Five Gates to Pass.
On June 9th we were as usual early on horseback, and on our road
towards the south. Tenba seemed to fall back into his old suspicious
mood. We were due to reach the first Challenge Gate on the following
morning, and he possibly feared that if anything leaked out he would be
arrested and put into jail. So he began his attacks on me again.
“The other day,” he said, “you said that there was no need for us
to take the secret path, but there you were wrong. It is not nearly
such difficult travelling as you suppose. I have been over it twice
myself, and the wild beasts can always be scared away by lighting
fires. The officers at Phari are, as I have told you, both strict and
extortionate. Fourteen or fifteen _yen_ ought to be enough, but you may
have to pay thirty or even fifty. You will be detained for three or
four days at the very least, possibly for a week. If you are anxious to
get on quickly you had better take the secret path. Why waste money and
time?”
“Well,” I replied, “if the officials want to bleed me, I suppose they
must. I have no objection to being bled. It will be one way of making
an offering to the Dalai Lama.”
Again my feigned nonchalance cleared his mind of doubt, though it
surprised him not a little. But a short time later a most strange and
weird thing took place. We had gone some five miles further, when
suddenly a band of ill-favored savage-looking men, four in number,
stood in my path, made a profound bow, and begged me to do them a
favor.
“We are on our way from the north,” they said in excited tones, “and
we were taking salt to sell at Phari. Last night, while our watchmen
were dozing, some robbers came up and drove off forty-five of our yaks.
We do not know whether they were Tibetans or Bhūṭānese, but we intend
to pursue them whoever they are, and we desire you to find out by
divination which way they have gone.”
They had mistaken me for a soothsaying Tibetan priest, and there was
nothing for me but to act up to the _rôle_. So I struck an attitude
such as I had seen the native diviners assume, and said solemnly and
with decision: “Go towards the north, as quickly as you can: it may be
that you will catch them before evening.”
So they hurried off with great joy, leaving us to proceed on our
journey to the village of Lham tso on the slope of Mount Chomo-Lhari.
It is a poor village, the soil of which is said to produce nothing that
is eatable, and the inhabitants are generally unable to pay taxes.
Bhūṭān is an independent country under the nominal rule of a King,
whose power, however, does not go far over the various tribes within
his Kingdom. Each tribe pays a tribute to Tibet, directly, and not
through the King’s Government, and in return for the tribute receives a
present from the Tibetan authorities, so that it is really an exchange
of presents rather than a payment of tribute.
We were now not very far from the first Challenge Gate. I had had to
tell Tenba repeatedly to stick to the public road, but I was obliged to
have recourse to religious meditation before I could get him to act in
accordance with my wishes.
Fortunately for my authority the men who had lost the yaks on the
previous day came up to us. They had recovered every one of their lost
animals, and had come to express their gratitude and to make me a
present of two tankas and a kata. This incident impressed my servant
tremendously. He was now quite sure that I was a man gifted with
extraordinary powers, and was more willing to acquiesce in my decision.
That evening I recited the Holy Texts until all had fallen asleep. I
myself went into a religious meditation-trance, by the light of which
I decided to go by the public road.
Travellers taking this road are subjected to a first and very strict
examination at the first gate-house at Phari. The first requisite is
a witness, who for a consideration swears that the traveller is going
into India on business for a short time, intending to come back. Then
a little palm-oil procures the passport, armed with which he goes on
to the second gate at Chumbi Samba. Here he produces the passport and
goes on to the third gate at Pimbithang, where he is examined carefully
by Chinese officials. The fourth gate is at Tomo Rinchen-gang at
which the traveller receives a written certificate, which he has to
show on reaching the great gate of Nyatong Castle. Here he has to do
much bribery, and is strictly cross-examined. If he comes through the
ordeal, he receives another paper which he has to take back to the
fourth gate to be countersigned and _viséd_. At the fourth gate he
gets some more papers which he has to take to the Chinese officer at
Pimbithang, from whom he receives another document written in Chinese,
which, together with the document received at the fourth gate, must be
taken once more to the gate house at Nyatong Castle. At length, on the
production of all these documents, he is allowed to pass through the
castle gate into the village of Nyatong. Here he crosses a small bridge
on the other side of which are some Chinese sentinels, the commander of
these Chinese troops receiving from him the certificate which he has
received at the third gate. The document from the fourth gate he takes
with him to his destination: its production on his return journey will
enable him once more to be admitted to the sacred soil of Tibet.
Between Phari and Nyatong I came across a great number of friends and
acquaintances--some of them were chance acquaintances, others who had
known me at Darjeeling. There was a lady missionary, Miss Annie R.
Taylor, who was living with her servants near the Nyatong Gate, and
there were some ill-natured Tibetans who knew me so well that I was
obliged to keep my eye constantly open. I might, I felt, have the good
fortune to get into the gate-house, but whether I would come out again
was a more difficult problem. I could hardly expect to get through
without meeting any of my friends. If I were detained for any length
of time at Phari, there was the danger that I might be arrested by
messengers from Lhasa, though I knew that ten days must elapse before
my absence from that city would be detected. The period from April 20
to April 30 (Tibetan style) is a period of confusion and bustle in
Lhasa, and during that period it was almost impossible that I should
be missed. The conclusion of the Panchen Lama’s rites would leave the
officials with leisure on their hands: then my absence would be noted,
and in the end they would send messengers after me.
The day on which I held my meditation was May 3, according to the
Tibetan calendar, and I concluded therefore that two or three days more
must elapse before my pursuers could reach me. But a delay of four or
five days at Phari might be a very critical question for me, and it was
just possible that while we were kept cooling our heels in the last
of the gate-houses, the Government messengers might arrive, and all
our labour be lost. Yet it was very strange that, in spite of all the
difficulties of the way, it had been revealed to me in my meditation
that the public road was the one I ought to take.
I had thought that the danger of the two roads was about equal; but I
thought that I would rather be arrested on the public road and possibly
be treated with violence, than fall among wild beasts or robbers on the
secret path. I had moreover on several occasions tried the method of
religious meditation, and always with success. I determined therefore
to follow the path that had been revealed to me.
That night, I slept but very little, in a sitting position, and early
the next morning I started off on horseback towards the great snowy
peak of Chomo-Lhari. By going round the side of the mountain, and
gradually proceeding south, after leaving lake Lham tso, we at last
saw far to the east and south, the great peak towering up above the
clouds almost like a snowy image of sitting Ḍharma. It was summer; yet
the weather was so exceedingly cold that no plants could grow there,
except lichens of flattened kinds. By dint of whipping my horse all the
time, I tried very hard to reach Phari on that day; but as my servant
walked on foot and could not keep up with me, it was quite dark when
we came to the village of Chu-kya. It is on a very high plateau, and
the climate is exceedingly cold. The land here is not only high, but
large snow mountains stand round it on both sides in one continuous row
and it has been said to be the bleakest and most barren wilderness in
the Tsang district. At night unless dried yak dung can be collected,
piled up and burned continually, the cold is almost intolerable.
Notwithstanding that it was early summer, it was colder than our most
rigorous winter in Japan: indeed it is the coldest, wildest, most
barren place between Lhasa and Darjeeling. The next morning, June 11th,
we took tea and started at four o’clock, going about five miles south
along the river flowing through the wilderness. I came to the Phari
Zong just at sunrise.