Laying a false scent.
I rose early on the New Year’s day of 1898, and spent the greater part
of the morning, as was usual with me, in reading the sacred Text in
honor of the day, and also in praying for the health and long life of
their Majesties the Emperor and the Empress, and his Highness, the
Crown Prince, and for the prosperity of Japan. The New Year’s _uta_[1]
which I composed on the occasion was as follows:
[1] The word _uta_ in Japanese means a short epigrammatic poem,
expressed tersely, and inspired by some special occasion.
In glory yonder, lo! the New Year’s Sun,
His coruscating grateful beams forthshoots,
Diffusing lucid roses on the snows
That flash in dazzling spangles bright and clear;
That Sun, the symbol on the Japan-flag
My fancy lights with patriotic thrills.
I spent the twelve months following in closely devoting myself to the
study, and in efforts at the practical mastery, of the Tibetan tongue,
with the result that, toward the close of the year, I had become fairly
confident of my own proficiency in the use of the language both in
its literary and vernacular forms; and I made up my mind to start for
my destination with the coming of the year 1899. Then, it became a
momentous question for me to decide upon the route to take in entering
Tibet.
Besides the secret path, the Khambu-Rong, _i. e._, ‘Peach Valley’ pass,
there are three highways which one may choose in reaching Tibet from
Darjeeling. These are: first, the main road, which turns north-east
directly after leaving Darjeeling and runs through Nyatong; second,
that which traverses the western slope of Kañcheñjunga, the second
highest snow-capped peaks in the Range and brings the traveller to
Warong, a village on the frontier of Tibet; and the third, which takes
one direct from Sikkim through Khampa-Jong to Lhasa. As, however,
each of these roads is jealously guarded either with a fortified
gate or some sentinels, at its Tibetan terminus, it is a matter of
practical impossibility for a foreigner to gain admittance into the
hermit-country by going along any of them. Rai Saraṭ was of opinion
that, if I were to present myself at the Nyatong gate, tell the
guards there that I was a Japanese priest who wished to visit their
country for the sole purpose of studying Buḍḍhism, I might possibly
be allowed to pass in, provided that I was courteously persistent
in my solicitations; but I had reasons for thinking little of this
suggestion. At all events, what I had learned from my Tibetan tutors
did not sustain my friend’s view; instead, however, my own information
led me to a belief that a road to suit my purpose could be found
by proceeding through either the Kingdom of Bhūṭan or of Nepāl. It
appeared to me, further, that the route most advantageous to me would
be by way of Nepāl; for Bhūṭan had never been visited by the Buḍḍha,
and there was there little to learn for me in that connexion, though
that country had at one time or another been travelled over by Tibetan
priests of great renown; but the latter fact had nothing of importance
for me. I had been told, however, that Nepāl abounded in the Buḍḍha’s
footsteps, and that there was in existence there complete sets of the
Buḍḍhist Texts in Samskṛṭ. These were inducements which I could turn to
account, in the case of failure to enter Tibet. Moreover, no Japanese
had ever been in Nepāl before me, though it had been visited by some
Europeans and Americans. So I decided on a route _viâ_ Nepāl.
The decision made, it would have been all I could wish for, if it were
possible for me to journey to Nepāl direct from Darjeeling; there was
on the way grand and picturesque scenery incidentally to enjoy, besides
places sacred to Buḍḍhist pilgrims. But to do so was not possible for
me, or at least implied serious dangers. For most of the Tibetans
living in Darjeeling--and there were quite a number of them there--knew
that I was learning their language with the intention of some day
visiting their country; and it was perfectly manifest that the moment I
left that town with my face towards Tibet, they, or some of them at the
least, would come after me as far as some point where they might make
short work of me, or follow me into Tibet and there betray me to the
authorities, for they would be richly rewarded for so doing. To meet
the necessity of the case, I gave it out that, owing to an unexpected
occurrence, I was obliged to go home at once, and I left Darjeeling
for Calcutta, which place I reached on the 5th of January, 1899. I,
of course, let Rai Saraṭ into my secret, and he alone knew that the
day I left Darjeeling I started on my Tibetan journey in real earnest,
though back to Calcutta I took fare in sooth. On leaving Darjeeling,
my good host Rai Saraṭ Chanḍra earnestly wished me complete success in
my travels to Tibet, and gave vent to his hearty and sincere pleasure
in finding in me one, who, as bold and adventurous as himself, was
starting on a perilous but interesting expedition to that hitherto
unknown country. Previous to my departure from Darjeeling, I received
there 630 Rupees, which had been collected and forwarded to me through
the kind and never-failing efforts of my friends at home, Messrs. Hige,
Ito, Watanabe and others.
Now over trackless snowy range I wend
My lonely way to ‘Bhota,’[2] elsewhere named
Tibet, where Dharma’s glorious Sun pours forth
His Light and melts the cheerless snows of Doubt
And Pain and Sorrow, vexing mortal men.
[2] Bhota is the name by which Tibet is known in Samskri.