KAMBA TSENAM, FATHER OF THE ROBBERS
At the Namchen camp we bought a large supply of rice, meal, barley and
_tsamba_, sugar, stearin candles, soap, and five hundred
cigarettes,--all procured from Tsongka. A rich merchant, Ngutu, who
owned fifty horses and mules and two hundred yaks, sold us two mules and
a horse, besides cloth for new garments, boots, and caps. Abdul Kerim
hastened to make me a Tibetan costume of fine Lhasa cloth; on my head I
wore a Chinese silk cap swathed with a red turban; I stalked about in
silk Chinese boots, and had an elegant sword in my girdle. In my Ladaki
saddle with its variegated fittings, and riding a milk-white stallion, I
looked in this makeshift outfit quite like a Tibetan of rank (Illust.
343).
[Illustration: 348. TROOPER OF THE ESCORT. 349. TIBETAN OF TERI-NAM-TSO.
350. YOUNG SHEPHERD OF BONGBA.
Sketches by the Author.]
Here a large meeting was held in Dorche Tsuen's tent, where the question
of my return route was discussed. Dorche Tsuen insisted on the necessity
of my crossing the Samye-la again, and I answered, as before, that I
intended to take no other way than over a pass east of the Samye-la.
Then he appealed to the nomads at hand, who no doubt had received their
instructions beforehand, and they all affirmed that the Chang-tang could
be reached by no other pass than the Samye-la. However, we had heard
from the horse-driver on the Gebuk-la that a way led over the mountains
directly north of Kamba Tsenam's tent. But then the nomads, who would
have to let us yaks on hire, replied that the road was so bad that we
could not reach the Tarok-tso in three months, and that, for their part,
they would not let their yaks go, and come to grief on the detritus
of the pass. Then we offered to buy yaks, but found no one who would
sell his animals. After Dorche Tsuen had informed me that those who
travelled from Saka into Bongba with hired yaks had to change both men
and pack animals at Buptö on the upper Buptsang-tsangpo, I proposed to
divide my caravan into two sections, one of which, under Abdul Kerim,
would cross the Samye-la, while I with the other half marched over the
eastern pass; we would meet on the lower course of the Buptsang-tsangpo.
Ngutu, a genial old man of Mongolian origin, supported me, giving it as
his opinion that it was of no consequence which pass I crossed myself,
provided that the main part of the caravan went over the Samye-la; but
Dorche Tsuen was still obstinate, and tried to frighten me with a tale
of ten well-armed robbers whose haunts were in the country north of the
mountain I wished to pass over.
"If the country is unsafe," I returned, "it is your duty to provide me
with an escort of ten soldiers."
"The soldiers belong to the garrison of Saka-dzong, and cannot be
employed elsewhere."
"Listen to me, Dorche Tsuen, and do not be so short-sighted. If you give
me ten soldiers, you will be able to control my movements. I will pay
them 2 rupees a man per day for their services, that is, 20 rupees a day
altogether. You can well believe that I cannot afford such a great
expense for a long time, and therefore you will have a guarantee that I
shall not take a long roundabout way. When I have rejoined Abdul Kerim's
party I shall be beyond the limits of your province, and the escort can
return."
"That is true," exclaimed two voices in the crowd; "if he pays 20 rupees
a day, he cannot go far."
Dorche Tsuen rose and called some of the other men to a consultation
outside the tent, and when he came back again he said that I might have
my wish, if I would sign a written declaration that I took upon myself
all responsibility for the consequences, for he wished to be free from
blame if any misfortune befell me. Of course I promised to sign such a
document with pleasure.
Thus the matter was arranged. Nima Tashi (Illust. 353), a powerful man
of pleasant aspect, and dressed in a loose sheepskin, was to be chief of
the bodyguard, and as he said he did not know the road to the north,
Panchor (Illust. 332), a man fifty-five years of age, was ordered to act
as guide. He was called into the tent. I had not seen him before, but
Abdul Kerim said that he was the same man who on April 23 had shown us
the way to the foot of the Kinchen-la, and that he had seen me and
Muhamed Isa last year in Saka-dzong. He was a little, thin, wiry man who
had killed eighty yaks with the gun he always carried. To everything
that was said to him he agreed submissively with "La lasso, la lasso."
We could see that he was sly and knavish--just the stuff we wanted.
With him and all the other company we rode on May 4 over the pass
Gara-la, and from its rather flat threshold saw Kamba Tsenam's tent
still in the same place. Here we crossed, then, our route of April 22,
and had made a loop round the snowy massive Chomo-uchong.
Panchor was the elder brother of Kamba Tsenam, and it struck me as
curious that when the Governor of Saka pitched his tent beside that of
the wealthy nomad, the latter did not come out to welcome him. Now a
collection of tents had sprung up in the valley larger than at any of
the foregoing camps. Couriers and messengers came and went, small yak
caravans came up to the tents with provisions for the officials, and
nomads had come in from the neighbourhood to have a look at the
eccentric European who had come down like a bomb into the country and
had been caught at last.
[Illustration: 351. GUESTS AT THE OPENING OF MY TENT ON THE BANK OF THE
TERI-NAM-TSO.
(Over the opening a plaid is stretched as a protection against the
sun.)]
[Illustration: 352. THE YAKS FORDING THE RIVER SOMA-TSANGPO.]
Late in the evening Kamba Tsenam came sneaking into my tent. He was very
mysterious, and said that the Governor and his people had no notion that
he was paying me a visit in the darkness. He wished only to say that
Panchor could very well contrive that I should go almost anywhere I
liked. The escort had strict orders from the authorities, but only
Panchor knew the way, and could easily throw dust into the eyes of the
other men. I had only to make my wishes known to Panchor and he would
manage the rest. If also a band of fifty robbers swept down on us
like a whirlwind, they would disperse like sheep as soon as they knew
that Panchor with his never-failing gun was with us. Kamba Tsenam thus
revealed himself as a cunning rogue, who had not the slightest respect
for the authorities of Saka. The old fool promised that I should travel
by the roads I wished if, in return, I would contrive that he should be
governor of Saka. What he said was only idle talk, and he himself was a
fellow to be on our guard against. There was not a man in Bongba who had
ever heard of him, and his great power existed only in his own
imagination. In his own village he was known and flattered on account of
his great wealth, and he boasted that no robber dared to touch his
flocks, for he was their trusted friend. "I am the father of all the
robbers," he said modestly.
I willingly accepted his invitation to visit his tent next morning. When
I had passed it the first time it was in a snowstorm, and I had looked
upon it as a serious menace to my plans and my freedom. Almost like a
thief in the night, expecting to be discovered every moment, I had
stolen past the black nomad dwelling. Now I approached it as an honoured
guest, only barked at by dogs.
The huge tent, made of a number of pieces of material, is supported by
three veritable masts, firmly fixed in the ground. A stone wall runs
along the inner side, and in front of it are heaps of _tsamba_, rice,
and corn sacks. Baskets and boxes stand full of clothing. The altar, a
wooden shelf and a table are laden with _gaos_, images, votive bowls,
praying mills, and holy books. In one corner stand perhaps a dozen guns
with streamers on their rests, and in another as many swords. On the
hearth, built on the left of the entrance, always stands a large
tea-kettle boiling, ready for any guests that may come in. A battery of
wooden cups stands on a stone slab ready for use. The bluish grey smoke
rises up towards the chimney opening. Far away from the entrance, at the
right corner, the master of the house has his seat of honour, a small
divan with a stool table before it, and before this again a fireplace,
like a hollow cracked cannon-ball, filled with reeking dung embers.
Some of Kamba Tsenam's shepherds are sitting in a group drinking tea, in
another part some small black children are playing, and in a third the
women of the tent are tittering. With pure white short hair, wrinkled
like crushed parchment, stone-blind, and dressed like Monna Vanna only
in a cloak, Kamba Tsenam's eighty-three-year-old mother sits on her bed
and swings her prayer-mill with the right hand, while her left hand
keeps the beads of her rosary in constant motion. She prattles and
murmurs prayers, sometimes drops her rosary to catch a troublesome
insect, and sometimes lets the prayer-mill stop when she is plunged in
vague dreamy thought. Twice she asked if the European were still there
and if he had been offered tea and food.
May 5, the last day we enjoyed Dorche Tsuen's society, had to be
celebrated in some way. I invited the whole party to a festival in the
camp. The two Governors and Oang Gye took their places in my tent, in
the middle of which our tea-cups were filled on an improvised table. The
day had been cold and muggy and snow fell, but we warmed our hands over
the fire, and sat wrapped in skin coats like four Tibetans of rank,
while the populace formed a circle outside. A fire was lighted in the
middle and was maintained by dung from four sacks. It was pitch dark
outside, but yellow flames threw a bright gleam over the dark Tibetans,
servants, herdsmen, nomads and soldiers, women and children, youths and
old men. They stood in wondering groups in their skin coats blackened by
the smoke of fires, bare-headed, with long black tresses hanging over
their shoulders. The light from the fire made a vain attempt to gild
them. They stood out in sharp effective relief against the deep shadows
(Illust. 336).
[Illustration: 353. Nima Tashi, Commandor of the Government-Escort on
the way to the Teri-nam-tso.]
[Illustration: 354. Nuns of Mendong.]
[Illustration: 355. A high Lama of Chokchu.]
[Illustration: 356. The Prior of Selipuk.
Water-colour Sketches by the Author.]
I charged Abdul Kerim to do his very best, and he informed me that the
programme would contain fifteen items, song and dance following
alternately without a pause. The first item was a dance with sticks to
represent swords; the second, a hunting episode: a wild animal, composed
of two crouching men with a piece of felt over them and two sticks for
horns, went prancing round the fire; a hunter with his gun crept about,
took aim at the monster, killed him with a single shot, and performed
with his friends a triumphal dance around the carcase. Then followed a
Ladaki dance, little Gulam leading the troop, and after that Suen
executed his remarkable dance before a lady, represented by a stick he
held before him. All the others kept time by clapping their hands, and
invited the Tibetans to join in, and my guests in the tent were
convulsed with laughter.
The Mohammedans executed a Yarkand dance with Kutus as leader. They
danced round the fire, swinging their arms and skirts, and between the
fire and the tent they appeared only as black profiles, while on the
other side they were lighted up by the reddish-yellow flames, and their
perspiring faces shone like bronze. A song followed, waking a sonorous
echo in the mountains, and the Tibetans recognizing the air joined in,
and all the while the men clapped their hands. The smoke from the fire
took part in the dances and sometimes flew right in the faces of the
spectators, the singing became louder, the merriment more uncontrolled,
and the nomads laughed till they had to support themselves with their
hands on their knees, as Suen revolved in grotesque pirouettes over the
arena and the nomads tried to imitate him. The clumsy Abdullah performed
an indescribable dance with his back bent back, and when he bent himself
so much that he fell backwards to the edge of the fire, the delight of
the spectators was unbounded: they laughed till they were breathless,
hopped about and uttered wild yells, while the performer shook the
sparks from his coat and retired to his corner (Illusts. 337, 338, 339,
340). The Tibetans evidently enjoyed themselves; perhaps they had never
had such an amusing evening in their lives. Dorche Tsuen said something
of the sort. Ngavang gave way to his kindly laugh, and Oang Gye enjoyed
the unwonted spectacle like a child. For my part, I dreamed awhile and
thought of the unexpected and singular manner in which fate had allowed
me to choose my course. Through the clouds of smoke I seemed to see all
old Asia before me, and the adventures of past years behind me. A
carnival of old camp-scenes danced before my mind's eye, expiring like
shooting-stars in the night--merry songs which came to an end among
other mountains and the dying sound of strings and flutes. And I was
surprised that I had not had enough of these things and that I was not
tired of the light of camp-fires.
The wind rises, the snow falls thickly and hisses in the fire, and the
flakes are lighted up from below. With white hair and shoulders the
Tibetans look like mist figures, and behind them hang the dark curtains
of night, from which is heard from time to time a pony's neigh or a
dog's bark. The last sack of fuel is emptied over the leaping flames,
burns up and sinks, and only embers are left, glowing in the ceaselessly
falling snow. Then my grateful guests rise at midnight, distribute gifts
to the performers, say farewell, and vanish like ghosts in the darkness
to seek their own tents. Now night reigns alone over the valley, the
surroundings lie silent and still, and only the pelting snow makes a
swishing sound against the tent.
On the morning of May 6 the country was again white as in the depth of
winter. Quietly and lightly as cotton-wool the flakes fell, and all, the
Tibetans included, were more wrapped up than usual. The Governors and
their retinue came to pay a farewell visit, and then I went out with
them to their horses, took a last farewell, and thanked them for all the
kindness they had shown me in spite of the trouble I had given them.
Dorche Tsuen expressed a hope that we should meet again. It is much
easier to get on with men and lead them where you wish if you treat them
kindly and gently; you gain nothing by violence, harshness, and threats.
The Governor was a fine upright figure on his horse; his face was
entirely covered with dark spectacles and a red hood to protect it from
the blast (Illust. 342). His troop of mounted men was considerably
diminished after his escort had been told off to follow me. They struck
their heels into their horses and soon disappeared up the hill on the
way to the Gara-la.
[Illustration: 357. TWO LAMAS OF MENDONG.]
[Illustration: 358. MY SHEEP CROSSING THE RIVER SOMA-TSANGPO.]
My caravan was now to be divided into two parties. Only five men were to
follow me, namely, Gulam, Lobsang, Kutus, Tubges, and Kunchuk. We had
eight goats to supply milk; our old sheep had been sold for a mere
trifle. A hundred rupees for the first five days were paid in advance to
the escort under Nima Tashi. No agreement was made with Panchor, but he
was to be paid well if he took me where I wished. The other seven
Ladakis were ordered to proceed under the command of Abdul Kerim over
the Samye-la to the Buptsang-tsangpo, follow the stream slowly
downwards, and wait for us near its mouth in the Tarok-tso. Whatever
they did, they were not to leave the Buptsang-tsangpo, or we might lose
one another. Rindor and Pemba Tsering were deputed to follow them over
the Samye-la to Buptö, to bring the Kebyang people to reason if they
refused transport animals. My baggage was reduced to a minimum, and I
took with me only a thousand rupees. Abdul Kerim was responsible for the
remainder of the cash. He was an honest man, but a noodle. Some nomads
accompanied us with six yaks for the baggage (Illusts. 344, 345, 348).
Though, according to our plans, we were to be separated only a few
weeks, the parting was touching, and many childish tears trickled down
weather-beaten cheeks. We had bought more horses, and all my five
Ladakis could ride. We rode up the valley in close order; the bottom was
full of loose rotten ice, lumpy tufts of grass with mice-holes among
them, frozen springs, and detritus of hard green schist. We marched
north-eastwards, and then due west, over the small double pass
Shalung-la, and down to the Gyegong valley, where we encamped at Kamba
Tsenam's sheepfolds to buy some sheep for food. The escort had got there
first, and sat in their black tent drinking tea.
We sat talking with Kamba Tsenam and Panchor when a tall and strongly
built young fellow came and sat down at the opening of my tent.
"I have seen the Bombo before," he said, "in the neighbourhood of
Nakchu. You had a Buryat and a lama with you. That is seven years ago."
"Quite right. Have you brought me a message?"
"No; I only wish to ask if you are disposed to buy two good yaks from
me. You can have them for half their value."
"Thanks; we do not want any yaks now. What is your occupation?"
"Robber!" he answered, without blinking.
After he had gone, Kamba Tsenam informed me that some time ago the man
had killed a nomad in Rukyok, and now was come to treat about the
compensation for the murder. The authorities were looking eagerly for
the band to which he belonged, and Kamba Tsenam and Panchor knew exactly
where they were hiding, but would not betray them lest they should be
robbed of their property in revenge. Kamba Tsenam and his brother were
evidently on very confidential terms with the robbers of the country,
and I very much suspected that they were in league with some of them. In
Panchor we had certainly an actual robber chief as guide. He himself
told us that the Devashung had tried to engage him in their service as a
spy and guide, when they wished to track up an evaded robber band, but
he would not consent. He knew that we had a large quantity of money with
us, and we were not too safe in his company. He could very well arrange
a night attack and in the end play the innocent. He pretended not to
know the country beyond a couple of days' journey to the north, but when
he inspected our six horses he said: "This one you bought from an old
nomad to the west of Sha-kangsham, and this one from Tsongpun Tashi." If
he knew every horse in the country, he must also know the country very
well. I asked him to go over the names of our camping-places to the
north, but he gave only the first two, and added: "The rest you will
know as you go on, and if I cannot find them myself, there will always
be some robbers I can ask."
On May 7 we took leave of the old robber chief Kamba Tsenam, and rode in
close order up to the pass Gyegong-la, which has a height of 18,012
feet. The pass stands on a distinctly marked chain, which is called
Kanchung-gangri, and it was very interesting to find that all the water
on the northern side of the pass flowed to the upper Chaktak-tsangpo.
Kanchung-gangri is therefore not part of the main range of the
Trans-Himalaya, and the Gyegong-la is only a secondary pass. The great
watershed lay some days' journey farther to the north.
On the northern side we passed a warm spring, Memo-chutsen, which at the
orifice had a temperature of 93.6°, while in another the water boiled
and steamed. The springs are surrounded by sinter, terraces, and basins
in which sick people bathe.
Panchor had an old field-glass and diligently looked out for robbers and
wild yaks. He said that we ought always to keep together in case we were
attacked by robbers he did not know, and he bade us help with our
weapons in the defence.
The camp this day was No. 400.