THE LAST DAYS IN UNKNOWN COUNTRY
On June 19 we proceeded north-north-east down the Pedang-tsangpo's
gently declining valley, sometimes near, sometimes at a distance from,
the fairly large river. On the right was the ridge of the Sur-la with
its snowy summits and small glacier tongues, and far in the north was
seen a huge crest called Ganglung-gangri, a prolongation of the Sur-la.
We found that this colossal range, like its eastern and western
neighbours, runs from north-north-west to south-south-east, and that the
orographical configuration is totally unlike the scheme set forth by
Hodgson, Atkinson, Saunders, and Burrard, for these gentlemen, quite
hypothetically, inserted a single chain parallel to the upper
Brahmaputra. In reality one wanders here in a labyrinth of mountain
ranges, one and all only parts of the gigantic system of the
Trans-Himalaya.
The road was excellent, and after a long ride we set up our two tents on
the bank of a glacier stream while snow squalls and showers of pelting
rain came down alternately. Here we had to stay a day, that the genial
nomads of the neighbourhood might send for the district chief; for we
had nothing to eat, but had to buy whatever we could get. He came, and
we bought provisions for 50 rupees, and gave him 20 for his kindness.
Our treasury was almost empty, and I looked forward with trembling to
the time when we should be obliged, like wandering Jews, to sell
watches, revolvers, and horses to gain a livelihood. For here, in
Rigi-changma, no one had heard of Abdul Kerim and his men. We could not
tell what had happened. Had he gone quite off his head? He had 2500
rupees with him; had he decamped, or had he been robbed? A letter was
despatched to Gova Parvang saying that if he did not get news of them in
a week he would have all the Devashung and the Mandarins about his ears.
At any rate we had made a splendid journey through unknown country, and
now we must make our way to the Shovo-tso we had long heard spoken of.
Properly we ought to have gone over the Pedang range on the west direct
to Selipuk, but it was not difficult to talk over the Gova, and on June
21 he had fresh yaks and guides ready. The latter were a young man and a
boy ten years old in a blue sheepskin. With these we could have gone off
anywhere, but I was tired and longed to get home. The valley of the
Pedang-tsangpo took us further to the north. It is unusual to find in
Tibet such a great longitudinal valley running north and south, for they
lie almost always east and west, and produce the peculiar parallelism so
characteristic of the country. We passed sixteen tents, and near the
last we crossed the Pedang-tsangpo, which runs to the Shovo-tso by a
more easterly course. Lobsang caused great amusement when he was
attacked by a furious dog, and, having no stones, threw his bright
sheath-knife at him; he missed, but the dog took the knife in his teeth
and ran off to his master's tent.
Then we rode up to the Abuk-la pass, with a view both magnificent and
instructive. The bluish-green Shovo-tso is, like Poru-tso, longest from
north-east to south-west, and is surrounded by huge mountains, some of
them with eternal snow. To the north, 30° E., we see the pass Ka-la,
over which the "gold road" runs. The name Ka-la occurs on a map of one
of Montgomerie's pundits by a single isolated mountain summit. In
reality the Ka-la is the very opposite of a mountain summit, namely, a
depression or saddle in a mountain range. We encamped on the southern
shore of the Shovo-tso, which lies at an absolute height of 15,696 feet.
The water is salt, and round the shore are seen old shore-lines of about
the same height as at Poru-tso.
[Illustration: 374. LAMA OF CHOKCHU TAKING LEAVE OF THE PRIOR OF
SELIPUK.]
[Illustration: 375. LAMA OF CHOKCHU ON HORSEBACK.]
June 22. When we left the western extremity of the Shovo-tso we saw a
large caravan of yaks and sheep which seemed to have the same
destination as ourselves. Lobsang found out that the people were
_nekoras_ or pilgrims on the way to Kang-rinpoche, and that the owner of
the caravan was the Governor of Chokchu, Sonam Ngurbu (Illust. 372). We
left them behind and rode up to the pass Tela-mata-la. A horseman
approached us at a gallop, and made signs to us to halt. We waited for
him, all on the tiptoe of expectation, for we made sure that he brought
us a message from Abdul Kerim. Bah! it was only one of Sonam Ngurbu's
soldiers who wanted to ask our guides if a spring on the way to Selipuk
had any water in it this year. Sonam Ngurbu's caravan had come from
Tabie-tsaka and had not heard a word of our men. It seemed as though the
earth had swallowed them up. My orders had been that, whatever else they
did, they should wait for us on the Buptsang-tsangpo. Doubtless they had
been plundered by robbers; and we had only 80 rupees left. I blessed the
hour when I decided to keep myself all the maps, notes, sketches, and
rock specimens when we parted at Kamba Tsenam's tent. We could obtain
money by selling some valuables, and from Selipuk I could send a courier
to Thakur Jai Chand in Gartok.
From Tela-mata-la we have again a striking view over almost all the
Sur-la range and over the mountainous region of Lavar-gangri to the
south of Selipuk. With every day's march the orographical configuration
becomes clearer, and soon the leading features of the blank space will
be nearly all ascertained.
The temperature again sank at the midsummer season below freezing-point,
the reading on June 23 being 25.9°. We rode through a small steep valley
up to the Tayep-parva-la (17,887 feet). The ground was so honeycombed
with mouse-holes that the horses trod on two or three at once. Little
Puppy caught a couple of field-mice by the neck, and we did not pity
them. A marmot which had ventured too far from its hole almost fell into
Takkar's clutches, but just saved himself in time. At the pass we made
the usual halt for observations, and I drew a panorama of the
surroundings. Between north and north-west the horizon is far distant
and the country level; only to the north, 5° W., appears a small
snow-capped dome, but not another _gangri_. The view over
Nganglaring-tso, just below, is grand, all the mountains in shades of
pink, and the water of a deep ultramarine. A large part of its eastern
half is occupied by a large island, a mountain mass rising out of the
water with a contour as irregular as that of the lake itself, all
promontories, bays, and capes. To the north-west lie three small
islands. No European had ever seen Nganglaring-tso before, nor any
pundit. But the pundit sent by Montgomerie in 1867 to Tok-jalung
obtained some hazy information about the district "Shellifuk" and the
great lake "Ghalaring-tso," which was afterwards inserted in maps of
Tibet. The form given by the pundit to the lake, namely, an egg-shape
with the longer axis from north to south, does not at all correspond to
the reality; for the lake stretches east and west, and its contour could
not be more irregular than it is. The pundit places a small island in
the northern half, and adds the legend "Monastery on Island." In reality
Nganglaring-tso has at least four islands, but not a single monastery.
On Midsummer Day we encamped by the roaring surf (15,577 feet), and on
the 25th we crossed the last hilly mountain spur which still separated
us from the extensive plain of Selipuk. From its height we again saw the
great chain of Sur-la, and to the south the Trans-Himalaya with
sixty-three snowy peaks, regular as the teeth of a saw. On the 26th we
rode over level country to the west-north-west. On the plain two mounted
Tibetans were pursuing a wild ass, which was wounded in the near foreleg
and had four dogs at his heels. The dogs did not bite him, but tried to
chase the animal in a certain direction. Time after time the men were
close on the game and dismounted; they did not shoot, but threw up dust
with their hands to frighten the wild ass and drive him as near as
possible to their tent, that they might not have to carry the meat far
(Illust. 356).
[Illustration: 376, 377. BOYS SITTING.]
[Illustration: 378. YOUNG LAMA.]
[Illustration: 379. OLD WOMAN.
Sketches by the Author.]
Camp 439 was pitched on the bank of the river Sumdang-tsangpo, which
flows into the Nganglaring-tso without joining the rivers
Lavar-tsangpo and Aong-tsangpo, farther west, which unite and enter the
lake's most western bounds. Here Lobsang caught a wolf cub, a small wild
rogue, which much interested Takkar. But Takkar had a great respect for
his hereditary enemy and ventured to bite only his tail. Afterwards he
became bolder, and when the little creature found himself in a desperate
situation, he threw himself into the river to swim over to the other
side. Then Takkar gave a yell, jumped in and caught the cub, thrust him
down with his paws, seized him with his teeth and brought him to land,
where he ate every bit of him.
We followed the river upwards on June 27 and encamped again on its bank
opposite the monastery Selipuk-gompa (15,696 feet), the abbot of which,
a Kanpo-lama, Jamtse Singe, was also chief of the district in secular
affairs (Illusts. 356, 374, 369, 341). Neither he nor any one else had
heard anything of Abdul Kerim, but he was so good as to search in his
holy books to find out where our men were, and he came to the conclusion
that they were somewhere to the south, and that in twenty days we should
either meet them or hear some reliable news of them.
On June 28, at half-past nine in the evening, the country was shaken by
an earthquake--the only one I ever experienced in Tibet. However, it had
no effect on the good relations between me and the monks and Sonam
Ngurbu, the Governor (Illusts. 326, 375), who was also a guest in the
monastery, and had a high lama from Chokchu (Illust. 355) in his party.
The Governor gave us as much _tsamba_, rice, and sugar as would at a
pinch last us till we came to Tokchen, and he received a watch in
exchange. Of money we had only a few rupees left. I had never been in
such straits before. If I ever meet Abdul Kerim again, I thought, he
shall get what he deserves and a little more.
When we set up our tents on the last day of June on the Rartse plain,
south of Selipuk, Lobsang announced at dusk that four men and four mules
were coming to the camp. They were Abdul Kerim, Sedik, Gaffar, and a
Tibetan. Our caravan bashi came frightened and confused to my tent, and
I thought it better that he should give an account of his stewardship
before I passed sentence on him. He reported that they had come to the
appointed rendezvous at the proper time, but there he had been hard
pressed by six Govas--Gova Parvang among them, who took the lead, and
ordered them to leave the place at once and go on to the Tarok-tso. As
they had no passport from Lhasa, they could expect no mercy, he said. So
they betook themselves to the northern shore of the Tarok-tso, where
they waited fourteen days, as the grazing was good and no one interfered
with them. They heard contradictory reports about us. At length a nomad
died on the lake shore, and a monk from Lunkar-gompa was summoned to his
tent to read the prayers for the dead. They met this man, and he said
that we had passed the monastery nine days previously. Then they packed
up all their belongings, intending to hurry after us next morning. But
horse-stealers had come in the night and stolen my grey Tikze horse and
a mule from Saka-dzong. This event cost them three days, but they never
recovered the stolen animals. While Suen, Abdullah, Abdul Rasak, and
Sonam Kunchuk followed slowly, the three others made forced marches
westwards, and now at last they were here and had all our cash with
them. Abdul Kerim escaped with a slight reprimand, but I afterwards
heard the other men badgering him. We found the others in Kyangrang, and
so the whole strength of the company, thirteen men, was complete when,
on July 8, we crossed the pass Ding-la (Illust. 213), 19,308 feet high,
the loftiest pass we had crossed in all this journey in Tibet, and on
past the small lake Argok-tso, which lies in the basin of the
Aong-tsangpo; and on July 12 we crossed the Surnge-la (17,310 feet). Two
days later we came to Tokchen, where another political entanglement
detained us nine days. But I cannot stay to give an account of it, for I
reached the limit of the space allowed me at Chapter LXIV., and my
publisher is impatient.