After the commercial quarter was flashed past our eyes, we entered the

Russian settlement across a small river. Several Russian soldiers and

four very spruce-looking Mongolian women stood on the bridge as we

passed. The soldiers snapped to salute like immobile statues and fixed

their eyes on the severe face of their Commander. The women first began

to run and shift about and then, infected by the discipline and order

of events, swung their hands up to salute and stood as immobile as their

northern swains. The Baron looked at me and laughed:

“You see the discipline! Even the Mongolian women salute me.”

Soon we were out on the plain with the car going like an arrow, with the

wind whistling and tossing the folds of our coats and caps. But Baron

Ungern, sitting with closed eyes, repeated: “Faster! Faster!” For a long

time we were both silent.

“And yesterday I beat my adjutant for rushing into my yurta and

interrupting my story,” he said.

“You can finish it now,” I answered.

“And are you not bored by it? Well, there isn’t much left and this

happens to be the most interesting. I was telling you that I wanted

to found an order of military Buddhists in Russia. For what? For

the protection of the processes of evolution of humanity and for the

struggle against revolution, because I am certain that evolution leads

to the Divinity and revolution to bestiality. But I worked in Russia!

In Russia, where the peasants are rough, untutored, wild and constantly

angry, hating everybody and everything without understanding why. They

are suspicious and materialistic, having no sacred ideals. Russian

intelligents live among imaginary ideals without realities. They have a

strong capacity for criticising everything but they lack creative power.

Also they have no will power, only the capacity for talking and talking.

With the peasants, they cannot like anything or anybody. Their love and

feelings are imaginary. Their thoughts and sentiments pass without trace

like futile words. My companions, therefore, soon began to violate the

regulations of the Order. Then I introduced the condition of celibacy,

the entire negation of woman, of the comforts of life, of superfluities,

according to the teachings of the Yellow Faith; and, in order that the

Russian might be able to live down his physical nature, I introduced the

limitless use of alcohol, hasheesh and opium. Now for alcohol I hang

my officers and soldiers; then we drank to the ‘white fever,’ delirium

tremens. I could not organize the Order but I gathered round me

and developed three hundred men wholly bold and entirely ferocious.

Afterward they were heroes in the war with Germany and later in the

fight against the Bolsheviki, but now only a few remain.”

“The wireless, Excellency!” reported the chauffeur.

“Turn in there!” ordered the General.

On the top of a flat hill stood the big, powerful radio station which

had been partially destroyed by the retreating Chinese but reconstructed

by the engineers of Baron Ungern. The General perused the telegrams and

handed them to me. They were from Moscow, Chita, Vladivostok and Peking.

On a separate yellow sheet were the code messages, which the Baron

slipped into his pocket as he said to me:

“They are from my agents, who are stationed in Chita, Irkutsk, Harbin

and Vladivostok. They are all Jews, very skilled and very bold men,

friends of mine all. I have also one Jewish officer, Vulfovitch, who

commands my right flank. He is as ferocious as Satan but clever and

brave. . . . Now we shall fly into space.”

Once more we rushed away, sinking into the darkness of night. It was a

wild ride. The car bounded over small stones and ditches, even taking

narrow streamlets, as the skilled chauffeur only seemed to guide it

round the larger rocks. On the plain, as we sped by, I noticed several

times small bright flashes of fire which lasted but for a second and

then were extinguished.

“The eyes of wolves,” smiled my companion. “We have fed them to satiety

from the flesh of ourselves and our enemies!” he quietly interpolated,

as he turned to continue his confession of faith.

“During the War we saw the gradual corruption of the Russian army and

foresaw the treachery of Russia to the Allies as well as the approaching

danger of revolution. To counteract this latter a plan was formed to

join together all the Mongolian peoples which had not forgotten their

ancient faiths and customs into one Asiatic State, consisting of

autonomous tribal units, under the moral and legislative leadership of

China, the country of loftiest and most ancient culture. Into this State

must come the Chinese, Mongols, Tibetans, Afghans, the Mongol tribes of

Turkestan, Tartars, Buriats, Kirghiz and Kalmucks. This State must

be strong, physically and morally, and must erect a barrier against

revolution and carefully preserve its own spirit, philosophy and

individual policy. If humanity, mad and corrupted, continues to threaten

the Divine Spirit in mankind, to spread blood and to obstruct moral

development, the Asiatic State must terminate this movement decisively

and establish a permanent, firm peace. This propaganda even during the

War made splendid progress among the Turkomans, Kirghiz, Buriats and

Mongols. . . . ‘Stop!’ suddenly shouted the Baron.”

The car pulled up with a jerk. The General jumped out and called me to

follow. We started walking over the prairie and the Baron kept bending

down all the time as though he were looking for something on the ground.

“Ah!” he murmured at last, “He has gone away. . . .”

I looked at him in amazement.

“A rich Mongol formerly had his yurta here. He was the outfitter for the

Russian merchant, Noskoff. Noskoff was a ferocious man as shown by the

name the Mongols gave him--‘Satan.’ He used to have his Mongol debtors

beaten or imprisoned through the instrumentality of the Chinese

authorities. He ruined this Mongol, who lost everything and escaped to

a place thirty miles away; but Noskoff found him there, took all that he

had left of cattle and horses and left the Mongol and his family to die

of hunger. When I captured Urga, this Mongol appeared and brought with

him thirty other Mongol families similarly ruined by Noskoff. They

demanded his death. . . . So I hung ‘Satan’ . . .”

Anew the motor car was rushing along, sweeping a great circle on the

prairie, and anew Baron Ungern with his sharp, nervous voice carried his

thoughts round the whole circumference of Asian life.

“Russia turned traitor to France, England and America, signed the

Brest-Litovsk Treaty and ushered in a reign of chaos. We then decided

to mobilize Asia against Germany. Our envoys penetrated Mongolia, Tibet,

Turkestan and China. At this time the Bolsheviki began to kill all the

Russian officers and we were forced to open civil war against them,

giving up our Pan-Asiatic plans; but we hope later to awake all Asia

and with their help to bring peace and God back to earth. I want to feel

that I have helped this idea by the liberation of Mongolia.”

He became silent and thought for a moment.

“But some of my associates in the movement do not like me because of

my atrocities and severity,” he remarked in a sad voice. “They cannot

understand as yet that we are not fighting a political party but a sect

of murderers of all contemporary spiritual culture. Why do the Italians

execute the ‘Black Hand’ gang? Why are the Americans electrocuting

anarchistic bomb throwers? and I am not allowed to rid the world of

those who would kill the soul of the people? I, a Teuton, descendant of

crusaders and privateers, I recognize only death for murderers! . . .

Return!” he commanded the chauffeur.

An hour and a half later we saw the electric lights of Urga.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE CAMP OF MARTYRS

Near the entrance to the town, a motor car stood before a small house.

“What does that mean?” exclaimed the Baron. “Go over there!”

Our car drew up beside the other. The house door opened sharply, several

officers rushed out and tried to hide.

“Stand!” commanded the General. “Go back inside.” They obeyed and he

entered after them, leaning on his tashur. As the door remained open, I

could see and hear everything.

“Woe to them!” whispered the chauffeur. “Our officers knew that the

Baron had gone out of the town with me, which means always a long

journey, and must have decided to have a good time. He will order them

beaten to death with sticks.”

I could see the end of the table covered with bottles and tinned things.

At the side two young women were seated, who sprang up at the

appearance of the General. I could hear the hoarse voice of Baron Ungern

pronouncing sharp, short, stern phrases.

“Your native land is perishing. . . . The shame of it is upon all you

Russians . . . and you cannot understand it . . . nor feel it. . . . You

need wine and women. . . . Scoundrels! Brutes! . . . One hundred fifty

tashur for every man of you.”

The voice fell to a whisper.

“And you, Mesdames, do you not realize the ruin of your people? No? For

you it is of no moment. And have you no feeling for your husbands at

the front who may even now be killed? You are not women. . . . I honor

woman, who feels more deeply and strongly than man; but you are not

women! . . . Listen to me, Mesdames. Once more and I will hang

you. . . .”

He came back to the car and himself sounded the horn several times.

Immediately Mongol horsemen galloped up.

“Take these men to the Commandant. I will send my orders later.”

On the way to the Baron’s yurta we were silent. He was excited and

breathed heavily, lighting cigarette after cigarette and throwing them

aside after but a single puff or two.

“Take supper with me,” he proposed.

He also invited his Chief of Staff, a very retiring, oppressed but

splendidly educated man. The servants spread a Chinese hot course for

us followed by cold meat and fruit compote from California with

the inevitable tea. We ate with chopsticks. The Baron was greatly

distraught.

Very cautiously I began speaking of the offending officers and tried to

justify their actions by the extremely trying circumstances under which

they were living.

“They are rotten through and through, demoralized, sunk into the

depths,” murmured the General.

The Chief of Staff helped me out and at last the Baron directed him to

telephone the Commandant to release these gentlemen.

The following day I spent with my friends, walking a great deal about

the streets and watching their busy life. The great energy of the Baron

demanded constant nervous activity from himself and every one round him.

He was everywhere, seeing everything but never, interfering with the

work of his subordinate administrators. Every one was at work.

In the evening I was invited by the Chief of Staff to his quarters,

where I met many intelligent officers. I related again the story of my

trip and we were all chatting along animatedly when suddenly Colonel

Sepailoff entered, singing to himself. All the others at once became

silent and one by one under various pretexts they slipped out. He handed

our host some papers and, turning to us, said:

“I shall send you for supper a splendid fish pie and some hot tomato

soup.”

As he left, my host clasped his head in desperation and said:

“With such scum of the earth are we now forced after this revolution to

work!”

A few minutes later a soldier from Sepailoff brought us a tureen full

of soup and the fish pie. As the soldier bent over the table to set the

dishes down, the Chief motioned me with his eyes and slipped to me the

words: “Notice his face.”

When the man went out, my host sat attentively listening until the

sounds of the man’s steps ceased.

“He is Sepailoff’s executioner who hangs and strangles the unfortunate

condemned ones.”

Then, to my amazement, he began to pour out the soup on the ground

beside the brazier and, going out of the yurta, threw the pie over the

fence.

“It is Sepailoff’s feast and, though it may be very tasty, it may

also be poison. In Sepailoff’s house it is dangerous to eat or drink

anything.”

Distinctly oppressed by these doings, I returned to my house. My host

was not yet asleep and met me with a frightened look. My friends were

also there.

“God be thanked!” they all exclaimed. “Has nothing happened to you?”

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“You see,” began the host, “after your departure a soldier came from

Sepailoff and took your luggage, saying that you had sent him for

it; but we knew what it meant--that they would first search it and

afterwards. . . .”

I at once understood the danger. Sepailoff could place anything he

wanted in my luggage and afterwards accuse me. My old friend, the

agronome, and I started at once for Sepailoff’s, where I left him at the

door while I went in and was met by the same soldier who had brought the

supper to us. Sepailoff received me immediately. In answer to my protest

he said that it was a mistake and, asking me to wait for a moment, went

out. I waited five, ten, fifteen minutes but nobody came. I knocked on

the door but no one answered me. Then I decided to go to Baron Ungern

and started for the exit. The door was locked. Then I tried the other

door and found that also locked. I had been trapped! I wanted at once to

whistle to my friend but just then noticed a telephone on the wall

and called up Baron Ungern. In a few minutes he appeared together with

Sepailoff.

“What is this?” he asked Sepailoff in a severe, threatening voice; and,

without waiting for an answer, struck him a blow with his tashur that

sent him to the floor.

We went out and the General ordered my luggage produced. Then he brought

me to his own yurta.

“Live here, now,” he said. “I am very glad of this accident,” he

remarked with a smile, “for now I can say all that I want to.”

This drew from me the question:

“May I describe all that I have heard and seen here?”

He thought a moment before replying: “Give me your notebook.”

I handed him the album with my sketches of the trip and he wrote

therein: “After my death, Baron Ungern.”

“But I am older than you and I shall die before you,” I remarked.

He shut his eyes, bowed his head and whispered:

“Oh, no! One hundred thirty days yet and it is finished; then . . .

Nirvana! How wearied I am with sorrow, woe and hate!”

We were silent for a long time. I felt that I had now a mortal enemy

in Colonel Sepailoff and that I should get out of Urga at the earliest

possible moment. It was two o’clock at night. Suddenly Baron Ungern

stood up.

“Let us go to the great, good Buddha,” he said with a countenance held

in deep thought and with eyes aflame, his whole face contracted by a

mournful, bitter smile. He ordered the car brought.

Thus lived this camp of martyrs, refugees pursued by events to their

tryst with Death, driven on by the hate and contempt of this offspring

of Teutons and privateers! And he, martyring them, knew neither day nor

night of peace. Fired by impelling, poisonous thoughts, he tormented

himself with the pains of a Titan, knowing that every day in this

shortening chain of one hundred thirty links brought him nearer to the

precipice called “Death.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

BEFORE THE FACE OF BUDDHA

As we came to the monastery we left the automobile and dipped into the

labyrinth of narrow alleyways until at last we were before the greatest

temple of Urga with the Tibetan walls and windows and its pretentious

Chinese roof. A single lantern burned at the entrance. The heavy gate

with the bronze and iron trimmings was shut. When the General struck the

big brass gong hanging by the gate, frightened monks began running up

from all directions and, seeing the “General Baron,” fell to the earth

in fear of raising their heads.

“Get up,” said the Baron, “and let us into the Temple!”

The inside was like that of all Lama temples, the same multi-colored

flags with the prayers, symbolic signs and the images of holy saints;

the big bands of silk cloth hanging from the ceiling; the images of the

gods and goddesses. On both sides of the approach to the altar were the

low red benches for the Lamas and choir. On the altar small lamps threw

their rays on the gold and silver vessels and candlesticks. Behind it

hung a heavy yellow silk curtain with Tibetan inscriptions. The Lamas

drew the curtain aside. Out of the dim light from the flickering lamps

gradually appeared the great gilded statue of Buddha seated in the

Golden Lotus. The face of the god was indifferent and calm with only a

soft gleam of light animating it. On either side he was guarded by many

thousands of lesser Buddhas brought by the faithful as offerings in

prayer. The Baron struck the gong to attract Great Buddha’s attention to

his prayer and threw a handful of coins into the large bronze bowl. And

then this scion of crusaders who had read all the philosophers of the

West, closed his eyes, placed his hands together before his face and

prayed. I noticed a black rosary on his left wrist. He prayed about ten

minutes. Afterwards he led me to the other end of the monastery and,

during our passage, said to me:

“I do not like this temple. It is new, erected by the Lamas when the

Living Buddha became blind. I do not find on the face of the golden

Buddha either tears, hopes, distress or thanks of the people. They have

not yet had time to leave these traces on the face of the god. We shall

go now to the old Shrine of Prophecies.”

This was a small building, blackened with age and resembling a tower

with a plain round roof. The doors stood open. At both sides of the door

were prayer wheels ready to be spun; over it a slab of copper with the

signs of the zodiac. Inside two monks, who were intoning the sacred

sutras, did not lift their eyes as we entered. The General approached

them and said:

“Cast the dice for the number of my days!”

The priests brought two bowls with many dice therein and rolled them

out on their low table. The Baron looked and reckoned with them the sum

before he spoke:

“One hundred thirty! Again one hundred thirty!”

Approaching the altar carrying an ancient stone statue of Buddha brought

all the way from India, he again prayed. As day dawned, we wandered out

through the monastery, visited all the temples and shrines, the museum

of the medical school, the astrological tower and then the court where

the Bandi and young Lamas have their daily morning wrestling exercises.

In other places the Lamas were practising with the bow and arrow. Some

of the higher Lamas feasted us with hot mutton, tea and wild onions.

After we returned to the yurta I tried to sleep but in vain. Too many

different questions were troubling me. “Where am I? In what epoch am

I living?” I knew not but I dimly felt the unseen touch of some great

idea, some enormous plan, some indescribable human woe.

After our noon meal the General said he wanted to introduce me to the

Living Buddha. It is so difficult to secure audience with the Living

Buddha that I was very glad to have this opportunity offered me.

Our auto soon drew up at the gate of the red and white striped wall

surrounding the palace of the god. Two hundred Lamas in yellow and red

robes rushed to greet the arriving “Chiang Chun,” General, with the

low-toned, respectful whisper “Khan! God of War!” As a regiment of

formal ushers they led us to a spacious great hall softened by its

semi-darkness. Heavy carved doors opened to the interior parts of the

palace. In the depths of the hall stood a dais with the throne covered

with yellow silk cushions. The back of the throne was red inside a

gold framing; at either side stood yellow silk screens set in highly

ornamented frames of black Chinese wood; while against the walls at

either side of the throne stood glass cases filled with varied objects

from China, Japan, India and Russia. I noticed also among them a pair of

exquisite Marquis and Marquises in the fine porcelain of Sevres. Before

the throne stood a long, low table at which eight noble Mongols were

seated, their chairman, a highly esteemed old man with a clever,

energetic face and with large penetrating eyes. His appearance reminded

me of the authentic wooden images of the Buddhist holymen with eyes

of precious stones which I saw at the Tokyo Imperial Museum in the

department devoted to Buddhism, where the Japanese show the ancient

statues of Amida, Daunichi-Buddha, the Goddess Kwannon and the jolly old

Hotei.

This man was the Hutuktu Jahantsi, Chairman of the Mongolian Council of

Ministers, and honored and revered far beyond the bournes of Mongolia.

The others were the Ministers--Khans and the Highest Princes of Khalkha.

Jahantsi Hutuktu invited Baron Ungern to the place at his side, while

they brought in a European chair for me. Baron Ungern announced to the

Council of Ministers through an interpreter that he would leave Mongolia

in a few days and urged them to protect the freedom won for the lands

inhabited by the successors of Jenghiz Khan, whose soul still lives

and calls upon the Mongols to become anew a powerful people and reunite

again into one great Mid-Asiatic State all the Asian kingdoms he had

ruled.

The General rose and all the others followed him. He took leave of each

one separately and sternly. Only before Jahantsi Lama he bent low while

the Hutuktu placed his hands on the Baron’s head and blessed him. From

the Council Chamber we passed at once to the Russian style house which

is the personal dwelling of the Living Buddha. The house was wholly

surrounded by a crowd of red and yellow Lamas; servants, councilors of

Bogdo, officials, fortune tellers, doctors and favorites. From the front

entrance stretched a long red rope whose outer end was thrown over the

wall beside the gate. Crowds of pilgrims crawling up on their knees

touch this end of the rope outside the gate and hand the monk a silken

hatyk or a bit of silver. This touching of the rope whose inner end is

in the hand of the Bogdo establishes direct communication with the holy,

incarnated Living God. A current of blessing is supposed to flow through

this cable of camel’s wool and horse hair. Any Mongol who has touched

the mystic rope receives and wears about his neck a red band as the sign

of his accomplished pilgrimage.

I had heard very much about the Bogdo Khan before this opportunity

to see him. I had heard of his love of alcohol, which had brought on

blindness, about his leaning toward exterior western culture and about

his wife drinking deep with him and receiving in his name numerous

delegations and envoys.

In the room which the Bogdo used as his private study, where two Lama

secretaries watched day and night over the chest that contained his

great seals, there was the severest simplicity. On a low, plain, Chinese

lacquered table lay his writing implements, a case of seals given by

the Chinese Government and by the Dalai Lama and wrapped in a cloth of

yellow silk. Nearby was a low easy chair, a bronze brazier with an

iron stovepipe leading up from it; on the walls were the signs of the

swastika, Tibetan and Mongolian inscriptions; behind the easy chair a

small altar with a golden statue of Buddha before which two tallow lamps

were burning; the floor was covered with a thick yellow carpet.

When we entered, only the two Lama secretaries were there, for the

Living Buddha was in the small private shrine in an adjoining chamber,

where no one is allowed to enter save the Bogdo Khan himself and one

Lama, Kanpo-Gelong, who cares for the temple arrangements and assists

the Living Buddha during his prayers of solitude. The secretary told

us that the Bogdo had been greatly excited this morning. At noon he had

entered his shrine. For a long time the voice of the head of the Yellow

Faith was heard in earnest prayer and after his another unknown voice

came clearly forth. In the shrine had taken place a conversation between

the Buddha on earth and the Buddha of heaven--thus the Lamas phrased it

to us.

“Let us wait a little,” the Baron proposed. “Perhaps he will soon come

out.”

As we waited the General began telling me about Jahantsi Lama, saying

that, when Jahantsi is calm, he is an ordinary man but, when he is

disturbed and thinks very deeply, a nimbus appears about his head.

After half an hour the Lama secretaries suddenly showed signs of deep

fear and began listening closely by the entrance to the shrine. Shortly

they fell on their faces on the ground. The door slowly opened and there

entered the Emperor of Mongolia, the Living Buddha, His Holiness Bogdo

Djebtsung Damba Hutuktu, Khan of Outer Mongolia. He was a stout old man

with a heavy shaven face resembling those of the Cardinals of Rome. He

was dressed in the yellow silken Mongolian coat with a black binding.

The eyes of the blind man stood widely open. Fear and amazement were

pictured in them. He lowered himself heavily into the easy chair and

whispered: “Write!”

A secretary immediately took paper and a Chinese pen as the Bogdo began

to dictate his vision, very complicated and far from clear. He finished

with the following words:

“This I, Bogdo Hutuktu Khan, saw, speaking with the great wise Buddha,

surrounded by the good and evil spirits. Wise Lamas, Hutuktus, Kanpos,

Marambas and Holy Gheghens, give the answer to my vision!”

As he finished, he wiped the perspiration from his head and asked who

were present.

“Khan Chiang Chin Baron Ungern and a stranger,” one of the secretaries

answered on his knees.

The General presented me to the Bogdo, who bowed his head as a sign of

greeting. They began speaking together in low tones. Through the open

door I saw a part of the shrine. I made out a big table with a heap of

books on it, some open and others lying on the floor below; a brazier

with the red charcoal in it; a basket containing the shoulder blades and

entrails of sheep for telling fortunes. Soon the Baron rose and bowed

before the Bogdo. The Tibetan placed his hands on the Baron’s head and

whispered a prayer. Then he took from his own neck a heavy ikon and hung

it around that of the Baron.

“You will not die but you will be incarnated in the highest form of

being. Remember that, Incarnated God of War, Khan of grateful Mongolia!”

I understood that the Living Buddha blessed the “Bloody General” before

death.

During the next two days I had the opportunity to visit the Living

Buddha three times together with a friend of the Bogdo, the Buriat

Prince Djam Bolon. I shall describe these visits in Part IV.

Baron Ungern organized the trip for me and my party to the shore of the

Pacific. We were to go on camels to northern Manchuria, because there

it was easy to avoid cavilling with the Chinese authorities so badly

oriented in the international relationship with Poland. Having sent a

letter from Uliassutai to the French Legation at Peking and bearing with

me a letter from the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, expressing thanks

for the saving of Uliassutai from a pogrom, I intended to make for the

nearest station on the Chinese Eastern Railway and from there proceed to

Peking. The Danish merchant E. V. Olufsen was to have traveled out with

me and also a learned Lama Turgut, who was headed for China.

Never shall I forget the night of May 19th to 20th of 1921! After dinner

Baron Ungern proposed that we go to the yurta of Djam Bolon, whose

acquaintance I had made on the first day after my arrival in Urga.

His yurta was placed on a raised wooden platform in a compound located

behind the Russian settlement. Two Buriat officers met us and took us

in. Djam Bolon was a man of middle age, tall and thin with an unusually

long face. Before the Great War he had been a simple shepherd but had

fought together with Baron Ungern on the German front and afterwards

against the Bolsheviki. He was a Grand Duke of the Buriats, the

successor of former Buriat kings who had been dethroned by the Russian

Government after their attempt to establish the Independence of the

Buriat people. The servants brought us dishes with nuts, raisins, dates

and cheese and served us tea.

“This is the last night, Djam Bolon!” said Baron Ungern. “You promised

me . . .”

“I remember,” answered the Buriat, “all is ready.”

For a long time I listened to their reminiscences about former battles

and friends who had been lost. The clock pointed to midnight when Djam

Bolon got up and went out of the yurta.

“I want to have my fortune told once more,” said Baron Ungern, as though

he were justifying himself. “For the good of our cause it is too early

for me to die. . . .”

Djam Bolon came back with a little woman of middle years, who squatted

down eastern style before the brazier, bowed low and began to stare at

Baron Ungern. Her face was whiter, narrower and thinner than that of a

Mongol woman. Her eyes were black and sharp. Her dress resembled that of

a gypsy woman. Afterwards I learned that she was a famous fortune teller

and prophet among the Buriats, the daughter of a gypsy woman and a

Buriat. She drew a small bag very slowly from her girdle, took from it

some small bird bones and a handful of dry grass. She began whispering

at intervals unintelligible words, as she threw occasional handfuls of

the grass into the fire, which gradually filled the tent with a soft

fragrance. I felt a distinct palpitation of my heart and a swimming in

my head. After the fortune teller had burned all her grass, she placed

the bird bones on the charcoal and turned them over again and again with

a small pair of bronze pincers. As the bones blackened, she began to

examine them and then suddenly her face took on an expression of fear

and pain. She nervously tore off the kerchief which bound her head and,

contracted with convulsions, began snapping out short, sharp phrases.

“I see . . . I see the God of War. . . . His life runs out . . .

horribly. . . . After it a shadow . . . black like the night. . . .

Shadow. . . . One hundred thirty steps remain. . . . Beyond darkness.

. . . Nothing . . . I see nothing. . . . The God of War has

disappeared. . . .”

Baron Ungern dropped his head. The woman fell over on her back with her

arms stretched out. She had fainted, but it seemed to me that I noticed

once a bright pupil of one of her eyes showing from under the closed

lashes. Two Buriats carried out the lifeless form, after which a long

silence reigned in the yurta of the Buriat Prince. Baron Ungern finally

got up and began to walk around the brazier, whispering to himself.

Afterwards he stopped and began speaking rapidly:

“I shall die! I shall die! . . . but no matter, no matter. . . . The

cause has been launched and will not die. . . . I know the roads this

cause will travel. The tribes of Jenghiz Khan’s successors are awakened.

Nobody shall extinguish the fire in the heart of the Mongols! In Asia

there will be a great State from the Pacific and Indian Oceans to the

shore of the Volga. The wise religion of Buddha shall run to the north

and the west. It will be the victory of the spirit. A conqueror and

leader will appear stronger and more stalwart than Jenghiz Khan and

Ugadai. He will be more clever and more merciful than Sultan Baber

and he will keep power in his hands until the happy day when, from his

subterranean capital, shall emerge the King of the World. Why, why shall

I not be in the first ranks of the warriors of Buddhism? Why has Karma

decided so? But so it must be! And Russia must first wash herself from

the insult of revolution, purifying herself with blood and death; and

all people accepting Communism must perish with their families in order

that all their offspring may be rooted out!”

The Baron raised his hand above his head and shook it, as though he were

giving his orders and bequests to some invisible person.

Day was dawning.

“My time has come!” said the General. “In a little while I shall leave

Urga.”

He quickly and firmly shook hands with us and said:

“Good-bye for all time! I shall die a horrible death but the world has

never seen such a terror and such a sea of blood as it shall now

see. . . .”

The door of the yurta slammed shut and he was gone. I never saw him

again.

“I must go also, for I am likewise leaving Urga today.”

“I know it,” answered the Prince, “the Baron has left you with me for

some purpose. I will give you a fourth companion, the Mongol Minister of

War. You will accompany him to your yurta. It is necessary for you. . .

.”

Djam Bolon pronounced this last with an accent on every word. I did

not question him about it, as I was accustomed to the mystery of this

country of the mysteries of good and evil spirits.

CHAPTER XXXIX

“THE MAN WITH A HEAD LIKE A SADDLE”

After drinking tea at Djam Bolon’s yurta I rode back to my quarters and

packed my few belongings. The Lama Turgut was already there.

“The Minister of War will travel with us,” he whispered. “It is

necessary.”

“All right,” I answered, and rode off to Olufsen to summon him. But

Olufsen unexpectedly announced that he was forced to spend some few

days more in Urga--a fatal decision for him, for a month later he was

reported killed by Sepailoff who remained as Commandant of the city

after Baron Ungern’s departure. The War Minister, a stout, young Mongol,

joined our caravan. When we had gone about six miles from the city, we

saw an automobile coming up behind us. The Lama shrunk up inside his

coat and looked at me with fear. I felt the now familiar atmosphere of

danger and so opened my holster and threw over the safety catch of

my revolver. Soon the motor stopped alongside our caravan. In it sat

Sepailoff with a smiling face and beside him his two executioners,

Chestiakoff and Jdanoff. Sepailoff greeted us very warmly and asked:

“You are changing your horses in Khazahuduk? Does the road cross that

pass ahead? I don’t know the way and must overtake an envoy who went

there.”

The Minister of War answered that we would be in Khazahuduk that evening

and gave Sepailoff directions as to the road. The motor rushed away and,

when it had topped the pass, he ordered one of the Mongols to gallop

forward to see whether it had not stopped somewhere near the other side.

The Mongol whipped his steed and sped away. We followed slowly.

“What is the matter?” I asked. “Please explain!”

The Minister told me that Djam Bolon yesterday received information

that Sepailoff planned to overtake me on the way and kill me. Sepailoff

suspected that I had stirred up the Baron against him. Djam Bolon

reported the matter to the Baron, who organized this column for my

safety. The returning Mongol reported that the motor car had gone on out

of sight.

“Now,” said the Minister, “we shall take quite another route so that the

Colonel will wait in vain for us at Khazahuduk.”

We turned north at Undur Dobo and at night were in the camp of a local

prince. Here we took leave of our Minister, received splendid fresh

horses and quickly continued our trip to the east, leaving behind us

“the man with the head like a saddle” against whom I had been warned by

the old fortune teller in the vicinity of Van Kure.

After twelve days without further adventures we reached the first

railway station on the Chinese Eastern Railway, from where I traveled in

unbelievable luxury to Peking.

* * * * *

Surrounded by the comforts and conveniences of the splendid hotel

at Peking, while shedding all the attributes of traveler, hunter and

warrior, I could not, however, throw off the spell of those nine days

spent in Urga, where I had daily met Baron Ungern, “Incarnated God of

War.” The newspapers carrying accounts of the bloody march of the Baron

through Transbaikalia brought the pictures ever fresh to my mind. Even

now, although more than seven months have elapsed, I cannot forget those

nights of madness, inspiration and hate.

The predictions are fulfilled. Approximately one hundred thirty days

afterwards Baron Ungern was captured by the Bolsheviki through the

treachery of his officers and, it is reported, was executed at the end

of September.

Baron R. F. Ungern von Sternberg. . . . Like a bloody storm of avenging

Karma he spread over Central Asia. What did he leave behind him? The

severe order to his soldiers closing with the words of the Revelations

of St. John:

“Let no one check the revenge against the corrupter and slayer of the

soul of the Russian people. Revolution must be eradicated from the

World. Against it the Revelations of St. John have warned us thus: ‘And

the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and decked with gold and

precious stones and pearls, having in her hand a golden cup full of

abominations, even the unclean things of her fornication, and upon her

forehead a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF

THE HARLOTS AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman

drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs

of Jesus.’”

It is a human document, a document of Russian and, perhaps, of world

tragedy.

But there remained another and more important trace. In the Mongol

yurtas and at the fires of Buriat, Mongol, Djungar, Kirkhiz, Kalmuck and

Tibetan shepherds still speak the legend born of this son of crusaders

and privateers:

“From the north a white warrior came and called on the Mongols to break

their chains of slavery, which fell upon our freed soil. This white

warrior was the Incarnated Jenghiz Khan and he predicted the coming of

the greatest of all Mongols who will spread the fair faith of Buddha and

the glory and power of the offspring of Jenghiz, Ugadai and Kublai Khan.

So it shall be!”

Asia is awakened and her sons utter bold words.

It were well for the peace of the world if they go forth as disciples of

the wise creators, Ugadai and Sultan Baber, rather than under the spell

of the “bad demons” of the destructive Tamerlane.

Part IV

THE LIVING BUDDHA

CHAPTER XL

IN THE BLISSFUL GARDEN OF A THOUSAND JOYS

In Mongolia, the country of miracles and mysteries, lives the custodian

of all the mysterious and unknown, the Living Buddha, His Holiness

Djebtsung Damba Hutuktu Khan or Bogdo Gheghen, Pontiff of Ta Kure. He

is the incarnation of the never-dying Buddha, the representative of the

unbroken, mysteriously continued line of spiritual emperors ruling

since 1670, concealing in themselves the ever refining spirit of Buddha

Amitabha joined with Chan-ra-zi or the “Compassionate Spirit of the

Mountains.” In him is everything, even the Sun Myth and the fascination

of the mysterious peaks of the Himalayas, tales of the Indian pagoda,

the stern majesty of the Mongolian Conquerors--Emperors of All Asia--and

the ancient, hazy legends of the Chinese sages; immersion in the

thoughts of the Brahmans; the severities of life of the monks of the

“Virtuous Order”; the vengeance of the eternally wandering warriors, the

Olets, with their Khans, Batur Hun Taigi and Gushi; the proud bequests

of Jenghiz and Kublai Khan; the clerical reactionary psychology of the

Lamas; the mystery of Tibetan kings beginning from Srong-Tsang Gampo;

and the mercilessness of the Yellow Sect of Paspa. All the hazy history

of Asia, of Mongolia, Pamir, Himalayas, Mesopotamia, Persia and China,

surrounds the Living God of Urga. It is little wonder that his name

is honored along the Volga, in Siberia, Arabia, between the Tigris and

Euphrates, in Indo-China and on the shores of the Arctic Ocean.

During my stay in Urga I visited the abode of the Living Buddha several

times, spoke with him and observed his life. His favorite learned

Marambas gave me long accounts of him. I saw him reading horoscopes, I

heard his predictions, I looked over his archives of ancient books and

the manuscripts containing the lives and predictions of all the Bogdo

Khans. The Lamas were very frank and open with me, because the letter of

the Hutuktu of Narabanchi won for me their confidence.

The personality of the Living Buddha is double, just as everything in

Lamaism is double. Clever, penetrating, energetic, he at the same time

indulges in the drunkenness which has brought on blindness. When he

became blind, the Lamas were thrown into a state of desperation. Some of

them maintained that Bogdo Khan must be poisoned and another Incarnate

Buddha set in his place; while the others pointed out the great merits

of the Pontiff in the eyes of Mongolians and the followers of the Yellow

Faith. They finally decided to propitiate the gods by building a great

temple with a gigantic statue of Buddha. However, this did not help

the Bogdo’s sight but the whole incident gave him the opportunity of

hurrying on to their higher life those among the Lamas who had shown too

much radicalism in their proposed method of solving his problem.

He never ceases to ponder upon the cause of the church and of Mongolia

and at the same time likes to indulge himself with useless trifles. He

amuses himself with artillery. A retired Russian officer presented him

with two old guns, for which the donor received the title of Tumbaiir

Hun, that is, “Prince Dear-to-my-Heart.” On holidays these cannon were

fired to the great amusement of the blind man. Motorcars, gramophones,

telephones, crystals, porcelains, pictures, perfumes, musical

instruments, rare animals and birds; elephants, Himalayan bears,

monkeys, Indian snakes and parrots--all these were in the palace of “the

god” but all were soon cast aside and forgotten.

To Urga come pilgrims and presents from all the Lamaite and Buddhist

world. Once the treasurer of the palace, the Honorable Balma Dorji,

took me into the great hall where the presents were kept. It was a most

unique museum of precious articles. Here were gathered together rare

objects unknown to the museums of Europe. The treasurer, as he opened a

case with a silver lock, said to me:

“These are pure gold nuggets from Bei Kem; here are black sables from

Kemchick; these the miraculous deer horns; this a box sent by the

Orochons and filled with precious ginseng roots and fragrant musk; this

a bit of amber from the coast of the ‘frozen sea’ and it weighs 124 lans

(about ten pounds); these are precious stones from India, fragrant zebet

and carved ivory from China.”

He showed the exhibits and talked of them for a long time and evidently

enjoyed the telling. And really it was wonderful! Before my eyes lay the

bundles of rare furs; white beaver, black sables, white, blue and black

fox and black panthers; small beautifully carved tortoise shell boxes

containing hatyks ten or fifteen yards long, woven from Indian silk as

fine as the webs of the spider; small bags made of golden thread

filled with pearls, the presents of Indian Rajahs; precious rings with

sapphires and rubies from China and India; big pieces of jade, rough

diamonds; ivory tusks ornamented with gold, pearls and precious stones;

bright clothes sewn with gold and silver thread; walrus tusks carved in

bas-relief by the primitive artists on the shores of the Behring Sea;

and much more that one cannot recall or recount. In a separate room

stood the cases with the statues of Buddha, made of gold, silver,

bronze, ivory, coral, mother of pearl and from a rare colored and

fragrant species of wood.

“You know when conquerors come into a country where the gods are

honored, they break the images and throw them down. So it was more than

three hundred years ago when the Kalmucks went into Tibet and the same

was repeated in Peking when the European troops looted the place in

1900. But do you know why this is done? Take one of the statues and

examine it.”

I picked up one nearest the edge, a wooden Buddha, and began examining

it. Inside something was loose and rattled.

“Do you hear it?” the Lama asked. “These are precious stones and bits of

gold, the entrails of the god. This is the reason why the conquerors at

once break up the statues of the gods. Many famous precious stones have

appeared from the interior of the statues of the gods in India, Babylon

and China.”

Some rooms were devoted to the library, where manuscripts and volumes

of different epochs in different languages and with many diverse themes

fill the shelves. Some of them are mouldering or pulverizing away and

the Lamas cover these now with a solution which partially solidifies

like a jelly to protect what remains from the ravages of the air. There

also we saw tablets of clay with the cuneiform inscriptions, evidently

from Babylonia; Chinese, Indian and Tibetan books shelved beside those

of Mongolia; tomes of the ancient pure Buddhism; books of the “Red Caps”

or corrupt Buddhism; books of the “Yellow” or Lamaite Buddhism; books

of traditions, legends and parables. Groups of Lamas were perusing,

studying and copying these books, preserving and spreading the ancient

wisdom for their successors.

One department is devoted to the mysterious books on magic, the

historical lives and works of all the thirty-one Living Buddhas, with

the bulls of the Dalai Lama, of the Pontiff from Tashi Lumpo, of the

Hutuktu of Utai in China, of the Pandita Gheghen of Dolo Nor in Inner

Mongolia and of the Hundred Chinese Wise Men. Only the Bogdo Hutuktu and

Maramba Ta-Rimpo-Cha can enter this room of mysterious lore. The keys to

it rest with the seals of the Living Buddha and the ruby ring of Jenghiz

Khan ornamented with the sign of the swastika in the chest in the

private study of the Bogdo.

The person of His Holiness is surrounded by five thousand Lamas. They

are divided into many ranks from simple servants to the “Councillors of

God,” of which latter the Government consists. Among these Councillors

are all the four Khans of Mongolia and the five highest Princes.

Of all the Lamas there are three classes of peculiar interest, about

which the Living Buddha himself told me when I visited him with Djam

Bolon.

“The God” sorrowfully mourned over the demoralized and sumptuous life

led by the Lamas which decreased rapidly the number of fortune tellers

and clairvoyants among their ranks, saying of it:

“If the Jahantsi and Narabanchi monasteries had not preserved their

strict regime and rules, Ta Kure would have been left without prophets

and fortune tellers. Barun Abaga Nar, Dorchiul-Jurdok and the other holy

Lamas who had the power of seeing that which is hidden from the sight of

the common people have gone with the blessing of the gods.”

This class of Lamas is a very important one, because every important

personage visiting the monasteries at Urga is shown to the Lama Tzuren

or fortune teller without the knowledge of the visitor for the study of

his destiny and fate, which are then communicated to the Bogdo Hutuktu,

so that with these facts in his possession the Bogdo knows in what way

to treat his guest and what policy to follow toward him. The Tzurens are

mostly old men, skinny, exhausted and severe ascetics. But I have met

some who were young, almost boys. They were the Hubilgan, “incarnate

gods,” the future Hutuktus and Gheghens of the various Mongolian

monasteries.

The second class is the doctors or “Ta Lama.” They observe the actions

of plants and certain products from animals upon people, preserve

Tibetan medicines and cures, and study anatomy very carefully but

without making use of vivisection and the scalpel. They are skilful

bone setters, masseurs and great connoisseurs of hypnotism and animal

magnetism.

The third class is the highest rank of doctors, consisting chiefly of

Tibetans and Kalmucks--poisoners. They may be said to be “doctors of

political medicine.” They live by themselves, apart from any associates,

and are the great silent weapon in the hands of the Living Buddha. I

was informed that a large portion of them are dumb. I saw one such

doctor,--the very person who poisoned the Chinese physician sent by the

Chinese Emperor from Peking to “liquidate” the Living Buddha,--a small

white old fellow with a deeply wrinkled face, a curl of white hairs on

his chin and with vivacious eyes that were ever shifting inquiringly

about him. Whenever he comes to a monastery, the local “god” ceases to

eat and drink in fear of the activities of this Mongolian Locusta. But

even this cannot save the condemned, for a poisoned cap or shirt or

boots, or a rosary, a bridle, books or religious articles soaked in a

poisonous solution will surely accomplish the object of the Bogdo-Khan.

The deepest esteem and religious faithfulness surround the blind

Pontiff. Before him all fall on their faces. Khans and Hutuktus approach

him on their knees. Everything about him is dark, full of Oriental

antiquity. The drunken blind man, listening to the banal arias of the

gramophone or shaking his servants with an electric current from his

dynamo, the ferocious old fellow poisoning his political enemies,

the Lama keeping his people in darkness and deceiving them with his

prophecies and fortune telling,--he is, however, not an entirely

ordinary man.

One day we sat in the room of the Bogdo and Prince Djam Bolon translated

to him my story of the Great War. The old fellow was listening very

carefully but suddenly opened his eyes widely and began to give

attention to some sounds coming in from outside the room. His face

became reverent, supplicant and frightened.

“The Gods call me,” he whispered and slowly moved into his private

shrine, where he prayed loudly about two hours, kneeling immobile as a

statue. His prayer consists of conversation with the invisible gods, to

whose questions he himself gave the answers. He came out of the shrine

pale and exhausted but pleased and happy. It was his personal prayer.

During the regular temple service he did not participate in the prayers,

for then he is “God.” Sitting on his throne, he is carried and placed

on the altar and there prayed to by the Lamas and the people. He only

receives the prayers, hopes, tears, woe and desperation of the people,

immobilely gazing into space with his sharp and bright but blind

eyes. At various times in the service the Lamas robe him in different

vestments, combinations of yellow and red, and change his caps. The

service always finishes at the solemn moment when the Living Buddha

with the tiara on his head pronounces the pontifical blessing upon

the congregation, turning his face to all four cardinal points of the

compass and finally stretching out his hands toward the northwest, that

is, to Europe, whither in the belief of the Yellow Faith must travel the

teachings of the wise Buddha.

After earnest prayers or long temple services the Pontiff seems very

deeply shaken and often calls his secretaries and dictates his visions

and prophecies, always very complicated and unaccompanied by his

deductions.

Sometimes with the words “Their souls are communicating,” he puts on his

white robes and goes to pray in his shrine. Then all the gates of the

palace are shut and all the Lamas are sunk in solemn, mystic fear; all

are praying, telling their rosaries and whispering the orison: “Om!

Mani padme Hung!” or turning the prayer wheels with their prayers or

exorcisings; the fortune tellers read their horoscopes; the clairvoyants

write out their visions; while Marambas search the ancient books for

explanations of the words of the Living Buddha.

CHAPTER XLI

THE DUST OF CENTURIES

Have you ever seen the dusty cobwebs and the mould in the cellars of

some ancient castle in Italy, France or England? This is the dust of

centuries. Perhaps it touched the faces, helmets and swords of a Roman

Augustus, St. Louis, the Inquisitor, Galileo or King Richard. Your heart

is involuntarily contracted and you feel a respect for these witnesses

of elapsed ages. This same impression came to me in Ta Kure, perhaps

more deep, more realistic. Here life flows on almost as it flowed eight

centuries ago; here man lives only in the past; and the contemporary

only complicates and prevents the normal life.

“Today is a great day,” the Living Buddha once said to me, “the day of

the victory of Buddhism over all other religions. It was a long time

ago--on this day Kublai Khan called to him the Lamas of all religions

and ordered them to state to him how and what they believed. They

praised their Gods and their Hutuktus. Discussions and quarrels began.

Only one Lama remained silent. At last he mockingly smiled and said:

“‘Great Emperor! Order each to prove the power of his Gods by the

performance of a miracle and afterwards judge and choose.’

“Kublai Khan so ordered all the Lamas to show him a miracle but all were

silent, confused and powerless before him.

“‘Now,’ said the Emperor, addressing the Lama who had tendered this

suggestion, ‘now you must prove the power of your Gods!’

“The Lama looked long and silently at the Emperor, turned and gazed at

the whole assembly and then quietly stretched out his hand toward them.

At this instant the golden goblet of the Emperor raised itself from

the table and tipped before the lips of the Khan without a visible hand

supporting it. The Emperor felt the delight of a fragrant wine. All were

struck with astonishment and the Emperor spoke:

“‘I elect to pray to your Gods and to them all people subject to me must

pray. What is your faith? Who are you and from where do you come?’

“‘My faith is the teaching of the wise Buddha. I am Pandita Lama, Turjo

Gamba, from the distant and glorious monastery of Sakkia in Tibet, where

dwells incarnate in a human body the Spirit of Buddha, his Wisdom and

his Power. Remember, Emperor, that the peoples who hold our faith shall

possess all the Western Universe and during eight hundred and eleven

years shall spread their faith throughout the whole world.’

“Thus it happened on this same day many centuries ago! Lama Turjo Gamba

did not return to Tibet but lived here in Ta Kure, where there was then

only a small temple. From here he traveled to the Emperor at Karakorum

and afterwards with him to the capital of China to fortify him in

the Faith, to predict the fate of state affairs and to enlighten him

according to the will of God.”

The Living Buddha was silent for a time, whispered a prayer and then

continued:

“Urga, the ancient nest of Buddhism. . . . With Jenghiz Khan on his

European conquest went out the Olets or Kalmucks. They remained there

almost four hundred years, living on the plains of Russia. Then they

returned to Mongolia because the Yellow Lamas called them to light

against the Kings of Tibet, Lamas of the ‘red caps,’ who were oppressing

the people. The Kalmucks helped the Yellow Faith but they realized that

Lhasa was too distant from the whole world and could not spread our

Faith throughout the earth. Consequently the Kalmuck Gushi Khan brought

up from Tibet a holy Lama, Undur Gheghen, who had visited the ‘King of

the World.’ From that day the Bogdo Gheghen has continuously lived in

Urga, a protector of the freedom of Mongolia and of the Chinese Emperors

of Mongolian origin. Undur Gheghen was the first Living Buddha in the

land of the Mongols. He left to us, his successors, the ring of Jenghiz

Khan, which was sent by Kublai Khan to Dalai Lama in return for the

miracle shown by the Lama Turjo Gamba; also the top of the skull of

a black, mysterious miracle worker from India, using which as a bowl,

Strongtsan, King of Tibet, drank during the temple ceremonies one

thousand six hundred years ago; as well as an ancient stone statue of

Buddha brought from Delhi by the founder of the Yellow Faith, Paspa.”

The Bogdo clapped his hands and one of the secretaries took from a red

kerchief a big silver key with which he unlocked the chest with the

seals. The Living Buddha slipped his hand into the chest and drew forth

a small box of carved ivory, from which he took out and showed to me a

large gold ring set with a magnificent ruby carved with the sign of the

swastika.

“This ring was always worn on the right hand of the Khans Jenghiz and

Kublai,” said the Bogdo.

When the secretary had closed the chest, the Bogdo ordered him to

summon his favorite Maramba, whom he directed to read some pages from an

ancient book lying on the table. The Lama began to read monotonously.

“When Gushi Khan, the Chief of all the Olets or Kalmucks, finished the

war with the ‘Red Caps’ in Tibet, he carried out with him the miraculous

‘black stone’ sent to the Dalai Lama by the ‘King of the World.’ Gushi

Khan wanted to create in Western Mongolia the capital of the Yellow

Faith; but the Olets at that time were at war with the Manchu Emperors

for the throne of China and suffered one defeat after another. The last

Khan of the Olets, Amursana, ran away into Russia but before his escape

sent to Urga the sacred ‘black stone.’ While it remained in Urga so that

the Living Buddha could bless the people with it, disease and misfortune

never touched the Mongolians and their cattle. About one hundred years

ago, however, some one stole the sacred stone and since then Buddhists

have vainly sought it throughout the whole world. With its disappearance

the Mongol people began gradually to die.”

“Enough!” ordered Bogdo Gheghen. “Our neighbors hold us in contempt.

They forget that we were their sovereigns but we preserve our holy

traditions and we know that the day of triumph of the Mongolian tribes

and the Yellow Faith will come. We have the Protectors of the Faith, the

Buriats. They are the truest guardians of the bequests of Jenghiz Khan.”

So spoke the Living Buddha and so have spoken the ancient books!

CHAPTER XLII

THE BOOKS OF MIRACLES

Prince Djam Bolon asked a Maramba to show us the library of the Living

Buddha. It is a big room occupied by scores of writers who prepare the

works dealing with the miracles of all the Living Buddhas, beginning

with Undur Gheghen and ending with those of the Gheghens and Hutuktus of

the different Mongol monasteries. These books are afterwards distributed

through all the Lama Monasteries, temples and schools of Bandi. A

Maramba read two selections:

“. . . The beatific Bogdo Gheghen breathed on a mirror. Immediately

as through a haze there appeared the picture of a valley in which many

thousands of thousands of warriors fought one against another. . . .”

“The wise and favored-of-the-gods Living Buddha burned incense in a

brazier and prayed to the Gods to reveal the lot of the Princes. In the

blue smoke all saw a dark prison and the pallid, tortured bodies of the

dead Princes. . . .”

A special book, already done into thousands of copies, dwelt upon the

miracles of the present Living Buddha. Prince Djam Bolon described to me

some of the contents of this volume.

“There exists an ancient wooden Buddha with open eyes. He was brought

here from India and Bogdo Gheghen placed him on the altar and began to

pray. When he returned from the shrine, he ordered the statue of Buddha

brought out. All were struck with amazement, for the eyes of the God

were shut and tears were falling from them; from the wooden body green

sprouts appeared; and the Bogdo said:

“‘Woe and joy are awaiting me. I shall become blind but Mongolia will be

free.’

“The prophecy is fulfilled. At another time, on a day when the Living

Buddha was very much excited, he ordered a basin of water brought and

set before the altar. He called the Lamas and began to pray. Suddenly

the altar candles and lamps lighted themselves and the water in the

basin became iridescent.”

Afterwards the Prince described to me how the Bogdo Khan tells fortunes

with fresh blood, upon whose surface appear words and pictures; with the

entrails of sheep and goats, according to whose distribution the Bogdo

reads the fate of the Princes and knows their thoughts; with stones and

bones from which the Living Buddha with great accuracy reads the lot of

all men; and by the stars, in accordance with whose positions the Bogdo

prepares amulets against bullets and disease.

“The former Bogdo Khans told fortunes only by the use of the ‘black

stone,’” said the Maramba. “On the surface of the stone appeared Tibetan

inscriptions which the Bogdo read and thus learned the lot of whole

nations.”

When the Maramba spoke of the black stone with the Tibetan legends

appearing on it, I at once recalled that it was possible. In

southeastern Urianhai, in Ulan Taiga, I came across a place where black

slate was decomposing. All the pieces of this slate were covered with a

special white lichen, which formed very complicated designs, reminding

me of a Venetian lace pattern or whole pages of mysterious runes. When

the slate was wet, these designs disappeared; and then, as they were

dried, the patterns came out again.

Nobody has the right or dares to ask the Living Buddha to tell his

fortune. He predicts only when he feels the inspiration or when a

special delegate comes to him bearing a request for it from the Dalai

Lama or the Tashi Lama. When the Russian Czar, Alexander I, fell under

the influence of Baroness Kzudener and of her extreme mysticism,

he despatched a special envoy to the Living Buddha to ask about his

destiny. The then Bogdo Khan, quite a young man, told his fortune

according to the “black stone” and predicted that the White Czar would

finish his life in very painful wanderings unknown to all and everywhere

pursued. In Russia today there exists a popular belief that Alexander

I spent the last days of his life as a wanderer throughout Russia and

Siberia under the pseudonym of Feodor Kusmitch, helping and consoling

prisoners, beggars and other suffering people, often pursued and

imprisoned by the police and finally dying at Tomsk in Siberia, where

even until now they have preserved the house where he spent his

last days and have kept his grave sacred, a place of pilgrimages and

miracles. The former dynasty of Romanoff was deeply interested in the

biography of Feodor Kusmitch and this interest fixed the opinion that

Kusmitch was really the Czar Alexander I, who had voluntarily taken upon

himself this severe penance.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE BIRTH OF THE LIVING BUDDHA

The Living Buddha does not die. His soul sometimes passes into that of

a child born on the day of his death and sometimes transfers itself to

another being during the life of the Buddha. This new mortal dwelling

of the sacred spirit of the Buddha almost always appears in the yurta

of some poor Tibetan or Mongol family. There is a reason of policy for

this. If the Buddha appears in the family of a rich prince, it could

result in the elevation of a family that would not yield obedience to

the clergy (and such has happened in the past), while on the other

hand any poor, unknown family that becomes the heritor of the throne

of Jenghiz Khan acquires riches and is readily submissive to the Lamas.

Only three or four Living Buddhas were of purely Mongolian origin; the

remainder were Tibetans.

One of the Councillors of the Living Buddha, Lama-Khan Jassaktu, told me

the following:

“In the monasteries at Lhasa and Tashi Lumpo they are kept constantly

informed through letters from Urga about the health of the Living

Buddha. When his human body becomes old and the Spirit of Buddha strives

to extricate itself, special solemn services begin in the Tibetan

temples together with the telling of fortunes by astrology. These rites

indicate the specially pious Lamas who must discover where the Spirit

of the Buddha will be re-incarnated. For this purpose they travel

throughout the whole land and observe. Often God himself gives them

signs and indications. Sometimes the white wolf appears near the yurta

of a poor shepherd or a lamb with two heads is born or a meteor falls

from the sky. Some Lamas take fish from the sacred lake Tangri Nor and

read on the scales thereof the name of the new Bogdo Khan; others pick

out stones whose cracks indicate to them where they must search and

whom they must find; while others secrete themselves in narrow mountain

ravines to listen to the voices of the spirits of the mountains,

pronouncing the name of the new choice of the Gods. When he is found,

all the possible information about his family is secretly collected and

presented to the Most Learned Tashi Lama, having the name of Erdeni,

“The Great Gem of Learning,” who, according to the runes of Rama,

verifies the selection. If he is in agreement with it, he sends a secret

letter to the Dalai Lama, who holds a special sacrifice in the Temple of

the ‘Spirit of the Mountains’ and confirms the election by putting his

great seal on this letter of the Tashi Lama.

“If the old Living Buddha be still alive, the name of his successor is

kept a deep secret; if the Spirit of Buddha has already gone out from

the body of Bogdo Khan, a special legation appears from Tibet with the

new Living Buddha. The same process accompanies the election of the

Gheghen and Hutuktus in all the Lamaite monasteries in Mongolia; but

confirmation of the election resides with the Living Buddha and is only

announced to Lhasa after the event.”

CHAPTER XLIV

A PAGE IN THE HISTORY OF THE PRESENT LIVING BUDDHA

The present Bogdo Khan of Outer Mongolia is a Tibetan. He sprang from a

poor family living in the neighborhood of Sakkia Kure in western Tibet.

From earliest youth he had a stormy, quite unaesthetic nature. He was

fired with the idea of the independence and glorification of Mongolia

and the successors of Jenghiz Khan. This gave him at once a great

influence among the Lamas, Princes and Khans of Mongolia and also with

the Russian Government which always tried to attract him to their side.

He did not fear to arraign himself against the Manchu dynasty in China

and always had the help of Russia, Tibet, the Buriats and Kirghiz,

furnishing him with money, weapons, warriors and diplomatic aid. The

Chinese Emperors avoided open war with the Living God, because it might

arouse the protests of the Chinese Buddhists. At one time they sent to

the Bogdo Khan a skilful doctor-poisoner. The Living Buddha, however, at

once understood the meaning of this medical attention and, knowing the

power of Asiatic poisons, decided to make a journey through the Mongol

monasteries and through Tibet. As his substitute he left a Hubilgan who

made friends with the Chinese doctor and inquired from him the purposes

and details of his arrival. Very soon the Chinese died from some unknown

cause and the Living Buddha returned to his comfortable capital.

On another occasion danger threatened the Living God. It was when Lhasa

decided that the Bogdo Khan was carrying out a policy too independent of

Tibet. The Dalai Lama began negotiations with several Khans and Princes

with the Sain Noion Khan and Jassaktu Khan leading the movement and

persuaded them to accelerate the immigration of the Spirit of Buddha

into another human form. They came to Urga where the Bogdo Khan met

them with honors and rejoicings. A great feast was made for them and the

conspirators already felt themselves the accomplishers of the orders

of the Dalai Lama. However, at the end of the feast, they had different

feelings and died with them during the night. The Living Buddha ordered

their bodies sent with full honors to their families.

The Bogdo Khan knows every thought, every movement of the Princes and

Khans, the slightest conspiracy against himself, and the offender is

usually kindly invited to Urga, from where he does not return alive.

The Chinese Government decided to terminate the line of the Living

Buddhas. Ceasing to fight with the Pontiff of Urga, the Government

contrived the following scheme for accomplishing its ends.

Peking invited the Pandita Gheghen from Dolo Nor and the head of the

Chinese Lamaites, the Hutuktu of Utai, both of whom do not recognize the

supremacy of the Living Buddha, to come to the capital. They decided,

after consulting the old Buddhistic books, that the present Bogdo Khan

was to be the last Living Buddha, because that part of the Spirit of

Buddha which dwells in the Bogdo Khans can abide only thirty-one times

in the human body. Bogdo Khan is the thirty-first Incarnated Buddha from

the time of Undur Gheghen and with him, therefore, the dynasty of

the Urga Pontiffs must cease. However, on hearing this the Bogdo Khan

himself did some research work and found in the old Tibetan manuscripts

that one of the Tibetan Pontiffs was married and his son was a natural

Incarnated Buddha. So the Bogdo Khan married and now has a son, a

very capable and energetic young man, and thus the religious throne of

Jenghiz Khan will not be left empty. The dynasty of the Chinese emperors

disappeared from the stage of political events but the Living Buddha

continues to be a center for the Pan-Asiatic idea.

The new Chinese Government in 1920 held the Living Buddha under arrest

in his palace but at the beginning of 1921 Baron Ungern crossed the

sacred Bogdo-Ol and approached the palace from the rear. Tibetan riders

shot the Chinese sentries with bow and arrow and afterwards the Mongols

penetrated into the palace and stole their “God,” who immediately

stirred up all Mongolia and awakened the hopes of the Asiatic peoples

and tribes.

In the great palace of the Bogdo a Lama showed me a special casket

covered with a precious carpet, wherein they keep the bulls of the Dalai

and Tashi Lamas, the decrees of the Russian and Chinese Emperors and the

Treaties between Mongolia, Russia, China and Tibet. In this same casket

is the copper plate bearing the mysterious sign of the “King of the

World” and the chronicle of the last vision of the Living Buddha.

CHAPTER XLV

THE VISION OF THE LIVING BUDDHA OF MAY 17, 1921

“I prayed and saw that which is hidden from the eyes of the people. A

vast plain was spread before me surrounded by distant mountains. An old

Lama carried a basket filled with heavy stones. He hardly moved. From

the north a rider appeared in white robes and mounted on a white horse.

He approached the Lama and said to him:

“‘Give me your basket. I shall help you to carry them to the Kure.’

“The Lama handed his heavy burden up to him but the rider could not

raise it to his saddle so that the old Lama had to place it back on his

shoulder and continue on his way, bent under its heavy weight. Then from

the north came another rider in black robes and on a black horse, who

also approached the Lama and said:

“‘Stupid! Why do you carry these stones when they are everywhere about

the ground?’

“With these words he pushed the Lama over with the breast of his horse

and scattered the stones about the ground. When the stones touched the

earth, they became diamonds. All three rushed to raise them but not

one of them could break them loose from the ground. Then the old Lama

exclaimed:

“‘Oh Gods! All my life I have carried this heavy burden and now, when

there was left so little to go, I have lost it. Help me, great, good

Gods!’

“Suddenly a tottering old man appeared. He collected all the diamonds

into the basket without trouble, cleaned the dust from them, raised the

burden to his shoulder and started out, speaking with the Lama:

“‘Rest a while, I have just carried my burden to the goal and I am glad

to help you with yours.’

“They went on and were soon out of sight, while the riders began to

fight. They fought one whole day and then the whole night and, when the

sun rose over the plain, neither was there, either alive or dead, and no

trace of either remained. This I saw, Bogdo Hutuktu Khan, speaking with

the Great and Wise Buddha, surrounded by the good and bad demons! Wise

Lamas, Hutuktus, Kampos, Marambas and Holy Gheghens, give the answer to

my vision!”

This was written in my presence on May 17th, 1921, from the words of the

Living Buddha just as he came out of his private shrine to his study.

I do not know what the Hutuktu and Gheghens, the fortune tellers,

sorcerers and clairvoyants replied to him; but does not the answer seem

clear, if one realizes the present situation in Asia?

Awakened Asia is full of enigmas but it is also full of answers to

the questions set by the destiny of humankind. This great continent of

mysterious Pontiffs, Living Gods, Mahatmas and readers of the terrible

book of Karma is awakening and the ocean of hundreds of millions of

human lives is lashed with monstrous waves.

Part V

MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES--THE KING OF THE WORLD

CHAPTER XLVI

THE SUBTERRANEAN KINGDOM

“Stop!” whispered my old Mongol guide, as we were one day crossing the

plain near Tzagan Luk. “Stop!”

He slipped from his camel which lay down without his bidding. The Mongol

raised his hands in prayer before his face and began to repeat the

sacred phrase: “Om! Mani padme Hung!” The other Mongols immediately

stopped their camels and began to pray.

“What has happened?” I thought, as I gazed round over the tender green

grass, up to the cloudless sky and out toward the dreamy soft rays of

the evening sun.

The Mongols prayed for some time, whispered among themselves and, after

tightening up the packs on the camels, moved on.

“Did you see,” asked the Mongol, “how our camels moved their ears in

fear? How the herd of horses on the plain stood fixed in attention and

how the herds of sheep and cattle lay crouched close to the ground? Did

you notice that the birds did not fly, the marmots did not run and the

dogs did not bark? The air trembled softly and bore from afar the music

of a song which penetrated to the hearts of men, animals and birds

alike. Earth and sky ceased breathing. The wind did not blow and the sun

did not move. At such a moment the wolf that is stealing up on the sheep

arrests his stealthy crawl; the frightened herd of antelopes suddenly

checks its wild course; the knife of the shepherd cutting the sheep’s

throat falls from his hand; the rapacious ermine ceases to stalk the

unsuspecting salga. All living beings in fear are involuntarily thrown

into prayer and waiting for their fate. So it was just now. Thus it has

always been whenever the King of the World in his subterranean palace

prays and searches out the destiny of all peoples on the earth.”

In this wise the old Mongol, a simple, coarse shepherd and hunter, spoke

to me.

Mongolia with her nude and terrible mountains, her limitless plains,

covered with the widely strewn bones of the forefathers, gave birth

to Mystery. Her people, frightened by the stormy passions of Nature or

lulled by her deathlike peace, feel her mystery. Her “Red” and “Yellow

Lamas” preserve and poetize her mystery. The Pontiffs of Lhasa and Urga

know and possess her mystery.

On my journey into Central Asia I came to know for the first time about

“the Mystery of Mysteries,” which I can call by no other name. At the

outset I did not pay much attention to it and did not attach to it such

importance as I afterwards realized belonged to it, when I had analyzed

and connoted many sporadic, hazy and often controversial bits of

evidence.

The old people on the shore of the River Amyl related to me an ancient

legend to the effect that a certain Mongolian tribe in their escape from

the demands of Jenghiz Khan hid themselves in a subterranean country.

Afterwards a Soyot from near the Lake of Nogan Kul showed me the smoking

gate that serves as the entrance to the “Kingdom of Agharti.” Through

this gate a hunter formerly entered into the Kingdom and, after his

return, began to relate what he had seen there. The Lamas cut out

his tongue in order to prevent him from telling about the Mystery of

Mysteries. When he arrived at old age, he came back to the entrance of

this cave and disappeared into the subterranean kingdom, the memory of

which had ornamented and lightened his nomad heart.

I received more realistic information about this from Hutuktu Jelyb

Djamsrap in Narabanchi Kure. He told me the story of the semi-realistic

arrival of the powerful King of the World from the subterranean kingdom,

of his appearance, of his miracles and of his prophecies; and only then

did I begin to understand that in that legend, hypnosis or mass vision,

whichever it may be, is hidden not only mystery but a realistic and

powerful force capable of influencing the course of the political life

of Asia. From that moment I began making some investigations.

The favorite Gelong Lama of Prince Chultun Beyli and the Prince himself

gave me an account of the subterranean kingdom.

“Everything in the world,” said the Gelong, “is constantly in a state of

change and transition--peoples science, religions, laws and customs. How

many great empires and brilliant cultures have perished! And that alone

which remains unchanged is Evil, the tool of Bad Spirits. More than

sixty thousand years ago a Holyman disappeared with a whole tribe of

people under the ground and never appeared again on the surface of the

earth. Many people, however, have since visited this kingdom, Sakkia

Mouni, Undur Gheghen, Paspa, Khan Baber and others. No one knows where

this place is. One says Afghanistan, others India. All the people there

are protected against Evil and crimes do not exist within its bournes.

Science has there developed calmly and nothing is threatened with

destruction. The subterranean people have reached the highest knowledge.

Now it is a large kingdom, millions of men with the King of the World

as their ruler. He knows all the forces of the world and reads all the

souls of humankind and the great book of their destiny. Invisibly he

rules eight hundred million men on the surface of the earth and they

will accomplish his every order.”

Prince Chultun Beyli added: “This kingdom is Agharti. It extends

throughout all the subterranean passages of the whole world. I heard a

learned Lama of China relating to Bogdo Khan that all the subterranean

caves of America are inhabited by the ancient people who have

disappeared underground. Traces of them are still found on the surface

of the land. These subterranean peoples and spaces are governed by

rulers owing allegiance to the King of the World. In it there is not

much of the wonderful. You know that in the two greatest oceans of the

east and the west there were formerly two continents. They disappeared

under the water but their people went into the subterranean kingdom. In

underground caves there exists a peculiar light which affords growth to

the grains and vegetables and long life without disease to the people.

There are many different peoples and many different tribes. An old

Buddhist Brahman in Nepal was carrying out the will of the Gods in

making a visit to the ancient kingdom of Jenghiz,--Siam,--where he met a

fisherman who ordered him to take a place in his boat and sail with him

upon the sea. On the third day they reached an island where he met a

people having two tongues which could speak separately in different

languages. They showed to him peculiar, unfamiliar animals, tortoises

with sixteen feet and one eye, huge snakes with a very tasty flesh and

birds with teeth which caught fish for their masters in the sea. These

people told him that they had come up out of the subterranean kingdom

and described to him certain parts of the underground country.”

The Lama Turgut traveling with me from Urga to Peking gave me further

details.

“The capital of Agharti is surrounded with towns of high priests and

scientists. It reminds one of Lhasa where the palace of the Dalai

Lama, the Potala, is the top of a mountain covered with monasteries and

temples. The throne of the King of the World is surrounded by millions

of incarnated Gods. They are the Holy Panditas. The palace itself is

encircled by the palaces of the Goro, who possess all the visible and

invisible forces of the earth, of inferno and of the sky and who can do

everything for the life and death of man. If our mad humankind should

begin a war against them, they would be able to explode the whole

surface of our planet and transform it into deserts. They can dry up

the seas, transform lands into oceans and scatter the mountains into the

sands of the deserts. By his order trees, grasses and bushes can be made

to grow; old and feeble men can become young and stalwart; and the dead

can be resurrected. In cars strange and unknown to us they rush through

the narrow cleavages inside our planet. Some Indian Brahmans and Tibetan

Dalai Lamas during their laborious struggles to the peaks of mountains

which no other human feet had trod have found there inscriptions carved

on the rocks, footprints in the snow and the tracks of wheels. The

blissful Sakkia Mouni found on one mountain top tablets of stone

carrying words which he only understood in his old age and afterwards

penetrated into the Kingdom of Agharti, from which he brought back

crumbs of the sacred learning preserved in his memory. There in palaces

of wonderful crystal live the invisible rulers of all pious people, the

King of the World or Brahytma, who can speak with God as I speak with

you, and his two assistants, Mahytma, knowing the purposes of future

events, and Mahynga, ruling the causes of these events.”

“The Holy Panditas study the world and all its forces. Sometimes the

most learned among them collect together and send envoys to that place

where the human eyes have never penetrated. This is described by

the Tashi Lama living eight hundred and fifty years ago. The highest

Panditas place their hands on their eyes and at the base of the brain of

younger ones and force them into a deep sleep, wash their bodies with an

infusion of grass and make them immune to pain and harder than stones,

wrap them in magic cloths, bind them and then pray to the Great God. The

petrified youths lie with eyes and ears open and alert, seeing, hearing

and remembering everything. Afterwards a Goro approaches and fastens a

long, steady gaze upon them. Very slowly the bodies lift themselves from

the earth and disappear. The Goro sits and stares with fixed eyes to the

place whither he has sent them. Invisible threads join them to his will.

Some of them course among the stars, observe their events, their unknown

peoples, their life and their laws. They listen to their talk, read

their books, understand their fortunes and woes, their holiness and

sins, their piety and evil. Some are mingled with flame and see the

creature of fire, quick and ferocious, eternally fighting, melting and

hammering metals in the depths of planets, boiling the water for geysers

and springs, melting the rocks and pushing out molten streams over the

surface of the earth through the holes in the mountains. Others rush

together with the ever elusive, infinitesimally small, transparent

creatures of the air and penetrate into the mysteries of their existence

and into the purposes of their life. Others slip into the depths of the

seas and observe the kingdom of the wise creatures of the water, who

transport and spread genial warmth all over the earth, ruling the winds,

waves and storms. . . . In Erdeni Dzu formerly lived Pandita Hutuktu,

who had come from Agharti. As he was dying, he told about the time when

he lived according to the will of the Goro on a red star in the east,

floated in the ice-covered ocean and flew among the stormy fires in the

depths of the earth.”

These are the tales which I heard in the Mongolian yurtas of Princes and

in the Lamaite monasteries. These stories were all related in a solemn

tone which forbade challenge and doubt.

Mystery. . . .

CHAPTER XLVII

THE KING OF THE WORLD BEFORE THE FACE OF GOD

During my stay in Urga I tried to find an explanation of this legend

about the King of the World. Of course, the Living Buddha could tell

me most of all and so I endeavored to get the story from him. In a

conversation with him I mentioned the name of the King of the World.

The old Pontiff sharply turned his head toward me and fixed upon me his

immobile, blind eyes. Unwillingly I became silent. Our silence was a

long one and after it the Pontiff continued the conversation in such

a way that I understood he did not wish to accept the suggestion of my

reference. On the faces of the others present I noticed expressions of

astonishment and fear produced by my words, and especially was this

true of the custodian of the library of the Bogdo Khan. One can readily

understand that all this only made me the more anxious to press the

pursuit.

As I was leaving the study of the Bogdo Hutuktu, I met the librarian

who had stepped out ahead of me and asked him if he would show me the

library of the Living Buddha and used a very simple, sly trick with him.

“Do you know, my dear Lama,” I said, “once I rode in the plain at the

hour when the King of the World spoke with God and I felt the impressive

majesty of this moment.”

To my astonishment the old Lama very quietly answered me: “It is not

right that the Buddhist and our Yellow Faith should conceal it. The

acknowledgment of the existence of the most holy and most powerful man,

of the blissful kingdom, of the great temple of sacred science is such

a consolation to our sinful hearts and our corrupt lives that to

conceal it from humankind is a sin. . . . Well, listen,” he continued,

“throughout the whole year the King of the World guides the work of the

Panditas and Goros of Agharti. Only at times he goes to the temple cave

where the embalmed body of his predecessor lies in a black stone coffin.

This cave is always dark, but when the King of the World enters it

the walls are striped with fire and from the lid of the coffin appear

tongues of flame. The eldest Goro stands before him with covered head

and face and with hands folded across his chest. This Goro never removes

the covering from his face, for his head is a nude skull with living

eyes and a tongue that speaks. He is in communion with the souls of all

who have gone before.

“The King of the World prays for a long time and afterwards approaches

the coffin and stretches out his hand. The flames thereon burn brighter;

the stripes of fire on the walls disappear and revive, interlace and

form mysterious signs from the alphabet vatannan. From the coffin

transparent bands of scarcely noticeable light begin to flow forth.

These are the thoughts of his predecessor. Soon the King of the World

stands surrounded by an auriole of this light and fiery letters write

and write upon the walls the wishes and orders of God. At this moment

the King of the World is in contact with the thoughts of all the men who

influence the lot and life of all humankind: with Kings, Czars, Khans,

warlike leaders, High Priests, scientists and other strong men. He

realizes all their thoughts and plans. If these be pleasing before God,

the King of the World will invisibly help them; if they are unpleasant

in the sight of God, the King will bring them to destruction. This power

is given to Agharti by the mysterious science of ‘Om,’ with which we

begin all our prayers. ‘Om’ is the name of an ancient Holyman, the first

Goro, who lived three hundred thirty thousand years ago. He was the

first man to know God and who taught humankind to believe, hope and

struggle with Evil. Then God gave him power over all forces ruling the

visible world.

“After his conversation with his predecessor the King of the World

assembles the ‘Great Council of God,’ judges the actions and thoughts

of great men, helps them or destroys them. Mahytma and Mahynga find the

place for these actions and thoughts in the causes ruling the world.

Afterwards the King of the World enters the great temple and prays in

solitude. Fire appears on the altar, gradually spreading to all the

altars near, and through the burning flame gradually appears the face of

God. The King of the World reverently announces to God the decisions and

awards of the ‘Council of God’ and receives in turn the Divine orders of

the Almighty. As he comes forth from the temple, the King of the World

radiates with Divine Light.”

CHAPTER XLVIII

REALITY OR RELIGIOUS FANTASY?

“Has anybody seen the King of the World?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” answered the Lama. “During the solemn holidays of the ancient

Buddhism in Siam and India the King of the World appeared five times.

He rode in a splendid car drawn by white elephants and ornamented with

gold, precious stones and finest fabrics; he was robed in a white mantle

and red tiara with strings of diamonds masking his face. He blessed the

people with a golden apple with the figure of a Lamb above it. The

blind received their sight, the dumb spoke, the deaf heard, the crippled

freely moved and the dead arose, wherever the eyes of the King of the

World rested. He also appeared five hundred and forty years ago in

Erdeni Dzu, he was in the ancient Sakkai Monastery and in the Narabanchi

Kure.

“One of our Living Buddhas and one of the Tashi Lamas received a message

from him, written with unknown signs on golden tablets. No one could

read these signs. The Tashi Lama entered the temple, placed the golden

tablet on his head and began to pray. With this the thoughts of the

King of the World penetrated his brain and, without having read the

enigmatical signs, he understood and accomplished the message of the

King.”

“How many persons have ever been to Agharti?” I questioned him.

“Very many,” answered the Lama, “but all these people have kept secret

that which they saw there. When the Olets destroyed Lhasa, one of their

detachments in the southwestern mountains penetrated to the outskirts

of Agharti. Here they learned some of the lesser mysterious sciences

and brought them to the surface of our earth. This is why the Olets

and Kalmucks are artful sorcerers and prophets. Also from the eastern

country some tribes of black people penetrated to Agharti and lived

there many centuries. Afterwards they were thrust out from the kingdom

and returned to the earth, bringing with them the mystery of predictions

according to cards, grasses and the lines of the palm. They are the

Gypsies. . . . Somewhere in the north of Asia a tribe exists which is

now dying and which came from the cave of Agharti, skilled in calling

back the spirits of the dead as they float through the air.”

The Lama was silent and afterwards, as though answering my thoughts,

continued.

“In Agharti the learned Panditas write on tablets of stone all the

science of our planet and of the other worlds. The Chinese learned

Buddhists know this. Their science is the highest and purest. Every

century one hundred sages of China collect in a secret place on

the shores of the sea, where from its depths come out one hundred

eternally-living tortoises. On their shells the Chinese write all the

developments of the divine science of the century.”

As I write I am involuntarily reminded of a tale of an old Chinese bonze

in the Temple of Heaven at Peking. He told me that tortoises live more

than three thousand years without food and air and that this is the

reason why all the columns of the blue Temple of Heaven were set on live

tortoises to preserve the wood from decay.

“Several times the Pontiffs of Lhasa and Urga have sent envoys to the

King of the World,” said the Lama librarian, “but they could not find

him. Only a certain Tibetan leader after a battle with the Olets found

the cave with the inscription: ‘This is the gate to Agharti.’ From the

cave a fine appearing man came forth, presented him with a gold tablet

bearing the mysterious signs and said:

“‘The King of the World will appear before all people when the time

shall have arrived for him to lead all the good people of the world

against all the bad; but this time has not yet come. The most evil among

mankind have not yet been born.

“Chiang Chun Baron Ungern sent the young Prince Pounzig to seek out the

King of the World but he returned with a letter from the Dalai Lama from

Lhasa. When the Baron sent him a second time, he did not come back.”

CHAPTER XLIX

THE PROPHECY OF THE KING OF THE WORLD IN 1890

The Hutuktu of Narabanchi related the following to me, when I visited

him in his monastery in the beginning of 1921:

“When the King of the World appeared before the Lamas, favored of God,

in this monastery thirty years ago he made a prophecy for the coming

half century. It was as follows:

“‘More and more the people will forget their souls and care about their

bodies. The greatest sin and corruption will reign on the earth. People

will become as ferocious animals, thirsting for the blood and death

of their brothers. The ‘Crescent’ will grow dim and its followers will

descend into beggary and ceaseless war. Its conquerors will be stricken

by the sun but will not progress upward and twice they will be visited

with the heaviest misfortune, which will end in insult before the eye of

the other peoples. The crowns of kings, great and small, will fall . . .

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. . . . There will be

a terrible battle among all the peoples. The seas will become red . . .

the earth and the bottom of the seas will be strewn with bones . . .

kingdoms will be scattered . . . whole peoples will die . . . hunger,

disease, crimes unknown to the law, never before seen in the world. The

enemies of God and of the Divine Spirit in man will come. Those who take

the hand of another shall also perish. The forgotten and pursued shall

rise and hold the attention of the whole world. There will be fogs

and storms. Bare mountains shall suddenly be covered with forests.

Earthquakes will come. . . . Millions will change the fetters of slavery

and humiliation for hunger, disease and death. The ancient roads will

be covered with crowds wandering from one place to another. The greatest

and most beautiful cities shall perish in fire . . . one, two, three.

. . . Father shall rise against son, brother against brother and mother

against daughter. . . . Vice, crime and the destruction of body and soul

shall follow. . . . Families shall be scattered. . . . Truth and love

shall disappear. . . . From ten thousand men one shall remain; he shall

be nude and mad and without force and the knowledge to build him a house

and find his food. . . . He will howl as the raging wolf, devour dead

bodies, bite his own flesh and challenge God to fight. . . . All the

earth will be emptied. God will turn away from it and over it there will

be only night and death. Then I shall send a people, now unknown, which

shall tear out the weeds of madness and vice with a strong hand and will

lead those who still remain faithful to the spirit of man in the fight

against Evil. They will found a new life on the earth purified by the

death of nations. In the fiftieth year only three great kingdoms will

appear, which will exist happily seventy-one years. Afterwards there

will be eighteen years of war and destruction. Then the peoples of

Agharti will come up from their subterranean caverns to the surface of

the earth.’”

* * * * *

Afterwards, as I traveled farther through Eastern Mongolia and to

Peking, I often thought:

“And what if . . . ? What if whole peoples of different colors, faiths

and tribes should begin their migration toward the West?”

And now, as I write these final lines, my eyes involuntarily turn to

this limitless Heart of Asia over which the trails of my wanderings

twine. Through whirling snow and driving clouds of sand of the Gobi they

travel back to the face of the Narabanchi Hutuktu as, with quiet voice

and a slender hand pointing to the horizon, he opened to me the doors of

his innermost thoughts:

“Near Karakorum and on the shores of Ubsa Nor I see the huge,

multi-colored camps, the herds of horses and cattle and the blue yurtas

of the leaders. Above them I see the old banners of Jenghiz Khan, of

the Kings of Tibet, Siam, Afghanistan and of Indian Princes; the sacred

signs of all the Lamaite Pontiffs; the coats of arms of the Khans of the

Olets; and the simple signs of the north Mongolian tribes. I do not hear

the noise of the animated crowd. The singers do not sing the mournful

songs of mountain, plain and desert. The young riders are not delighting

themselves with the races on their fleet steeds. . . . There are

innumerable crowds of old men, women and children and beyond in the

north and west, as far as the eye can reach, the sky is red as a flame,

there is the roar and crackling of fire and the ferocious sound of

battle. Who is leading these warriors who there beneath the reddened sky

are shedding their own and others’ blood? Who is leading these crowds

of unarmed old men and women? I see severe order, deep religious

understanding of purposes, patience and tenacity . . . a new great

migration of peoples, the last march of the Mongols. . . .”

Karma may have opened a new page of history!

And what if the King of the World be with them?

But this greatest Mystery of Mysteries keeps its own deep silence.

GLOSSARY

Agronome.--Russian for trained agriculturalist.

Amour sayn.--Good-bye.

Ataman.--Headman or chief of the Cossacks.

Bandi.--Pupil or student of theological school in the Buddhist faith.

Buriat.--The most civilized Mongol tribe, living in the valley of the

Selenga in Transbaikalia.

Chahars.--A warlike Mongolian tribe living along the Great Wall of China

in Inner Mongolia.

Chaidje.--A high Lamaite priest, but not an incarnate god.

Cheka.--The Bolshevik Counter-Revolutionary Committee, the most

relentless establishment of the Bolsheviki, organized for the

persecution of the enemies of the Communistic government in Russia.

Chiang Chun.--Chinese for “General”--Chief of all Chinese troops in

Mongolia.

Dalai Lama.--The first and highest Pontiff of the Lamaite or “Yellow

Faith,” living at Lhasa in Tibet.

Djungar.--A West Mongolian tribe.

Dugun.--Chinese commercial and military post.

Dzuk.--Lie down!

Fang-tzu.--Chinese for “house.”

Fatil.--A very rare and precious root much prized in Chinese and Tibetan

medicines.

Felcher.--Assistant of a doctor (surgeon).

Gelong.--Lamaite priest having the right to offer sacrifices to God.

Getul.--The third rank in the Lamaite monks.

Goro.--The high priest of the King of the World.

Hatyk.--An oblong piece of blue (or yellow) silk cloth, presented to

honored guests, chiefs, Lamas and gods. Also a kind of coin, worth from

25 to 50 cents.

Hong.--A Chinese mercantile establishment.

Hun.--The lowest rank of princes.

Hunghutze.--Chinese brigand.

Hushun.--A fenced enclosure, containing the houses, paddocks, stores,

stables, etc., of Russian Cossacks in Mongolia.

Hutuktu.--The highest rank of Lamaite monks; the form of any incarnated

god; holy.

Imouran.--A small rodent like a gopher.

Izubr.--The American elk.

Kabarga.--The musk antelope.

Kalmuck.--A Mongolian tribe, which migrated from Mongolia under Jenghiz

Khan (where they were known as the Olets or Eleuths), and now live in

the Urals and on the shores of the Volga in Russia.

Kanpo.--The abbot of a Lamaite monastery, a monk; also the first rank of

“white” clergy (not monks).

Kanpo-Gelong.--The highest rank of Gelongs (q.v.); an honorary title.

Karma.--The Buddhist materialization of the idea of Fate, a parallel

with the Greek and Roman Nemesis (Justice).

Khan.--A king.

Khayrus.--A kind of trout.

Khirghiz.--The great Mongol nation living between the river Irtish in

western Siberia, Lake Balhash and the Volga in Russia.

Kuropatka.--A partridge.

Lama.--The common name for a Lamaite priest.

Lan.--A weight of silver or gold equivalent to about one-eleventh of a

Russian pound, or 9/110ths of a pound avoirdupois.

Lanhon.--A round bottle of clay.

Maramba.--A doctor of theology.

Merin.--The civil chief of police in every district of the Soyot country

in Urianhai.

“Om! Mani padme Hung!”.--“Om” has two meanings. It is the name of the

first Goro and also means: “Hail!” In this connection: “Hail! Great Lama

in the Lotus Flower!”

Mende.--Soyot greeting--“Good Day.”

Nagan-hushun.--A Chinese vegetable garden or enclosure in Mongolia.

Naida.--A form of fire used by Siberian woodsmen.

Noyon.--A Prince or Khan. In polite address: “Chief,” “Excellency.”

Obo.--The sacred and propitiatory signs in all the dangerous places in

Urianhai and Mongolia.

Olets.--Vid: Kalmuck.

Om.--The name of the first Goro (q.v.) and also of the mysterious, magic

science of the Subterranean State. It means, also: “Hail!”

Orochons.--A Mongolian tribe, living near the shores of the Amur River

in Siberia.

Oulatchen.--The guard for the post horses; official guide.

Ourton.--A post station, where the travelers change horses and

oulatchens.

Pandita.--The high rank of Buddhist monks.

Panti.--Deer horns in the velvet, highly prized as a Tibetan and Chinese

medicine.

Pogrom.--A wholesale slaughter of unarmed people; a massacre.

Paspa.--The founder of the Yellow Sect, predominating now in the Lamaite

faith.

Sait.--A Mongolian governor.

Salga.--A sand partridge.

Sayn.--“Good day!” “Good morning!” “Good evening!” All right; good.

Taiga.--A Siberian word for forest.

Taimen.--A species of big trout, reaching 120 pounds.

Ta Lama.--Literally: “the great priest,” but it means now “a doctor of

medicine.”

Tashur.--A strong bamboo stick.

Turpan.--The red wild goose or Lama-goose.

Tzagan.--White.

Tzara.--A document, giving the right to receive horses and oulatchens at

the post stations.

Tsirik.--Mongolian soldiers mobilized by levy.

Tzuren.--A doctor-poisoner.

Ulan.--Red.

Urga.--The name of the capital of Mongolia; (2) a kind of Mongolian

lasso.

Vatannen.--The language of the Subterranean State of the King of the

World.

Wapiti.--The American elk.

Yurta.--The common Mongolian tent or house, made of felt.

Zahachine.--A West Mongolian wandering tribe.

Zaberega.--The ice-mountains formed along the shores of a river in

spring.

Zikkurat.--A high tower of Babylonish style.

End of Project Gutenberg’s Beasts, Men and Gods, by Ferdinand Ossendowski