A STORMY VOYAGE OVER THE HOLY LAKE
On August 6 we stayed at Tugu-gompa, one of the most interesting
monasteries I have seen in Tibet. I was engaged all day long, with
Robert and Rabsang to assist me, in measuring with a tape the dimensions
of the three storeys, and drawing plans of them. The third, however, is
little more than a roof balcony. I have no space to give the results
here. As we were on the roof, eight monks were sitting in the inner
court counting their receipts, which were duly entered in a cash-book.
Their rupees and _tengas_ lay in heaps on a short-legged table. I gave a
handful of rupees, throwing them among the piles, and disturbing the
calculations of the monks. However, they were very thankful for this
unexpected contribution, which seemed to fall from heaven.
About thirty Hindu pilgrims set up their shabby tents near us. In the
evening they lighted a fire on a flat metal dish, which was pushed out
on to the water, and shone like a beacon fire by the bank. This floating
pyre was meant as a homage to the lake.
On August 7 I was awakened early when the sun was pouring fresh gold
over the blue lake, and a lama on the convent roof was blowing
long-drawn heavy notes from his shell horn over the surface. I hastened
to the shore where the boat lay ready with its usual equipment, Shukkur
Ali and Tundup Sonam put the sounding-line in order and stowed our
baggage. The Hindus lined the bank like the wild-geese, left their
clothing on land, and waded, with only a cloth round their loins, to
bathe in the holy beatifying water of the lake. It must be very
refreshing to people from the close jungles of India to wash in such a
cool morning in water at only a few degrees above freezing-point. Most
of them, however, go in no farther than up to their knees. There they
squat down, or scoop up the water in their joined hands, and throw it
over them. They make symbolical signs, fill their mouth with water and
send it out in a stream, hold their hands flat against their faces and
look at the rising sun, and perform all kinds of absurd, complicated
manipulations, which I remember seeing at the ghâts of Benares. They are
sunburnt, thin and miserable, and they are too thinly clad--I did not
see a single sheepskin--and they complain of the severity of the
climate, catch chills, and come to my tent for medicine. Some stood
about an hour in the water before they returned to the beach to put on
their clothing, and then they sat in groups talking. But they return to
the valleys of India convinced that they have performed an action
well-pleasing to the gods, and they take with them small metal-bottles
filled with holy water from Manasarowar to give to their relations. They
believe that one of the ways of salvation runs past Manasarowar. They
are always hopeful, and that is a fine thing for poor pilgrims on the
face of the earth.
[Illustration: 251. TEMPLE HALL OF THE LAKE-GOD OF TSO-MAVANG.]
[Illustration: 252. CHENRESI'S IMAGE IN TUGU-GOMPA.
Sketches by the Author.]
They stared with astonishment at our boat, which was driven out from the
shore by powerful strokes, perhaps with envious eyes, for many asked me
afterwards to let them go with me, that they might for the rest of their
lives look back to the time when they floated on the sacred waves. The
lake lay smooth and still, but at the first sounding-station (115 feet),
the lake god shook himself, a north-westerly breeze sprang up, and the
waves splashed and danced briskly against our bow, for our third line of
soundings was carried north, 27° W., towards camp No. 214. We sounded
174, 207, 226, 236, 236, 246, and 253 feet, while the waves increased,
and the boat rode well but with diminished speed. Gurla Mandatta was
almost clear, but Kailas was buried in clouds. The wind fell and the sun
glowed, and everything foretold a fine day. At the ninth point the
depth was less, 246 feet; we had passed the line of soundings made in
the night and its great depths. Afterwards the depths were 223, 197,
187, 194, and 200 feet.
The north-westerly breeze began to blow again, and at mid-day clouds
gathered in the north. A heavy bluish-grey layer of clouds sank down
slowly on the mountain flanks, and from its under side rain fringes hung
down, greyish-purple on a compact dark background. All the mountains and
the whole strand disappeared, and the masses of cloud seemed as though
they would fall on the lake. We passed the fifteenth station, which
showed a depth of 200 feet, and kept a steady course towards the red
promontory. The rowers put forth all their strength when I had pointed
out to them that we were drawing near to the shelter of the bank, and
that the waves were becoming smaller the farther we advanced. We had
left Gossul-gompa a good distance to the left; I could not see the
monastery myself, but the men saw it as a small white speck in the
distance.
Just before one o'clock yellow swirls of dust and sand appeared near the
landspit which we were making for. They became denser and larger, and
looked yellow and dismal on the dark purple background of gathering
clouds. It was not the first time I had seen such storm warnings.
"We are in for a storm," I said quietly.
"God is with us," replied Shukkur Ali quite as calmly.
"Row on and we shall get in before the waves are high."
"If we turn straight to the shore, it will be nearer," suggested Shukkur
Ali.
"No, we will not alter the course, we will make straight for our goal,
and we shall soon be in the shelter of the hills on the shore; there are
only three soundings to be taken, and they can be left for another
time."
The wind fell again, and it began to rain in a few large drops, which on
reaching the surface of the water remained an instant as separate round
beads, as though they were covered with a film of oil. Then followed an
extremely heavy shower of hail which lashed the water as it streamed
down, enveloped us in semi-darkness, caused the lake to leap up in
millions of tiny fountains, and in two minutes made the inside of the
boat white. Nothing was visible but ourselves and the boat, only water
and hail, which scourged the lake like rods and produced a hissing
gurgle. Now and then the clouds were lighted up by quivering lightning,
and the thunder growled heavily and threateningly in the north. Then the
men turned round, but could see nothing in the mist; they were uneasy
and we all felt that there was danger ahead.
The hail was followed by pelting rain, a downpour of such furious
impetuosity that I could not imagine any more tremendous. It fell in
such quantities and with such force that we were bowed down by it. I had
on three shirts and a leather vest, but after a short time I felt that
the water was streaming down my bare skin, which had this advantage that
all the future douches that awaited us could make no further impression.
I had my fur coat on my knees with the skin side up, and in all its
hollows the water collected in small pools. A quantity of water fell
into the boat and washed about with the stroke of the oars. The shore
was not visible, and I steered by the compass.
"Row on, we have not much farther to go."
At length the rain became finer, but at four minutes after one o'clock,
we heard a deafening roar in the north-east, a sound such as only a
storm of the greatest violence can produce. Hail and rain were nothing
to it; now that the heavy sheets of water were withdrawn the storm had a
free course and swept suddenly and furiously over the lake. Why had we
not started an hour earlier, instead of watching the religious ablutions
of the Hindus? No, the god of Tso-mavang was angry and would teach us
once for all not to treat so lightly the lake which splashes his
dolphin's tail with its green water. How we envied the monks in
Gossul-gompa, and our men down in the south under the peaceful walls of
the Tugu monastery! What would they say, what would they do, if we were
drowned like cats in this raging lake?
For a minute we struggled frantically to keep our course in spite of
the waves which swept upon us from the right. They swelled up with
astonishing rapidity, and every wave which dashed against the taut
canvas of the boat and dissolved into spray, made a cracking sound as
though the little vessel were about to burst. The next was still larger;
I warded it off with my Indian helmet, and Tundup Sonam received a cold
buffet which disconcerted him for a moment. After the third, which threw
its foaming crest over the gunwale, the water stood 4 inches deep in the
boat, the little nutshell with the weight of three men lay far too deep
in the water, and the water we had shipped gurgled, lapped, and splashed
hither and thither with the roll of the boat.
Now I perceived that the attempt to hold our course was hopeless. We
must fall off with the wind and waves. We had Gossul-gompa to the south,
50° W., and the storm was from the north-east; we could find refuge in
the monastery, if we could get so far. The difficulty was to turn at
right angles without capsizing. Twice I failed, and we shipped more
water, but the third time I succeeded, and now, if we had any care for
our lives we must prevent the boat from veering up into the wind; the
storm came a little from the right. Tundup Sonam, who rowed the
starboard oar in the bow, had all the work, while Shukkur Ali had only
to dip in his oar occasionally at my command, but though outwardly calm
he was too excited and eager, and when my voice could not be heard amid
the howling of the storm, I put my hand on his knuckles to make him
leave the oar alone.
Now began a voyage such as I had never experienced in all my journeys in
Tibet. The storm increased to a hurricane, and under its pressure the
waves became as high as the billows of the Baltic in stormy weather; a
steamer would have rolled in such a sea, and we in the little canvas
boat had to negotiate the unexpected cross rolls following one another.
Lashed, hunted, and persecuted by the raging force of the wind, we swept
over the lake. Every new wave that lifted us up seemed bigger than the
last. Some had sharp smooth crests, as though moulded out of mountain
crystal, and reflected the dark clouds in the north. It seemed as
though a bottomless, watery grave yawned in front of us which might at
any moment swallow up our boat. Others came rolling up foam-capped,
hissing and thundering behind us, and we shuddered at the thought that
they might fill the boat in an instant and send it to the bottom, but it
rose bravely over the crests. The view was open on all sides, the sun
was visible in the south, Gurla Mandatta was clear and sharp, to the
south, 50° W., even the terrace on which Gossul-gompa stands could be
seen, and it was black and threatening only in the north. During the
second when the boat was balanced quivering on the crest of the wave, we
might fancy ourselves transplanted to a lofty pass in Chang-tang with a
world of mountain ranges all round us, while the foam of the waves had
an illusive resemblance to the fields of eternal snow.
But this wave also passes on and the boat sinks into a hollow, we fall
into a water grotto, the nearest waves conceal the view, the walls of
the grotto are of the purest malachite behind us and like emerald in
front. Now we are lifted up again--"At it, Tundup Sonam, or the huge
foaming crest will thrust us down!"--he puts forth all his strength and
the wave passes us. It is irregular and reminds us of the pyramidal
summit of Kubi-gangri; two such crests tower up in front of us, and
their edges are shattered into spray by the wind. They are as
transparent as glass, and through one of them the image of Gurla
Mandatta's bright white snowfields is refracted as in a magnifying
glass. We have a watery portal in front of us and the tips of the waves
are gilded with the faint reflexion of the sun in the south.
[Illustration: 253. THE LHAKANG HALL IN TUGU-GOMPA.
Sketch by the Author.]
We struggle bravely and I sit on the bottom of the boat pushing the
rudder with all my strength to keep the boat in the right direction,
while the spray, lashed by the wind, spurts over us as from a fire-hose.
Frequently a broken crest slips over the gunwale, but we have not a hand
free to bale out the water. We see the boat filling slowly--shall we
reach the bank before it sinks? The mast and sail lie with two reserve
oars tied fast across the middle of the boat. If we could set a sail the
boat would be easier to handle, but it is not to be thought of now,
when we can hardly keep our balance sitting down and stiffening
ourselves with our feet, with the heavy blows and the unexpected
positions the boat assumes according to the form of the waves, their
slopes, curves and curls. And, besides, in such a storm the mast would
break like glass.
We had turned at right angles to our line of soundings for now we
thought only of saving our lives, if that were possible--to reach the
land before the boat sank. Then, in the most critical moment, when an
irregular wave threatened the boat, I called on Tundup Sonam to put
forth all his strength, and he did it too well, so that the oar broke
with a crack. Now all hung by a hair, we could not manage the boat and
it must inevitably capsize and be swamped under this foaming crest. But
Tundup Sonam realized the danger, and with a quick grasp tore loose a
reserve oar, while Shukkur Ali backed with the leeward oar; after
another douche we trimmed the boat again.
The longer the storm lasts and the larger the expanse of lake left
behind us in the north-east, the higher rise the waves; we are swept
forwards, we rock up and down on the lumpy lake, and fresh cold douches
are constantly poured over us from the crests as they split into spray
like plumes of feathers. How small and helpless we feel in the presence
of these roused infuriated forces of Nature, how imposing and awful, and
yet how grand and splendid is this spectacle! The two men had never in
their lives seen anything to equal it. I sit with my back to the
pursuing billows, but the men have them before their faces, and I know
when large waves are approaching by their muttered "Ya Allah!" Tundup is
as pale as he can be with a sun-tanned skin; Shukkur Ali seems composed,
but he does not sing to-day as he dips in his oar. Tundup afterwards
confided to me that he was quite convinced that we should perish.
It is impossible to keep my eye-glasses dry and clear, and I have not
for a long time had a dry thread on me. Shukkur Ali turns round and says
that the monastery is in sight, but it is too far for my eyes. "Look at
the wave yonder," I call out. "Is it not beautiful?" He smiles and
murmurs his "Ya Allah." Its crest breaks close to us like a waterfall,
and, air being forced into the water, it rises again in bubbling foam
and the lake seems to boil and seethe. Hitherto there has been drizzling
rain, but now the air is clear. The lake assumes a different hue, the
waves are dark and bright, close to us black as ink, but lighter towards
their tips, and the horizon of the lake is often seen through the next
wave as through a sheet of ice.
Thus we are driven on, and the time seems endless. For five quarters of
an hour we have striven with the freaks of the lake god, and every
minute has seemed to us an hour. At last the monastery Gossul appears
and grows larger, the details becoming distinguishable, and I see the
white façade with its upper border of red, its windows and roof
streamers, and some monks behind a balustrade with their eyes fixed on
the boat. And below the cloister terrace there is wild foaming surf. How
we are to land I cannot imagine; I have experienced such adventures
before, but never anything as furious as to-day. We envy the monks up
above with firm ground under their feet, and should like to be beside
them. The log has been out all the time, and now I draw it in with a
quick pull and call out to the men to be ready to jump overboard when I
give the sign. I place the note-book and the map I have sketched to-day,
all dripping with water, into the front of my leather vest, that at any
rate I may not lose the figures I have obtained.
[Illustration: 254. LAMA WITH PRAYER-DRUM.]
[Illustration: 255. LAMA BEFORE THE TEMPLE DOOR IN TUGU-GOMPA.
Sketches by the Author.]
We have only a few minutes more. With the help of Shukkur Ali I manage
to get out of my heavy soaked boots, and have scarcely done so when the
boat is pitched violently into the breakers on the shore. Here the water
is as brown as oatmeal, and the undertow sucks out the boat again. Now
Tundup Sonam wishes to jump out of the boat but I advise him to try
first with the oar if he can reach the bottom; he feels no ground and
has to wait patiently. The boat receives a blow from behind and
threatens to capsize; the oarsmen work as if they were possessed to
fight against the undertow, and before I am aware Tundup has jumped out,
and, up to his breast in water, draws the boat shorewards with all his
might. Now we two follow his example, and with our united strength
succeed at last in drawing the boat up the beach before the raging surf
can dash it to pieces. One more hard pull and we have drawn it up over
the mud embankment into the lagoon, which the waves cannot reach.
Now we had had enough, and we threw ourselves down on the sand, quite
tired out. The fearful excitement and tension of body and mind during an
hour and a half was followed by stupor and weariness; we had nothing to
say to one another, and I gave no orders for the night. We were
shipwrecked men, and had every reason to be pleased and thankful that we
had firm ground under our feet again, and had escaped safely from the
green graves which had yawned below us, threatening to engulf us if we
had not been on the alert in critical moments.
We had only dozed a few minutes when two monks and three young novices
came gently over the sand and approached us cautiously, as if they were
not quite certain whether we were alive or dead. When we got up they
greeted us kindly, and inquired how we were and whether we needed help.
They were deeply interested, and told us how they had seen from their
balcony the boat tossing on the waves, and had been convinced that it
must founder in the unusually violent storm that had swept over the
lake. They had been frightened to death, and said that it was fearful to
see the boat sink in the trough of the waves, and every moment they
expected that it would not appear again. On landing we were immediately
below them, and the sight was too terrible. Were we hurt at all, and
would we come up into the monastery and spend the night in their warm
rooms? But I thanked them for their kind offers and preferred to sleep
as usual in the open air. If they could get us fuel and food we should
be much obliged.
They bowed and disappeared in their maze of staircases, and presently
came back with sacks full of dung, brushwood, and billets, and soon a
grand fire was burning on the terrace. They kindled it themselves, for
our matches and tinder were quite useless. Then they went off to fetch
some eatables, for the contents of our packet of provisions were turned
into paste by the water.
Meanwhile we made ourselves comfortable on the narrow strip of ground
below the monastery. Two large caves opened into the terrace, their
vaults black with smoke, for pilgrims and herdsmen spend the night in
them. They would have sheltered us from the wind, but they were so dirty
that we preferred to pitch our camp at the edge of the bank. It was wet
with rain, but we scraped out dry sand with our hands. The boat was
taken to pieces and emptied--it was half full of water--and then it was
set up by the fire as a screen.
When the fire had burned up and was glowing hot, we stripped ourselves
stark naked, wrung out one garment after another, and crouched by the
fire to dry our under-clothing and ourselves. Each had to look after
himself, for we were all in the same plight. I spread out my things as
near as possible to the fire and hung them over the oars and life-buoys
to expose them to the wind and heat. Meanwhile I dried my woollen vest
bit by bit, turned it inside out, held it to the fire on this side and
that, out and inside, and when it was quite dry put it on again. Then
came the turn of my unmentionables, then of my stockings, and so on.
Nothing could be done with the leather waistcoat and the fur coat; they
would not be dry by night, but what did it matter? It was at any rate
better here than in the crystal halls of the lake king.
It is still broad daylight, but the storm rages, Gurla Mandatta and all
the country to the south has disappeared, for the gale is passing off in
that direction. There is fine close rain again. Falcons scream in the
holes of the pebbly slopes--dangerous neighbours for the bluish-grey
pigeons cooing on the rocks.
The monks came down again with sweet and sour milk and _tsamba_, tea we
had ourselves, and the simple dinner tasted delicious. Then we sat a
couple of hours by the fire while the storm continued. I dried my diary
and entered the notes which form the contents of this chapter. Between
whiles Shukkur Ali entertained me with stories of his adventures during
his travels in the service of Younghusband and Wellby. Now that he had
escaped death by the skin of his teeth, the past returned more vividly
to his memory, and when once he was started on his reminiscences he
could not be stopped, good old Shukkur Ali. I listened with one ear and
wrote with the other--I had almost said--not to appear uninterested;
and, after all, the chief thing to Shukkur Ali was that he could
prattle.
At last the northern sky becomes clear, and all the mountains are white
with snow; before only Kailas and its next neighbours were distinguished
by white caps, but now all is white. We are certainly past the early
days of August, but is it possible that autumn is already beginning? The
summer has been so short that we have hardly had time to get accustomed
to it.
Another night falls on the earth. Impenetrable darkness surrounds us,
and only in the zenith a few stars sparkle. The swell still roars
against the strand, but Tso-mavang is gently falling asleep. Above us
towers the monastery on its steep wall like a fortress, and the monks
have retired to rest. The falcons are heard no more, and the pigeons
have sought their nests.