The Tibetan in his normal life is occasionally an amusing being, full
of coarse humour, and with a bounce which carries him through his
existence. When alone, he is quiet in his manner, and will spend his
leisure hours spinning wool or in some other such feminine occupation,
while his women-folk do all the hard work about the tent. As will be
seen by the illustrations in this book, both Tibetan men and women look
clumsy and heavy. Anatomically, they are well-built, small but wiry,
and rather thickly set, but very seldom with any great abundance of
flesh and fat, except the Lamas, who lead a lascivious and lazy life.
Tibetan clothing is mostly responsible for the funny appearance they
present, men wearing sometimes three or four coats, skin or woollen,
one on the top of the other. The sash or belt, which is intended to be
at the waist, is usually considerably lower down owing to the weight of
the variety of articles the wearer constantly carries stored away round
the waist in his outer coat,—wooden bowls, balls of butter, bags of
tsamba, a bundle of wool for spinning with the distaff, the
prayer-wheel, and a quantity of rags,—which bulge out at the waist all
round his body and drag down his coat. This often gives them the
appearance of being quite short-legged, though, of course, they are not
really.
Men and women wear picturesque, most comfortable and practical long
boots, the legging being usually red or white, the thick soles of rope
well protecting the foot all round. These boots are largely
manufactured in Lhassa and Shigatz, but people also manufacture them
themselves. Officials wear leather boots of the Chinese type, with
thick wooden or leather soles with a few huge iron nails underneath and
a curled-up toe.
Among the coloured illustrations will be found paintings of Tibetan
women—from babyhood, in an ample and striking robe of white and blue
checks; at the age of twelve, with shaggy hair hanging down the back
and shoulders and a sufficient collection of ornaments round the neck;
an older dame, of middle class and age, in her everyday costume, with a
sash enveloping nearly one-third of her body; then a lady of rank and
beauty, fully decorated with amber necklace, gold and malachite brooch,
elaborate earrings, and a much-adorned aureole upon the head. She sits
modestly on bags of borax, and displays feet of some considerable size.
Well, that is the fault of the ample and padded boots which she wears,
and not a fault of the foot inside—not small, mind you, but generally
well-formed—nor of the painter who depicted the scene.
Next we have a religious lady praying before a tent shrine, turning her
back to us and displaying in its full glory her Tchukti—that is to say,
three broad bands of three sections each alternately blue and red.
These bands of heavy cloth reach from the shoulder to the feet, and
they are ornamented with coral or malachite beads, silver coins and
bells, and at the lower end a row of little brass or silver bells is
generally attached. Nearly all the money earned by the woman (and
frequently that of the husband) is sewn on to the Tchukti, so that the
family fortune—when this fortune exists—hangs down women’s backs to a
number of neat little tresses of the woman’s hair to which it is
attached. When the Tchukti is worn the hair is parted in the middle and
plastered down with melted butter.
Last, but not least, you will find the portrait of a Tibetan old lady,
who somewhat resented being sketched and had not her sweetest smile
upon her face. Rather bony and toothless, with a wrinkled skin which
would put to shame a crocodile, one leg stretched out because she had a
rheumatic pain and could not bend it, she used quite bad language when
I quickly portrayed her. She predicted and wished misfortunes of all
kinds which should descend upon me.
Perhaps you will notice, in most of the illustrations representing
Tibetans, that the people depicted in them have their eyes half-closed.
This is one of the most characteristic points about a Tibetan face,
especially when out of doors and conversing. First of all, as you know,
the Mongolian eye is elongated between heavy lids, and does not afford
an extensive view of the iris at any time; then, owing to the intensely
brilliant light, the severe and constant winds, and plentiful snow, the
natives get into the habit of accentuating the squeezing of the
eye-aperture for protection. This causes crow’s-feet to appear on men
and women at an early age, and a much corrugated forehead and brow.
I had occasion on this journey to pay a visit to a quaint tribe of
Tibetans calling themselves the Kam-par, or people from Kam (Tibet).
They possessed extraordinary features—from intermarriage with some
tribe of Nepal, I should think—intensely cruel faces in many instances;
others quite refined, especially those of the better class. The young
man whose portrait I give, very girlish-looking, with an elaborate hat
ornamented with gold embroidery, was the son of the chief, and quite a
nice-looking boy, with suave manners and a humble voice. He had long
hair in waves upon his shoulders, and a short pigtail behind. But some
of the older men, such as the one I portrayed, had brutal faces, and
their manner was somewhat coarse, sulky, and blunt. They possessed
highly developed cheek-bones, slits of eyes, and prominent drooping
lips. The nose, however, was more developed than on other Tibetans.
These people, like most other Tibetans, practise a form of cannibalism
which is not at all uncommon in Tibet, especially in their funeral
ceremonies. The Lamas, as is well known, often drink human blood out of
bowls made of human skulls.
This tribe, a nomad one, was, among other employments, given to a
certain amount of brigandage; and, in fact, among them I found a
well-known brigand—a long-lost friend of mine—whose portrait I also
give in these pages. He possessed quite a striking-looking head, with a
good deal of determination upon his features, a fierce moustache, and
masses of curly hair trimmed straight at the height of the shoulders.
He always shouted at the top of his voice whenever he spoke; always
heartily laughed at everything you said; and, to show his approval,
struck you upon your shoulder with his ponderous hand after each
sentence. He was one of the most powerfully built men I have ever met,
his strength being quite extraordinary; and, for a brigand, quite an
agreeable companion out of business hours.
Polyandry, when the wife is shared among brothers, as is the case all
over Tibet, is practised by this tribe also; and when I met them they
were employed in conveying salt and borax, from Gyanema over the Darma
Pass into India. These Kam-par occasionally travel as far down as
Tanakpore, the borax and salt being carried entirely on sheep-back.
When one got over the peculiar expression of their faces, the Kam-par
were amiable enough.
Their women were highly decorated with numerous brass ornaments with
pendants, and silver bracelets inlaid with malachite. Teeth of
musk-deer were freely used as ornaments, as well as being used for such
useful purposes as picking one’s teeth, cleaning the nails, and so on.
The chief wore his hair parted in the centre, and plaited into small
tresses which joined into a single pigtail behind. The skin was of a
sallow yellowish colour. The upper portion of the eye, as is often the
case in people who are constantly exposed to a brilliant light, was
much discoloured, and a peculiar whitish tinge veiled the entire iris
of the eye. In the way of clothing they showed a marked preference for
bright red and yellow textiles, and on their visits into Kumaon they
had invested their savings in buying old regimental brass buttons, with
which the women were freely ornamented. Bracelets of glass beads, and
also necklaces of coral and amber, were displayed with pride.
These people had beautiful tents, the inside being most comfortable,
with Chinese carpets spread on the floor, cushions to rest the head and
back upon, and cured skins spread everywhere where they might come in
useful. Elaborate altars, some double-tiered, with as many as seven
images of Buddha, were to be seen, and upon them burning lights galore,
incense-sticks alight filling the tent with saintly fumes. Bags of
butter and chura and sweet paste hung from every tent-pole. All round
the tent, inside and also outside, were high walls of double sacks of
borax. Outside, on high posts, with an ingenious contrivance to prevent
animals going up, a lot of meat was prepared, with salt, in thin
slices, and exposed to the sun to dry.
As is always the case, with this tribe too travelled a number of Lamas,
who practically controlled everything. One of these Lamas had as
repulsive and murderous a face as it is given to any human being to
possess. True enough, his first boast was that he had killed three
people (the natives said a good many more). His manner towards the
people was most brutal. He was a tall man of marvellous muscular
development, and between his most repulsive lips, which never seemed to
close, he displayed a set of most powerful long pointed teeth, such as
those one would see in a wild animal. His head-gear consisted of a
vizor made of long, bristly hair—not unlike the half of a
chimney-sweeper’s brush—which he fastened round the forehead and back
of the head with a string.
This gentleman was inclined to be overbearing, even intrusive; and, to
show his courage as well as muscular power (possibly to frighten me),
he thumped and knocked about his people in a merciless manner, always
taking care to select the helpless and weaker ones. His brutality
irritated me considerably. I was standing near his tent, and he came in
with a long knife—he had been making himself a stick to beat the people
with. He was still foaming with rage. There was a woman, his servant,
sitting near the fire, and he asked her whether the tea was ready in
the raksang. She replied it was not, upon which he administered a
terrific kick in her stomach which would have killed any woman but a
Tibetan. I could stand no more. I seized my rifle by the muzzle and
applied the butt upon his face in a fashion which somewhat flattened
his nose more than it originally was and loosened some teeth. All
bullies are cowards in any country, and he made no reply whatever.
No doubt I shall be blamed—as I have been before—for administering my
own justice in other people’s countries, but I cannot help feeling that
the weak should ever and at any cost be protected against unwarranted
attacks of the brutally strong.
Another similar, but more comical, incident—one of many—occurred
another day, when a shapeless figure, almost bent over in two and
walking unsteadily upon his feet, approached my camp. We were in a
barren, desolate spot, cold and dreary, and my men had put up chokdens
of stones all round the camp.
The queer stranger had a most comical appearance, his waist down to his
knees, so full was his coat with stores of all kinds. He bowed
profusely, his shaggy hair flying—as much as it could fly, for it was
so dirty and entangled—in the breeze.
“Who are you and what do you want?” we asked him.
“I am a poor, poor man, with no food and no friends.”
I well knew this to be a lie, as I had had similar visitors before. He
was a mere Tibetan spy—a soldier in the disguise of a beggar, to come
and find out all about us.
“What do you want?”
“I am hungry and have pains in my inside for lack of food.”
I ordered my cook to give him plentiful meat and rice and some sweet
paste. A little of it he ate; the rest he stored away in his coat,
wrapped up in dirty rags.
“Is there anything else you want?”
“Yes, I would like some tchah (tea).”
A jug of tea was handed him.
“Anything else you wish from us now?” we inquired of the Tibetan, who,
while pretending to sip the tea, was counting the number of my men, was
trying to see how many rifles we had, and was taking in everything all
round with his ferreting eyes. But although he was a splendid actor,
his infirmities, I had detected at once, were all put on for the
occasion.
“Can I be allowed to prowl around your camp and see what I can pick
up—anything you have thrown away?”
“Yes, certainly; but mind you do not pick more than you expect.”
The man crawled about camp—I ordered my men to pretend not to notice
him—while I observed him closely, all the time pretending to be busy
writing. By means of a small looking-glass I could watch his movements
even when he was behind me. The fellow was examining all my baggage
carefully, and especially our rifles which lay about. Having persuaded
himself that none of us were looking at him, he raised the flap of my
tent and had a good look inside. When he had finished his inspection he
came to bid me good-bye.
“Have you had all you want, do you think?” I asked him.
“Yes, indeed. He was grateful. He now wanted to go.”
“Before you go, I want to give you a remembrance to teach you that when
you accept people’s hospitality you should not practise treachery.”
Snatching out of his hand a long stick he carried, I applied to him a
good beating—not that it hurt him much, because he was so padded with
articles he had stored in his coat. In fact, in trying to struggle
away, his sash got undone and he dropped a number of little bags
containing tsamba and butter, provisions which were evidently intended
to last him several days on his spying expedition. Also two daggers.
My men, who entered fully into the spirit of the joke, chased him out
of camp with a well-directed shower of stones. Needless to say, “the
starving Tibetan cripple” outran them all. From a high point of vantage
I watched him with my telescope. When some distance off he went among
some rocks, picked up his matchlock which he had hidden there—and
continued his flight.