A NIGHT ON MANASAROWAR
After Guffaru had set out with his men, the small caravan was organized
which was to accompany me. It was led by Tsering, and the other men left
were Bulu, Tundup Sonam, Rabsang, Rehim Ali, Shukkur Ali, Namgyal, Adul,
Ishe, Lama, Galsang, and Rub Das. The Gova of Tokchen was given a
Kashmir shawl, a turban, and some rupees for the services he had
rendered us, and all the other Tibetans who had been friendly and
helpful received presents. The dividing of the caravan had also the
advantage that the Tibetans supposed that we were all making for the
same destination by different routes, and that I should join Guffaru in
Gartok and continue my journey to Ladak, as directed on the passport.
[Illustration: 246. TIBETANS ON THE BANK OF THE SOMA-TSANGPO.]
[Illustration: 247. GROUP OF NATIVES OF LANGMAR.]
With Robert, Rabsang, and two Tibetans I now ride down the Tokchen
valley and up over the hills to the south-west. To the right of our
route the turquoise-blue surface of the holy lake is displayed; how
beautiful, how fascinating is the scene! One seems to breathe more
freely and easily, one feels a pleasure in life, one longs to voyage
over the blue depths and the sacred waves. For Manasarowar is the
holiest and most famous of all the lakes of the world, the goal of the
pilgrimage of innumerable pious Hindus, a lake celebrated in the most
ancient religious hymns and songs, and in its clear waters the ashes of
Hindus find a grave as desirable and honoured as in the turbid waters of
the Ganges. During my stay in India I received letters from Hindus in
which they asked me to explore the revered lake and the holy mountain
Kailas, which lifts its summit in the north under a cupola of eternal
snow, where Siva, one of the Indian Trinity, dwells in her paradise
among a host of other deities; and they told me that if I could give
them an exact description of the lake and river, they would remember me
in their prayers and their gods would bless me. But that was not why I
longed to be there. The lake had never been sounded--I would sink my
lead to the bottom and make a map of its bed; I would follow its
periphery and calculate how much water pours into its bosom on a summer
day; I would investigate its hydrographic relation to the adjacent lake
on the west, the Rakas-tal, a problem which various travellers in this
region, from Moorcroft and Strachey to Ryder and Rawling, have explained
differently; I would learn something of the monasteries and the life of
Hindu and Tibetan pilgrims, for the lake is sacred in the eyes of
Lamaists also, who call it Tso-mavang or Tso-rinpoche, the "Holy Lake."
How can Manasarowar and Kailas be the objects of divine honours from two
religions so different as Hinduism and Lamaism unless it is that their
overpowering beauty has appealed to and deeply impressed the human mind,
and that they seemed to belong rather to heaven than to earth? Even the
first view from the hills on the shore caused us to burst into tears of
joy at the wonderful, magnificent landscape and its surpassing beauty.
The oval lake, somewhat narrower in the south than the north, and with a
diameter of about 15½ miles, lies like an enormous turquoise embedded
between two of the finest and most famous mountain giants of the world,
the Kailas in the north and Gurla Mandatta in the south, and between
huge ranges, above which the two mountains uplift their crowns of bright
white eternal snow. Yes, already I felt the strong fascination which
held me fettered to the banks of Manasarowar, and I knew that I would
not willingly leave the lake before I had listened, until I was weary,
to the song of its waves.
We sat an hour and enjoyed the incomparable beauty of the scene. A
slight ripple ruffled the surface of the water, but in the middle the
lake was as smooth as if oil had been poured on it. The Tibetans said
that it was always smooth in the middle except when a storm raged. To
the south-south-west and south-west are seen the two summits of Gurla
Mandatta, the western very flat, and reminding me of the Mustag-ata in
the eastern Pamir. The Tibetans called the mountain sometimes Namo,
sometimes Memo-nani. South, 60° W., a row of snowy heights rise behind
the Purang valley. To the west-north-west is seen the small pyramidal
hill where Chiu-gompa stands on the bank of the water channel which once
ran into Rakas-tal. To the north-west a couple of lagoons lie on the
shore of Manasarowar, and behind them rise chains and ramifications
belonging to the Trans-Himalaya, and among them Kailas or Kang-rinpoche,
the "Holy Mountain," called also Gangri or the "Ice Mountain," dominates
the horizon unless its summit is veiled in clouds. And lastly, to the
north, 20° W., we see the double-peaked Pundi, not far from the shore,
and in the north the two valleys Pachen and Pachung, with roads which
lead over the watershed of the Trans-Himalaya to Chang-tang.
When I asked our guides what they thought of a boat trip across the
lake, they answered unhesitatingly that it was impossible; mortals who
ventured on the lake, which was the home of the gods, must perish. Also
in the middle Tso-mavang was not level as on the shore, but formed a
transparent dome, and up its round arch no boat could mount; and even if
we succeeded in getting the boat up, it would shoot down the other side
with such velocity that it must capsize, and we should perish in the
waves because we had excited the wrath of the god of the lake.
We mounted again and rode south-south-west over the hills to Serolung,
the golden valley, where the monastery Serolung-gompa is hidden in the
hollow. There I stayed four hours, making sketches and notes. Serolung,
which contains thirty monks, most of whom were away wandering among the
villages, is one of the eight convents which are set like precious
stones in the chain which the pilgrims stretch round the lake, in the
hope of acquiring merit in a future form of existence, of being freed
from the burden of sin and the tortures of purgatorial fires, nay,
perhaps, of sitting at the feet of the gods and eating _tsamba_ out of
golden bowls.
Our camp No. 212 was pitched immediately south of the mouth of the
Serolung valley at the water's edge. The strip of ground on the bank is
quite narrow, and on the hills rising to the east of it are visible six
horizontal strand lines, the highest lying 162 feet above the present
level of the lake, which is 15,098 feet above the sea.
On July 27 I had a good sleep, and spent the rest of the day in making
preparations for the first line of soundings, which was to cross the
lake in a direction south, 59° W., where a gap appeared in the hills
framing the lake. We waited for good weather, but the wind blew
violently and the surf beat and foamed against the shore. I therefore
resolved to wait till night, for of late the nights had been calmer than
the days. On a trial trip we had found a depth of 130 feet not far from
the shore, so we made ready a sounding line 490 feet long. Perhaps even
this would not be long enough, for a lake lying among such high
mountains is sure to be deep. Shukkur Ali was to go with me, and he
accepted his fate with his usual composure, but Rehim Ali, the other
victim, was frightened; it was all very well in the day, he said, but in
the dark gloomy night on such a great lake! We should certainly have the
same trouble as on Lake Lighten, he thought.
When the sun set the wind increased in strength, and heavy clouds spread
up from the south-west. At seven o'clock it was pitch dark all round,
not a star shone out, not a trace was visible of the outline of the
shore and of the snowy mountains, and the sea was buried in the shades
of night. But an hour later the wind fell, the air became quite calm,
but the waves beat in a monotonous rhythm on the bank. The smoke of the
camp fires rose straight up into the air.
Then I gave orders to set out. The baggage was stowed and the mast
stepped to be ready if we had a favourable wind. Provisions for two days
were put in the boat. I wore a leathern vest, Kashmir boots, and an
Indian helmet, and sat on a cushion and a folded fur coat on the lee
side of the rudder, on the other side of which the sounding-line with
its knots lay ready on the gunwale. The log, Lyth's current meter, was
attached to the boat to register the whole length of the course, and
compass, watch, note-book, and map sheets all lay close beside me,
lighted by a Chinese paper lantern, which could be covered with a towel
when we did not want the light. I used the towel after every sounding to
dry my hands. Rehim Ali took his seat forward, Shukkur Ali in the stern
half of the boat, where we were cramped for room and had to take care
that we did not get entangled in the sounding-line.
Tsering took a sceptical view of the whole adventure. He said that the
lake was full of wonders, and at the best we should be driven back by
mysterious powers when we had rowed a little way out. And a Tibetan
agreed with him, saying that we should never reach the western shore
though we rowed with all our might, for the lake god would hold our boat
fast, and while we thought that it was advancing it would really remain
on the same spot, and finally the angry god would draw it down to the
bottom.
Robert had orders to wait at camp No. 212 for our return, and when we
put off from the bank at nine o'clock all bade us farewell in as warm
and gentle a tone as though they thought that they had seen the last of
us. Their spirits were not raised by the lightning which flashed in the
south and might portend a storm. The darkness, however, was not so
intense, for the moon was coming up, though it was still covered by the
hills rising behind our camp. But its light threw a weird gleam over the
lake, and in the south Gurla Mandatta rose like a ghost enveloped in a
sheet of moonshine, snowfields, and glaciers.
At my command, the boatmen took a firm grip of the oars and the boat
glided out from the beach, where our men stood in a silent thoughtful
group. Our fires were seen for a while, but soon disappeared, for they
were burning almost on a level with the water. Robert told me afterwards
that the little boat sailing out into the darkness was a curious sight;
owing to the lantern and the reflexion of the light on the mast the boat
was visible at first, but when it reached the moon-lighted part of the
lake it appeared only as a small black spot, which soon vanished.
The great lake was dark and mysterious in the night, and unknown depths
lurked beneath us. The contours of the hills on the shore were still
visible behind us, but we had not gone far before they were swallowed up
by higher mountains farther off, which gradually came into view. After
twenty minutes' rowing we stopped and let down the line, sounding 135
feet. The roar of the surf on the beach was the only sound in the
silence of night, except the splash of the oars and the voices of the
oarsmen singing in time with their strokes. At the next sounding the
depth was 141 feet. If the bottom did not fall more rapidly our line
would be long enough. Every hour I recorded the temperatures of the air
and the water. Now the god of sleep paid us a visit; Shukkur Ali yawned
at every ninth stroke, and every yawn was so long that it lasted three
strokes.
The air is quite still. A long, smooth swell causes the boat to rock
slightly. All is quiet, and I ask myself involuntarily if other beings
are listening to the splash of the oars as well as ourselves. It is
warm, with a temperature of 46.9° at eleven o'clock. The next two depths
are 143 and 164 feet. My oarsmen follow the soundings with deep
interest, and look forward to the point where the depth will begin to
decrease. They think it awful and uncanny to glide over such great
depths in the dark night. Again blue lightning flashes behind Gurla
Mandatta, which stands forth in a pitch black outline, after appearing
just before in a white robe of moon-lighted snowfields. A little later
all the southern sky flames up like a sea of fire; the flashes quickly
follow one after the other, and shoot up to the zenith, seeming to stay
a moment behind the mountains, and it becomes light as day, but when the
glow dies out the darkness is more intense, and the sublime, poetic
solemnity of the night is enhanced. By the light of the flashes I can
see the faces of the two men, who are startled and uneasy, and do not
dare to disturb the awful stillness by their singing.
When I let down the line at the fifth point, the two men asked
permission to light their water-pipes. The depth was 181 feet. A slight
south-westerly breeze rippled the surface. The cry of a water-bird broke
shrilly on the silence of the night, and made us feel less lonely. A
slight hiss of the surf breaking on the south-eastern shore was audible.
In the south the clouds gathered round the summit of Gurla Mandatta, the
breeze fell. We glided slowly over the inky black water, and between the
wave crests the path of moonlight wound in bright sinuosities; the depth
increased slowly 183.4 feet, 189.3, 192 and 212.6. The temperature was
still 45.9°, and I did not want my fur coat.
The queen of night, with diamonds in her dark hair, looks down upon the
holy lake. The midnight hour is passed, and the early morning hours
creep slowly on. We sound 203, 200, 184, 184, 180, and 190 feet, and it
seems therefore as if we had passed the deepest depression. Leaning on
the gunwale I enjoy the voyage to the full, for nothing I remember in my
long wanderings in Asia can compare with the overpowering beauty of this
nocturnal sail. I seem to hear the gentle but powerful beat of the great
heart of Nature, its pulsation growing weaker in the arms of night, and
gaining fresh vigour in the glow of the morning red. The scene,
gradually changing as the hours go by, seems to belong not to earth but
to the outermost boundary of unattainable space, as though it lay much
nearer heaven, the misty fairyland of dreams and imagination, of hope
and yearning, than to the earth with its mortals, its cares, its sins,
and its vanity. The moon describes its arch in the sky, its restless
reflexion quivering on the water, and broken by the wake of the boat.
The queen of night and her robe become paler. The dark sky passes into
light blue, and the morn draws nigh from the east. There is a faint dawn
over the eastern mountains, and soon their outlines stand out sharply,
as though cut out on black paper. The clouds, but now floating white
over the lake, assume a faint rosy hue, which gradually grows stronger,
and is reflected on the smooth water, calling forth a garden of fresh
roses. We row among floating rose-beds, there is an odour of morning and
pure water in the air, it grows lighter, the landscape regains its
colour, and the new day, July 28, begins its triumphal progress over the
earth. Only an inspired pencil and magic colours could depict the scene
that met my eyes when the whole country lay in shadow, and only the
highest peaks of Gurla Mandatta caught the first gleam of the rising
sun. In the growing light of dawn the mountain, with its snowfields and
glaciers, had shown silvery white and cold; but now! In a moment the
extreme points of the summit began to glow with purple like liquid gold.
And the brilliant illumination crept slowly like a mantle down the
flanks of the mountain, and the thin white morning clouds, which hovered
over the lower slopes and formed a girdle round a well-defined zone,
floating freely like Saturn's ring, and like it throwing a shadow on the
fields of eternal snow, these too assumed a tinge of gold and purple,
such as no mortal can describe. The colours, at first as light and
fleeting as those of a young maiden in her ball-dress, became more
pronounced, light concentrated itself on the eastern mountains, and over
their sharp outlines a sheaf of bright rays fell from the upper limb of
the sun upon the lake. And now day has won the victory, and I try
dreamily to decide which spectacle has made the greater impression on
me, the quiet moonlight, or the sunrise with its warm, rosy gleam on the
eternal snow.
Phenomena like these are fleeting guests on the earth; they come and go
in the early morning hours, they are only seen once in a lifetime, they
are like a greeting from a better world, a flash from the island of the
phoenix. Thousands and thousands of pilgrims have wandered round the
lake in the course of centuries, and have seen the dawn and sunset, but
have never witnessed the display which we gazed upon from the middle of
the holy lake on this memorable night. But soon the magical effects of
light and colour, which have quickly followed one another and held me
entranced, fade away. The country assumes its usual aspect, and is
overshadowed by dense clouds. Kailas and Gurla Mandatta vanish
entirely, and only a snowy crest far away to the north-west is still
dyed a deep carmine, only yonder a sheaf of sunbeams penetrates through
an opening in the clouds. In that direction the mirror of the lake is
tinged blue, but to the south green. The wild-geese have waked up, and
they are heard cackling on their joyous flights, and now and then a gull
or tern screams. Bundles of seaweed float about. The sky is threatening,
but the air is calm, and only gentle swells, smooth as polished metal,
disturb the water, which looks like the clearest curação. The boat moves
with weary slowness to its destination, for now, at six o'clock in the
morning, my oarsmen are tired and sleepy and quite at an end of their
strength. They sleep and row alternately. "Hem-mala-hém" calls out
Shukkur Ali, accenting the last syllable, when he energetically grasps
his oar, but he goes to sleep between, and the oar hovers in the air;
his own voice wakes him up, he dips the oar in and goes to sleep again.
[Illustration: 248. ROBERT IN THE BOAT.]
The hours pass by, but there is no sign that we are nearing our
destination. We cannot decide which bank is nearest, and we seem to be
in the centre of this boundless lake. In the midst of Gurla Mandatta is
seen a huge deeply eroded ravine, its entrance standing out
picturesquely below the dense mantle of clouds. For a moment, when all
around lay buried in shadow, the interior was lighted up by the sun, and
it presented a fantastic appearance, resembling a portal into a hall of
the gigantic dome lighted up by innumerable candles. The valleys and
erosion channels between the different spurs of the massive are sharply
defined, and wind down to the lake among flat cones of detritus, the
outer margins of which cause the variations in the depth of the bottom.
This now increases again to 200, 203, 213, and 240 feet. At fourteen
points, these included, the bottom temperature is observed. The sounding
occupies a considerable time. The line must first be paid out to the 230
feet, and then be held still till the thermometer has assumed the bottom
temperature, and then it must be drawn up again, the depth must be
noted, the thermometer read, the temperature of the surface water and
the air must be ascertained, and the log-reading taken.
Five furlongs to the north the smooth swell shows a curious fiery yellow
colour, and I cannot make out the origin of this singular reflexion. The
clouds gather in the south-west, and a breeze sweeps over the lake,
producing waves which retard still more the progress of the boat. Rehim
Ali cannot keep himself awake any longer, and Shukkur Ali is very
comical in his overpowering sleepiness. The old man looks like a
weather-beaten sea-dog in a south-wester--his Ladaki cap with its
spreading flaps. He snoozes innocently with his oars up, and rows again
and again in the air, still calling out his constant "Shu-ba-la-la." He
talks in his sleep. Rehim Ali wakes up and asks him what is the matter,
and no one knows what it is all about. Towards seven o'clock the dustman
pays me a visit, but is not admitted. Only for a moment I see red wild
asses running over the water, hear harps playing sweetly in the air, and
behold the great black head of a sea-serpent rise above the waves and
then sink down again; green dolphins and small whales arch their backs
among the waves--but no, I must keep awake, for a storm may come down
upon us any moment. I give my boatmen a good douche with the hollow of
my hand, wash my own hands and face, and order breakfast--a hard-boiled
goose egg, a piece of bread, and a bowl of milk, and then I light my
pipe and am as lively again as a lark. At the twentieth sounding-place,
259 feet deep, the other two follow my example.
At nine o'clock, when we have been exactly twelve hours on the water, we
sound a depth of 268.4 feet, but the south-western shore seems to our
eyes as far off as ever. Rehim Ali thinks it is awful to have so much
water under the keel. The clouds on Gurla lift a little, and we see
deeper into the recesses of the great valley the more we come opposite
its mouth. The lower points of the snowfields come into sight below the
clouds. West of them is seen a broad erosion channel, grey with detritus
and dotted with dark brushwood. The water reflects the forms of the
mountains like a mirror; it turns blue when the sky is clear, but green
again as soon as the clouds gather. A shoal of fishes plays in the water
and splashes on the surface.
And again the hours of the day pass by. We glide slowly forwards, now
over calm rising swell, whispering gently as spirit voices, now over
small pyramidal waves produced by the meeting of two systems of
undulations from different directions. Four small squalls from different
quarters threaten us, but we catch only a flip of their tails, which
cannot stir up the waves to a dangerous height. The last, from the
south-east, is the strongest, and then the sail is hoisted. But still
the shore seems far distant; perhaps Tsering was right with his
Lamaistic wisdom.
All details, however, become sharper and clearer. Gurla turns three
mighty gables towards the lake, and between them huge fans of detritus
and erosion channels come to view. The fans become flatter towards the
shore, and extend under the water down to the greatest depths of the
lake; on the north shore, where a wide plain lies, the lake bottom might
be expected to sink more slowly. Gurla is a splendid background to the
holy lake--no artist in the world could conceive anything more
magnificent and interesting.
Then we sounded 253, 243, 253, 223, 190, 177, and 82 feet, and perceived
at length that the shore was near, for yaks and sheep were visible on
the hills. The sea was now fairly high, and we had to bale the boat
twice, and my fur coat on the bottom was wet. The two tired and sleepy
men laboured painfully at the oars. We talked of how pleasant it would
be to land, kindle a fire, and take our tea and food, but the shore
still retired before us, and the hours of the afternoon slipped past.
Gurla seemed to rise in the south directly from the water, its level
skirts and low slopes being much foreshortened. The monks of the
monastery here do not depend for water on the brooks, but drink the holy
water of the lake, which has in reality the taste of the purest, most
wholesome, spring water. Its crystal purity and dark greenish-blue
colour are as beautiful as the flavour, and to pilgrims from a distance
the water of Manasarowar is preferable to sparkling champagne.
At last we were released from imprisonment in the boat. We saw the
bottom through the clear water, and a few strokes of the oar brought the
boat to a wall of clay and decaying weeds, which the winter ice had
pushed up on the bank. Inside the wall lies a longish lagoon, with mud
in which one sinks to the knee. The time was half-past one, so we had
been 16½ hours on the lake. But when we had reached the shore we found
it impossible to get on land. After I had thought over the matter, while
the men looked about them, we rowed northwards, and after an hour and a
half discovered a place where the boat could be drawn ashore. Then we
had been eighteen hours on the water.
A herdsman was seen, but he made off quickly. Fuel was collected and a
fire lighted. Tea was infused and mutton fried, and when the three of us
had eaten our dinner a temporary tent was constructed of the oars, mast,
and sail, in which I lay down to sleep towards seven o'clock, wrapped in
my fur, and with the life-buoys for a pillow. I had toiled for
thirty-one hours continuously, so I went to sleep at once, and knew
nothing of the storm which raged all night, or of the twenty-five
pilgrims who passed by at dawn on their circuit of the holy lake.