A Metropolis of Filth.
Shortly after I had the conversation recorded in the last chapter
with the Finance Minister, I went out with the ex-Minister and his
attendants for a walk round the _lingkor_ (circuit) of Lhasa, this
being the outermost circuit surrounding the city, and measuring about
six miles. The journey round this circuit is considered as a highly
pious act by Tibetans, who believe that it amounts to visiting every
temple and sacred stone house contained within the circuit. There are
several modes of performing this journey--walking steadily along,
making a bow at each step, or making one at every three steps. Our
journey on that occasion had no such religious meaning; it was merely a
walk. The walk, however, was rather trying to me, for my host was very
tall and had very long legs, so that I had to hurry to keep pace even
with his leisurely steps.
By the side of this circuit and to the east of Lhasa stood a queerly
shaped high fence, made of countless yak’s horns. The fence measures
from one hundred and twenty to two hundred and forty yards in length
and as it is entirely composed of the horns, it is hardly possible
to form an idea even in imagination of how many horns went to the
construction of the fence. The enclosure is used as a slaughtering
place for yak. It was not the first time that I had seen that fence,
but on that particular day I was able to observe it with greater care
than ever before. When I remarked to the ex-Minister how immense must
be the number of the beasts that had been slaughtered in the enclosure,
my host replied that he felt pity for the beasts. We soon arrived at an
opening in the fence and, peeping in, I saw some thirty yaks brought
there for slaughter. The work was done in a manner quite improper for
such a Buḍḍhist country as Tibet, for no pious ceremony was performed,
such as the touching of the head of a beast about to be slaughtered
with a Buḍḍhist Text. It was butchered quite unceremoniously, in a
thoroughly business-like manner. I subsequently learned that the
slaughter of animals is undertaken in Lhasa exclusively by Chinese
Muhammeḍans, who are of course not expected to care much about such
ceremonies. As it was, I saw a slaughterman chop off the head of a yak
in a very impious manner, and in the presence of the other poor beasts,
which were staring with tearful eyes at the butchery of their comrades.
I really felt pity for the beasts.
The ex-Minister was apparently impressed with a similar sentiment, for
he told me that he felt as though he could hardly swallow a morsel of
meat after he had witnessed such a horrible scene; yet such is human
depravity, he continued, that people soon forget this tender feeling
of compassion when they return home, and are displeased if no meat is
served to them at table. He could not but conclude therefore that the
Tibetans must be the descendants of Rākshasas or devils, and that the
blood of those impious savages must be still running in their veins.
The circuit is kept in excellent repair (comparatively speaking,
that is to say) for the Hierarchy maintains a regular staff of
road-commissioners who are charged with the duty of keeping the circuit
in good condition for the benefit of the pilgrims, who not unfrequently
have to kneel on the ground for their devotions.
The contrast which the condition of the circuit makes with that of
ordinary thoroughfares is beyond description. It is not merely that
the other roads are full of holes, but also that they have in their
midst open cesspools, specially constructed and openly frequented by
both men and women. The filth, the stench, the utter abomination of
the streets are extremely loathsome, especially after rains in summer,
for though there are plenty of dogs feeding about in the streets they
are not enough for the supply. Then remember that the Lhasa people
drink water from the shallow wells standing amidst such abominable
surroundings. The meaning of the word Lhasa itself is indeed absolutely
inappropriate; it signifies the ‘ground of deities,’ and therefore
supposedly a place of purity. As Panden Aṭīsha remarked, a place in
Tibet is really a city of devils, who subsist on vile substances. I
have often heard of the filthy condition of the streets in Chinese
cities, but I hardly believe they can be as filthy as the streets in
Lhasa, where the people live in utter defiance of all rules of hygiene
and even decency. The wonder is how they can escape being exterminated
by pestilence, which would be sure to visit most other places that
neglected, even in a far lesser degree, the laws of sanitation; and
yet, from what I observed during my residence in Lhasa, the people
did not seem to suffer to any perceptible extent from such unhygienic
surroundings. My own theory is that this immunity from epidemic must
be due to the extremely healthy climate of Lhasa. The winter there is
sufficiently cold, but is less uncomfortable than in our Hokkaido, for
though at night the mercury falls below freezing point, it rises to
forty or fifty degrees Fahrenheit in the daytime. In summer, too, the
thermometer rarely rises much above eighty. Indeed of all the places I
have travelled in or heard of, Lhasa seems to come first in point of
a healthy climate. It is owing to this precious gift of nature that
the people of Lhasa can live with impunity amidst filth and general
contaminations.
All these thoughts occurred to me while I walked round the circuit with
the ex-Minister, and also whenever I took a walk in the city.