every day. In the cases described by Waddell and Landon the immured
monks had passed some twenty years in confinement. Waddell, who has a
thorough knowledge of Lamaism, believes that the custom of seclusion for
life is only an imitation of the practice of pure Indian Buddhism, which
enjoins periodical retreats from the world for the purpose of
self-examination and of acquiring greater clearness in abstruse
questions. In his opinion the Tibetans have made an end of the means.
Undoubtedly this opinion is correct, but it is not exhaustive. It may be
that the future hermit has in religious delusion come to the decision to
allow himself to be buried alive. But does he clearly conceive what this
means? If he became dull and insensible like an animal in his cell, all
his energy and his power of will would be deadened, and what seemed to
him, when he entered, to be worth striving for, would gradually become
more and more indifferent to him. But this is not the case, for he
adheres firmly to his decision, and therefore his energy must remain
unimpaired. He must possess a steadfast faith, an immovable conviction,
which is exposed to a harder trial because he is alone and death alone
can visit him in his cave. Possibly he becomes by degrees a victim of
self-delusion, so that his longing for the last hour in the long night
of his den gives place to the feeling that he is always at the moment
when the hour-glass of time has run down. He must have lost all idea of
time, and the darkness of the grave appears to him only as a second in
eternity. For the means he formerly had of marking the flight of time
and impressing it on his memory no longer exist. The changes from winter
to summer, from day to night, are only made known to him by the rise or
fall of the temperature in his den. He remembers that several rainy
seasons have passed by, and perhaps they seem to him to follow closely
on one another while his brain is clouded by monotony. It is
inconceivable that he does not become insane, that he does not call out
for the light, that he does not jump up and run his head against the
wall in the agony of despair, or beat it against the sharp edges of the
stones till he bleeds to death and frees himself by committing suicide.
But he waits patiently for death, and death may delay its coming for ten
or twenty years. His remembrance of the world and life outside his cell
becomes fainter and fainter; he has long forgotten the dawn in the east
and the golden clouds of sunset; and when he looks up his dimmed eyes
perceive no stars twinkling in the night, only the black ceiling of his
cave. At last, however, after long years have passed in the darkness,
suddenly a great brilliancy flashes out--that is, when Death comes,
takes him by the hand, and leads him out. And Death has not to wait,
entreat, and coax, for the lama has waited and longed for his welcome
and only guest and deliverer. If he has had his mind still clear, he has
taken the little wooden stand under his arms so that he may die in the
same sacred position in which Buddha is represented in all the thousands
of statues and pictures which have come under our notice in our
wanderings through the cloister temples of Tibet.
When the _tsamba_ bowl, which has been filled daily for so many long
years, remains at last untouched and the six days have expired, the cave
is opened and the abbot of the monastery sits down beside the deceased
and prays for him, while all the other monks pray in the _dukang_ hall
for five or six days together. Then the body is wrapped in a white
garment, a covering called _ringa_ is placed on his head, and he is
burned on a pyre. The ashes are collected, kneaded together with clay,
and moulded into a small pyramid, which is deposited in a _chhorten_.
The Linga monks said that an ordinary lama, when he dies, is cut in
pieces and abandoned to the birds. This process is performed here by
five lamas, who, though they belong to the monastery, attend the service
in the _dukang_, and drink tea with the other monks, are still
considered unclean, and may not eat with the other brethren. Also when
nomads die in the neighbourhood, their services are required, but then
the relatives are bound to provide them with horses and to undertake
that the property of the deceased shall pass into the possession of the
monastery.
For days and weeks I could not drive away the picture I had formed in my
mind of the Lama Rinpoche, before whose cell we had stood and talked.
And still less could I forget his predecessor, who had lived there forty
years. I fancied I could hear the conch which summoned the monks to the
funeral mass of the departed. I pictured to myself the scene in the cave
where the lama, crouching in rags on the floor, stretches out his
withered hands to Death, who, kindly smiling like the skull masks in the
temples, gives him one hand while he holds a brightly burning lamp in
the other. The features of the monk are transfigured in a reflexion of
Nirvana, and forgetting the "Om mani padme hum" that for tens of years
has reverberated from the walls of his den, he raises, as the trumpet
blasts sound out from the temple roof, a song of victory, which calls to
mind the following strophe from the myths of another people (_Frithiof's
Saga_, Blackley's translation):
Hail, ye deities bright!
Ye Valhalla sons!
Earth fadeth away; to the heavenly feast
Glad trumpets invite
Me, and blessedness crowns,
As fair, as with gold helm, your hastening guest.