An Ominous Outlook.
The next day, September 14th, snow again fell, and so we had to stay
in the same place. The hunting-dogs went out of their own accord on a
rabbit-hunting expedition, and came back with their mouths stained with
blood. They must have hunted down some rabbits and made a meal of them.
The snow ceased, and we left the place on the following day. Proceeding
eastwards, we now came to a long undulating hill, and soon reached its
summit. Here the head of the family said that our pilgrimage must end
at this spot, and when asked why at this particular place, he pointed
to Lake Mānasarovara, situated to the west, and also to the snow-capped
peak of Manri that stood due south from the middle of the Lake, and
told me that we should here bid farewell and express our good wishes to
the sacred region, for this was the last point where we could have a
full view of the Holy Place, and that we should express in our prayers
an earnest desire to visit this sacred region again in the future.
Saying this, he bowed down and I and all the rest followed his example.
When I thought that I (the first Japanese who had ever come to visit
this district from a remote country thousands of miles away) was now
about to take leave of Lake Mānasarovara after having been in its
neighborhood for several days, a peculiar sensation came over me, and
I stood gazing at the lake for some time. As we were going down the
hill, my host told me that as they had already departed from the Holy
Place they should now earnestly engage themselves in their worldly
pursuits; therefore they thought it time that I should leave them. We
soon reached a little encampment of some twelve or thirteen tents, and
thither I wended my way to observe the condition of the small community.
Mendicancy was well suited for satisfying my curiosity, and as a
mendicant I entered the encampment. My companions remained in the same
place that day and the next, the brothers occupied in shooting. On the
latter day I was reading a Chinese Buḍḍhist Text, and the two women
were outside engaged in some earnest talk. At first I did not pay any
attention to what they were saying, but when my ears caught the word
‘Lama’ pronounced several times my curiosity was awakened. Dawa was
saying that she had heard the Lama, that is myself, say that her mother
was probably dead. She wished, she continued, to ascertain this of the
Lama, and so she had been pressing him for some definite information.
Her aunt received this remark with a laugh. He must have seen, she
said, that Dawa was in love with him, and had therefore told her this
fib in joke. She must not mind what the Lama told her. However, the
aunt continued, her husband had been telling her that he must make the
Lama marry Dawa, and that should he refuse, her husband would kill him.
It was evident that this last portion of the conversation was intended
for my ears, for the aunt spoke in a loud voice.
When I heard that intimidatory warning I at first felt alarmed, but the
next moment I recovered my tranquillity. I thought that if I should
suffer death for having resisted a temptation, my death would be highly
approved by the holy Founder. He would be displeased if I should
disobey my conscience for the mere fear of death. Internally praying
for strength of mind to resist the temptation, even at the risk of my
life, I resumed my reading. However nothing occurred to me that day,
nor the next, when we struck our tent and proceeded for about five
miles close to the brow of a hill, from which I saw at a short distance
what appeared to be houses, and I was told that this was another postal
station called Tokchen Tazam. Again I visited the place in the disguise
of a mendicant priest. I soon returned and found Dawa alone in the
tent; the rest were all gone out hunting, so she told me. I at once saw
that the conspiracy was developing, and that matters were growing quite
critical.
I concluded that I must do my best to dissuade the girl from pursuing
the object of her misplaced affection. Some spiritual affinity must
have brought me into the company of this girl, so it seemed to me
that I was bound to administer an earnest expostulation, so that she
might recover from her erring fancy. So thinking, I took my seat in
the tent. As soon as I did so, she brought me some mushrooms she had
collected for me in the morning, for she said: “You seemed to be very
fond of them.” I thanked her for her kindness, took all the mushrooms
and a cup of baked flour, and then set myself to read my books. The
girl stopped me, saying that she had something which she must tell
me, for she had heard something which filled her with fear. Then she
narrated what one of her uncles, that is one of my male companions,
had said about his intention to force me to marry his niece. When she
had concluded her story, I told her with the greatest composure that I
should be rather glad than afraid to be killed by the brothers of her
father. I had finished my pilgrimage, I added; I had nothing to desire
in this world, and I was not in the least afraid to die. Moreover, I
continued, I would not harbor any ill-will, even if I should be killed
now by her father and uncles. I should rather thank them for hastening
my departure to the plane of Boḍhisaṭṭvas; so I would pray for them
when I was enabled to reach that Happy Abode. I would therefore ask
to be killed that very evening. The girl seemed surprised to find
her revelation producing an effect quite the reverse of what she had
expected. She tried to remonstrate with me on what she considered a
foolish resolution, and spoke some commonplaces about death and the
pleasures of life. Of course I easily refuted them, and at last she
gave up the evidently useless task of persuading me.
[Illustration: QUARREL BETWEEN BROTHERS.]
About four o’clock that afternoon the four returned. They must have
listened for some time to the conversation between Dawa and myself, for
as soon as they entered the tent, the most wicked of the three brothers
severely scolded Dawa for flirting with a man. Upon this, the girl’s
father at once took her side, and snappishly told his brother that his
Dawa had a father to protect her, and therefore wanted nobody to meddle
with her, much less an uncle who had never given her even so much as
one bowl of flour since she was born.
The quarrel waxed hotter and fiercer, and the brothers began to abuse
each other and to divulge each other’s crimes. One accused the other
of being a robber, and of having murdered men at such and such places,
and was met with the recriminating accusation of having attempted to
rob the Government and of having fled for fear of arrest. The wordy
warfare at last developed into actual blows, and the brothers exchanged
fisticuffs, and even began to hurl stones at each other. I thought
I must interfere, and so I jumped up and attempted to hold back the
youngest brother as he was about to spring at Dawa’s father. The fellow
struck my cheek with his bony knuckles with such force that I fell, and
my whole frame shook with pain. The confusion in the tent had reached
its climax, and Dawa was beginning to cry and so was also her aunt.
I remained a passive spectator of the rest of this terrible scene,
for I had to lie prostrate from the pain. Presently the sun set and
the quarrel too spent itself and the night passed without any further
outbreak.
The next morning the party broke up, for each brother wanted to go his
way, the eldest with his wife, the second with his daughter, and the
third alone, as was also the case with me; so we had to disperse, each
for his own destination. One thing that troubled me was the lack of
sheep to carry my effects. At last I purchased two at six tanka each,
and separating myself from the rest proceeded in the south-easterly
direction. One of the brothers started for the north, while I could see
the others were retracing the road we had come along.
I had heard before that I must push on rapidly, but I purposely took
the south-easterly direction, in order to throw off the scent any of
the brothers who might come after me to rob me, or even worse. And
so I proceeded in this direction, and by about sunset I reached the
brow of a hill, where I was obliged to bivouac in the open, and on a
snow-covered plain. The change was too sudden after having lived for
so long in the tent, and I could not snatch even one wink of sleep
during the night. On the following day, still continuing in the same
direction, I reached a small monastery of the name of Sha Chen Khangba,
where I remained that day and the next. For the first time since I
parted with the brothers and the troublesome women, I felt safe, for I
concluded that I was no longer in danger of being pursued by one of the
murderous gang. I saw only two priests in the temple, and I spent most
of my time in stitching my worn-out boots and clothes.
While I was staying in the monastery one of my sheep suddenly fell
ill and died. I felt sorely grieved at his death, and read a suitable
service for him. The other sheep I had to sell, at half the price I
had paid for him, to one of four traders who arrived at the monastery
soon after I had reached it, for I could hardly manage him now, as he
was so peevish and disconsolate at the loss of his partner. To the four
men I also gave the flesh of the dead sheep, and they accepted it with
thanks. It happened that the party was travelling in the same direction
as myself, and they proposed that I should go with them. This was quite
a welcome suggestion, especially as the men were kind enough to offer
their services to carry my effects, for they had with them a number of
yaks.
So once more I had travelling companions, and I left the monastery with
a far more cheerful heart than I had when I reached it. We proceeded
in a south-easterly direction, and soon came to a small round pond, a
little over half a mile in circumference. Proceeding along the right
side of the pond, we next came to a lake which is very long from
north-west to south-east, but very narrow. The whole circumference
is said to be about forty miles. This lake is bounded by rocky hills
on all sides, and the blackish rocks scattered here and there were
partially covered, especially in the crevices and sheltered spots
between the adjoining rocks, with a thin layer of snow, so that they
presented quite a pretty sight. I ascended a small elevation close by
the lake, and looked down on it and also on the small pond. From that
height the serpentine lake looked just like the fabulous dragon in
the act of clutching a round gem, the pond corresponding to the gem.
The snow-streaked rocks were not unlike a white fleece of cloud. This
lake is known by the name of Kong-gyu-i Tso, as I heard from my fellow
travellers. After proceeding about seventeen miles south-eastwards,
with the lake on our left, we reached its extremity. Here we were to
bivouac, as we had no tent, but I could not sleep on the snow-covered
plain. I therefore passed the night in my usual style, that is to say,
in religious meditation, the best expedient for a sleepless night.
Our road lay next day over a steep hill, and it was indeed such a
break-back ascent that it seemed to be trying even to the sturdy legs
and lungs of my Tibetan companions. As for myself, I was lucky enough
to get permission to ride on a yak’s back, and so I could negotiate the
ascent with no great difficulty. Descending the opposite slope of the
hill we soon reached a plain which, together with all the adjoining
country, was situated in the Kong-gyu district. On this plain I noticed
a white spot, not unlike a lake at a distance. My companions informed
me that the white thing was _puto_, and that the white spot indicated
the site of a lake which produced natural soda.
When we reached the lake my companions eagerly collected the deposit,
put it in skin-bags and fastened it to the back of the yaks. They told
me that the soda was to be mixed with tea.
We then went on over several low undulating hills, and finally reached
the lower course of the river Chema Yungdung, where I had narrowly
escaped drowning a short time before. As the season was now well
advanced, the river was much shallower and we were able to cross it
with comparative ease. I indeed could do so with perfect security, for
I was carried on a yak’s back.
We were travelling all these days at the rate of about twenty-five
miles a day, and I should hardly have been able to make such good
progress had it not been for the fact that I could ride every now and
then on a yak. What distressed me most was bivouacking in the open,
where sleep was out of the question in the cold autumn nights and on
ground covered with snow. After proceeding some twenty-five miles
to the south-east, on the following day we reached the Brahmapuṭra,
known in this region as Martsan-gi-chu or Kobei-chu, according to
the districts which it traversed. The lordly river was quite shallow
and could be crossed without trouble, and I did so as before on the
yak’s back. We found some tents by the bank of the river where we were
allowed to pass a night--quite a cheering change after so many nights
of bivouacking.
It was a moonless night, but the sky was full of stars, which threw
their twinkling rays on the water of the river. The vast range of the
Himālayas was clearly silhouetted, so as to make its sharp outline
perceptible. The majestic scene inspired me with poetic fervor:
Like to the Milky Way in Heaven at night,
With stars begemmed in countless numbers decked,
The Brahmaputra flashes on the sight,
His banks, fit haunt for Gods, appear
In gorgeous splendors from the snowy height.
The following day I had to part from my companions, who were going to
a destination different from mine, and so I was again thrown on my own
wits and my own legs for continuing my journey. After having travelled
for so many days with the help of other people, I now had to travel
alone with nothing but my back on which to carry my effects, and my
journey on the following day was a cheerless and fatiguing one. The
load weighed heavily on my back, and the time I occupied in taking rest
was perhaps longer than that spent in actual progress. At last I was so
much exhausted that I could hardly move my limbs.