The Saint of the White Cave revisited.
I spent some pleasant days here and was perfectly cured of my illness.
At the instance of Alchu Lama I decided to pay another visit to Gelong
Rinpoche. Our party, including the Lama, his wife, myself and three
domestics, all on horseback, and a horse which carried my baggage
and our presents to the holy man of the White Cave, rode south at
full speed, covering a distance of thirteen miles in a short time. It
was before eleven when we reached the cave, and we were ordered to
wait for a time before we could see the priest. At eleven those who
had assembled at the cave, about thirty in all, held a service, the
illustrious priest officiating, answering questions, and receiving
offerings. When all were about to withdraw, the Lama detained me,
saying he had something to talk to me about. Alchu Lama and his wife
thereupon bade me farewell, saying that I should take the road to
Lhasa, and we parted, I thanking them for their kindness.
I sat in front of the Lama, who was engaged in deep meditation, the
subject of which was not difficult to guess, for when I was at the
tent of Alchu Lama I had heard it stated that rumors were persistently
disseminated to the effect that the Lama who had made a pilgrimage to
the snowy peak of Tise (this referred to me) was not a Chinaman, though
he pretended to be one, but an Englishman, who was investigating the
situation of affairs in Tibet. Alchu Lama added that the ignorance of
the masses, who would take such a true lover of Buḍḍhism as myself
for a spy, was incorrigible. Such being the situation, I thought
the rumor must have reached the ears of the good man, who was in
consequence going to tell me something in reference to it. Presently
the priest asked me a most matter-of-fact question: what was my object
in proceeding to Lhasa, in spite of the overwhelming hardships which
beset me? I answered that I had no other object than to save all beings
by prosecuting my studies in Buḍḍhism. Thus I tried to parry his
matter-of-fact question with a metaphysical answer. The Lama at once
said:
“Why do you want to save all beings?”
“Only because they are suffering from all sorts of pains.”
“Then you have all beings in view?”
I retorted with an equally idealistic answer: “Having no Ego, how can
I have all beings in view?”
The priest smiled, and, changing the subject of the conversation, asked
me if I had ever been troubled with love affairs. In reply I said that
though I had once greatly suffered in that connexion, I was at present
free from that torture, and hoped to remain so. Then he at once turned
to my adventure with the robbers, asking me whether I had hated those
robbers during the time I was with them, and whether I had not cursed
them after our parting, for the purpose of revenging myself on them.
I replied that there was no use in hating them, as they had robbed me
because I deserved to be robbed. I myself rather was hateful, who had
committed the sins which made me deserve the misfortune, and I was glad
that I could pay my debts. Such being my thoughts, there was no use in
invoking evil on their heads. On the contrary, I had prayed that on
account of their having come across me, they might become true men, or
saints, in the next life if not in this. The Lama then said:
“All your words are rightly said. But you will probably meet with many
such robbers on your way to Lhasa. They may even kill you. Then you
will not be able to accomplish your object of saving all beings. You
had better give up your intention of proceeding to Lhasa, and betake
yourself back to Nepāl. There is a good road from Lo to Nepāl. You must
go at once to Lo. If, on the contrary, you go to Lhasa, I believe you
will certainly be killed on the way.”
This he said suggestively, and continued in a solemn tone: “In order
to attain your object, you may take any means. Your journey to Lhasa
is not your only object. If you are sincere in saying that you want to
save all beings, you must leave for Nepāl!”
I replied: “I cannot commit myself to such an equivocal argument, and
I fail to concur in your opinion that any means is justifiable by its
end. The Gospel of the Buḍḍha, _Mighty Sun_, has it that the means is
the object, meaning that the practice of honest means is identical with
the attainment of an object. The fact that I enter Paradise is no more
the attainment of the object of my life, than is my arrival at Lhasa.
The practice of honest means being the object itself, I believe that at
the moment when I adopt honest means, I have attained my object.”
“Then what route will you take in your journey and whither will you go?”
“As a matter of fact, I shall take the mountain pass, and steer my way
to the capital of Tibet.”
“That is curious, that you should take the road exposed to fatal risks.
Better return to Nepāl. You say rash things. I know your future fate,
and know that if you go on your way, you will die!”
His words were intimidating, but I replied: “Really? But I do not know
my death, much less my birth. What I know is only to do what is honest.”
The Lama meditated for a while in deep silence, and then suddenly
changed the conversation, referring to the _Maṇi_, or the sealed book
of Tibet. I omit here our dialogue on this subject, as it is too
technical for general readers. We were so taken up with our religious
talk that we were unconscious of the approach of the evening.
The Lama’s suspicions were largely allayed, and he said that he
wondered how the people of the neighborhood were able to invent such
rumors, and that I was a true seeker after Buḍḍhism. He was sincerely
delighted with me and, saying that money and provisions were my first
necessaries, gave me twenty tankas of Tibetan silver, a lump of tea,
a big bag of baked flour, a copper pan, and other articles required
by travellers. The whole of the presents were valued at perhaps sixty
tankas, or fifteen yen in Japanese currency. I asked him to reduce the
amount of the presents, for I could not easily carry so much. He said
there was no need for my being troubled about that; for all along my
way farther on I should everywhere find his disciples, who when they
saw the travelling bag, would remember their master and carry the
baggage for me. So I accepted the presents and retired, but not before
he had promised to invest me the next morning with the mysterious power
of the _Maṇi_, for which I thanked him sincerely.
During that night, I decided to take the highway to Lhasa, for, I
thought the mountain pass was full of the Lama’s disciples, who,
in spite of their master, would cast suspicious eyes on me, and I
concluded, that if the highway was a little longer than the bye-way, it
was much safer.
The following morning I was initiated in the mysteries of _Maṇi_,
and about noon the following day I left the Lama Gelong’s cave. For
about five miles I descended the hill, carrying my baggage on my back,
and it was pretty heavy. Then I proceeded north, with the object of
reaching the highway and not as directed by the Lama, and when I had
walked another five miles, I saw two tents and a man, apparently a
wealthy grazier, coming out from one of them and cordially greeting
me. I was rather surprised, for I knew I had no acquaintances in that
neighborhood and I did not know his face. I felt a little embarrassed,
but I followed him into his tent, where I was met by Alchu Lama. He had
stayed the previous evening at the tent, and had told the man of our
blessed religious talk of the other night. The man, in consequence,
had wished to receive my benediction. Being informed of these facts,
I did as he wished. Soon after I left the place, accompanied by a man
and two horses carrying my things. I travelled eight miles east along
the bank of the Ngar Tsang-gi-chu, which I had crossed once on my way
from the cave of the White Cliff to the snowy peak of Tise. The same
evening I arrived in a place on the riverside, where the man who had
accompanied me put down my baggage and took his leave. During the
evening, I enquired about the best way to reach the high-road, and was
informed that I had to cross the Brahmapuṭra for a second time, and
that I needed a guide and a carrier in order to cross it. So I engaged
the men required.
The next morning I walked eastwards ten miles through a swampy plain,
and over a hilly pass which was five miles long, and then crossed
the Brahmapuṭra. On the farther bank of the river I found a tent of
miserable appearance, kept by an old woman and her daughter, whose
business it was to watch yaks straying about. I spent the following day
in patching up my shirts.
On October 16, I again walked over the swampy plain in an easterly
direction. The swampy plain in Tibet is dotted about with pools of
various depths in which grass is growing. Walking through the damp
place for about ten miles, I reached the Na-u Tsangbo, a large river
flowing from the northern steppes of Tibet and into the Brahmapuṭra.
I had previously been informed of the place where I could cross the
river, but the water reached my breast, and the current was rapid,
so that, as I was carrying the heavy baggage on my back, there were
times when I thought I should be swept away by the river. Moreover the
sandy mud which formed the river-bed sucked my feet deep down, and
made walking very difficult. Happily, however, I reached the opposite
bank in safety. Proceeding a little farther, I found a big tent, where
I was lodged that night. My invariable question was about the way to
the high-road. The people there informed me that ten or twelve miles
further to the north-east there was a post-town called Toksum Tazam,
which stood on the high-road. The Tibetan high-road over the steppes
has post-towns at intervals of four or five days’ journey from each
other. On this side of Toksum Tazam, on the side nearer to the snowy
peak of Tise, there is a post-town called Satsan Tazam. From this place
I was to travel along the highway, and I should be able to locate my
whereabouts exactly.
The following day I steered my way due east, and not in the
north-easterly direction, which would have led me to Toksum Tazam,
for this route was, I thought, rather a round-about way to reach the
high-road. The next day, the 19th October, 1900, I again proceeded due
east; but I met with a serious accident, which I must now describe.