Wonders of Nature’s Mandala.
That evening it transpired that the pilgrims could not perform the
pilgrimage in company, for every one of them declared his or her
intention of performing as many circuits as possible during a stay
of four or five days. Now the ordinary circuit--for there were three
different routes--measures about fifty miles, which was more than I
could perform in a day, even if I had wished to do as my companions
had resolved, and they intended to undertake three circuits during the
short stay; even the women wished to go round twice.
The pilgrims had to get up at midnight and to return to the tent at
about eight in the evening, after having performed the arduous journey.
I myself made rather elaborate preparations, and started on the holy
journey carrying four or five days’ food on my back. The route I
selected for my circuit was what was called the outermost circuit, and
led me round a snowy peak resembling in shape a human image, believed
here to be that of Shākyamuni, and around the lesser elevations rising
about that peak. Those elevations were compared to the principal
disciples of the Founder of Buḍḍhism. The route was indicated by a
narrow track, but it was really a breakneck journey, for in several
places the track went up to the summit of the central peak or to those
of some of the elevations round it.
The middle route is more difficult of accomplishment, and the innermost
route considerably more so. The last is therefore regarded as fit only
for supernatural beings, and he who accomplishes twenty-one circuits
round the outermost route obtains permission from the Lamas of the
four temples, to go round the middle route. This circuit is to a
large extent indicated by a more or less beaten track, but is so steep
and dangerous that ordinary persons hardly ever dare to try it. Not
unfrequently pilgrims who boldly attempt this most perilous journey are
killed by snow-slips, while huge boulders obstruct their passage in
several places. Since therefore this route is very rarely attempted by
pilgrims, quite marvellous tales are told about it.
[Illustration: NEAR MOUNT KAILASA.]
The outermost route, round which I undertook my circuit, has at each
of its four quarters a temple. These four temples are called the “Four
temples of Kang Rinpoche”. I first visited Nyenbo Rizon, which is
the name of the temple standing at the western corner. The temple is
dedicated to the Buḍḍha Amitābha and I heard that it is a very good
investment in a worldly sense, the donations from pious folk amounting
to as much as ten thousand yen during the three months of the summer
season. This coincidence between Japan and Tibet, concerning the
receipts of temples, is exceedingly interesting, for even in Japan
temples dedicated to the Buḍḍha Amitābha are the most popular and
enjoy the largest share of donations. At any rate such an income must
be regarded as extraordinary for a temple situated in a remote part
of Tibet. The income, I was told, all goes to the Treasury of the
Court of Bhūṭān, in whose jurisdiction are placed all the religious
establishments at Tise. This anomaly seems to have originated from the
fact that the priests of the Dugpa sect of Bhūṭān formerly reigned
supreme at this seat of religion.
The image of the Buḍḍha Amitābha, as enshrined in the temple, is made
of a white lustrous stone, and it struck me as a work of high technical
merit for Tibet. The features are of the Tibetan type, and looked mild
and affable, awaking in me pious thoughts.
In front of the image are erected two ivory tusks about five feet high
and very thick, and behind them I saw a hundred volumes of Tibetan
Buḍḍhist works arranged on shelves. These books were not there for
reading, but in order to receive as sacred objects the offering of the
burning lamp.
This use of Buḍḍhist books is peculiar, though it is preferable to the
outrageous treatment to which these books are sometimes subjected by
impious priests, who do not scruple to tear out leaves and use them for
various improper purposes.
After worship, I took from the pile a book that related to the Buḍḍha
Amitābha, read it, and then left the temple. Then began my journey
through Nature’s Tabernacles, the first object in which was the ‘Golden
Valley’.
The adjective ‘golden’ should not be taken in a literal sense,
for gold is not found near this place. Rhetorically, however, the
valley deserves this distinction, the scenery all round being really
magnificent. There are several fantastic rocks of great size towering
far into the sky, while beyond them peeps the snow-clad summit of the
peak of Tise. And from the crevices and narrow grooves between those
towering rocks shoot down several cascades as much as a thousand feet
in height. There are quite a number of them, but only seven are really
large. Those seven waterfalls have each a distinct individuality. Some
shoot down with great force and look not unlike the fabulous dragon
descending the rock, while others look milder and may be compared to
a white sheet suspended over the rock. I sat down in rapture at the
sight, and felt as if I had been transported to some heavenly place.
There are to the left several falls and also a range of snow-capped
peaks, but they are not to be compared in grandeur with those on the
right, at which I had been gazing with extasy. This one sight alone, I
thought, well repaid the labor of the journey. I wished to embody my
sentiments in a few verses, but the inspiration would not come, and
so I proceeded on my way, and soon emerged on the northern section of
the Tise group. There I found another Lama monastery, which bore the
quaint name of ‘Ri Ra Puri’ (meaning, ‘The place of the female yak’s
horn’). It originated in a tradition that once, in ancient times, Gyrva
Gottsang Pa, from Bhūṭān, went round this natural Maṇdala in order to
find his way in the wilderness. Whilst he was going to the mountain,
he found a female yak which proceeded before him and led him on an
untrodden path over the snows.
After finishing his route round the Holy Place, he arrived at this
spot; the female yak concealed herself in a cavern, now in the temple,
and accidentally one of her horns struck against a rock. It was
believed by the Lama that the female yak was a disguised form of the
mother of the Buḍḍha named Vajra.
This ‘Yak’s Horn Temple’ ranks next to the first temple in respect to
pecuniary income. It contains, however, a larger number of priests than
the other, there being about fifteen, while the latter has only four.
It was towards dusk that I reached this temple, and I was allowed to
lodge there for the night. The priest who appeared to be the senior man
in the place was very kind to me and offered his own chamber for my
use. It faced towards Mount Kailāsa. My host told me that the view of
the moon from this chamber was quite enchanting. He brought me a cup
of tea with plenty of butter in it, for I had told him that I made it
a rule to dispense with the evening meal. I spent a few pleasant hours
with my host, who pointed out to me, on the south from the temple, the
high majestic snow-covered peak of Mount Tise, representing the Buḍḍha
Shākyamuni; the three small snowy peaks before the mountain, he said,
were the Boḍhisaṭṭvas Manjushrī, Avalokiṭeshvara and Vajrapāṇi; he
then gave me a description in detail of other peaks, but I need not
narrate here what he explained to me, for the account of the range is
given in most works treating of Tibet and its geography.
That night I had one of the pleasantest experiences I remember during
my expedition to Tibet: it was a pleasure of an elevating kind. My mind
was subdued and captivated as I looked, in that still night and in that
remote and far-off place, at the soft rays of the moon reflected on the
crystal-like current that was flowing with a pleasant murmur. Just as,
in the holy Texts, the soft breeze stirring the branches of trees in
paradise is said to produce a pleasant note, that sounds to the ears of
the happy denizens of that blissful abode like the voice of some one
reading the Scriptures, so that sweet murmur of the moon-reflecting
stream deluded my enchanted ears into believing that they were
listening to the divine music of Buḍḍhism. Staying in that sacred
place, and surrounded by such soul-subduing phenomena, my mind soared
higher and higher, till it flew up to the eternal region beyond this
world of woe and care. The holy Founder tells us that the most sacred
region lies in one’s own pure mind, but I, sinful mortal as I was, felt
elevated and chastened when I found myself in such an environment.
The next day I stayed at the temple and spent the time with great
enjoyment. The following day I left the hospitable monastery and
resumed my journey, which included the surmounting of a steep hill,
known under the name of the ‘Hill of Salvation’. My host seemed to have
had some spiritual affinity with me in a past life, so considerate was
he in his behavior to me. For instance, he lent me a yak to carry me
over the hill, and moreover gave me some articles of food and various
delicacies. I took friendly leave of him, and then started on my
journey on the back of the yak, which was led by a guide.
On the hill I came across many Tibetan pilgrims intent on displaying
their religious zeal and piety, and their behavior more than ever
convinced me that a strong fanaticism characterises the people of that
land. Climbing alone was no easy task, and was one that strained even
the sturdiest of legs, and yet I noticed several young pilgrims of
both sexes performing the journey according to the ‘one-step-one-bow’
method, commonly adopted as a penance. As for me I felt greatly
fatigued, though I was riding on the yak, for the atmosphere in that
elevated region is very rare and was highly trying to my lungs. When I
had ascended the hill for about five miles my respiration became very
rapid and I was much exhausted. I therefore rested for awhile, and
refreshed myself by taking some medicine. It was while I was taking
rest that I noticed a burly fellow frantically confessing to and
worshipping the snowy Tise.
My guide informed me that that man was a native of Kham, a place
notorious as being a haunt of brigands and highwaymen. He really looked
like a typical highwayman, with ferocious features and fierce eyes,
and was performing his penance in a loud voice. He must have been a
notorious figure even in that land of universal crime.
I was highly amused to find that this fellow was doing penance not for
his past offences alone, but also to obtain immunity for any crimes he
might commit in future. His extraordinary confession was something in
this way: “O Saint Kang Rinpoche! O great Shākyamuni! O all Buḍḍhas and
Boḍhisaṭṭvas in the ten quarters of the world and in the time past,
present and future! I have been wicked in the past. I have murdered
a number of men. I have taken a great deal that did not belong to
me. I have robbed husbands of their wives. I have quarrelled ever so
many times, and I have also thrashed people. Of all those great sins
I repent, and so I solemnly perform my penance here on this hill for
them. I believe that by this act of confession and repentance, I have
been absolved from those sins. I also perform here penance for my
prospective sins, for I may in future repeat them, may rob people of
their goods and wives, or thrash and beat them.”
This fellow, I thought, was decidedly original in his conception of
penance, and surpassed other sinners by performing a prospective
repentance instead of, as in the ordinary method, confining himself to
penitence for his past sins. Yet I was told that this convenient mode
of repentance was universal in the robber district of Kham.
Our path next lay over a hill known as the hill of the Dolma-la,
meaning the Pass of the Mother of the Savior. On ascending the hill
one sees to the right a snowy range of the northern parts of Mount
Kailāsa, named in Tibetan Gyalpo Norjingi Phoprang, which means the
“residence of King Kuvera”, the God of Wealth. The spot is very famous
to Indians also; even in early times in India the great poet Kāliḍāsa
described this magnificent mansion with its immense views in his
masterpiece of the _Meghaḍūṭa--The cloud-messenger_. Seeing it, I said
in my fancy: “Is it not really the mansion of the God of Wealth--that
crystal abode shining in the emerald sky?” I mused furthermore that a
mammon-worshipper will certainly one day explore that shining region,
expecting to find a diamond mine. On the crest of Dolma-la stands a
natural stone image of the Mother of the Savior. On the north-east of
it a number of queer-shaped rocks and fantastic stones are to be seen,
their points all looking like images. These were explained by my guide
as twenty-one images of the Mother of the Savior. This crest of the
hill is very high, and indeed does not appear lower in height than the
top of Tise itself, the height of which is about 22,300 feet above
sea-level. The air is therefore very rarefied and the temperature
very low. Even when I remained quiet I felt the effect of the high
altitude, for my heart beat rapidly and I suffered much pain. I thought
that I should hardly have been able to perform the journey on foot,
and that therefore I was deeply indebted to my host for lending me a
yak to carry me over the series of hills. The Tibetan pilgrims did
not seem to suffer to any particular extent from the effects of the
rarefied atmosphere. They possess capacious lungs and can therefore
climb any elevated hill without fatigue. Of course ordinary people,
who do not possess lungs half as large as those of the Tibetans, can
hardly expect to undertake this journey with so much ease. As it was, I
felt very much exhausted, even though I did not walk on foot but rode
on the yak. Near the foot of the hill I found a large pond which was
entirely frozen over--a pond associated with an interesting legend.
In ancient times, says that legend, the God of Wealth and his family
used the water of this pond to wash their hands, for in those days it
was not frozen in summer. Afterwards a woman pilgrim carrying a baby
on her back came to the pond. As she bent over to wash her hands, the
baby slipped off her back into the water and was drowned. The guardian
deities of the place then consulted how to provide against such
accidents, and they decided that the pond should be frozen over all the
year around.
The descent is rather sharp, and it was uncomfortable sitting on the
yak’s back, so I dismounted and trotted down after the animal.
At last we reached the eastern part of Tise and arrived at the Zun-tul
phuk, which means the cave of miracles, founded by the hermit Jetsun
Milaraspa, one of the most venerated saints in the Tibetan hagiology.
Various interesting traditions are told about this saint, but these I
need not give here, as they are too technical. I may say, however, that
Milaraspa is said to have led a highly austere life, and that he did
much to diffuse the true tenets of Buḍḍhism. He was also a great poet,
the only poet who figures in the long history of Tibet. His biography
therefore reads like a romance or a great epic, full of sublime
conceptions. Milaraspa being such a unique personality in the history
of Tibet, his name has attracted the attention of western explorers,
and extracts from his poems have been translated. After returning to
Darjeeling I explained his poems to a certain Russian traveller and
writer, who translated them into his national tongue. He was much
delighted with the information which I gave him, and told me that my
translation enabled him to interpret something of the spirit of the
great Tibetan epic.
We stayed one night at that temple, and on the following day proceeded
along the banks of the river Ham-hung-gi-chu (shoe-dropping river) and
reached a place which contained a temple called Gyang-tak-gonpa. This
temple is dedicated to Dorje Karmo, the Goddess named White Vajra. The
place is situated about one mile off the road and near by is a postal
station named Darchen Tazam. This station contains about thirty houses
built of stone, besides about a dozen tents pitched here and there. It
is a business as well as a revenue centre for the whole district. I
lodged at one of the houses, and here the guide took leave of me. That
night I performed my usual religious meditation, and on the morning of
the following day my pilgrim companions rejoined me.
The station lies on a steppe between the north-western corner of
Lake Mānasarovara and the north-eastern corner of Lake Lakgal. On
the following day our party left the station, and proceeded in a
south-easterly direction, to the west of Mānasarovara. We advanced
in the same direction the next day, till we reached the foot of a
snowy peak named Bon-Ri. This is, as I have mentioned before, a place
sacred to the Bon, or ancient religion of Tibet. I saw a big temple
in the place, which I found to be not a temple belonging to that old
religion, as I had expected, but one belonging to the New Sect. It
looked a magnificent establishment as seen from a distance, but we did
not go near it. This neighborhood produced various kinds of mushrooms,
and some which were growing in damp places were gathered by the women
of the party. They collected large quantities of the fungus, which
was fried with butter and eaten with salt. I tasted it and found it
delicious. By that time we had left the limits of the sacred region,
and my male companions no longer considered themselves as pilgrims, but
as men who had to face the stern realities of the material world. They
declared that they must resume their worldly business, and proposed
to start by shooting deer. It seemed to me that their shooting not
infrequently included extraordinary kinds of game, and I suspected,
on good grounds, that the three brothers had now and then turned
highwaymen and either robbed or murdered travellers. I therefore began
to be afraid of them, and thought that I had better separate myself
from them on some plausible pretext, and without awakening their
suspicion.
On the following day we reached the brow of a hill, and there one of
the brothers in my presence shot an animal called in Tibet _changku_.
The shooting was done merely for pleasure and not with the object of
eating its flesh or using its skin. The changku, or wolf, resembles a
large species of dog with rather thin fur, which in summer turns a fine
brownish color. In winter the color is said to be a whitish grey. The
ears are erect and the face appears ferocious. It is said that this
wild animal will attack solitary travellers and even kill them. When
the brothers brought down the animal their eyes gleamed with delight,
and I secretly thought that their eyes would show that same cruel gleam
when they murdered a wealthy traveller.