The largest River of Tibet.
On the day I left Karma’s, about three o’clock in the afternoon I was
overtaken by a party of men, the leader of whom happened to be, as
I afterwards found, the chief of the district of Hor-tosho, through
which I was then travelling. They accosted me. I saw in the glint of
the chief’s eyes something that told me that he had half a mind to
suspect me. I perceived at once the danger I might be in, and managed
to bring the conversation round to the subject of Gelong Rinpoche. As
good luck would have it, the chief happened to be a great believer in
Gelong Rinpoche. Had I met the holy man? Yes! And more--I had been
taught to study the mysteries of Boḍhi-saṭṭva and Mahā-saṭṭva, besides
having been given many valuable presents by the saintly Teacher. All
these incidents, of which I gave full particulars, had the effect of
completely melting away the suspicion which had almost formed in the
chief’s mind. He then invited me to come to his house-tent the next day
and read the Sacred Books for him. His name was Wangdak.
On the following day Wangdak lent me a horse and caused his men to look
after my luggage. A ride of something over ten miles brought me to the
chief’s habitation, where I found his worldly possessions quite equal
to the weighty position he held as a district chief. All went well. The
next day Wangdak caused one of his men and a horse to accompany me for
a distance of about six miles, at the end of which the servant with the
horse took leave of me, after informing me that one night’s bivouac and
some walking on a comparatively easy road would bring me to another
nomad station.
In due time I reached this station, where I found four tents, on
approaching which I was, as usual, met by a welcome-party of dogs. I
shall say no more of the canine welcome, which is an invariable thing
on arriving at a nomad’s tent. At one day’s distance from the station
I was to come to Tamchok Khanbab, which forms the upper course of
the Brahmapuṭra, and is the greatest of Tibetan rivers, and I needed
a guide, without whom I could not think of any attempt to cross it.
Unfortunately I found no one willing to become my guide, although I
made liberal offers of money and other things of value. I was almost
on the verge of despair, when a sickly looking old woman came to me.
She said that she was very ill and begged me to examine her, and to
tell her when she would die; a pleasant request, indeed! But I took
pity on her, for I could see that hers was a case of consumption in its
advanced stage. I granted her request, to please her, and also gave
her some harmless medicine to ease her mind, besides telling her how
to take care of herself, and other things such as a good doctor would
say when he knows his patient to be in a hopeless condition, but not
likely to die immediately. The old dame was gratified beyond measure,
and wished to give me something in return, and she implored me to say
what that something should be. Here was my chance. I told her the
plight I was in, and asked her to secure, if possible, a couple of men
and some horses--say three--to take me to, and help me to cross, the
river on the morrow. Nothing could be easier; she was only too glad to
be able to oblige so holy a Lama. When the morrow came all was done
as I had requested. It is a general thing for a Tibetan pack-horse to
carry on its back its driver and thirty pounds more or less of baggage.
In my case the horses had an easier time of it, because my luggage
was distributed on three of them. We started at five o’clock in the
morning, and having covered about seventeen miles by eleven o’clock,
we arrived on the banks of the Tamchok Khanbab. Here I prepared my
noon-meal in the usual manner, and took it before crossing the river.
This river was a mountain stream of considerable breadth, with
extensive sand-beaches on either side. The width of the beach alone
on the eastern side was about two and a half miles, and that on the
opposite side about half as much; the width of the stream itself, when
I crossed it, was not more than a little over a mile. It was at the
water’s edge that we took our meal. When all was ready for crossing,
I once more felt the necessity of anointing my body, but at the same
time I also felt the undesirability of letting my guides see what I was
doing. Under a certain pretext, therefore, I walked away from them,
and when out of their sight I quickly finished the operation. Then we
plunged into the water. The condition of the stream with its cuttingly
cold water was much the same as that of the Kyang-chu (except for the
greater width to be forded) and the water in some places was not more
than seven or eight inches deep; but the sand was so treacherous that
we often sank in it right up to our hips. In this case, as in the
other, my guides took my luggage on their backs, leaving the horses
behind, and also helped my sheep to cross. Upon _terra firma_ on the
other side, my men pointed to a gorge between two mountains rising to
the north-west, and told me that I was to go through the gorge, and
thence to Lake Mānasarovara, after traversing an uninhabited region for
fifteen or sixteen days; the road would take me to Mānasarovara first
and then to Kang Rinpoche. I thanked my guides for their trouble and
information, and gave them each a _Kata_. A kata is a small piece of
thin white silk, which Tibetans present as a compliment. It generally
accompanies a present, but is also given away by itself. The men,
after advising me to recite the Sacred Text from time to time, in
order that I might not be set upon and devoured by snow-leopards, bowed
their farewell and were gone, recrossing the river.