‘Bon’ and ‘Kyang.’
I walked about five miles over the sand and then reached a piece of
grass-land. Beyond this I came to a plain of stones of curious shapes,
in the centre of which a solitary mountain rose to a considerable
height. I subsequently learned that the mountain was the sacred abode
of the deities of the Bon religion. Bonism is an ancient religion of
Tibet, which commanded considerable influence before the introduction
of Buḍḍhism into that country. It has still some adherents, but it
continues to exist only for its name’s sake. Originally Bonism very
much resembled Hinḍuism; but now, in theory, it is almost Buḍḍhism.
This similarity is explained in this way. When it was superseded by
Buḍḍhism, a certain Bon priest recast his religion after the pattern
of Buḍḍhism, and called the revised product the New Bonism. Without
attempting to give any special particulars of its doctrines, I may say
that the New Bonism, when shorn of its sacrifices, its toleration of
marriage and of the use of intoxicants, is only Buḍḍhism under another
name. The Bon deities have no shrines or temples dedicated to them, and
are believed to inhabit some particular mountain, or snowy peak, or
pond, or lake. And it was upon one of these divine abodes that I had
chanced, but lacking at the time all knowledge of Bonism, my attention
was soon diverted by coming in sight of a couple of _kyangs_.
[Illustration: A LUDICROUS RACE.]
As I have already said, kyang is the name given by the Tibetans to the
wild horse of their northern steppes. More accurately it is a species
of ass, quite as large in size as a large Japanese horse. In color it
is reddish brown, with black hair on the ridge of the back and black
mane and with the belly white. To all appearance it is an ordinary
horse, except for its tufted tail. It is a powerful animal, and is
extraordinarily fleet. It is never seen singly, but always in twos or
threes, if not in a herd of sixty or seventy. Its scientific name is
_Equus hemionis_, but it is for the most part called by its Tibetan
name, which is usually spelt _kyang_ in English. It has a curious habit
of turning round and round, when it comes within seeing distance of
a man. Even a mile and a quarter away, it will commence this turning
round at every short stage of its approach, and after each turn it
will stop for a while, to look at the man over its own back, like a
fox. Ultimately it comes up quite close. When quite near it will look
scared, and at the slightest thing will wheel round and dash away, but
only to stop and look back. When one thinks that it has run far away,
it will be found that it has circled back quite near, to take, as it
were, a silent survey of the stranger from behind. Altogether it is an
animal of very queer habits.
But to come back to my story: my two sheep, apparently frightened by
the approach of the rotating horses, made a dash for freedom with
such suddenness and simultaneity that I lost my hold of the two
ropes; I then proceeded to run a race with them, in a frantic effort
to recapture them. And a ludicrous race it was, in which I finally
fell panting and giddy. While it lasted the horses seemed thoroughly
to enjoy it, and getting into the spirit of the thing they galloped
with me, but only to chase my sheep further away from me. When I lay
prostrate, the sheep stopped running and began quietly to graze.
The horses also stopped, and appeared quite astonished at the whole
performance. I then perceived my blunder. On rising, I quietly walked
up to my sheep, and without a movement they allowed me to regain their
ropes.
All is well that ends well. But on that occasion one thing was not
quite satisfactory, for I soon discovered that one of my sheep had lost
a part of my luggage from its back, no doubt during that memorable
race. I then set out to hunt after the lost bundle; but it was all
useless, for we had not run the race over any regular course, and
it was impossible to follow our footsteps. One may as well look for
a parcel lost in the sea, as try to hunt up a small bundle, lying
hidden under grass and leaves, somewhere in an immense plain. Besides,
I argued with myself thus: the missing bundle contained some fifty
rupees in cash, my watch and compass, and an assortment of western
trinkets; it would have been better not to lose the money, certainly,
but it was, after all, a small portion of what I had with me, and I
could do well without it. It was hard to part with the watch and the
compass, and the trinkets would have been of service in making friends
with the simple natives; but, looked at from another point of view,
the possession of these things might arouse the suspicion of the more
intelligent Tibetans, and it was most likely that the Lord Buḍḍha, in
His wisdom and mercy, had caused me to be rid of them. Arriving at this
conclusion, I gave up my search in a spirit of meek resignation.