In the meantime the Tibetans, who had hastily retreated across the
boundary into their country, had given the alarm of the approach of my
expedition. A spy I had sent over reported that great commotion reigned
at Taklakot. Bridges had been hastily destroyed, stone barriers were
put up, while warlike preparations of all kinds were carried on in
feverish speed. A bluffing message was sent over by the Tibetans to
inform the Political Agent that 5000 men were ready to meet my force
and capture me again, when they would cut off my head and throw my body
into the river—a threat which was by no means new to me.
This sounded interesting, only the Tibetans forgot that they would have
to catch me first! The passes—both the Lippu and the Lumpiya (through
the latter of which I had evaded their vigilance on my first
journey)—were, they stated, strongly guarded. I well knew the
contemptible cowardice of the Tibetans, and I took but little notice of
these threats; for this time—unlike my first journey—I had twenty men,
all of my own selection, and they were magnificent fellows—faithful and
plucky to quite an unusual degree.
In answer to these Tibetan messages to the Government, it is possibly
of some interest to notice that the Government of the North-West
Provinces in all haste informed the authorities of Taklakot in words to
this effect:—
“Mr. Landor is coming to Tibet. Possibly he will enter the country. The
Government of India has taken steps to prevent any men accompanying
him, also to take away his baggage, provisions, arms, and ammunition.
He will enter alone and will be at your mercy. We [the Government] are
in no way responsible for his entering Tibet.”
This message surprised me even less than the Tibetan effort. Indeed, I
well knew that no one more than some officials of the North-West
Provinces wished me dead. You see, I had on several occasions shown
them up in a very poor light, and now again I was discovering fresh and
most unaccountable misdeeds on their part all along the line.
Naturally, I quite understood that it was an uneasy conscience and the
fear of being exposed which prompted them to act in such a childish
manner in order to prevent my seeing what was going on.
The Political Agent, who was constantly receiving orders which he was
powerless to carry out, such as arresting me,—which I defied him to
do,—seemed in much distress, and to relieve the strain upon him I
decided to cross over into forbidden Nepal territory. The British
authorities had taken the precaution to warn the Nepalese also that I
might cross over their boundary, that my conduct was not countenanced
by the Government, and that soldiers must be sent to stop me and
possibly capture me. This led to some incidents which gave us a good
deal of unexpected merriment.
A guard of Nepalese soldiers was hurried up, and, unaware that it was
there, I crossed over the boundary, with our rifles in their cases for
protection against the rain, and not at all prepared for war. Two of my
men, who carried a rifle each, were a distance ahead. On nearing a
small fort and guard-house they were pounced upon by Nepalese soldiers
who were hiding behind some rocks, the rifles were seized, and the
Nepalese escaped with them into the fort up higher upon the hill.
My men ran back to me in a great state of excitement to report the
occurrence. We hurriedly prepared a plan of attack, and without losing
any time climbed up to the fort. Upon the walls some gaily attired
figures peeped over, brandishing kukris and a few obsolete rifles. I
could hear them behind strengthening the hastily barricaded door. An
officer peeped over and asked what we wanted.
“I want my rifles back.”
“Your rifles are not here. We have already despatched them to Katmandu”
(the capital of Nepal).
“Very good. If you do not return my rifles within two minutes we will
come and get them ourselves.”
“We will fight you.”
“All right.”
Pounding with big rocks and by the aid of a wooden lever we got the
door loosened, and while the garrison’s attention was directed to
prevent our entering that way, four of my best men and I climbed over
the wall on the opposite side of the fort and covered the defenders
with our rifles. I demanded that they should lay down their weapons or
I would shoot. After some indecision, most of them did. The others,
especially one who fired at us, got a severe pounding and were disarmed
by my men, who had now all entered the fort.
We ransacked the place, and eventually recovered the captured rifles,
after which we bade the Nepalese a respectful salaam and proceeded on
our way.
“But,” humbly put in the trembling Nepalese, “you cannot travel on
Nepal territory. It is forbidden to foreigners, and I have orders to
stop you.”
“Very well, do it!”
“I cannot,” he meekly mumbled, as he rubbed aching bruises he had
received in the encounter. “But,” he said, “I will follow your
movements.”
“Oh, you can follow any movements you like, but mind you do not come
too near.”
“Oh, no, no, sahib!” he exclaimed.
The guard, in fact, followed us for some days—and always at a most
respectful distance—until we got high up among the snows and glaciers.
Then we lost sight of them. Anyhow, I had no further annoyance all
through my journey in Nepal, and found the few natives we saw quite
attractive, picturesque, and kind.
After leaving the fort we travelled practically south-east over very
rough country, my objective being to visit and if possible climb one of
the Lumpa peaks which towers in a majestic needle above most other
mountains in the neighbourhood. Every now and then, when we got to some
higher point of vantage, we got a beautiful view of it. My men—to my
astonishment—received my plan with enthusiasm, for they seemed to hold
the snows in veneration. Little they then knew how much they would have
to suffer upon them.
In that portion of North-West Nepal the population is sparse and
somewhat mixed. Perhaps the finest and most interesting types I saw
were the cross-breeds of Shokas and Nepalese, which seemed to produce
most striking heads. One of the coloured drawings representing a
typical Nepalese-Shoka young man, with temples shaved and long wavy
hair hanging down his back, is, I think, a good example. These men had
very fine traits about them, were most hospitable and civil, manly and
serious in manner. They were enterprising traders, carrying on a brisk
business mainly in borax, salt, wool, and skins, which they generally
bartered with Tibetans in exchange for grain, ghur, and other food
stuffs.
It is rather interesting to note that whereas similar frontier tribes
on neighbouring British soil are imposed upon, taxed and ill-used by
Tibetans, no interference at all is experienced by those living under
the protection of the King of Nepal. Possibly this is due to the fact
that when Nepalese subjects have been ill-used in Tibet an armed
expedition has been sent over the frontier by the Nepalese, and
reparation demanded and obtained at once.
Nepalese women are not unattractive, having large brown eyes, made
additionally languid by blackening the lower lid, long eyelashes and
well-cut features, skin of a well-polished, smooth, light-yellowish
brown, and most graceful hands and feet. The better class are generally
much decorated with heavy silver necklaces, bracelets, and rings, and
with huge nose-rings of gold, brass, or silver. They are handsome while
young, but they fade away at an early age, and the smooth skin becomes
wrinkled and grooved long before they are thirty. They are said to be
most affectionate, and of a somewhat jealous temperament, which they
couple with extreme conjugal fidelity.
In Western Nepal the hair is worn in many little plaits festooned on
both sides of the forehead, and a head-cover, white, yellow, or red,
such as is seen in India among Hindoo women, is usually worn.
The women have comparative freedom, and seldom are they seen completely
veiled. Sati or suttee, the widow’s self-sacrifice by throwing herself
upon the flames which have cremated her dead husband, is now forbidden
by law in Nepal. It is, nevertheless, indulged in to some extent in
districts far away from the capital.
Nepal is principally known to English people as the country from which,
by a special agreement, we draw recruits for our Gurkha regiments. It
should, nevertheless, be borne in mind that not all people living in
Nepal are by any means Gurkhas—far from it. We find in Nepal a great
variety of types—some pure enough, others distinct mixtures of two or
more races.
The Gurkha district proper lies in the north-easterly portion of the
Gandak basin, the chief city being Gurkha, some fifty-four or
fifty-five miles to the west of the Nepalese capital, Katmandu.
Formerly Nepal’s sovereignty extended over Kumaon, which we have
already traversed, as far as the Sutlej River. The Nepal kingdom, as it
stands now, is an elongated tract of country—mostly mountainous—some
500 miles in length, and less than 150 miles in breadth at its widest
points. As everybody knows, it is situated on the southern slopes of
the central Himahlyan range, and borders with Tibet on the north,
Kumaon (North-West Provinces) to the west, the Kali River, as we know,
forming the boundary; the North-West Province and Bengal to the south,
and Sikkim to the east.
Nepal is divided into three natural zones by high ranges with peaks
rising from 25,000 to 28,000 feet, these ridges shooting off southwards
from the main Himahlyan range. The eastern zone is drained by the Kosi
River, the central by the Gandak, and the Western by the Gogra. To the
above should be added what is called the Terai and the
thickly-populated Nepal Valley, which, geographically, must be classed
separately. Formerly Nepal was divided into twenty-four principalities
in addition to the Gurkha kingdom, but since the invasion by the latter
of the entire country they have been divided into five provinces—viz.
Gurkha, Malibam, Palpa, Pokra, and Khachi.
In the space at my disposal I cannot enter into the history nor go into
a detailed description of the many tribes which inhabit Nepal, but
generally speaking, in the aboriginal stock a Mongolian origin is
evident, particularly in the population of the central zone, where
recent Tibetan influence is marked; but this is not the case with the
inhabitants of the lower region, who seem to have descended partly from
a mixture of an earlier Tibetan and Aryan source. Perhaps among the
most prominent aboriginal tribes we should mention the Magars, Gurungs,
Newars, Sunwars, the Khambas or Khambus, and Yakhas (the latter two
closely resembling Rais), the Yakthumbas, Murmis, and Lepchas. Then in
the forests of Western Nepal we find to this day wild tribes of
Chepangs and Kasundas.
In the Terai district live the Tarus, a servile and ill-shaped people
of no great strength of character; in the eastern zone we have Limbus,
a name which practically includes Kirantis, Ekas, and Rais—a people of
apparently Tibetan origin, flat-faced, beardless, and with long
unplaited hair, who wear wide trousers and a short jacket instead of
the long coat of the Lepchas.
The central zone, from which most of the recruits for the British
Gurkha regiments are drawn, is inhabited by a small but strongly built,
warlike, and plucky people, the Magars and Gurungs, the Magars being in
their turn subdivided into six distinct tribes, of which the Thapa
tribe is the most numerous. Both the Magars and the Gurungs—who are
somewhat taller and more stoutly built than the Magars—although of
marked Mongolian characteristics, are by religion Brahmins, but have no
sort of strong caste prejudices such as one finds, for instance, in
India. Gay and simple-minded, with hearts of gold, faithful and
obstinate to an extreme degree, independent in themselves yet loyal to
their friends or employers, fond of fighting and possessing the courage
of lions, these fellows make wonderful soldiers indeed. Perhaps in many
ways they are not unlike the Japanese, both in appearance and
temperament, except that the physique of the Gurkha is the superior of
the two.
In the Valley of Nepal—or Nepal proper—we find mostly Newars and
Murmis. The Newars, who claim to be the aborigines of the Nepal Valley,
are in many ways not unlike the Bhotias or Shokas, and in many of their
customs and in their habitations show a marked similarity to those
tribes of Mongolian descent. Their language resembles Tibetan, and
their religion is a modified form of inherited Buddhism. The Newars are
much given to agricultural pursuits, and they do not display so
prominently the fighting qualities of the Magars and Gurungs. On the
contrary, they seem to devote all their energy to art and trade, of
which they seem to have the entire monopoly in Nepal. The Murmis
resemble Bhotias even more closely than the Newars. They are subdivided
into two classes—the Barathamang, which is the most numerous, and the
Atharajat.
Katmandu, the capital of Nepal and residence of the King and
Government, lies in this valley, and is a city of great size and some
beauty.
The Terai is inhabited by a poor, sickly-looking race called the Tarus,
malarial fever being rampant in their district, while wild beasts
abound in the jungle. They seem to be a poverty-stricken lot with a
wretched physique—although endowed with astounding strength and powers
of endurance. They divide their time between fishing, agriculture, and
hunting wild animals.
Now comes the western zone, which is entirely inhabited by non-Gurkha
tribes, such as the Doti and Jumli (the Doti’s country being south of
the Jumli’s), as well as by wilder tribes, such as the Chepangs and
Kusundas, the former being very similar to the Raots or Rajis of
Kumaon. Then there are minor Hinduised tribes generically known as
Parbatiyas (or hill men).