MORE LAKE VOYAGES
I was awakened at six o'clock, having felt no cold in the night, for the
minimum temperature was 40°. The morning was fine, only too warm; the
pilgrims had gone away; we ate our breakfast, pushed the boat into the
water, and rowed about 90 yards from the shore towards the
north-north-east and north-north-west, describing a slight bend to camp
No. 214. On our left hand was a row of pebble mounds, gradually rising
to the top of the promontory which separates Manasarowar from Rakas-tal.
Soon the monastery Gossul-gompa was seen on its pebble terrace, nearly
130 feet high, like a swallow's nest hanging over the lake. A group of
lamas stood silently watching the boat; they had never in their lives
seen such a contrivance on the holy lake. When we drew near they
vanished like rats into their holes, and only an old man remained
sitting by a balustrade. I asked him the name of the monastery, and he
said Gossul-gompa. The next point shut out the convent. The shore
lagoons continue, though the margin below the hills is only 30 to 60
feet broad. The clay in which the lagoons are embedded is impermeable to
water, but the lake has only to rise a couple of feet to find an outlet
over the sandbank behind into the Rakas-tal, or Langak-tso, on the west.
And when the channel at the north-west corner is silted up, as it is
now, the Manasarowar has a subterranean outlet to the neighbouring lake,
and its water consequently remains perfectly fresh.
I now intended to camp a little to the north at some suitable spot, and
thence row the following day over the lake to our headquarters near
Serolung-gompa. We took bearings of a cinnabar-red hill lying on the
north side of a slightly indented bay of the western shore. A fresh
southerly breeze was blowing, we hoisted the sail, and flew whizzing
over the lake. The pilgrims watched our voyage with the greatest
astonishment, and the monks of Gossul cautiously followed us on the
hills, no doubt wondering how such sacrilege would end. The wild-geese
swam with their young ones out into the lake, while other swimming birds
took themselves off some 100 yards inland, perhaps taking the boat for a
curious water-bird of unusual size.
We went ashore at the red promontory, and while fuel was being collected
and the camp arranged, I reconnoitred the neighbourhood from the heights
above the landing-place. On the inner side of the shallow bay I found a
hollow with its bottom lower than the surface of the lake, and filled
with salt water, and on the west side of this swamp lies the lowest dip
in the isthmus separating the twin lakes. Up there runs the pilgrim
road, worn down by hundreds of thousands of weary feet. Three armed
horsemen rode along the way. They came up without dismounting, and
evidently did not know what to make of me. They could easily have taken
me prisoner now that I was separated from my men, but they did not think
of it, and rode on. A furious storm swept over the lake, its surface was
wildly agitated, and covered with white horses. The farther, eastern
part was of a deep green colour, while on our western shore it was
lighter. The water of the shore lagoons was dark purple from the
reflexion of the dense clouds. Towards four o'clock the air became
oppressively still, then the wind sprang up, and an equally violent
north-west storm came down raging and roaring. The wild south-easterly
waves were suppressed by it, and the undulations remained uncertain till
the new wave system was established. There was rain in many places round
the lake, but we felt only a few drops. About six o'clock the sky looked
threatening, with pitch-dark clouds all around, and not a trace could be
seen of the eastern shore; we seemed to stand on the coast of the
ocean. Soon after the wind veered round to the east-south-east, and then
the surf beat all the evening against our beach. How fortunate that the
weather had not been like this the evening before!
We sat two hours by the fire and talked. Its flames flickered and darted
in all directions, so that they singed Shukkur Ali's goat's beard. The
weather was still so threatening that we made a shelter of the boat, in
which I lay down early to sleep. Before dozing off I listened to the
roar of the waves, and thought I heard all kinds of mysterious sounds in
the night, but it was only the cry of water-birds and the howling of the
wind among the hills.
The men had orders to call me before sunrise, for we must hasten if we
wished to reach camp No. 212 before darkness set in. It was scarcely
light when I came out of my shelter. The last provisions were consumed
by the morning fire, and then we put off about half-past four in dull,
disagreeable weather. The strong west wind carried us rapidly away from
the shore--indeed, it was really too strong for our sail and mast, but
it took us on and doubled our pace. We had been sheltered under the
hills, but when we were a few minutes from the beach the lake became
uncomfortably rough. But it was of little consequence, for we sailed
with the waves and took in no water.
The men, too, were more alive than on the first nocturnal voyage. They
had evidently made up their minds to reach their destination before
night, and they rowed like galley-slaves with the whip hanging over
them; they seemed to run a race with the west wind, and try to get away
before the waves rose too madly. The water hissed and foamed round the
boat, and bubbled in the wake as when butter is browned in a pan, and
beneath us the lake boiled up. It was a fine voyage as we rocked,
spinning rapidly over the holy waves.
[Illustration: 249. SHEEP-SHEARING AT TUGU-GOMPA ON MANASAROWAR.]
Shukkur Ali's refrain to the strokes of the oars is now "Ya paté,
parvardigar Rabel, alehmin" or "Illallah," while Rehim Ali responds to
the cry of his comrade with "Haap"--the _p_ jerked out quickly and
loudly like an explosion--and with the refrain "Illallah," or
"Svalallah." The Arabic words are, as usual in Ladak, much corrupted,
but they lighten the work, and after Shukkur Ali had yelled them out
thirty-five times in a minute for nine hours as loudly as his vocal
cords would let him, he was dreadfully hoarse in the evening.
Then the soundings were 131, 171, 171, 177, 177, 185, 187, and 177. Out
beyond the abrasion terrace and its rather steep escarpment, the lake
bottom is practically level. Hanging cloud fringes show that rain is
pouring down in torrents on most sides, but we escape it. My excellent
boatmen row twice as fast as on the first night, but it is impossible to
induce them to row in time. If I loose the rudder a moment, my boat
falls off to the north or south instead of making east, where camp No.
212 lies. If it is dark before we reach the shore, our men are to light
a pile of wood to guide us.
The day draws to an end, the wind sweeps away the clouds, and they seem
to gather round the mountains, which form a grand wreath around this
pearl of lakes. The wind dies quite away, the sun scorches my
weather-beaten face, and it is trying to the eyes when the sparkling
gold of the sunbeams falls straight upon them. Their blinding light
makes it difficult to distinguish our goal, but I hold the compass in my
hand. The waves sink and become more languid, and the sea is again
smooth as glass. Now we move more slowly, for the wind no longer pushes
behind, but the men are unwearied; their boat-song dies away over the
water, awaking no echo. The hills of the eastern shore show no
perceptible difference in size between one sounding-point and the next.
I sit dreaming, the rhythmical song and the splashing of the oars
exercising a soporific effect. I seem to hear the tramp of a horse which
bears a rider in silver harness over the granite mountains of the
Trans-Himalaya through an unknown land, and in the dream I perceive that
the features of the rider are my own. Then I am sad, for the dream is
false. I have certainly crossed the Trans-Himalaya by three passes, but
the most important part of the exploration has not been accomplished.
That I have done my utmost in dealing both with the Tibetans and the
Chinese to gain access to the country north of the Tsangpo is no
consolation to me. If one can storm the opposing bulwark of Nature, one
should be able to overcome the obstinacy of man. Up yonder in the north,
behind Kailas, the Trans-Himalaya extends its granite ramparts, and I
must go there though it cost me my life. I must go there, if I clothe
myself in the rags of a mendicant lama and beg my way from one black
tent to another.
But we are still on the holy lake; it is a day of rest and a summer's
day. I feel the skin of my face cracked by the burning of the sun. The
hours crawl so slowly over the lake; patience, patience. The clouds
display wonderful tone-effects; white and grey, sharply defined, they
lie in different stages before the mountains, and behind them dark blue
and purple curtains seem to hang down. We might be gliding over the
bright floor of a temple hall, its walls richly decorated with flags and
standards, which hang down from golden hooks on the ceiling of the sky,
and touch the dust of earth with their fringes. The genii of Siva's
paradise seem to hover round us. Now Shukkur Ali has taken to a new cry:
"Ya aferin adétt," to which he adds "Ya, Allah," as he lifts his oar,
and Rehim Ali chimes in with "Shupp." The depth still remains about 180
feet. To the south-east curious clouds are reflected in the lake, and a
mist seems to be creeping over the water. All the tones are so light,
airy, and grey that the landscape, which surrounds us like a ring where
the water ends, seems hardly real. The twin summits of Pundi on the
north-east are dark and solemn, and equally dark and solemn is the
mirror of the lake. Silver beads drop from the oars and glitter like
diamonds in the sun. I could live and die on this heavenly lake without
ever growing weary of the wonderful spectacle always presenting fresh
surprises.
Meanwhile a light south-easterly breeze disturbs again all the
reflexions. The valleys Pachen and Pachung open their doors wider and
wider, and allow us to see deeper into the recesses of the mountain. We
recognize the hills above camp No. 212, but the tents are not visible.
But we see a white spot on the northern shore which we take for a gompa.
The depth is somewhat over 197 feet; "Ya bismillah hum!" is Shukkur
Ali's exclamation. At the sixteenth point the depth has again decreased,
the south-easterly breeze has ceased, and the lake is again a sheet of
glass. Now the tents can be seen as tiny specks, and we hope to complete
this line also without a storm. A long, low, smooth swell of closely
following waves, like the wake of a distant steamer, comes to meet us.
How has it been produced, since the lake is quite peaceful? Perhaps by a
slight convulsion of the earth's crust, which has disturbed the shore.
The undulations on this round lake are very peculiar. At point No. 20
the depth is only 128 feet, and now we have not far to go.
Crack! Shukkur Ali's oar broke off in the middle with a bang, and the
boat drew rapidly away from the blade end, which had to be picked up.
The good man was so dumbfoundered and bewildered that he stammered,
"That does not matter," and went on rowing with the shaft in the air.
Now, when the tents were so near, he had developed too much strength.
"It is well that the old man does not burst himself," I thought. We tied
the parts together with a piece of string. There was a stir on the shore
when we landed. The waiting men showed by word and gesture how glad they
were to have us back again after giving way to all kinds of dismal
forebodings about our sad fate. Just as they caught sight of the boat
out on the lake, Robert was about to send out patrols up and down the
shore. All was well in the camp, except that the Tibetans were troubled
because their provisions were at an end. I gave them money to buy
_tsamba_ at the monastery. In the evening I discussed with Robert a plan
of rowing southwards to investigate the lake bit by bit. We bought a
plank and two staves in Serolung, and on the first leisure day Shukkur
Ali cut out with an axe two excellent oars, after a pattern I had cut
for him from the lid of a cigarette box.
On the next day, the anniversary of my arrival in Leh, a new month
began. Every time I write in my diary "the first," I wonder what the
new month holds in its lap--new discoveries or new disappointments? But
I hope always, and believe that all will come right at last. Rabsang and
Tundup Sonam rowed, and Robert steered along the three-feet line about
55 yards from the land, while I sat in the bow, compass in hand, and
drew a map of the shore-line, the hills and valleys, and all the details
that are characteristic of a lake. Charles A. Sherring states in his
book on western Tibet that Mr. Drummond, Commissioner of Bareilly,
sailed in 1855 in a boat on Manasarowar, but no result has come to my
knowledge; on the contrary, I find that the very latest map of the lake
needs a thorough correction. Soundings had never been taken before, and
the object of my boating expeditions was to collect material for a
detailed isobathic map. When we left behind us the basin of the
Brahmaputra at the pass Tamlung, I had already suspected that
Manasarowar was a member of the hydrographic system of the Sutlej, and I
wished to try if I could not make a contribution towards the solution of
this problem. I knew that my investigations could only be inadequate,
but they yielded a number of facts hitherto unknown. Among these are the
systematic sounding of the bed, by means of which conclusions may be
drawn as to the origin and formation of the lake. I soon convinced
myself that the lake depression had been excavated by old glaciers from
the southern mountains, as I at first conjectured, and was not dammed up
by moraine walls across the broad valley. But want of space forbids me
to enter fully into a discussion of this interesting question.
We glide in a flat curve to the south-west, and have to increase our
distance from the shore that we may not run aground on the sandy bottom.
The water at this season of the year has a fairly constant temperature
of about 50°. Then we approach the mouth of the Tage-tsangpo. For about
two-thirds of a mile the river flows parallel to the shore of the lake,
being separated from it by an embankment 13 feet high, which has been
cast up by the waves and the pressure of the ice. Here we encamped among
driftsand and bushes, and measured the Tage-tsangpo. Its breadth was
56.8 feet, its maximum depth 3.4 feet, and its discharge 397.6 cubic
feet a second, or 106 cubic feet more than where we last gauged it above
the Na-marden affluent. I have already related how we first came in
contact with this river at the pass Tam-lung-la; its source stream, the
Gang-lung-chu or "water of the ice valley," comes from the Gang-lung
mountain in the south, and so there is a glacier or "ice valley" in this
mountain which is the origin of the Tage-tsangpo. It is seen from the
Tam-lung-la, and is the glacier which I venture to call the Sutlej's
genetic source or the real original source. We shall return to this
attractive problem.
From every camp on the lake Robert rowed out with two men at right
angles to the beach, sounding the depth every five minutes. By means of
these radiating lines we discovered the saucer-shaped form of the lake,
for, as I have already remarked, the lake bottom is on the whole very
even. Now, from camp No. 215, Robert rowed out to a depth of 121 feet.
On August 2 we continued our boating excursion, while the caravan
marched along the shore. All went excellently well, we heard not a word
of any officials in pursuit of us, and the Tibetans placed yaks and
mules at our disposal with the greatest willingness. A couple of showers
fell, loud thunder rolled in Gurla Mandatta, and a violent
south-westerly breeze forced us to come to a halt and wait at a place on
the shore where the brook from the Nima-pendi valley debouches, forming
a delta within a broken mole. Fish are plentiful in the brook, but here
also the Tibetans asked us not to catch them, and we respected their
wishes--only stupid and uncouth men wound the religious feelings of
others. By this brook the lake receives a tribute of 49.4 cubic feet per
second, while the Richung-chu entering farther to the west-south-west
contributes 63.6 cubic feet.
We passed Yanggo-gompa under sail at a rather short distance, and
steered straight for Tugu-gompa, picturesquely situated on a strand
terrace. Here begin the long lagoons and mud embankment we had seen from
the western beach, and we were carried comfortably ashore and greeted
politely by a band of Hindus consisting of pilgrims and traders. A
number of Tibetan shepherds from the north were staying here, where a
not unimportant wool market is held every summer. A group of monks stood
on the roof. Our camp was pitched close to the foot of the monastery, on
the shore road, and had a fine view over the lake and Kailas behind it.
At the southern wall of the convent is a yard enclosed by a stone wall,
where 500 sheep were packed like herrings in a barrel, to be shorn in
turn by Hindus and Botias who come from Almora and the border country in
the south. The nomads receive eight annas (8d.) for every sheep, good
interest on their live capital. The wool from 500 sheep is said to
amount to 16 yak-loads (Illust. 249).
[Illustration: 250. THE GOD OF THE LAKE RISING FROM TSO-MAVANG.
Sketch by the Author.]
We paid at once a visit to the monastery, where the thirteen monks and
their abbot, Tabga Rinchen, received us with the greatest kindness and
politeness, showed us everything, and explained to us the various temple
halls. They had heard of my voyages on the lake, and had now seen with
their own eyes my boat sailing before a favourable wind, and they
expressed their sincere conviction that I must possess occult powers to
defy with impunity the god of the holy lake. But they understood that
this was owing to my friendship with the Tashi Lama, who had given me
his holy blessing. The monastery Tugu-gompa is a dependency of
Shibeling-gompa in Purang, and most of the monks come from there to
spend three years on the lake. They own herds in Chang-tang, trade, and
seem to be in good circumstances; at any rate, they help the poor
pilgrims who have nothing to eat on their wanderings round Tso-mavang.
They receive gifts from well-to-do pilgrims. The temple halls are
picturesque, handsome and in very good order. You enter from an upper
balcony into an outer hall with wall paintings, among which is a picture
of Tso-mavang with the fish-god, Madö Gemo, rising from the waves
(Illust. 250). He has seven water-snakes in his hair, and the lower part
of his body is like a green dolphin. The lake is as deep as it is broad,
and concentric rings encircle the rising god. The abbot said that the
fish-god comes up to greet the god of Tso-mavang, Hlabsen Dorche
Barva, who gallops in a cloud of grey fiery tongues and smoke on a pink
horse, and is armed with spear, bow and quiver. In the background stands
Kang-rinpoche, the holy mountain. The whole picture is wanting in
perspective and proportion, but it is curious and interesting, and the
Lamaist artist has done his best to idealize the holy lake by his
drawing and colouring. I made a copy of this work of art, which has some
relationship with our old country paintings.
From the entrance hall a small door gives access to the holiest shrine
in all Tugu-gompa, namely, the hall of the lake god. He is represented
only as a mask, surrounded by _kadakhs_, and seems to peep out from
between curtains. A couple of flames burn before him and the usual bowls
are placed on a stool table. No man but the monks themselves may enter
this little alcove, but I obtained permission to sit on the threshold
and draw a sketch of it (Illust. 251). I regarded this unknown Hlabsen
Dorche Barva almost with reverence, for he ruled over my beloved lake
and had been so gracious to me.
But the finest sight of all was the view from the monastery roof. The
highest parts of Gurla Mandatta, here called Mama-nani or Mamo-nani,
were concealed by the lower flanks, for we were too near to it, but the
surface of the lake stretched out northwards to an immense distance. A
lama, who had served at several different times in the convent, asserted
that the lake rose 24 to 28 inches in rainy summers, and declared that
eighteen years before the water had reached to the foot of the red
façade of the monastery. This seemed improbable, for the distance
between the lake and the monastery was 323 feet, and the foot of the
convent façade (the right corner looking from the strand) lay 20.67 feet
above the level of the lake. I quote these figures to enable a future
explorer to determine whether the lake has risen or fallen since August
2, 1907.
I passed the next days in the monastery, sketched the lamas at their
various temple services, and fell in love with this pleasant, handsome
Tugu-gompa. Punso Lama, a young monk, was my particular friend, and
showed me everything with the inexhaustible knowledge of a trained
museum attendant. Three officials of the Devashung had established
themselves in the entrance hall in the company of the four ghostly
kings, and mattresses, bundles, tables, swords and guns lay or stood in
profane disorder at the entrance to the dwelling of the high gods
(Illusts. 252, 253, 257).
Meanwhile Robert rowed out from the southern shore, and sounded the
depths down to the contour of 207 feet. On August 5, we paid a visit to
Yanggo-gompa, which contains ten monks and a nun. They told me that they
came from the Hor country in the north of central Tibet, and therefore
call themselves Horpa, but also Dokpa; the Changpa are the nomads of
Chang-tang. The abbot is from Sekiya-gompa. In the monastery's
_gunkang_, a dark subterranean crypt, hang masks, _kadakhs_, drums,
spears and guns. I asked for what purpose the monks wanted the firearms,
as one of their fundamental dogmas forbids them to extinguish the light
of life, and they answered that with these guns many wild yaks had been
killed, whose flesh had been used for human food, and that therefore the
guns had been installed in a place of honour in the monastery. Yamba
Tsering, a monk twenty-two years old, sat with his head against a wooden
pillar, and gazed in silence at the dim light which fell into the crypt
through an impluvium; he looked like a dreamer, a searcher after hidden
truth (Illust. 256). Beside him sat the wrinkled nun. Both found their
way into my sketch-book (Illusts. 258, 259). The foot of the monastery
façade lies exactly 14¾ feet above the level of the lake, and the river
Richen-chu, entering the lake behind the convent, discharges 62.15 cubic
feet of water.
Yanggo-gompa was the third of the eight monasteries of the holy lake
which I had visited, and I wished to see them all without exception. And
I also wished to gauge all the streams falling into the lake. It
fluctuates from day to day, according as there is rain or sunshine, but
only by exact measurements could I arrive at the volume which is poured
into the clear basin of Tso-mavang during a day of summer.