ALONG BYWAYS TO TRADUM
The day was brilliant; it was not spring, it was summer. Flies, wasps,
and gadflies buzzed in the air, and worms of all kinds crept out of the
ground to enjoy the warm season, all too short here. It was hot, 70.2°
at one o'clock. The sun seemed to be as scorching as in India. The
Sa-chu valley widens out westwards; wild-geese, herons, and ducks sit on
the banks of the river, and choughs croak on the mountain which we skirt
on the right side of the valley. The fresh grass has sprouted out of the
earth in its green summer garb, but it will not really thrive till after
the warm rains. We meet a caravan of 200 yaks in five sections, each
with two whistling drivers.
"Whence have you come?" I ask.
"From Tabie-tsaka, where we have been to fetch salt."
"Where does the lake lie?"
"To the north, in Bongba, thirty days' journey from here."
"Does the road cross over high passes?"
"Yes, there is a high pass twelve days to the north."
And then they passed on with their light-stepping yaks towards
Saka-dzong. It was the first time I had heard this important lake
mentioned, and I envied the men of the salt caravan who had traversed
this way through the Trans-Himalaya quite unknown to Europeans.
[Illustration: 222. WOMAN AT THE MOUTH OF THE CHAKTAK-TSANGPO IN THE
TSANGPO.]
[Illustration: 223. TIBETAN OF SAKA.]
[Illustration: 224. LAMA IN SAKA-DZONG.
Sketches by the Author.]
We left the _tasam_ on our left; we turned aside north-westwards
straight to the Targyaling-gompa standing with its red _lhakang_, its
small white buildings, and its large _chhorten_ on a terrace immediately
above the spot where Guffaru has pitched the camp. Twenty lamas came
down to find out whether we were thieves and robbers who intended to
attack the convent. "Certainly not," Guffaru answered, "we are peaceful
travellers passing the night here." "We will not allow it," they
replied; "you must remain on the high-road." I now sent Rabsang up, and
he was surrounded at the gate by thirty monks. He was told the same; a
European had never been here, and none should ever enter the monastery.
If the gentlemen of the _dzong_ attempted to get us in, they should pay
the penalty with their lives. Charming ecclesiastics! Even Rabsang, who
was a Lamaist and wore several _gaos_ on his neck, was not allowed in.
He was in the service of a European. So inimically disposed were these
monks that they stopped up the channel we drew our water from. The
Devashung, they said, had nothing to do with them. We had heard in
Saka-dzong that these monks were bellicose and independent; there they
had said that the free-booter who had stopped us on May 31 must have
been a disguised monk. But we could do without them and their monastery,
which seemed small and unimportant.
Here our four puppies fell ill of a peculiar complaint: they ran about
restlessly, snuffed and sneezed, had matter in their eyes, and no
appetite. At night I heard one of my tent companions whine and howl, and
next morning he lay dead on his rug.
Leaving Rawling's and Ryder's route to the left, we proceeded to the
bank of the Chaktak-tsangpo and then northwards along the river. It has
a swift current, but does not form rapids; to the south is seen the
portal through which it emerges from the mountains. At the village
Pasa-guk, which is larger than Saka-dzong, we bivouacked on the right
bank. The river here was 141 feet broad, 2 ft. 7 in. deep at most, and
carried 629 cubic feet of water. On May 28 it carried 664 cubic feet,
but it receives the Sa-chu and other tributaries below the village
Pasa-guk.
In the middle of the village is a _serai_ with a large store of salt in
bags. Here a market is held from time to time, salt being the medium of
exchange. I tried to obtain further information about the country in
the north, but when I compared the different data together, the result
was a hopeless muddle. For instance, I asked travellers who came from
Tabie-tsaka, how far they marched each day, and where they passed lakes,
rivers, and passes; and when I added the distances together and laid
down the direction on the map, the line reached to Kashgar, all through
Tibet and Eastern Turkestan! It was impossible to obtain useful data
about the country to the north. I must see it with my own eyes. But how
would that be possible?
The Hajji came to me, angry and excited, to complain that Guffaru had
struck him. I sat in judgment and heard evidence. The Hajji had refused
to watch the horses when his turn came, and the caravan bashi had
therefore thrashed him. The sentence was, that the Hajji should receive
his discharge in Nyuku.
Robert and I sat on the velvety grass on the bank and gazed with longing
eyes at the half-clear water dancing merrily on to its destination at
the coast. An old man and a youth joined us, and entertained us with
dance and song. The old man danced and stamped on the ground in a
three-cornered mask of goat leather with red strips and bells, and the
youth sang this unintelligible song:
Hail, O God, god of the pass!
Many stars sparkle in the night.
To-day is a fine day.
Would that rain might come!
Give me a bit of tea or a small coin.
O, Cook, give me a pinch of meal and a radish.
Such is the mask that is worn in the Chang-tang.
At the right ear a curl, neither large nor small,
At the left a pin, neither large nor small;
Neither shade nor sun.
There is a father's pin and a mother's pin.
Everywhere we have pins with branches,
For they guard us from all dangers.
The horse holds his head high,
And the rider holds his head high.
The gods are high, the earth is low.
You have gold and silver galore.
May your cattle multiply, your flocks and your property increase!
May your family increase!
The King of Ladak sits between a golden and a silver king.
Now is the song ended.
On June the 10th I left the Chaktak-tsangpo to the right, unfortunately
without having learnt whence it comes. We ascended a side valley named
Rock, in a north-westerly direction. We had previously passed two towers
which had formerly been the fort of a rebellious lama. He was at feud
with Saka-dzong, but was defeated. In the camp at the pool Churu the
evening seemed to me fearfully long. Home-sickness had become
infectious. The Ladakis sang no more, but made shoes for their children,
and thereby turned their thoughts more intently to their home. I too
found no rest after the day's work. If we only knew what answer the
Mandarins would send, but our messenger did not return. We seemed to
have stumbled into a morass and to be stamping in it without moving on.
Oh, thou dreary, awful Tibet, thou black, poor superstitious folk! In
the stillness of the night the step of the camp watchman was pleasant
company.
After a night temperature of 14.4° we rode on westwards over a very flat
pass, a watershed between the Chaktak-tsangpo and Nyuku, along a road
which had once been a _tasam_; numerous ruins and _manis_ were memorials
of that time. The district was thickly peopled by nomads, and black
tents were often seen where sheep bleated and dogs barked; women and
boys guarded the flocks, and yaks grazed on the slopes. The country
calls to mind the summer pastures on the Pamir. A second puppy died in
the night, and was almost eaten up by ravens before morning.
On June 12 we came again to the _tasam_ at Nyuku where we set up our
camp. The Gova of Nyuku, whose friendship I had gained at Saka-dzong,
was very obliging, and said that I was quite at liberty to make another
detour to the north, as I seemed to dislike the high-road. It would take
me up to a pass, where almost all the mountains of the world could be
seen, especially Lumbo-gangri immediately to the north. Here we should
come in contact with people of the province of Bongba, who perhaps would
sell us all necessaries. In Nyuku the third puppy died. The Tibetans
said that it suffered from a throat complaint called _gakpa_, which is
very common in the country. Mamma Puppy gave herself no trouble about
her little ones when they were ill, but seemed rather to avoid them. We
washed them with warm water, and tended them to the best of our power,
and did everything we could think of to save the last. The Tibetans
could not understand how we could make such a fuss about a dog.
Bluish-white flashes quivered over the mountains all the evening, and
their outlines stood out sharp and dark in the lightning. That is a sign
of the setting in of the monsoon rains on the southern flank of the
Himalayas, and all look forward to them. When rain falls up here, the
grass grows up in a couple of days, the cattle become fat and sleek, the
milk is thick and yellow; at the present time it is thin and white, and
produces little butter. The existence of the nomads, and indeed the
prosperity of the whole country, depends on the monsoon. It is the
summer pasture which helps the herds to endure the scarcity of the rest
of the year. If the rains fail, the stock languish and die.
The night is silent. Only occasionally is heard the hearty laugh of a
girl or the bark of a dog. The camp watchman hums an air to keep himself
awake.
The 13th was a lazy day; we had to wait for Tundup Sonam and Tashi. I
always shave myself on rest days--it is pleasant to feel clean, even
when there is no one to smarten oneself up for. Robert shot three
wild-geese, and caught two yellow goslings which walked into his tent
and made hay there. We put them in the crystal-clear Men-chu river,
hoping that some kindly goose-mamma would take to them.
From here it is said to be only four days' journey to a district in
Nepal, where there are fir-woods. Just fancy: fir-wood as in Sweden and
in Simla! But we must remain in this dreary land.
Just as we were starting on the following day the Hajji, Islam Ahun, and
Gaffar came to me, and demanded exemption from night duty and separate
rations if they were to stay with me. I called all the other men
together, and asked if any one else would join them now that they were
to be dismissed. But no one wished to. Our Hajji, the only one of the
Mohammedans who had been in Mecca--had indeed been twice there--was the
only rascal in the caravan. He had instigated the others. In my
experience Mecca pilgrims are always scoundrels. The Hajji declared that
he preferred robbers and tramps on the road to Guffaru and the other
Ladakis. The three men vanished from sight as we marched north-westwards
up the valley of the Men-chu.
In camp No. 177, on June 15, I held a grand reception, for some chiefs
from the direction of Bongba came to visit me, and our old friend, the
Gova of Tradum, arrived. They decided that I might ride a short distance
to the north, but only on condition that I came back the same day. So on
the 16th we rode on fresh hired horses up to the Kilung-la, where the
view was instructive and showed the lie of the land. Before us was the
dark Lumbo-gangri with its deep wild valleys and steep cliffs, its small
glacier tongues and caps of eternal snow. The men of the district said
that the mountain was holy, and was a kind of portal or forecourt to the
Kang-rinpoche, the celebrated pilgrimage mountain near the sources of
the Indus. Behind Lumbo-gangri are the valley and river of the
Rukyok-tsangpo, which flows to the Chaktak-tsangpo. It was now clear to
me that these summits, of which bearings were taken by Ryder and Wood,
could not lie on the watershed of the rivers flowing to the ocean. But
no one knew the true aspect of the country farther north, and the Bongba
men had been ordered to stop us if we tried to force our way in that
direction. I could not by entreaties or threats obtain more than the
view from the Kilung-la. The further we proceeded westwards the more of
the blank space on the map was left behind us. That was exceedingly
annoying, but my hopes were still fixed on the Chinese letters from
Lhasa.
On the morning of the 17th all the mountains were covered with snow, but
the day was warm and fine as we rode up to the Serchung-la, and saw to
the south-west the northernmost crest of the Himalayas and the broad
valley of the Brahmaputra. The valley descending from the pass is full
of brushwood and drifting sand, which is piled up in dunes to a height
of nearly 20 feet.
After an interesting and successful march we came to the valley junction
Dambak-rong. But the day was not yet over. We heard that Nazer Shah's
son had arrived the day before at Tradum on his way to Ladak with
twenty-two mules. A messenger was therefore despatched to ask him to
wait for us, and give us tidings of Tundup Sonam and Tashi. The Gova of
Tradum also rode home to get all in order against our arrival. A short
time passed by, and then a horseman came up at a smart trot from the
Serchung valley. He had evidently followed our track; he rode straight
to my tent, dismounted, and handed me a letter with a large seal,
bearing the words, "Imperial Chinese Mission, Tibet," and the same in
Chinese characters.
Now our fate would be settled. The Ladakis crowded round my tent. I
perceived that they hoped we should be obliged to return by the direct
road to Ladak. They longed for home, and were not inspired by the same
interests as myself. The tension was extreme as I opened the letter. It
was dated at Lhasa on June 3, and had been fourteen days on the way. It
was written in faultless English by Ho Tsao Hsing, first secretary to H.
E. Chang (Tang Darin), and ran as follows:
DEAR DR. HEDIN--Your letter to His Excellency Chang dated the 14th May
was duly received. Knowing that you have arrived at Raka-tatsang, that
Devashung hindered you to proceed forward. His Excellency is very
sorry to hear such occurrence; and he instructed me to write you the
following:--
That in His Excellency's last letter to you he wrote you to return by
the way you came; and now he does not understand why you are taking
another road contrary to what he wrote you, consequently, you have met
with such inconveniences, to which His Excellency regrets very much
indeed. His Excellency has, now, again ordered Devashung and officials
along the way to give you all possible protection and comfort, but he
sincerely wishing you _not_ to change your direction to the N.W.,
where both the country and people are wild [I wonder how he could know
that], and that accidents might happen, which His Excellency can
hardly bear any responsibility.
Therefore, His Excellency wishes you only to return by the way as you
came, not to venture in other directions.
His Excellency gives his best regards to you and wishing you a happy
and safe return.--I am yours very truly,
HO TSAO HSING.
[Illustration: 225, 226, 227, 228. TIBETAN BOYS AND GIRLS OF SAKA AND
TRADUM.
Sketches by the Author.]
That was all I got by the stratagem which had cost us so much loss of
time. A positive prohibition to proceed north-westwards to the land of
my dreams. Now the Devashung would issue fresh orders, and we should be
watched more closely than ever. Now the iron gates would be closed again
from the south, and the way to the forbidden land barred. Tang Darin was
as immovable as the State Secretary for India, Lord Morley. But he
stimulated my ambition, and for that I have to thank him. To begin with,
we seized the copy of our passport, which was to be transferred from
Gova to Gova all along the road.
But not yet had this fateful day come to a close. At sunset came Tundup
Sonam and Tashi, dusty and ragged, with their bundles on their backs.
"Welcome and well done, 20 rupees each and new suits of clothes is your
reward. What news?" No letters, but only a note from Ma that he had
forwarded my letters to Lhasa, and sent a letter from Gulam Kadir to
Muhamed Isa. They had reached Shigatse in eleven days, and had rested
there three days. Then they had set out from Tashi-lunpo directly
westwards. They made a fast and long march on the first day, and climbed
up to the pass Ta-la at sunset, where nine highwaymen, two with guns and
the others with swords, fell upon them and threw them to the ground. The
two guns were set on their rests and the barrels pointed to the men's
heads, the seven swords were drawn, and one of the robbers said:
"If you value your lives, hand out everything of value you have."
Frightened out of their wits, the two Ladakis begged them to take all
they wanted if they would only spare their lives. The nine robbers then
opened their bundles and thoroughly plundered them, taking even their
little _gaos_ and images, as well as their cooking utensils and 18
rupees in silver. They were allowed to keep the clothes they had on
their backs. By pure chance the robbers had overlooked a small packet of
30 _tengas_, which Tundup Sonam had put at the back of his girdle. The
robbers cleared them out in a minute, and then disappeared into the
mountains. Our two defeated heroes remained weeping on the battle-field
till dark, and then they went off very slowly at first, turning round
frequently and fancying they saw a robber in every shadow, but
afterwards they quickened their pace almost to a run. Deadly tired, they
crept under two boulders by the wayside, and next morning came to three
black tents, where they got food, and were told that a lama had been
robbed and stripped naked on the Ta-la two days before. But now they
were safe, and it was touching to see how delighted they were to be with
us again. They had seen Muhamed Isa's grave, and the conversation about
it reminded Tsering of his sorrow.
On June 18 we travel across open country to Tradum, our route following
the northern side of the valley while the _tasam_ runs along the
southern. The ground was sandy. Small irritating horseflies buzz in the
nostrils of the horses and drive them frantic. They walk with their
noses on the ground like the wild asses to escape the flies. To the
right is the Tuto-pukpa, a mountain to which corpses are carried on yaks
from Tradum to be cut up. We ride between pools where wild-geese are
plentiful with their pretty yellow goslings. At a projecting rock,
cairns and streamer poles are set up; the wall of rock is black, but all
the side facing the road is painted red--"Ah, this is blood on Balder's
sacrificial stone." Here the village of Tradum can be seen, its temple
and its _chhorten_ on a hill. To the south-west the dark snow-crowned
rampart of the Himalayas appears, wild, grand, and precipitous. To the
south-east lies the _tasam_, a light winding riband, and our path runs
into it; it is 40 feet broad between grass-grown terraces of sand; it is
the great trunk-road of Tibet.
We had scarcely set up our camp when the discharged Hajji and his two
companions came up and salaamed. But I was angry, and drove them away. I
afterwards heard that they wept, and I was heartily sorry that I had
been so unkind. But it was too late, for they were seen tramping out
wearily into the steppe when the shades of evening fell.
The monastery Tradum-gompa is subject to Tashi-lunpo, and its five monks
live on the produce of their sheep and yaks, and carry on trade with
Nepal. Round the temple are eight _chhortens_, and in the _lhakang_, the
hall of the gods, the immortal son of Sakya is enthroned between the
eleven-headed, six-armed Avalokitesvara and other deities. On a small
hill of schist above the convent is a hermit's dwelling, where there is
a splendid view over the Brahmaputra valley and the Tsa-chu-tsangpo as
it emerges from the mountains.
Here died our fourth puppy, which I had hoped to keep as a remembrance
of Shigatse. Mamma Puppy had now her mat to herself, and outside the
tents lay the two black dogs from Ngangtse-tso.
The Gova of Tradum was an excellent, genial rogue, and had a thorough
contempt for the Devashung. He would not let me follow up the Tsa-chu
valley, but made no objection to an excursion to the Kore-la pass, two
days' journey off to the south-west, and belonging to the Himalayan
range which is the watershed between the Ganges and the Brahmaputra. He
also let us hire six horses, and gave us two guides for the journey,
which was to be commenced on the morning of June 20.
The first night we were to encamp at the spot where the Tsa-chu-tsangpo
enters the upper Brahmaputra. I rode south-south-west with my usual
retinue over grassy steppe and sand-dunes. In front of us were three
wanderers with bundles on their backs and staves in their hands. When we
overtook them they stopped, came forward, and laid their foreheads on
the ground at my feet. It was the Hajji and the two other men. I was
glad of the opportunity of taking them into favour again. For the future
they were to follow our yaks.
The camp was pitched on the right bank of the river, at the foot of the
hill crowned by the ruins of the old Liktse monastery. Here an important
trade-road crosses the river and a ferry maintains communication
between the banks. The Tsa-chu river had here a breadth of 35½ yards,
and a depth of barely 40 inches, while the Brahmaputra was 120 yards
broad by 5¾ feet deep, and was much more imposing than farther down. The
absolute height was 14,977 feet. It was not easy to carry the rope
across the stream, for a strong south-west gale was blowing and the
waves were high. Robert rowed out from the right bank with the rope, and
from the left some Ladakis waded out as far as they could in the
shallow, slowly deepening, water to catch the end thrown to them and
secure it on shore. When at last we had stretched the rope across, it
broke with the pressure of the wind and the waves, and the work had to
be done again. We noted a temperature of 53.6° in the air and of 59.7°
in the water, but the men were so chilled by the wind that they had to
make a good fire. It also rained heavily--the first rain we had had
since we left Ladak--and thunder rolled among the mountains.
For the first time the minimum temperature in the night, 37.8°, was
above freezing-point, and the morning was beautiful after the storm: the
sky was only half covered with bright summer clouds, not a breath of air
stirred, and the surface of the river was smooth as a mirror, only
slightly broken by slowly moving whirlpools. The ferry was already
plying across with passengers and goods. The ferryman is paid a _tenga_
for each passage, and he crosses over twice in the hour. Our horses and
yaks were made to swim over the river after they had grazed at night on
the steppes on the left bank.
[Illustration: 229. WOMAN OF NYUKU.]
[Illustration: 230. TWO TIBETANS.]
[Illustration: 231. THE GOVA OF TUKSUM.]
[Illustration: 232. GIRL AT PASA-GUK.
Sketches by the Author.]
We rode 21½ miles on the 21st, but first paid a visit to the little
Liktse-gompa monastery, which stands on the inner side of the hill, and
therefore has not the fine view obtained from the old ruined monastery
on the summit. From its window-openings the monks could watch the
oscillating life of the river during the various seasons of the year:
its slow fall in spring; its rise during summer, when volumes of turbid
water come down from melting snowfields and glaciers; its decline in
autumn, and the freezing of the river in the cold of winter. And they
could see the breaking-up of the ice in spring, and the great
clattering slabs dancing down the current. But now the prospect before
the eyes of the ten monks is only a wretched loamy valley between barren
hills, for their convent lies apart from all roads. Liktse-gompa is a
dependency of Sera, but receives no support from it, and possesses no
herds. The profits from the ferry are the only revenue of the monks. The
abbot, Punjun Dung, with a red turban and a grey beard, showed me the
gods in the _lhakang_, Buddha, Padma Sambhava, etc. Among the usual
sacred objects on the altar were two human skulls converted into
drinking vessels, one of them lined with silver. In the courtyard the
holy dog was chained up.
Then we mounted and rode off quickly. We perceived at once that this
road is much frequented. On the steppe and in open soft valley bottoms
it is less clearly marked, for there every one marches where he likes;
but over passes and on spurs with hard stone the tracks converge from
all sides, and there the road has been trodden down and worn in the
course of centuries. On the small pass Tsasa-la we met a large caravan
laden with barley.
"Where have you come from?" I ask.
"From Mundang in the country of Lo Gapu."
Mundang is marked on the English maps of Nepal, but who was Lo Gapu,
"the King of the Southern Land"? It sounded so grand.
The next pass is called Dorab-la, and from the top we see the
Chockar-shung-chu, a broad valley with a brook draining partly from the
Kore-la, and flowing to the Brahmaputra.
While we are resting, Guffaru passes with his black baggage-train in
close order, a troop of laden yaks, whistling and singing Tibetans, and
some Ladakis with our own horses as a rearguard. They soon disappear in
the dust of the road, two of our men resting a while in a cleft to take
a puff or two from their weather-worn narghilés. From this point they
march westwards to the rendezvous, while we continue southwards.
In the valley leading up to the Ngurkung-la a large salt caravan on the
way to Nepal was encamped. The twelve leaders had piled up a fine
shelter of sacks of salt against the violent wind. We then came to the
very broad valley which ascends to the saddle of the pass visible in the
south. We rode up for hours, though the ascent was not noticeable, but
the wind was dead against us. To the right is the water-parting chain of
the Himalayas which we had seen from Tradum. A curious, sharply outlined
cloud, like a white torpedo, covered it, and from the northern extremity
small fleecy flakes parted from time to time and floated away. We camped
near some black tents in a side valley close to the extraordinarily flat
pass.