A VISIT TO CHEN-LAO-PAN—COLONEL YANG—THE DAUGHTER OF PRINCE KOKO
NOR—A VISIT TO THE MONASTERY OF KUMBUM.
The following morning we visited the Lhassa officials, but unfortunately
found only one of them at home, Lusam Kindum, who was very friendly, and
at once plied us with tea. He said that he himself was shortly going to
Pekin with the big triennial tribute to the Emperor, consisting of pulo
cloth, saffron, and incense. He showed us a rifle of German make which
he had bought from one of the soldiers during the rebellion for eighteen
taels, or £3 12s.
We made Lusam Kindum a small present of a knife, and he in return
presented Malcolm with a beautifully embroidered golden cap such as he
himself wore, and to me gave a "scarf of blessing," or k'artag, under
which it was given, and I in return held this up to my forehead with a
gentle nod. He, too, came down from the "k'ang" and accompanied us as
far as the gates, which were opened in our honour.
We again visited Chen-Lao-Pan, where the "ting" and the Colonel turned
up, so that the conversation and laughter waxed strong and loud, while
the tea, the cakes, and pipes were liberally distributed. All knew that
Chen-Lao-Pan possessed the best of everything, and was liberal with it
withal. To add to the gathering, the Colonel's two little daughters,
both well dressed, were trotted in to pay their respects. They must have
been very young, for they were very little, and could scarcely walk, yet
they made their curtseys all round in the most polite fashion, showing
at what an early age the better educated Chinese are taught to a nicety
the correct manners of society. As soon as the mayor and the Colonel,
whose name was Yang, and his two little daughters had departed, we set
about business, and the object of our second visit. This was the loan
of some money to help us across China. Nothing could have delighted
more the heart of this good-natured Chinaman than his freely lending
us sixty taels, as well as giving us letters of credit to other agents
throughout the country. Nor could we thank him sufficiently for the kind
help he had given us. The lack of money at this time was our greatest
difficulty. How could we cross China when we were penniless?
[Illustration: BUDDHIST PRAYER-WHEEL, WITH SCARF OF BLESSING.]
During the afternoon the Rijnharts were visited by the daughter of
the Prince of Koko Nor. She was so splendidly dressed that I could not
resist taking a snap-shot of her whilst being engaged in conversation
with Dr. Rijnhart. We were sorry at having to leave Tankar on the
morrow, especially as Rijnhart himself was coming with us and we were
leaving his good wife to live alone; but we were thankful to know that
in this busy little town the greatest officials were her staunchest
friends.
[Illustration: DR. RIJNHART.
DAUGHTER OF THE PRINCE OF KOKO NOR.]
TANKAR—SINING.
A Visit to the Monastery of Kumbum.
About 1 P.M. on October 17th, after having said "Good-bye" to Dr.
Rijnhart, our hospitable hostess of the last few days, and having
sent off our baggage by the direct road to Sining, we started for the
famous monastery of Kumbum, which lies about seventy li south-east of
Tankar. Our party consisted of Mr. Peter Rijnhart, our two selves, and
Lassoo, the cook. We rode our Mongol ponies, on which we fastened our
saddlebags, with all that we were likely to require.
Very lucky we were to be able to pay this visit under the guidance
of Mr. Rijnhart, for not only has he a more intimate knowledge of the
monastery than any other living man, but having made his home for two
years in Lusar, ten months of which were spent in the monastery itself,
he has made friends with a very large number of its inmates, more
especially with Mina Fu-yeh, one of the greatest incarnate saints in
the place,[4] in whose house we were to spend the night. Just outside
the east gate of Tankar we passed a party of Tibetans, in the midst of
whom was a big living Buddha, who had recently been appointed abbot of
the monastery of Ta Koe Ri by the Talé Lama. On his way from Lhassa he
had been attacked by a party of Mohammedans. All his attendants had been
killed, and he alone had escaped to the mountains, where he wandered
about for twenty-three days without food, till at last he found his
way to Tankar. He was now on his way to take up his appointment, having
recovered from the effects of his privations.
[Illustration: BRIDGE IN CHINA, FIVE MILES FROM TANKAR. MISSIONARY
AND MULE ON BRIDGE.]
For the first fifteen li our road lay along the left bank of the Hsi
Ho, till we crossed it by a bridge close to the village of Hsang Ho
Ri (Sounding River). On the way we overtook strings of camels laden
with the yearly tribute of pulo and incense from the Talé Lama to
the Emperor. We noticed several caves in the cliffs inhabited by
men—fortunate beings, for they had no rent to pay. At Hsang Ho Ri is
a small inn where flour and tea can be bought, and close by were some
opium fields. This bridge was one of the many in Kansu which are built
on the cantilever principle. They are plentiful throughout the Western
Himalayas, but this was the first we had seen in China. We now had a
stiffish climb to the top of a pass called the Wu La, whence we got a
magnificent view over range after range of mountains, stretching away
to the south. The descent was comparatively easy, and we were able to
note the results of the recent Mohammedan rebellion. Every village that
was not in ruins had loop-holed walls and fighting towers which had
been specially erected. Our companion, Rijnhart, had spent some time in
General Wei's[5] camp, he and his wife doctoring the wounded, thereby
saving many a life, and earning the gratitude of their patients. He
was, therefore, well qualified to point out various spots along our
road where skirmishes or serious fighting had taken place. Many of
the villages had been deserted, but the people were now returning, and
beginning to again get their fields under cultivation. It will, however,
be many a long day before grain and market produce regain their normal
price. Rich and fertile though this little bit of Kansu is, it will be
fully two years before it can recover from the trying times it passed
through in 1895.
[Illustration: BRIDGE OF SHANG-HO-RI (SOUNDING RIVER) ON THE ROAD
TO TANKAR.]
Once, just about sunset, we missed our way, and once one of the horses,
while being led, slipped down a steep bank into a ravine, luckily
without injuring himself or any one else. Otherwise our ride was
devoid of incident, but the moon was high in the heavens by the time we
arrived at our destination. We were quite unexpected, so it was some
time before we could get any one to pay attention to our knocking at
the stout wooden doors of the monastery; but at length it was opened
by one of the great man's servants, who, as soon as he recognised Mr.
Rijnhart, was all civility. The door we went in at was not the front
door, as only the owner of the house was supposed to use that, and it
would have been a great breach of etiquette on our part to have gone
in by it. Our door led us into the stable yard, and while word was
being taken to Mina Fu-yeh that Mr. Rijnhart, or Lin Hsien-shêng, as he
was generally called, had arrived with two foreign friends, we busied
ourselves looking after the horses, loosening girths, getting straw,
etc. In a few moments we went upstairs, and, after passing through an
open court ornamented in the middle with a flower bed, were ushered into
the presence of one of the holiest men on the eastern border of Tibet.
[Illustration: AUDIENCE ROOM OF THE KAMBO (ABBOT) OF KUMBUM.
The pictures around the room are representations of many idols
embroidered or painted on silk scrolls. In the gilded cupboard
to the right, behind each pane of glass, is a beautiful image
of some Buddha. In front of the writing Buddha stands a copper
prayer cylinder. Beside the Kambo, who sits behind the table,
lies a stick on the end of which is an embroidered cylinder,
suspended, which hangs over the left end of the table: this
is used by him to touch the heads of worshippers who bow
before him.—This description, and the photograph from which
the picture is taken, have been kindly supplied by Mr. Peter
Rijnhart, the missionary at Tankar.]
[Illustration: MINA FU-YEH (BUDDHA).]
Mina Fu-yeh[6] is a man twenty-seven years of age, or twenty-eight by
Chinese calculation, and has been in the monastery since he was seven.
Considerably below medium height, and of slight build, he has a very
pleasant face, especially when lit up by a happy smile, as it often
is. It struck us both that the sedentary indoor life he is more or less
bound to live was telling on his constitution, and that if he had spent
more of his time in the open air, instead of in reading, writing, and
meditation, his health would benefit greatly. However that may be, it
did not interfere with his hospitality, for the moment we were seated
he told us that food was being prepared, and that it would shortly be
ready. He was living in a small room about twelve feet square, with
massive stone walls, squatting on the "k'ang" or raised platform which
occupied the greater portion of the room. On this "k'ang" was a low
square table only a few inches high, holding a beautiful tea-cup made of
stone, with a silver cover. On his right was a darkly-stained cupboard,
wherein he kept his books, writing materials, and other nick-nacks.
Hanging on the wall opposite him, and in no way harmonising with the
other surroundings, was a coloured picture of the day illustrating some
English boys and girls out of school. This had been given him by Mr.
Rijnhart, who meanwhile told him all about us—who we were, where we had
come from, and gave him a general outline of our journey, in all of
which he took considerable interest, and, through Rijnhart, he asked
us several questions, including the inevitable one, "Aren't you cold
in those thin clothes?" No Chinaman or Tibetan seems able to grasp the
European fashion of wearing tight clothing; to them our outer clothes
appear to fit so closely that there can be no room for any underneath.
Mina Fu-yeh speaks Chinese, Mongolian, and Tibetan with equal ease and
fluency, so that any questions we wished to ask we put to Rijnhart, who
translated them into Chinese, the answer being received the reverse
way. In this manner we were able to get a reliable statement about
the priests who live on the "Dragon Colt's Island," the island in the
Koko Nor, mention of which has been made by so many travellers. While
marching along the north shore of the lake, we had just been able to
make out the island away towards the south side, but no two men gave the
same account of its inhabitants. Mina Fu-yeh said that there are twelve
or thirteen priests living there, that they keep sheep and goats, and
that, being free from depredations of wolves, their flocks thrive well.
In winter, when the lake is frozen over, they cross to the mainland
and lay in stores for the following summer. He himself, he added, was
thinking of building a house there and getting a boat of some sort, so
that he would be able to go backwards and forwards at any time of year.
I don't suppose this idea of his will ever come to anything.
One was naturally diffident about asking a perfect stranger a great
deal about his religious tenets, for although our host was a very
liberal-minded man and far more ready to converse than most Tibetans,
there was always the feeling that one might touch on some delicate
subject and quite unintentionally annoy him. We therefore contented
ourselves with asking Rijnhart privately what he had told him on other
occasions. His explanation of how he came to be recognised as the
reincarnation of the previous Mina Fu-yeh shows how convincing the
proofs of identity are to one who has been brought up to accept and
believe in the theory. He relates how, when very small, various articles
were laid out from which he was to select those which had been his own
in his previous life-time. Among these was a number of rosaries from
which he had no difficulty in choosing his own, "For," he says, "I had
used it daily for years; how is it possible that I should not know it
from among all these others? Of course I knew it." So on with other
articles; his identity was established without a doubt, and he became
the heir to the accumulated property of fifteen former lifetimes.[7] He
talks freely of his last lifetime, pointing out the site of the house
in which he lived, and which was burnt down about two years before his
death; it was, he says, a far finer house than the one he now occupies.
In the course of conversation, he told us that he had spent some time
in studies at Pekin, and that he had also been on a journey to the
Eastern Mongols, where he read the sacred books to all who wished it.
He selected them as they were more pious and more wealthy than the
Tibetans or Western Mongols. While in Pekin he had had some dealings
with foreigners, buying things in the stores, and was full of admiration
for their honesty. He was much amused when we told him we were sorry we
could not say the same for the Chinese. Most of his own people, those
for whose spiritual welfare he is chiefly responsible, come from round
Kuei-Tê, where he himself was born; he has also a certain number of
Tibetans and Mongols from the Koko Nor and Tsaidam. He was till recently
Ta K'anpo or abbot of the monastery, a position of great dignity, being
in fact the principal official.
All officials are elected for a period of three years, and the abbot
during that time has a very peculiar privilege. He is allowed to send
out eight parties of priests in different directions for three months
carrying with them Ts.2,000 worth of merchandise. This they trade for
sheep, cattle, horses, etc., which are sold at considerable profit on
their return. All this profit goes into the pocket of the abbot, who
runs no risk beyond the Ts.2,000 originally invested. All other expenses
are defrayed out of the monastery funds.
Mina Fu-yeh had been most unfortunate in his business matters while
abbot, for in 1894 he had sold a great proportion of his horses, etc.,
to Mohammedans. They, in accordance with the universal Chinese custom,
deferred payment till New Year's Day, by which time the rebellion had
broken out, some of his debtors had been killed, and others had left the
country, so that he only collected a tithe of what was due to him; in
1895 no party was sent out, owing to the disturbed state of the country,
and in 1896 he had only sent out Ts.1,000 worth of stuff. With this he
had done extremely well, but only made sufficient profit to cover his
losses of 1894.[8]
While we had been conversing thus, our food, tea and large quantities
of boiled mutton, was being prepared and was now brought in, a large
dishful for the three of us, and a separate smaller dish for our host,
as is only fitting for one who lives in such an odour of sanctity as he
does.
We were very hungry after our ride, and in a few moments we were busy
eating Tibetan fashion, _i.e._, pocket-knives and fingers, each one
selecting from the joint whatever morsel took his fancy; to do the thing
properly each bone should be scraped scrupulously clean, but, though
we did our best, our host could give us points at this. The ease and
rapidity with which he cleaned up the most awkward-looking bones came
as a revelation. As a matter of fact he had already had his evening
meal, but etiquette compelled him to eat again to encourage us. We were
waited upon by the treasurer of the establishment and by a jolly little
boy, about twelve years old, a disciple of Mina Fu-yeh's, under whose
tuition he was studying the sacred writings. In the intervals of filling
up our bowls with tea and pressing food upon us, he amused himself and
the company by teasing his teacher's dog, a very fat little Pekin pug,
as it lay beside its master.
When we had eaten our fill we rose to say "Good-night," and apologised
for having thrust ourselves in without due notice, having come, too,
just when our host must have been about to go to bed. To this he replied
that he was delighted that we had come, that he hoped that we would go
all over the place, taking pictures if we wished to. The priests would
be occupied in public reading in the big hall, but we should be free to
go where we wished; he added that he was only writing extracts from the
books when we came in, and that we had not disturbed him at all.
Of course we asked if we might see his writing, and when produced
we were most unfeignedly astonished by it. Never have I seen more
beautifully even writing, or better formed characters. Every here and
there a word was written in red ink. On asking why this was we were told
that it was the character for "Sum," or three, and stood for the Trinity
of Buddha.
It was very late, so having again said "Good-night," we went to bed and
slept soundly. The next morning we were up betimes, as we had a busy
day before us. At daybreak we were awakened by hearing two short blasts
from a long horn, followed by a louder blast which was dwelt upon till
it gradually died away. This was the warning to the 4,000 priests at
Kumbum to get ready for prayer; it was the commencement of a new day.
But, early as we were, our host was before us, and when we left our
room we found him making preparations for breakfast. He explained that
his steward and several of his servants were away, so he had to do a
great deal himself. It seemed strange to see an incarnate saint, who
is held in the deepest reverence and worshipped by men, busying himself
unlocking drawers, producing sugar and butter, and generally attending
to the most trivial and mundane matters, chattering away all the time
like an ordinary mortal.
Thanks, however, to these endeavours, our breakfast of tea and tsamba
was soon ready. Rijnhart, of course, is an adept at mixing up the
butter, meal, and sugar into the correct dough, but neither of us had
acquired the art. For some time our host watched us in silence, smiling
occasionally at our awkwardness, but at last he offered to do it for us,
adding hastily to Rijnhart, "Please tell them my hands are quite clean."
Breakfast over, we lost no time in starting, armed with the kodak, to
visit the many temples and shrines which form the monastery.
When we arrived the previous evening, it was too dark to get any idea
of how the monastery lay, but we were enabled to do so. Kumbum itself
lies at the junction of two small valleys, one coming from the east,
the other from the south, the buildings lying to the south of the
former, while on the north is the "Precious Hill," which keeps off all
evil influences. On the east side of the other valley are most of the
private dwellings, while on the west are temples, chief among which is
the famous "Gold-Tiled Temple" of Tsong K'aba. Lower down, below the
junction of these two valleys, is the little town of Lusar. Altogether
in Kumbum there are close on 4,000 priests, the vast majority of which,
say seventy per cent., are Tibetans; of the rest about twenty per cent.
are Mongols, and the remainder Chinese. Nearly all of them speak Chinese
with a greater or less degree of fluency, but there are a few who speak
only Mongol and Tibetan.
It has, I believe, been stated in print, though I have never seen it,
that Kumbum is entirely Chinese in its government and organisation.
That this is not the case needs no further proof than the fact that,
in all things temporal, it is under the Tsong T'u, or Prince of the
Koko Nor, a mandarin appointed by the Emperor to govern all his Tibetan
dependencies in this direction; he lives at Sining, and is known among
Tibetans and Mongols as the "Seling Amban"; on the other hand, if Kumbum
were really Chinese, it would be subservient to the Fu of Sining,
and would be governed by the Fu T'ai. There is, moreover, a distinct
boundary line, separating the territory which comes under Fu T'ai from
that which comes under the Tsong T'u, those living within the boundary
paying taxes to the monastery, while those outside pay to Sining Fu.