THE START FOR TIBET
The time at Leh passed quickly, as we were working at high pressure, and
the result of our efforts was a splendid caravan in excellent order for
the march. Robert and Muhamed Isa seemed to be infected by my eagerness
to start, for they worked from morning to night and saw that every one
did his duty. I took leave of Captain Patterson, who had helped us in so
many ways, and on August 13 the loads of the second great caravan stood
in pairs in the outer yard, and had only to be lifted on to the
pack-saddles of the horses.
Muhamed Isa started at four o'clock next morning, and I followed a few
hours later with Robert and Manuel, four riding horses, and nine horses
for our baggage. Hajji Nazer Shah and his sons, our numerous purveyors,
the officials and pundits of the town, and many others, had assembled to
see us off, and sent us on our way with kind wishes and endless
"Salaams" and "Joles."
[Illustration: 37. RELIGIOUS OBJECTS FROM SANSKAR.]
[Illustration: 38. IMAGES OF GODS. A MINIATURE CHHORTEN ON THE RIGHT.
HOLY BOOKS, TEMPLE VESSELS. ON EITHER SIDE OF THE SMALL ALTAR-TABLE
WOODEN BLOCKS WITH WHICH THE HOLY BOOKS ARE PRINTED.]
A crowd of beggars escorted us along the main street, the merchant
Mohanlal bowed to us from the steps of his house, and we passed through
the gate of the town into the lanes of the suburbs. At the first turn
the horse which carried my boxes of articles for daily use became tired
of his burden and got rid of it at once. They were put on another horse,
which seemed quieter and carried them as far as the Mohammedan
burial-ground, when he, too, had enough of them, shied, broke loose,
disappeared among some _chhortens_, and flung the boxes so violently to
the ground that it was a marvel that they did not fly to pieces among
the pebbles and blocks of stone. The jade got clear of all the ropes in
a second, and galloped, with the pack-saddle dragging and dancing behind
him, among the tombs in which the Mohammedans sleep. That the boxes
might not be quite destroyed we hired a quiet horse for the day. This is
always the way at first, before the animals have got used to their loads
and pack-saddles. Here a couple of buckets rattle on the top of a load,
there the handle of a _yakdan_, or, again, a pair of tent-poles jolt up
and down and knock together at every step. The rest in the stable had
made the horses nervous, the fragrant trusses of juicy clover had made
them sleek and fat, strong, lively, and ready to dance along the road.
Every horse had now to be led by a man, and at length we came to the
open country, and our companions left us one after another, the last to
say farewell being the excellent, noble-hearted Mr. Peter.
Then we went down from Leh past innumerable _mani ringmos_ and through
narrow gullies between small rocky ridges, and so drew near to the Indus
again. A rocky promontory was passed, then another close to a branch of
the river, and then Shey came in sight with its small monastery on a
point of rock. The road runs through the village, over canals by
miniature stone bridges, over grassy meads and ripening cornfields; here
and there lies a swamp formed by overflowing irrigation water. To our
left rise granitic rocks, their spurs and projections ground down and
polished by wind and water.
After we had lost sight of the river and ridden through the village,
where the people almost frightened our horses to death with their drums
and pipes, we found ourselves in front of the monastery Tikze on a
commanding rock, with the village Tikze and its fields and gardens at
the foot. The tents were already pitched in a clump of willows. The
highway and its canal ran past it, and here stood our mules and horses
tethered in a long row before bundles of fresh grass. The puppies were
released immediately; their basket was already too small for them; they
grew visibly, could bite hard, and began already to guard my
tent--barking furiously when they smelled anything suspicious.
Barely half an hour after the camp is set in order comes Manuel with my
tea and cakes. He is rather sore after his day's ride, and looks
dreadfully solemn, dark-brown and shiny; he is darker than usual when he
is cross. Robert is delighted with his horse, and I have every reason to
be content with mine--a tall, strong, dapple-grey animal from Yarkand,
which held out for four months and died on Christmas Eve. At Tikze we
are much lower than at Leh, and then we begin to mount up again. The day
had been very hot, and even at nine o'clock the thermometer stood at 70°
F. Muhamed Isa is responsible for my twenty boxes; he has stacked them
up in a round pile and covered them with a large tent, and here he has
fixed his quarters with a few other chief Ladakis. Robert and Manuel
have a tent in common; the kitchen, with its constantly smoking fire, is
in the open air; and the rest of the men sleep outside (Illustration
39).
Now the new journey had begun in real earnest--we were on the way to the
forbidden land! I had had to fight my way through a long succession of
difficulties and hindrances before reaching this day. Batum was in open
insurrection; in Asia Minor Sultan Abdul Hamid had provided me with a
guard of six mounted men to protect me from robbers; in Teheran
revolutionary tendencies were even then apparent; in Seistan the plague
was raging fearfully; and in India I encountered the worst obstacle of
all--an absolute prohibition to proceed into Tibet from that side. Then
followed all the unnecessary complications in Srinagar and on the way to
Leh, and the stupid affair of the Chinese passport which I did not need,
but had so much trouble to obtain. Does not this remind one of the tale
of the knight who had to overcome a lot of hideous monsters and
hindrances before he reached the princess on the summit of the crystal
mountain? But now at last I had left behind me all bureaucrats,
politicians, and disturbers of the peace; now every day would take us
farther and farther from the last telegraph station, Leh, and then we
could enjoy complete freedom.
[Illustration: 39. TIKZE-GOMPA, MONASTERY IN LADAK.
Sketch by the Author.]
On August 15, exactly twenty-one years had elapsed since I started on my
first journey in Asia. What would the next year bring? the culminating
point of my career or a retrogression? Would opposition still continue,
or would the Tibetans prove more friendly than Europeans? I knew not:
the future lay before me as indistinct as the Indus valley, where dark
masses of cloud swept over the mountains and the rain beat on the tent
canvas. We let it rain, and rejoiced to think that, if the precipitation
extended far over Tibet, the pasturage would be richer and the springs
would flow more freely.
After a short march we come to the village Rambirpur, reconstructed
thirty years ago, and to the right of the road the small monastery
Stagna-gompa stands on a pinnacle of rock. On the left bank is seen the
village Changa, and a little higher up the well-hidden, small, and
narrow valley where the famous temple of Hemis lies concealed. Thunder
rumbles over its mountains as though the gods stormed angrily on their
altar platform.
At a corner where a small, shaky, wooden bridge spans the Indus, stand
some more long _mani ringmos_; they are covered with well-cut stone
flags, on which the letters are already overgrown by a weathered crust,
and stand out dark against the lighter chiselled intervals. Former kings
of Ladak caused them to be constructed as a salve to their consciences,
and to gain credit in a future life. They are a substitute for the work
of the Lamas; every one is at liberty to propitiate the divine powers by
this means. Thus the monks acquire a revenue, and every one, travellers
and caravans included, rejoices at the pious act, while the stone slabs
speak in their silent language of bad consciences and manifold sins, in
rain and sunshine, by day and night, in cold and heat.
Now we leave the Indus for good and all. "Farewell, thou proud stream,
rich in historical memories. Though it costs me my life I will find some
day thy source over yonder in the forbidden land," I thought, as,
accompanied by _jamadars_ and _chaprassis_ of the Kashmir state and some
of my men, I turned the rocky corner into the side valley through which
the road runs up past the monasteries Karu and Chimre to the Chang-la
Pass. The road now becomes worse; every day's journey it deteriorates,
sometimes changing into an almost imperceptible footpath, and at last it
disappears altogether. The great road to Lhasa along the Indus and to
Gartok was closed to us.
Our company makes a grand show; a sheep is killed every evening, and the
pots boil over the fires in the centre of the various groups which have
combined into messes. I make no attempt to learn the names of my new
servants; coolies and villagers are always moving about among them,
coming and going, and I scarcely know which are my own men. It must be
so in the meantime; the time will soon come for me to know them better,
when all outside elements are removed. A melancholy air is heard in the
darkness; it is the night watchmen who sing to keep themselves awake.
At Chimre we are at a height of 11,978 feet, and we ascend all the day's
journey to Singrul, where we find ourselves 16,070 feet above sea-level.
The road keeps for the most part to the stony barren slopes on the left
side of the valley, while the brook flows nearer to the right side,
where bright green fields appropriate so much of its water that little
is left to flow out of the valley. A path to Nubra follows a side valley
on the right. In Sakti we wander in a labyrinth of narrow passages and
alleys between huts and _chhortens_, boulders and walls, _mani ringmos_
and terraces which support cultivated patches laid out in horizontal
steps. Above us is seen the Chang-la, and we are quite giddy at the
sight of the road that ascends to it with a tremendously steep gradient
(Illustration 42).
Tagar is the last village before the pass; here I had halted twice
before. Its wheat-fields extend a little distance further up the valley
and then contract to a wedge-shaped point, continued by a narrow winding
strip of grass along the central channel of the valley bottom. The
sections of the caravan climb higher and higher, some are already at the
goal, and we have overtaken the hindermost. The path runs up steeply
between huge blocks of grey granite, so that our Ladakis have to take
care that the boxes do not get banged.
[Illustration: 40. MASKED LAMAS IN THE COURT OF CEREMONIES IN
HEMIS-GOMPA (LADAK).]
[Illustration: 41. GROUP OF MASKED LAMAS IN HEMIS-GOMPA.
(Taken by a photographer in Srinagar.)]
After four-and-a-half hours we are up on the small terrace-shaped
halting-place, Singrul, and the bluish-grey smoke of the fires of yak
dung floats over the soil, scantily carpeted with grass and traversed by
a rivulet of crystal clear water. An alpine, cold, barren landscape
surrounds us. Muhamed Isa sits enthroned like a pasha in his fortress of
boxes and provender sacks, the usual sheep is killed and cut up, and is
then thrown into the general cauldron, stomach, entrails, and
everything. The head and feet are broiled before the fire on stones.
Some of the men take possession of the skin, and spend the evening in
rubbing it and making it soft--probably it is for use as bed furniture.
The two Rajputs sit a little apart from the rest by their own small
cooking-pot, and, I perceive, make a very light meal of spinach, bread,
and rice. The rarefied air seems to be of no consequence to them, nor
the cold; the puppies, on the other hand, were very down-hearted when
the thermometer in the evening marked only 45°; they howled piteously,
and, crawling under my tent bed, rolled themselves up together. The four
coolies, who carried the boat, went beyond Singrul to a cave, where,
they said, they would be more protected from the cold in the night.
Towards evening the brook rose, and one of its arms made straight for my
tent, which had to be protected by a temporary dam. The Ladakis sat till
late and sipped their red tea mixed with butter, and at many points
reddish-yellow fires illumined the night.
The temperature fell to 21°, and it was really very uncomfortable in
this high, raw region where the wind had free play and the sun had not
yet got the better of the snow; rather large snowdrifts still lay on the
ground, and clear streamlets trickled down from their edges, juicy moss
and grass sprouting up beside them and forming a fine grass lawn.
Accustomed to the heat of India, we feel the cold particularly severe on
rising, when the snow particles beat like grains of sugar against the
tent. A bluish-black raven sits on a stone, sometimes flying down to
examine what we have left, snaps his beak loudly, and seems contented
with his morning's catch.
Slowly and heavily the horses and mules zigzag up through the grey
granitic detritus and round the boulders on the way. Our troop is
considerably strengthened, for the animals need help on the acclivities
and the loads easily get out of place. To climb up these heights with
loads on their backs, as our coolies do, they must have especially
constructed lungs, good chests, and strong hearts. We mount higher and
higher to the pass in the mighty range which separates the Indus from
its great affluent, the Shyok. We still see the green fields down below
at the bottom of the valley, the bird's-eye view becomes more and more
like a map, and the landscape behind us grows more distinct and
extensive. Sharply marked orographical lines indicate the direction of
the Indus valley, and the great range on its farther side rises darkly
before us and covered with snow. Fifty mules from Rudok laden with salt
threaten to block our way, but are driven to one side by our men. From
time to time we call a halt to allow our animals to recover their wind.
Then we go on a little farther; the rests become more frequent; the
horses puff and pant and distend their nostrils. And then on again to
the next halt.
At last we were at the top, 17,585 feet above sea-level. Certainly the
thermometer marked 41.4°, but the wind was in the north, thick clouds
obscured the sky, sweeping over the crest of the mountains, and soon
hail came down, slashing us like a whip. On the summit of the Chang-la
Pass stands a stone heap with sacrificial poles, which are decked with
ragged streamers torn by the wind. All these streamers bear in Tibetan
characters the prayer of the six sacred letters; coloured or faded, they
flap and rustle in the wind as if they would drive the prayers up higher
and higher by unknown paths to the ears of the gods. Horns and skulls
adorn this elevated altar. Here all our Ladakis in turn come to a halt,
raise a cheer, dance, swing their caps, and rejoice at having reached
this critical point without mishap.
[Illustration: 42. FROM SINGRUL, LOOKING TOWARDS THE PASS, CHANG-LA.
Sketch by the Author.]
[Illustration: 43. VIEW FROM SULTAK, AUGUST 17, 1906.
Sketch by the Author.]
[Illustration: 44. DRUGUB.
Sketch by the Author.]
The descent, however, on the eastern side of the pass, is still worse:
nothing but detritus, boulders of all sizes, sharp-edged pieces of
granite, and between a muddy paste in which our horses flop and
splash at every step. Sometimes the path is more like a rough staircase,
where you might fall headlong, but our horses are sure-footed and
accustomed to bad ground. It is cold, dreary, raw, and grey--how
different from the warm, sunny country we have so lately left!
At the foot of the descent from the actual pass old Hiraman, a friend of
mine on former journeys, was waiting. The old man was just the same,
perhaps a little more wrinkled than before (Illustration 45).
After a night with 12.8 degrees of frost we rode on from Sultak by a
small lake dammed up by moraines, and down a valley full of detritus.
Now the puppies had to run alone, and they did the short day's march
without complaining, but they were heartily sorry for their exhibition
of strength when we got to Drugub, and were so tired out that they
omitted to ferret about as usual (Illustrations 43, 44).
Drugub lies at a height of 12,795 feet, and on the short way to Tankse
we ascended only 299 feet; from there, however, the route again ascends
slowly until at length one reaches the great open plateau, where the
differences of elevation show little alteration in a month of marching.
Beyond Tankse a massive, finely sculptured mountain rises in the
background; deep valleys open on either side; through the southern runs
a road to Gartok, which I was to follow later; through the northern, the
road to Muglib, which I had travelled by before; this I was to take now,
and for two days keep to roads I was well acquainted with.
The Tankse river has a fair volume of water; we crossed it at a broad,
shallow place, where the fall is very slight. The water is almost quite
clear, of a bluish-green tinge, and glides noiselessly as oil over its
gravelly bed. The whole village was on foot, and watched the pitching of
my tent in a small clump of willows, which had resolutely struggled
against the elevated situation and severe climate. These, however, were
the last trees, worthy the name, that we saw for half a year.
We rested a day in Tankse, and settled with the men who were waiting
with their thirty hired horses. On the early marches one gains all
kinds of experience, and now we had to make one or two alterations.
Muhamed Isa set up for the caravan men a large Tibetan tent with a broad
opening in the roof to let out the smoke. The sacks of provender were to
form round the inside a protection against the wind, and at the same
time be themselves sheltered from rain. Furthermore, roasted meal,
spices, and tobacco were purchased for the men, and all the barley that
could be procured in the neighbourhood. The headmen of Tankse and
Pobrang offered to accompany us for some days on a pleasure trip, and to
see that everything went on smoothly.
Late in the evening a bright fire in Muhamed Isa's camp lighted up the
surroundings, and the noisy music sounded more merrily than ever. The
caravan men held a jollification on taking leave of civilization, and
had invited the notables of the village and the dancing-girls to tea and
music. It was a very jovial party; the barley beer, _chang_, Ladak's
national drink, raised the spirits of guests and hosts, and as I went to
sleep I heard female voices and the notes of flutes and bagpipes echoed
back from the mountain flanks.
On August 21 we were again on the move; at our departure all Tankse
turned out, besides the natives who had come in from the surrounding
villages, and all sent us off with friendly cries of "Jole" and "A good
journey."
Here I commenced to draw my first map-sheet, being the first stroke of a
work that for more than two years kept my attention riveted on every
mile of the route and on every object that could be seen from it. At the
same time the collections of rock specimens was begun. Specimen No. 1
was of crystalline schists _in situ_, while the bottom of the valley was
still covered with large and small blocks of granite.
[Illustration: 45. MY OLD FRIEND HIRAMAN FROM LADAK.]
[Illustration: 46. CHIEFS OF TANKSE AND POBRANG; MUHAMED ISA, THE
CARAVAN LEADER, IN THE BACKGROUND.]
We left the Tankse monastery on its rocky spur to our left, and
henceforth kept to the right side of the Muglib brook, now at the foot
of the mountain and past its cones of detritus, now over easily
recognizable denudation terraces, and again along the bank of the brook,
where here and there we came across a miniature meadow. Down in the
valley at Muglib there is good rich pasture; close by the brook the
meadows are swampy and treacherous, but higher up the soil is sandy, and
even thistles crop up among the grass.
Here our 130 animals grazed and were hurriedly inspected. Sonam Tsering
had to give a report of his stewardship, which he had managed admirably,
and our mules looked fat and plump after grazing for five days on the
open pastures of Muglib. Our camp was now for the first time fully
mustered, and with its four tents and its various groups of men seated
round, the camp-fires had a very imposing appearance. Horses neigh and
mules bray on all sides, the men remove the pack-saddles to see that the
under side is smooth and cannot rub and cause sores, the animals are
groomed and fed, their hoofs are examined and re-shod, if the old shoes
are worn out on the stony ground.
The village of Muglib consists of three wretched huts, and its twelve
inhabitants cultivate barley and peas. The barley harvest was expected
in ten days, but the peas were still in full blossom, and would not be
ripe before the frosts set in. They are then used as horse fodder while
they are still soft and green. I asked some Muglib men what they did in
winter. "Sleep and freeze," they answered.
Next morning the sun had not risen when a shouting and jingling, loud
voices, and the stamping and neighing of horses woke me out of
sleep--the heavy cavalry was marching off under the command of Muhamed
Isa. Then the puppies discovered that my bed was a grand playground, and
left me no more peace. Manuel's fire in the kitchen began to crackle,
and a fragrant steam gave notice that there were mutton cutlets for
breakfast. I was accustomed to camp life, but I had never been so
comfortable before and had never had so large and perfect a caravan.
Beyond the village we crossed the brook six times; it is quite small,
and seems always to contain the same amount of water, for it comes from
a small lake, where I had encamped on the eastern shore in December
1901. Now we followed the northern shore over many very difficult
mountain spurs of black schist and quartzite; the ground is covered
with gravel, sometimes with small patches of coarse grass, and then
again is very sandy. Sometimes torrents of clear water gush down from
the mountains, where huge fan-shaped cones of dejection descend from the
mouths of ravines to the valley.
A heap of stones bedecked with flags and a _mani_ mark the point of
hydrographical importance, which is the watershed between the
Panggong-tso and the Indian Ocean; here the height is 14,196 feet. From
this point the valley descends slowly to the lake, and we ride in the
channel through which at one time it discharged itself into the Shyok
and Indus.
Now, the Panggong-tso is cut off from the Indus and consequently
contains salt water. Behind a spur on the right side of the valley which
hides the view, the western extremity of the lake peeped out, and a few
minutes later a grand panorama unfolded itself before us; the great
bluish-green lake between its colossal cliffs. Five years before I had
skirted its northern shore with my camels, my old sturdy veterans, which
caused so much excitement in Ladak that there I was still called the
Camel Lord.
Just where the Pobrang river enters, forming a flat delta full of
lagoons, we halted for a while to control our determination of heights
by a boiling-point observation, and then rode along the river, which in
1901 was choked up with drifted sand, but was now full of water. When
the drainage water fails in winter, the bed is at once filled up with
sand, but the dunes are swept away again as soon as the spring flood
sets in.
Lukkong is a small village with a couple of stone huts, a field of
barley, a _chhorten_, a meadow, and a stunted mountain poplar. From this
place the road runs north and north-east through the broad pebble-strewn
valley, where we have a foretaste of the flatter conformation of the
Tibetan plateau. We are in a region which has no drainage to the sea; we
have already crossed three important thresholds, the Zoji-la, the
Chang-la, and, to-day, the small Panggong Pass, but we have still two
great passes in front of us before we finally enter the wide expanses of
the tableland. Beyond the first we must again descend to the basin of
the Indus, behind the second lies an enclosed hydrographical area which
we must traverse in order to reach the country draining to the ocean
through the upper valleys of the Brahmaputra.
From a small pass with a few stone cairns we had a surprising view over
a valley which ran parallel to the one we had just travelled through,
and was full of green meadows. Many tents and camp-fires were seen above
and below the village Pobrang, and the meadow land was dotted over with
dark caravan animals, for mine was not the only party that was paying
Pobrang a flying visit: an English _shikari_, too, was there, a Mr.
Lucas Tooth, who had been hunting in the mountains and was very well
pleased with his collection of antelope horns. We talked in my tent till
midnight, and he was the last European I saw for a space of more than
two years.