MUHAMED ISA'S DEATH
We had not been sitting long when Rabsang came to say that Muhamed Isa
had lost consciousness, and did not answer when he was spoken to. I now
perceived that he had had an apoplectic fit, and hurried off with Robert
to his tent, which stood close beside mine. An oil-lamp was burning
beside the head of his bed, where his brother Tsering sat weeping. The
sick man lay on his back, tall, strong, and straight. The mouth was a
little drawn on the left side, and the pupil of the left eye seemed very
small, while that of the right eye was normal. The pulse was regular and
strong, beating 72. I at once ordered hot bottles to be laid at his
feet, and a bag of ice on his head. His clothes were loosened; he
breathed deeply and regularly. The eyes were half open, but were
lustreless. I called his name loudly, but he gave little sign; he tried
to turn his head and move his right arm, uttered a low groan, and then
remained still again. Robert was shocked when I told him that Muhamed
Isa would not see the sun rise again.
While we were sitting beside his bed I inquired the circumstances from
Rehim Ali and Guffaru, who had been with him all day long. During the
four days they had waited for us here, he had been quite well, and had
never complained of headache. He had tried, in accordance with the last
instructions I had given him at the camp in the Basang valley, to win
the friendship and confidence of the authorities. The day before he had
been still in excellent spirits, had drunk tea with his most intimate
friends in the caravan, and had sung to the accompaniment of the
guitar.
On this day, June 1, he had got up with the sun, drunk tea, and had had
a stormy interview with two Tibetans from the dzong. They had refused to
supply the caravan with provisions, and then insisted that the caravan
should leave the place at once. He had answered that the Sahib would
soon be back, and that it would go badly with them if they did not obey
him. They had gone away in anger, and then Muhamed Isa had breakfasted
about ten o'clock, and had slept an hour. When he rose, he had
complained of headache.
When the sun had reached its noonday height he had gone to look out for
us, and had then had a violent attack of sickness, fallen on his left
side and lain senseless. The other men hurried up, carried him to his
tent, and massaged his body. He was restored thereby to consciousness,
and spoke much but indistinctly, and chiefly with the god of Islam:
"I was a Lamaist but went over to Islam; help me now, O Allah, out of
this severe illness; let me recover; forgive me my sins and all the
wrong I have done to others; let me live, O Allah, and I will always
keep thy commandments and will never omit my prayers."
Then he had admonished the others to do their duty as heretofore, and
thanked them that they had so patiently assisted him in his misfortune.
Now and then he had asked for cold water. He had felt his left arm with
his right hand, and asked whose arm it was, and had also said that he
did not feel the shoe on his left foot. The whole left side was quite
paralysed. Sitting upright, and supported by cushions, he had made the
following request to Guffaru: "Thou, who art old, and keepest the
commandments of religion, wilt not pollute thy hands if thou takest a
knife and cuttest my neck; cut deep down to the spine, for that will
relieve my infernal headache." In his fearful suffering he struck his
right hand against a box. About an hour later another stroke deprived
him of speech, and after that he had only made a sign with his right
hand, as though in despair at the approach of death. Towards four
o'clock Tsering had come and thrown himself over him, weeping loudly.
Muhamed Isa had also wept, and pointed to his lips to intimate that he
could not speak. When we entered his tent about five o'clock his
consciousness was almost gone. He remained in the same condition for an
hour and a half, breathing quietly, with his mouth closed. I went
therefore to my dinner, which Adul had prepared for me.
Robert and I studied Burroughs and Wellcome's medical handbook, to see
that nothing had been omitted. About eight o'clock we returned to the
sick-bed. Muhamed Isa was now breathing with his mouth open--a bad sign,
showing that the muscles of the jaws were relaxed; the pulse beat 108,
and was very weak. The despair of old Tsering when I told him all hope
was gone, was heart-rending. Half an hour later the breathing became
slower and weaker, and about nine o'clock the death-rattle commenced,
and the struggle of the muscles of the chest to supply the lungs with
sufficient air. About every fortieth respiration was deep, and then
there was a pause before the next came. They were followed by moans. His
feet grew cold in spite of the hot bottles, which were frequently
changed. At a quarter-past nine the breathing became still slower and
the intervals longer. A death spasm shook his body and slightly raised
his shoulders; it was followed by another.
The Mohammedans whispered to Tsering that he should leave his place at
the head, for a Mohammedan must hold the lower jaw and close the mouth
after the last breath. But the sorrowing brother could only be brought
to leave his place by force. A third and last spasm shook the dying man,
produced by the cold of death. After a deep respiration he lay still for
20 seconds. We thought that life had flown, but he breathed again, and
after another minute came the last feeble breath, and then old Guffaru
bound a cloth under the chin and covered the face with a white kerchief.
Then all was still, and, deeply moved, I bared my head before the awful
majesty of Death.
[Illustration: 217. THE CORPSE OF MUHAMED ISA.]
Horrified and dismayed, the Mohammedans poured into the tent, and the
Lamaists after them, and I heard them from time to time call out in
low tones, "La illaha il Allah!" Tsering was beside himself: he knelt by
the dead, beat his forehead with his hands, wept aloud, nay, howled and
bellowed, while large tears rolled down his furrowed sunburnt face. I
patted him on the shoulder, and begged him to try and compose himself,
go into his tent, drink tea, and lie down and rest. But he neither heard
nor saw, and the others had to carry him to his tent, and I heard him
wailing in the night as long as I lay awake. Yes, Death is an awful
guest. We could hardly realize that he had so suddenly entered our
peaceful camp.
I had a long conversation with Robert in my tent, and old Guffaru was
sent for to receive my orders for the funeral. The Mohammedans were to
watch in turn beside the body through the night. Early next morning the
permission of the authorities would be obtained for the choice of a
burying-place, and then the interment would take place.
At midnight I paid a last visit to my excellent, faithful caravan
leader, who had fallen at his post in the prime of life. He lay long and
straight, swathed in a shroud and a frieze rug, in the middle of his
tent. At his head burned his oil-lamp, slightly flickering in the
draught. The dead watch of five men sat mute and motionless, but rose
when I entered. We uncovered his face; it was calm and dignified, and a
slight smile played round the lips; the colour was pale, but slightly
bronzed from the effect of wind and sun (Illust. 217). Arched over him
was the half-dark bell of the tent--the tent which had fluttered in all
the winds of heaven on the way through the Chang-tang, and from which
Muhamed Isa's merry jests had so often been heard in quiet cold Tibetan
nights amidst the sound of flutes and guitars. Now depressing silence
reigned around; only the stars sparkled with electric brilliancy.
How empty and dreary everything seemed when I woke on Sunday, June 2,
the day of Muhamed Isa's funeral! I went out and looked at the grave; it
lay about 300 yards to the south-west of the camp. The Mohammedans had
been early in the village to borrow a door, and had washed the body on
it. Then they had wrapped it in Guffaru's shroud, which was of thin
linen, but quite white and clean. Muhamed Isa and I had often laughed
together over the old man's singular fancy of taking this death garment
on the journey. Over the shroud (_kafan_) they had wrapped a grey frieze
rug. The body lay now in the bright sunshine before the tent, on a bier
consisting of the bottom of the two halves of the boat fastened
together, and provided with four cross-poles for the bearers.
When all was ready the eight Mohammedans raised the bier on to their
shoulders, and carried their chieftain and leader, royally tall,
straight and cold, to his last resting-place. I walked immediately
behind the bier, and then came Robert and some Lamaists; the rest were
occupied at the grave, and only two remained in the camp, which could
not be left unguarded. From Tsering's tent a despairing wailing could
still be heard. He had been persuaded not to come to the grave. He was
heart and soul a Lamaist, and now he was troubled at the thought that he
would never see his brother again, who had looked forward to the
paradise of the Mohammedans. Some Tibetans stood at a distance. Slowly,
solemnly, and mournfully the procession set itself in motion (Illust.
218). No ringing of bells, no strewn fir-branches, no chants spoke of an
awakening beyond the valley of the shadow of death. But above us the
turquoise-blue sky stretched its vault, and around us the lofty,
desolate mountains held watch. In deep mournful voice the bearers sang,
"La illaha il Allah," in time with their heavy steps. They staggered
under their burden, and had to change it frequently to the other
shoulder, for Muhamed Isa was big, corpulent, and heavy.
[Illustration: 218. MUHAMED ISA'S FUNERAL PROCESSION.]
At length we ascended a gravel terrace between two source streams. The
bier was placed at the edge of the grave, which was not quite ready
(Illusts. 219, 220, 221). It was deep, lay north and south, and had a
cutting or niche on the left side, under which the body was to be laid,
so that the earth might not press on it when the grave was filled in.
Four men stood in the grave and received the body, and placed it,
wrapped only in the white shroud, under the arch, arranging it so that
the face was turned towards Mecca, where the hopes of all true believing
pilgrims are centred.
Scarcely was all set in order when a painful incident occurred, an evil
omen: the overhanging vault of loose, dry gravel fell in, burying the
corpse completely, and partly covering the four men. There was silence,
and the men looked at one another irresolute. Shukkur Ali broke the
oppressive silence, jumped into the grave, out of which the others
clambered, dug out the body again, and removed the gravel from the
shroud as well as he could. A wall was then erected of sods cut from the
bank of the brook so as to protect the body, the outer space was filled
in with sand and stones, and finally a mound a yard high was thrown up
over the grave, two stone slabs being placed at the head and foot.
When all was done the Lamaists went home, but the Mohammedans remained
at the grave to pray for the deceased, sometimes kneeling, sometimes
standing up with their palms before their face. Shukkur Ali, who had
been Muhamed Isa's old friend and comrade on many of his journeys in
Asia, broke out into violent weeping and wailing, but the others mourned
more quietly. Finally, I said a few words in Turki. During all my
journeys I had never had a more efficient, experienced, and faithful
caravan leader; he had maintained discipline in the caravan, been a
father to the men, and taken the best care of the animals; he had been
an excellent interpreter, and had treated the natives with prudence and
tact. By his happy, humorous disposition he had kept all the others in
good temper. In difficult situations he had always found the right way
out. In unknown country he had climbed passes and summits to look for
the best route--he had always gone himself and not sent others. His
memory would always be cherished and honoured among us, and he had also
earned a great name in the exploration of Asia, for during thirty years
he had served many other Sahibs as faithfully and honestly as myself.
We went silently home after our day's work.
In the lectionary of this Sunday occurred the Bible text, "Thou fool,
this night thy soul shall be required of thee."
Muhamed Isa had travelled far, and was highly respected in Asia. He had
been in Saka-dzong before, in the year 1904, as Rawling and Ryder's
caravan leader. He little thought then that he would return once more,
and here set up his tent for the last time after his long wanderings. In
the _Geographical Journal_ of April 1909, p. 422, Rawling refers to him
as follows:--
Having mentioned Saka Dzong, let me break off one moment to pay a
token of respect to the memory of that faithful servant of Sven Hedin
who died here. Mohamed Isa was one of the finest characters it has
been my fortune to be thrown with. Trustworthy and indomitable in his
work, his knowledge of Asia was unequalled by any native, for he had
accompanied Younghusband in his famous journey from China, he was with
Carey, with Dalgleish who was afterwards murdered, and with Dutreuil
de Rhins, when he was a helpless witness of his master's violent death
at the hands of the Tibetans. He acted as my caravan bashi in the
Gartok expedition, accompanied Sven Hedin during his recent journey,
and died, after thirty years of faithful service, at this desolate
spot.
From letters I subsequently received from Younghusband, O'Connor, and
Ryder, I learned that they also deeply mourned his loss.
The grave terrace rose close to the great high-road between Ladak and
Lhasa on its northern side. The mound was next day covered with cut sods
arranged in steps, and a small flagstone was set in the ground at the
head of the grave, whereon passing Mohammedans could spread out a carpet
and pray for the repose of the deceased. On a slab of slate, smoothed
down with a chisel, I scratched the following inscription in English and
in Roman letters:
MUHAMED ISA
CARAVAN LEADER UNDER
CAREY, DALGLEISH, DE RHINS, YOUNGHUSBAND
RAWLING, RYDER AND OTHERS
DIED
IN THE SERVICE OF SVEN HEDIN
AT SAKA-DZONG, ON JUNE 1, 1907
AT THE AGE OF 53 YEARS.
[Illustration: 219, 220, 221. THE INTERMENT OF MUHAMED ISA.]
The writing was then cut in the stone by Islam Ahun. The name was also
engraved in Arabic, and at the top the formula, "Om mani padme hum," in
Tibetan characters, that the people of the country might respect the
grave. Future travellers will find the stone in its place--if the
Tibetans have not taken it away.
In the afternoon of June 3 I sent for Tsering to my tent. He was now
calm and resigned. He was to be my cook and body-servant as before, but
his pay would be raised to 20 rupees a month, and this rise was to date
back to our departure from Leh. He was allowed to keep the watch I had
given to his brother. Guffaru, the oldest of the men, was Muhamed Isa's
successor as caravan bashi, received the same increase of pay as
Tsering, and was allowed to use Muhamed Isa's grey horse and saddle. In
future he would live with two other men in the tent of the deceased.
As I foresaw that the discipline would not be what it was in Muhamed
Isa's time, I spoke seriously to the men, telling them that they must
obey Guffaru as blindly as they had his predecessor, that they ought to
hold together as before and continue to serve me faithfully. If any one
began to quarrel and was disobedient, he would at once be handed the pay
due to him and be sent off to go where he liked. Now that we travelled
with hired yaks I could very well spare half the men, and therefore it
was their interest to conduct themselves so that they might be retained.
Rabsang and Namgyal answered in the name of all, that they would hold
together, serve me faithfully, and follow me anywhere.
Then Robert was commissioned to look through the property of the
deceased in the presence of Tsering, Guffaru, Shukkur Ali, Rehim Ali,
and the Hajji, and after he had made an inventory, to pack it in
separate boxes, which were ultimately to be delivered to his wife in Leh
together with his outstanding pay. Among his things were some articles
of value which he had bought in Shigatse--carpets, tea-cups with metal
saucers and covers, ornaments, and woven materials. He had left behind
only 10 rupees in ready money, a proof that he had been thoroughly
honest in his management of the business of the caravan.
After all relating to the interment had been carried out, the
Mohammedans came to ask for a few rupees to enable them to hold a
memorial feast in the evening in honour of the deceased. They would make
a pudding, called _halva_, of flour, butter, and sugar, drink tea, and
kill a sheep. The heathen also, as the Mohammedans called their Lamaist
comrades, were to be present. They sang, ate, and drank, and probably
hardly thought of the departed.
Two gentlemen from the dzong had been with me on June 2. The Governor
himself was absent, travelling in his province to number the tents under
his administration and to draw up a list of all the inhabited
valleys--all by order of the Chinese. Pemba Tsering, the second in
command, was very agreeable and polite, but regretted that he could not
supply us with provisions any longer, as he must be prepared to furnish
necessaries to the men who were constantly passing to and fro between
Gartok and Lhasa. To confirm his words he called up the five Govas or
district inspectors of the country, who declared that the poor country
could not supply all the _tsamba_ and barley we required. I intimated to
them that we should still remain a few days awaiting the answer from
Lhasa; then they rose, protesting that I might stay here as long as I
liked, but that they would not provide me with provisions.
On the same day a large white-and-blue tent was set up by our camp, but
it was not till June 4 that the occupants, the Govas of Tradum and
Nyuku, paid me a visit. They had heard of our long stay, and wished to
find out the state of affairs for themselves. The Nyuku Gova began the
conversation:
"Saka and Tradum are put down on your passport, but not Nyuku. Should
you, nevertheless, go thither, I will allow you to stay one night, but
not longer, for it is stated in the passport that you must travel
straight to Tradum."
"My dear friend," I replied, "when once I am in your place we shall
become such good friends that you will ask me to stay a whole month to
consolidate our friendship. Should you afterwards visit me in India,
your visit will be the more agreeable the longer it lasts."
He nodded with a roguish smile, and no doubt considered me a wag, but
added that he must obey the orders he had received from the Devashung.
"When I am in correspondence with the Mandarins in Lhasa, and am waiting
for their answer, the Devashung has no right to interfere."
"Very well, then it will be best for you to remain here and not come to
Tradum or Nyuku; provisions are still scarcer there."
Afterwards Pemba Tsering came again, bringing two sacks of barley and a
sheep. He had become much more compliant since he had talked with the
other officials, and promised he would try to procure what we needed. We
had still two poor horses and a mule from Shigatse, and he was to have
one of the animals as a reward. After some consideration he chose the
mule. The two horses we sold for a mere trifle to a stranger.
Now we longed to get away from this miserable Saka-dzong and its sad
associations. Out in God's open, glorious Nature the winds blow away
sorrow. We daily calculated, Robert and I, how long it would be before
Tundup Sonam and Tashi returned. If the answer were sent by the
so-called Chinese flying post, it might arrive any moment. But the days
passed and there was no news. One day some horsemen rode past our camp
on the way to the west, and reported that they had seen my two
messengers in Kung Gushuk's garden in Shigatse, but they knew nothing of
their further intentions. "Patience," whispered the west wind again. In
the maze of difficulties in which we became ever more involved, my hopes
rested on the answer of the Chinamen. I had told the officials here that
I would set off at once if they would allow us to take a more northern
route to Nyuku, but, as they would not hear of it, we remained where we
were.
When I looked out of my tent my eyes were attracted to the dark grave on
its hill. It seemed as if the grave held us fast, though we longed to
get away from it. All was dreary and dismal; we missed Muhamed Isa, and
his absence caused a great blank. But life goes on as usual. When the
sun rises, the women of the village stroll about collecting dung into
baskets, while the men drive the yaks and horse to pasture. They sing
and whistle, children scream and dogs bark. Blue smoke rises from the
chimneys of the village or from the black tents standing within walls
among the houses. From the roof of the Saka-gompa with a statue of Padma
Sambhava the single lama of the monastery blows his conch. Ravens and
bluish-grey pigeons pick up all kinds of morsels among the tents, and
the wolves which have come down in the night retire again to the
mountains. Riders and caravans pass eastwards to a better land, where
poplars, willows, and fruit trees are clothed in their finest summer
dress. But we are prisoners in this desolate country, with Muhamed Isa's
grave as a focus.
I soon perceived what a depressing effect the loss of the big powerful
caravan leader had on my men: they became home-sick. They talked of the
warmth of their own firesides, and they took to crocheting and knotting
shoes for their children and acquaintances. They gathered round the
evening fire and talked of the pleasant life in the villages of Ladak.
Robert remarked how dreary and disagreeable Tibet was, and how warm and
delightful it was in India; he was pining for his mother and his young
wife. I should like to know whether any one was more eager to be off
than myself, who had so much before me which must be accomplished. Yes,
I saw only too plainly that I could not achieve all I was striving for
with my present caravan; it was worn out and used up, which was really
not to be wondered at after all it had gone through. My fate was driving
me back to Ladak. But I must endeavour to make the most of my chances on
the way. And then? All was dark to me. But I knew that I would never
give in, and would not leave Tibet till I had done all that lay in my
power to conquer the unknown land on the north of the upper Brahmaputra.
On the morning of the 5th came our old friend the Gova of Raga-tasam.
He had heard that we were in difficulties, and offered to speak a good
word on our behalf to Pemba Tsering. Afterwards the two came to my tent
and informed me that I might take the northern route to Nyuku. The Gova
received one of our best horses for his trouble. Now we had six left of
our own horses, among them three veterans from Leh, two other horses and
a mule. Next evening Guffaru came for the first time to receive
instructions, and on June 7 we set out early.
I stopped a moment at the grave. It was striking and imposing in all its
simplicity. In its dark chamber the weary one slumbers till the end of
time. He listens to the howling of the western storms and the wolves, he
freezes in the cold of winter, but he does not see the summer sun, and
with longing for the well-remembered past he hears the horses stamping
on the hard pebbles. I thought of the Lama Rinpoche in his dark den at
Linga.
Farewell, and grateful thanks!