THE ROAD TO LEH
The day ended late. Next morning I was awaked late, and the sun stood
high in the heavens before we were ready to start. It took four hours to
get the whole camp under weigh, to pack up and load the animals; but the
work would be done more expeditiously when all knew their parts.
The long train begins to move, troop after troop disappears among the
trees. On both sides of the road country houses and villages peep out
between willows, walnut and apricot trees, and small channels of water
murmur through the rice-fields, where men are hoeing, moving in regular
order, and singing a rhythmical encouraging song; the singing lightens
the work, for the weeds are torn up in time with the air, and no one
likes to be behind another.
A bridge crosses the Sind, which rolls its greyish blue water, rushing
and roaring, through several large arms. Now the road ascends the valley
of the river, then we turn eastwards, and soon the broad valley of
Kashmir with its level country disappears behind us. The rise is already
noticeable, and we are glad of it, for the day is warm. Trees become
fewer, and we ride for greater and greater stretches in the blazing sun;
but all around us is green and abundantly watered, the mild air is full
of life and productive energy, and the whole valley resounds with the
roar of the river and the echo it calls forth. I have passed this way
twice before, but on both occasions the Sind valley was covered with
snow; now summer reigns in the deep hollows and on the heights.
At Kangan we pitched our tents in a thick copse. This time the camp was
marked out and the tents set up fairly expeditiously. The _Numberdar_ of
the village procured us everything we wanted--we did not wish to touch
our own stores until it became impossible to obtain local supplies. The
four coolies who had carried the boat were here relieved by four others,
who were to carry it up to Gunt.
So we had accomplished another day's journey. We all delighted in the
free, active life. But the day was declining, the shadows grew longer,
the sun disappeared an hour sooner than usual, for it was concealed by
the mountains, and after we had listened for a while to the plaintive
bark of the jackals we also went early to rest. In the stillness of the
night the roar of the stream sounded still louder; its water came from
the heights which were the goal of our hopes; but with still greater
longing would my eyes one day watch these eddies on their way to the
sea.
When I came out of my tent in the cool of the morning the rest of the
caravan had already set out, and the camp looked empty and deserted. The
new day was not promising, for it rained hard, and thunder growled among
the mountains; but the summer morning gave forth an odour of forest and
fresh green vegetation, and after a good breakfast my detachment, to
which Robert and Manuel belonged, started on its march.
The sun soon came out, and with the warmth great swarms of flies, which
tortured our animals and made them restive. The road ran down to the
river and through the trees on its right bank. On the crest of the left
flank of the valley some patches of snow still defied the summer sun,
and the wood opposite was much thicker than on our side. Here and there
a conifer raised its dark crown above the lighter foliage. At the
village Mamer, where a mill-wheel swished through the waterfall, and an
open booth invited the traveller to refresh himself, Khairullah remained
awhile behind in company with a smoking narghilé. At Ganjevan we crossed
the river by three shaking bridges. In the background of the narrowing
valley rose a mountain covered with snow. The scenery was fine, and we
enjoyed a ride really elevating in a double sense. Our caravan had to
halt several times when a mule threw off its load; but the animals were
already quieter, and I looked forward with anxiety to the time when they
would become meek as lambs, and when no objurgations would induce them
to move on.
The camp at Gunt was already in order when we arrived. My first thought
is always for the puppies; in the morning, during the first hours of the
march, they whine, finding the movement of the mule very uncomfortable,
but the rocking soon sends them to sleep. But as soon as they are taken
out of the basket they fall foul of one another, and then they wander
all the evening among the tents, gnawing and tearing at everything.
Even with a temperature of 52.2° F. I felt so cold in the night, after
the heat of the plains, that I woke and covered myself with a fur rug.
The river in the morning marked only 46.2°. Upstream the view became
ever finer. Sometimes we rode through narrow defiles, sometimes up steep
dangerous slopes, sometimes over broad expansions of the valley with
cultivated fields. Then the precipitous rocks drew together again, and
cool dense shadows lay among willows and alders. The roar of the stream
drowned all other sounds. The river had now become smaller, so many
tributaries having been left behind us, but its wild impetuosity and its
huge volumes of dashing water were the more imposing; the water,
greenish blue and white, foaming and tossing, boiled and splashed among
huge blocks of dark green schist. In a gully, close to the bank, a
conical avalanche still lay thawing, and up above small waterfalls
appeared on the slopes like streaks of bright white paint. When we came
nearer we could perceive the movement, and the cascades that resolved
themselves into the finest spray.
Then the valley spread out again, and conifers alone clothed its flanks.
We bivouacked at Sonamarg, where I set out some years before from the
_dak bungalow_ on a winter's night, with lanterns and torches, for a
venturesome excursion over the avalanches of the Zoji-la Pass.
The Governor of Kashmir had sent a _chaprassi_ with me, and at a word
from him all the local authorities were at our service. But it was not
easy to keep some of the members of the caravan in order. Bas Ghul and
Khairullah proved to be great brawlers, who began to quarrel with the
others on every possible occasion. Bas Ghul evidently considered it his
chief duty to appropriate a coolie for his own service, and Khairullah
thought himself much too important to help in unloading. The others
complained daily of annoyance from the Afghans, and I soon saw that this
escort would give us more trouble than help. Among the rest, also, the
Kashmiris and the men from Poonch, there were petty pilferers, and the
Rajputs were ordered to watch that none of our belongings went astray.
In Baltal there was a great commotion, for people from Sonamarg appeared
and declared that my servants had stolen a saucepan as they passed
through. And it was actually found among the Poonch men. The
complainants received their pan back again as well as compensation for
their trouble (Illustration 19).
The state of the road from Baltal over the Zoji-la Pass was very
different now from what it was in the year 1902. Then the whole country
was covered with snow, and we slided almost the whole way down over
glaciated slopes. Now some five hundred workmen were engaged in mending
the road up to the pass. Their industry was indicated by thundering
blasts, and now and then great blocks of stone fell down uncomfortably
near to us.
Now our heavily-laden caravan had to cross the pass. Slowly and
carefully we march up over hard and dirty but smooth avalanche cones, in
which a small winding path has been worn out by the traffic. Water
trickles and drops in the porous mass, and here and there small rivulets
issue from openings in the snow. After a stretch of good road comes a
steep slope along a wall of rock--a regular staircase, with steps of
timber laid across the way. It was a hard task for laden animals to
struggle up. Now and then one of them slipped, and a mule narrowly
escaped falling over--a fall from the steep acclivity into the deep
trough of the roaring Sind would have been almost certain destruction,
not a trace of the unfortunate beast would have been found again. From
our lofty station the river looked like a thread. After some sacks of
maize had fallen overboard, each of the animals was led by two men.
[Illustration: 19. THE ROAD TO BALTAL.]
The train advanced slowly up. Piercing cries were constantly heard when
one of the animals was almost lost. But at last we got over the
difficulties, and travelled over firm snow and level ground. The thawed
water from a huge cone of snow on the south side flowed partly to the
Sind, partly to the Dras. The latter increased with astonishing
quickness to a considerable river, and our small and slippery path
followed its bank. A treacherous bridge crossed a wild tributary, with
agitated waters of a muddy grey colour. One of the mules broke through
it, and it was only at the last moment that his load could be saved.
Then the bridge was mended with flat stones for the benefit of future
passengers.
The Dras is an imposing river; its waters pour over numerous blocks that
have fallen into its bed, and produce a dull grinding sound. And this
mighty river is but one of the thousand tributaries of the Indus.
We reached Matayun in drizzling rain, and had scarcely set up our camp
when the caravan-men came to loggerheads. We here overtook a hired
contingent of 30 horses with forage. Their drivers had received orders
to travel as quickly as possible to Leh; but now it appeared that they
had remained stationary for several days, and wanted to be paid extra in
consequence. The authorities in Srinagar had done their best to make my
journey to Leh easy, but there is no order in Kashmir. In Robert I had
an excellent assistant; he did everything to appease the refractory men.
I now saw myself that stringent measures must be resorted to, and I
waited impatiently for a suitable occasion for interference. About
three-fourths of the Poonch men reported themselves ill; they wished to
ride, and that was the whole cause of their illness. The mules, when not
wanted, were to go unloaded, in order to economize their strength, and
on that account we had hired horses in Srinagar. Some men had been
kicked by our hot-tempered mules, and now came for treatment.
Then we go on to Dras and Karbu. On the heights above the Dras we pass
the famous stone figures of Buddha, and then we descend a narrow
picturesque valley to Karbu. The river constantly increases in volume,
and presents a grand spectacle; small affluents fall between the rocks
like silver ribands, and spread out over the dejection fans. The pink
blossoms of the hawthorn wave gracefully in the wind, which cools us
during the hot hours of the day. Fine dark juniper bushes, tall as
cypresses, adorn the right bank.
In front of the station-house in Karbu an elderly man in a white turban
came up to me. "Good day, Abdullah," I said to him, for I immediately
recognized the honest fellow who had helped me up over the snowfields of
the Zoji-la on the former occasion.
"Salaam, Sahib," he answered, sobbing, fell on his knees and embraced my
foot in the stirrup, after the Oriental custom.
"Will you go on a long journey with me?" I asked.
"Yes, I will follow you to the end of the world, if the Commissioner
Sahib in Leh will allow me."
"We will soon settle that. But, tell me, how have you got on since we
last saw one another?"
"Oh, I am the _Tekkedar_ of Karbu, and provide passing caravans with all
they want."
"Well, then, think over the matter till to-morrow, and if you wish to
accompany me, I have a post free for you among my people."
"There is no need of consideration; I will go with you, though I only
get a rupee a month."
But Abdullah was too old and infirm for Tibet, and the conditions which
he afterwards put before Robert were much more substantial than he had
represented them in the first joy of meeting me again: 60 rupees
monthly, everything found, his own horse, and exemption from all heavy
work were now his demands. Consequently next morning we bade each other
an eternal farewell.
Now a traveller turned up from the preceding station, and complained
that the Poonch men had stolen a sheep from him. As they denied it, I
made the plaintiff accompany us to Kargil, where the case could be tried
before the magistrate.
[Illustration: 20. KARGIL.]
[Illustration: 21. CHHORTEN IN LAMAYURU.
Sketches by the Author.]
We approached the striking spot, where two valleys converge and the Dras
joins the Wakkha, passed the sharp rocky angle, and rode up close by
the bank of the Wakkha. The valley has a very great fall, and the
powerful stream rushes down in wild commotion, swells up and leaps over
the blocks in its way, or breaks into foaming, tumultuous surge. Several
old acquaintances and the Vezir Vezarat himself came to meet us, and
before we reached Kargil we were accompanied by a whole cavalcade. We
bivouacked in a cool grove of poplars and willows, and intended to rest
the following day (Illustration 20).
This day brought some picturesque scenes. Surrounded by the authorities
of Kargil with the pundit Lashman Das and the Vezir Vezarat at their
head, I held judgment over the heterogeneous rabble which had caused so
much embarrassment in the first week of my journey. Firstly, all the
Kashmiris, with their leader Aziza, were dismissed. Then came the turn
of their fellow-countrymen, who had transported hither on hired horses
the maize and barley for our animals, and lastly we came to the Poonch
men. As regards the sheep-stealing the following procedure was adopted.
The suspected men were tied to a couple of trees, and though there was a
cool shade, they grew weary, and after waiting three hours for a
rescuing angel, confessed all, and were thereupon sentenced to pay
double the value of the sheep. Then Khairullah stepped forward and
interceded for his friend Aziza; as his request was not granted he was
annoyed, and positively refused to undertake the night watch. So he,
too, was dismissed, and was allowed to take with him the other Afghan,
Bas Ghul, who suffered from periodical fits of insanity, and was
moreover a rogue. It was quite a relief to me to get rid of these
esquires of our bodyguard. Of the original "Congress of Orientalists" in
Srinagar only four men now remained, namely, Robert, Manuel, Ganpat
Sing, and Bikom Sing.
When we left Kargil on July 26 we took with us 77 hired horses with
their leaders, and the forage of the animals formed 161 small heaps. A
native veterinary surgeon was to accompany us to see that the mules were
well tended. After we had bought all the barley we could get hold of,
our caravan had much increased, and the weeding-out effected in Kargil
made the succeeding days of our journey to Leh much more agreeable than
the previous.
At Shargul we passed the first lama temple on this route; beyond Mullbe
they gradually became more numerous. At every step one finds evidence
that one is in the country of the lamas; the small white temples in
Tibetan style crown the rocky points and projections like storks' nests,
and dominate the valleys and villages below them. But a monk in his red
toga is seldom seen; the temples seem silent and abandoned among the
picturesque _chhorten_ monuments and _manis_. The whole relief of the
country is now much more prominent than in winter, when the universal
snow-mantle makes all alike and obliterates all the forms. The fantastic
contours of the mountains stand out sharply with their wild pinnacles of
rock and embattled crests, which above Bod-Karbu mingle with the old
walls and towers, of which only ruins are now left.
On July 28 we crossed the river by a tolerably firm bridge, and
continued to ascend the valley which leads to the Potu-la. Just beyond
the pass the authorities of Lamayuru came to meet us with flowers and
fruits, and each one, according to the custom of the country, offered a
rupee, which, however, we needed only to touch with the hand. A little
further the first _chhorten_ appeared, followed by a long row of others;
the stone heaps pointed towards the famous monastery of Lamayuru.
Passing round a projecting corner a little farther on, we had a clear
view of a small valley between lofty mountains, and here rose a
precipitous terrace of detritus, on which the monastery is built. Some
white buildings up there stood out sharply against a grey background,
and in the depths of the valley cultivated fields spread out among a few
groups of trees (Illustration 21).
[Illustration: 22. CHURCH MUSIC IN LAMAYURU.
23. PORTRAIT OF A LAMA.
24. PORTRAIT OF A LAMA.
Sketches by the Author.]
As soon as our party was visible from the valley, music was heard, and
long brass drums boomed from the temple roofs with a deep, solemn, organ
tone, which was joyously echoed among the mountains. Would the lama
monasteries of Tibet give us such a friendly welcome? As we entered the
village, there stood there about thirty women in their best clothes,
in fur-trimmed coloured mantles, with blinkers firmly plaited into the
hair, and with turquoises on the top. All the inhabitants had turned
out, and formed a picturesque group round the band, which started a
deafening tune with its flutes and drums (Illustration 22).
In the afternoon we went up to the monastery, where the prior and the
monks received us at the main entrance. They led us into the open court
of the monastery, surrounded by old buildings, _chhorten_, and
flagstaffs. From here one has a grand view of the valley which slopes
down to the Indus. Under dark masses of cloud, and in fine rain, seven
monks executed an incantation dance; they had tied on masks of wild
animals, evil spirits, and monsters with laughing mouths, tusks for
teeth, and uncanny staring eyes. Their motley coats stood out like bells
as they danced, and all the time weird music was played. How the monks
must be wearied in their voluntary imprisonment! Evidently their only
relaxation is to display their religious fanaticism before the
inquisitive eyes of passing strangers.
Immediately beyond the village we descend a dangerously steep road in
the small, narrow, and wild ravine which leads to the Indus. The deep
trough of the Dras is crossed by small, neat wooden bridges, and after a
couple of hours' journey one rides as through a portal into the great,
bright valley of the Indus, and has the famous river before one. It is a
grand sight, and I halt for some time on a swinging wooden bridge to
gaze at the vast volume of water which, with its great load and its
rapid current, must excavate its channel ever deeper and deeper. The
station-house, Nurla, stands just above the river, which tosses and
roars under its windows.
The day had been broiling hot; the rocks and soil of this grey,
unfruitful valley seem to radiate out a double quantity of heat, and
even in the night the thermometer marked 61°. Even the river water had a
temperature of 54° in the daytime, but still, though dirty-grey like
porridge, it was a delicious drink in the heat.
As far as Saspul we rode along the right bank close to the river. Here
the road is often dangerous, for it is cut like a shelf in the steep
wall of rock, and one feels at ease only when the valuable baggage has
passed safely. The danger is that a pack-horse on the mountain-side may
thrust itself past another, and force this one over the edge of the
rock, so that one may in a moment lose one's instruments, photographic
apparatus, or sacks of rupees.
At Jera a small emerald-green foaming torrent dashes headlong into the
Indus, and is lost in its bosom--the clear green water is swallowed up
instantaneously by the muddy water of the Indus. One is delighted by the
constantly changing bold scenery and the surprises encountered at every
turn of the road. The eyes follow the spiral of a constantly moving
vortex, or the hissing spray which the wind whips off the crests of the
waves. One almost envies the turbid eddies of this water which comes
from the forbidden land, from Gartok, from the regions north of the
Kailas mountain, from the unknown source of the Indus itself, whither no
traveller has yet penetrated, and which has never been marked down on a
map.
The bridge of Alchi, with its crooked, yielding beams, seemed just as
dangerous as on my last visit, but its swaying arch boldly spans the
interval between the banks, and during a pleasant rest in the shade the
bridge was reproduced in my sketch-book. The waves dashed melodiously
against the stone embankment of the road, and I missed the sound when
the route left the bank and ascended to Saspul, where we were received
with the usual music and dancing-women (Illustration 26).
Basgho-gompa has a fine situation in a side valley of the Indus. The
monastery is built on the left side of the valley, the white walls of
three storeys, with balconies, effective cornices and pennants, standing
on a long cliff. A quantity of _chhortens_ and _manis_ surround Basgho.
The sacred formula "Om mani padme hum" is carved on a slab of green
slate, and lizards, as green as the stone, dart about over the words of
eternal truth.
[Illustrations: 25. THE SUMTO VALLEY.
26. BRIDGE OF ALCHI.
27. GIRL IN NIEMO.
28 & 29. PALACE OF THE KINGS OF LADAK IN LEH.
Sketches by the Author.]
The first of August was the last day of our journey to Leh. A bright,
peaceful morning; the rays of the sun crept warm and agreeably through
the foliage of the apricot trees, and threw green reflexions into the
station-room. We rode near the Indus as far as where the monastery,
Spittol, stands on its hill, beyond which the road turns aside from the
river and runs straight up to Leh, which is visible from a distance,
surrounded by verdant gardens. Mohanlal, a merchant of Leh, who had
undertaken a large part of the final equipment of the expedition, came
to meet us, and, as we rode past an enclosed field of fine clover, told
me that he had bought it for my mules.
We dismounted at the gate of a large garden, and went in. In the midst
of the garden stands a stone house among poplars and willows. It is
usually the residence of the Vezir Vezarat, the representative of
Kashmir in Ladak, but now it was to be my headquarters for twelve days.
Here I had a roof over my head for the last time for two long years, and
I found myself very comfortable in my study up one flight of stairs.
Robert occupied another room, and an open, shady balcony was fitted up
as a meteorological observatory. Manuel and the two Rajputs had the
control of the ground-floor; in the courtyard purveyors and new servants
were continually coming and going, and adjoining the garden was our
stable, where the newly obtained horses were posted in the open air.
Leh is the last place of any importance on the way to Tibet. Here our
equipment must be finally completed. Nothing could be omitted; if we
forgot anything we could not obtain it afterwards. Here the silver
stream of rupees flowed away without intermission, but I consoled myself
with the thought that we should soon be in a country where, with the
best will in the world, we could not spend a farthing. A large caravan
sucks up money, as a vampire blood, as long as it remains in inhabited
cultivated lands; but when all contact with human civilization is cut
off, it must live on its own resources; consequently, it gradually
dwindles and approaches its dissolution. As long as it is at all
possible we let the animals eat all they can; the best clover to be had
must be procured, and both horses and mules must be so well tended that
they can afterwards live on their own fat and endure the hardships that
await them.