Good-bye, Tibet!
The whole distance through which I had passed from Darjeeling to
Lhasa was about two thousand four hundred and ninety miles. In the
first place, I started from Darjeeling on the 5th of January, in the
32nd year of Meiji, and passing through Calcutta by railway, came to
Segauli; hence also I travelled on foot, and on the 5th of February
arrived at Kātmāndu. The distance between Segauli and Kātmāndu was
about a hundred and fifteen miles. Leaving there on the 7th of March,
on the 11th of the same month I came to Pokhra. I left there on the
14th of the same month and on the 16th of April reached Lo Tsarang
at the distance of about eighteen miles from the boundary of Tibet.
From Kātmāndu to here, I walked about two hundred and sixty miles.
Staying a year there, on the 6th of April of the next year, I left
there and for the convenience of entering Tibet, returning a little,
I came to a mountain village Malba, situated on the eastern valley of
Mount Dhavalagiri. I started from this village on the 12th of June,
and passing half way up north of Mount Dhavalagiri at the height of
nineteen thousand feet, I proceeded to the north-western plain; and on
July 4th I reached the mountain gorge of the province of Hor-to-sho
in the north-western plain of Tibet. The distance from Tsarang to
Malba is about seventy miles, and that from Malba to the Province of
Hor-to-sho one hundred and fifty-five miles. In these places, as I
had to pass through thickets and round gorges, I walked more than the
actual distance. On December 5th I came to the temple of Tashi Lhunpo,
and after staying there a few days, departed. On the 21st of March,
in the 34th year of Meiji, just two years and three months after the
departure from Darjeeling, I arrived at the Temple of Sera in Lhasa. As
I took roundabout roads now and then from Hor-tosho to Lhasa I walked
about one thousand two hundred and fifty miles.
When I got up the next morning I found that some fuel had been
collected during the night, so I boiled water and made some tea, and
at the same time we ate parched wheat-flour, and then departed. That
day, as we thought it might be impossible to get parched wheat-flour
on the way, we ate plenty of it before starting, and commenced to
climb up the mountain. The rain ceased, and the weather was very fine;
we climbed up three miles and came to a place covered with bushes
of various kinds. Ascending half a mile further, there was a lonely
house. It is placed there to detain men of suspicious character coming
from Darjeeling, while word is sent to the castle of Nyatong. In that
house there was a man and also an old woman. I was told that he went
backwards and forwards between the place and Kalenpong on some sort of
commercial business. I drank tea there, and as after ascending the high
and steep mountain I was somewhat hungry, I ate parched wheat-flour,
and again resumed the climb. After ascending about a mile among very
short dwarf trees, the path came out upon a snow-mountain called by
the name of Jelep-la or Jela. Before advancing over the snow, looking
towards the north-eastern sky, across the wide, dark plain appearing
and disappearing in the clouds, where stands Lhasa from which I had
departed, I bade farewell to Tibet. There is a lake there the water of
which was completely frozen over. While ascending, I looked down and
saw an immense volume of cloud rising from a vast wide plain moving to
and fro in a wide forest, and it was indeed beautiful. On the upper
part of it, rhododendron flowers in full bloom were to be seen. Walking
for a mile over the snow, I reached the summit which forms the real
boundary of Tibet and British India; a step on the other side of the
mountain, the people are not governed by Tibetan law.
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE SNOWY JELA-PEAK.]
Since I had reached the boundary of Tibet, or Tsarang, in the Himalayan
range, three years had elapsed, and at last I had safely arrived in a
country where free communications are possible. The feeling that my
safe arrival in this country is entirely owing to the protecting power
of the Lord Buḍḍha was further deepened, and I worshipped Him with zeal
and earnestness. Then I composed _utas_, as follows:
O Shakyamuni, Thou, my refuge dear!
Till now Thy guardian shield has guarded me
Through many devious dangerous paths and wilds
And snowy plateaux threatening instant deaths.
My grateful, fervent heart shall ever thrill
With deathless Dharma’s virtues taught by Thee.
In all my wanderings o’er the Himalayan range,
On all my paths beset with perils great,
The path of Dharma is the path for me.
Thus strengthened by the purest Dharma’s strength
Traversed have I these unknown wilds, secure,
And holiest Saints and Sanghas have I met.
Fore’er in Thee alone, O Lord, I live.
At that time, at the summit of the mountain, I felt extremely cold; but
that feeling of coldness was entirely forgotten in the strong feeling
of gratitude for the grace of Buḍḍha, in the joy felt for the safe
passing of the manifold guard-houses. When I came to myself, I was
indeed very cold, but happily the day was bright and sunny, so that I
felt warmth more or less even among such snowy mountains. Descending
about a mile, I came upon a very good road three feet in width and
paved with stones. It was indeed a contrast, for even the idea of such
a one is quite unknown in Tibet.
It was said that the year I came there especially large hailstones
fell. Hailstones are notable in these regions of snow-mountains, and
the hail I saw in Nepāl was very large. I dug out some imbedded in the
snow, and found many as large as a pigeon’s egg; while it was said that
at the time of falling they must have been as large as a hen’s egg.
It is hardly credible that such large stones come down like rain;
but I believe it to be true from actually seeing some imbedded ones
as large as pigeon’s eggs. Many people coming from Darjeeling and
Tomo-Rinchen-gang for trade declare that what I have said about the
size of a hailstone is true. It is not seldom here that when hailstones
fall in abundance, the passage is stopped even for a month or more.
Now leaving the snowy part of the mountain and descending two miles,
we again walked up an ascent of three miles; and descending still
three miles more, we arrived at the post-town of Naktang. There were
about twenty houses here, which, a long time ago, were constructed as
barracks for a soldier’s station, the large ones are at present used
as store-houses for woollen goods. As it rained that day, the road was
very bad, and I lodged there that night.
In spite of rain falling furiously, we started on June 16th at five
o’clock, and descending through a luxuriant forest for thirteen miles,
we arrived at Lingtam and stopped there. If the weather had been fine,
we could have gone further that day; but it was rainy all the day,
and in addition to this, after leaving the Tibetan domain, we had no
necessity for being in a great hurry; and the consequence of slow and
loitering steps was that we were obliged to stop there. The next day
we again descended for about four miles and came to a place where we
felt extreme heat which by contrast was almost unbearable. I took
off my clothing and, giving it to the servant, walked on only in an
underdress; still abundant perspiration moistened my whole body. Going
up toward the south-west, we came to Tsom-Takba and stopped there, as
the weather was still rainy. The next day, in spite of rain, we walked
three miles, and passing over a bridge, we went another three miles,
and stopped in the town of Boetong.
This town lies in the centre of a rich and fertile plain among the
Himālaya Mountains. Many people of Nepāl have immigrated to the
neighborhood of this town, and in addition to the old cultivated
fields, they have added many rice-fields here and there. Though it is
under the dominion of England, and taxes are paid to the Government of
British India, most of the people are Nepālese, besides a small number
of Sikkim people. Along the line of this road the most delightful thing
I saw was the planting of rice-fields in the rain. Though most of the
Indian rice is inferior and consequently disagreeable to the taste, yet
that produced in this part of the Himālaya Mountains is not different
from our Japanese rice either in quality or lustre. This Indian rice,
when boiled, gives a very agreeable smell and is very sweet to eat. For
the cultivation of it they were planting a rice-field that rainy day.
In this town many Europeans are living, and most of them are engaged
in farming. It is a very flourishing post-town containing a fine
post-office, a Roman Catholic Church, and a school for poor people
connected with it. As I walked through the town and came right under
the building of the post-office, a Tibetan gentleman, standing on a
veranda and looking at the people passing by, turned his face and
stared at me with great surprise.
“Come in, Sir,” said he, calling out to me suddenly in a loud voice.
“No, thank you,” replied I, “I am too busy to enter. I am searching for
a house to stop in to-night. Will you be so kind as to lodge me?”
“Any thing will do,” said he, “please come in, Sir.”
“Though I go in,” replied I, “I shall be in great trouble if you do not
lodge me.”
“Please come in,” said he, smilingly, “however it may be.”
Thinking it was strange for him to treat me as his intimate friend,
I stepped in; and as soon as he saw me, “Do you forget me?” said he,
extending his hand, and showing me in every way that he was indeed
acquainted with me.
While I was in Darjeeling, he was a teacher of the Tibetan language
in the Government High School there; but he was not my instructor.
Though he was a teacher of the second class, and not deep in learning,
yet he was a man of general knowledge having the power of quick
understanding. Of his change of position to be postmaster here I was
entirely ignorant. After exchanging our respective accounts of events
since we parted, he eagerly asked me how I had come through those
vigilant guard-houses without endangering myself. My servant sitting
near me, hearing us talking in English, looked almost stupefied. I at
once perceived that our conversation would arouse the suspicion of
my servant again, and tried to talk in the dialect of Lhasa. As the
postmaster knew the dialect of Darjeeling very well, but did not know
that of Lhasa, he did not answer me in the latter but consequently
talked in English and Tibetan. This, just as I thought, aroused the
suspicion which had been happily suppressed since our arrival at the
first guard-house. The servant instantly went to the wife of the
postmaster and asked her:
“Speaking truthfully, where is my master from?” said the servant.
“He is,” replied the lady, “a Japanese Lama.”
“Where is Japan?” asked the servant eagerly, as he heard me talking
English, “is he not an Englishman?”
“No, he is a Japanese,” replied the lady, “Japan is, at present, so
strong and powerful that even England looks at it with surprise. Her
name, like the rising sun, gleams even to the remotest part of the
world. So says my husband, who read it in a newspaper.”
“That is a terrible matter,” said the servant, being frightened almost
into taking flight, haggard and pale; “I shall be killed.”
This account of her personal conference with my servant was given to me
by the lady afterwards. It seemed to me that my servant almost trembled
with fear, as though he expected every moment to lose his life; but I
had no time to explain his misunderstanding. I slept that night in a
clean and comfortable European bed.