Holy Texts in a Slaughter-House.
Heading in a south-easterly direction as before, we proceeded about
four miles, now over hills and then across moorland, and arrived at
the base of a mountain, where there stood three buildings. A strange
sensation came over me when I saw dozens of sheep’s hides dangling
from the eaves of these buildings. Nor was that all. They were also in
the habit, so I was told, of butchering yaks on the premises. It is
the custom of the Tibetans, I was told, to butcher cattle towards the
latter part of autumn, and dry the meat for preservation, there being
no fear of decomposition, owing to the cold climate of the country. The
Tibetans esteem this dried meat as quite a luxury, and claim that it
is the best food in the world. Not infrequently I heard people speak
anxiously about their stocks of preserved meat in summer. I was told
that autumn was the best time for killing cattle, because they yielded
excellent meat after their feast upon the rich summer grass. Tibetans,
however, dare not slaughter animals in their own villages, or near
their tents, and the three buildings in question are used as a common
slaughter-house by neighboring inhabitants. Generally the slaughter is
not carried out on behalf of a single individual or family, but of the
whole village. The beasts butchered on the day we visited the place
included two hundred and fifty sheep and goats, and thirty-five yaks.
Of the latter, fifteen were despatched after our arrival there. They
told me that the cries of the yak were very strange, and invited me to
witness the scene of the slaughter. What cruelty! how could I bear to
see it? Desirous, however, of knowing something about the operations, I
stood and watched the spectacle. Sadly and slowly a yak was conducted
into the yard, two men pushing the animal on from behind. As soon as
the proper point was reached, the legs of the poor creature were tied,
and tears were seen standing in its eyes, as if it were conscious of
its impending death as soon as it found itself in the pool of blood
left by its companions. The scene was indeed unbearable. I wished I had
money enough to redeem their lives, but I could see no help for it.
Just then a priest came in, Holy Texts in hand, and read them for the
doomed animal, on whose head the book and a rosary were placed. The
natives believe that this religious proceeding will enable the poor yak
to enter into a new state of existence and also absolve the doer of the
cruel deed from the evil consequences which might otherwise follow. I
hoped so, too, but even the Holy Texts read by the priest were now too
much for my endurance. A flood of tears came into my eyes, and I could
no longer stand the ghastly spectacle, but ran indoors. Presently,
thump! something fell outside the doors; alas! the poor creature was
beheaded. The natives handle a sharp knife so dexterously, that a
single blow with it is said to be sufficient to finish the deadly work.
The blood gushing forth from the body of the dead beast was received in
a pail, and afterwards boiled down into a kind of food said to be very
delicious. When desirous to obtain this food, the Tibetans often draw
blood even from the bodies of living yaks; this is done by means of a
gash made in the neck of the poor beast, wide enough to cause a flow of
the blood, but not to kill it. The blood taken in this way is said to
yield much less delicious food than that obtained from the slaughtered
animal. I then thought that the scene was the very extreme of cruelty,
but afterwards found that I had been miserably mistaken, for I observed
during my subsequent residence at Lhasa that more than fifty thousand
sheep, goats and yaks were slaughtered there during the three months
ending in December every year.
But to return to my itinerary. Leaving the scene of this tragedy, we
had to proceed up a very steep slope about nine miles long, and then
down another, seven and a half miles long. At the end of the latter
distance we found a river, on the banks of which we passed the night.
The next day, November 19th, we skirted the base of a mountain (upon
which there stood a big temple of the Old School, called the Tasang
Gompa) until we reached the bank of a river where we encamped for the
night. On the 20th we made a journey of five miles, again in a mountain
region, at the end of which we found ourselves at a village called
Larung, which was situated on the western shore of a lake bearing the
name of Manuyui Tso. It was about twelve miles in circumference, and
appeared to be very deep. For the first time during my journey, I
observed in this village patches of wheat-fields, dotted with cottages.