DOWN THE TSANGPO BY BOAT--ENTRY INTO SHIGATSE
The 9th of February dawned, the great day on which our caravan of
yearning pilgrims would reach the goal of their dreams. The day before
had been stormy, and in the evening a strange reddish-yellow light
spread over the valley in consequence of the dust that floated about in
the air; the mountains were indistinct, and the horizon to the east was
quite invisible. But the morning was beautiful and the day was calm.
Early in the morning Sonam Tsering and some Ladakis went on board two
boats with part of the baggage, while Muhamed Isa and Tsering kept along
the road with the caravan. That was a stratagem we had devised. If any
one appeared at the last moment ordering us to halt, the prohibition
would only affect Muhamed Isa and the caravan, while I should slip into
Shigatse by water unnoticed.
All the others were on the way when Robert, Rabsang, and I made our way
from the terrace down a steep gully, and stepped on board the excellent
boat that was to bear us down the holy stream. These Tsangpo boats are
both simple and practical. A skeleton, or rather framework, of thin
tough boughs and laths is tied fast together, and is covered with four
yak hides sewed together, which are attached to a rim of wood forming
the gunwale--and the boat is ready. It is very dumpy, of a long
rectangular shape, but somewhat smaller in front than behind. It is not
heavy, being only an ordinary load for a man. All the boats now
descending the river with pilgrims going to the New Year festival, and
the boats which convey country produce or fuel to Shigatse and
Tashi-lunpo, will be carried back by the owners along the river-bank. A
large proportion of the inhabitants of Hlindug-ling, the part of Tanak
where we had encamped, gain their living by such transport. These boats
are very buoyant; there were four men in mine, and it could have borne a
much heavier load.
The rower sits on a thin board and rows continuously, but faces
forwards, for he must be able to see the waterway downstream. The blades
of the oars are divided like a fork, and a piece of leather is sewed
between the prongs like the web of a duck's foot. Our boatman is a
self-confident fellow, and receives my advice with a smile of
superiority when I venture to air my experience in river navigation. The
current does most of the work, but the oars are in constant use to keep
the boat under control.
At first we glided along slowly till we came to the village Segre, with
white, clean, and neat houses standing picturesquely on the left bank,
and a short distance beyond, to where the river washes the foot of a
steep mountain spur. But then the velocity of the boat increased,
amounting on an average to 4 feet a second. I was able to look down the
river, note the intervals of time, take my bearings, measure the
velocity, and draw a map of the river's course, just as I had before
done on the Tarim. We passed no cataracts, but the water formed small
rapids in narrow contracted reaches, and seethed round the bends. It was
a splendid voyage, the most delightful that I have experienced. The last
day's journey could not have passed more pleasantly. In Tibet, where
hitherto Nature had only placed obstacles in our way, we were now borne
along by one of Nature's forces. During half a year we had worked our
way through Chang-tang with constant losses, and now the gates stood
wide open and I glided as smoothly as on oil to my destination. One of
the greatest erosion valleys of the world displayed its wonderful
panorama, the air was so still that not the slightest ripple ruffled the
surface of the Tsangpo. Undisturbed by the winds of heaven, the
emerald-green water gives itself up to the sport of silent eddies,
which, coming into existence at cliffs and projecting points, dance
rapidly downstream in ever wider circles, and finally vanish altogether.
They are born and die, come and go, and the same tongue of land calls
forth new ones to life, but every new vortex whirls its spirals in other
water of the holy river, which has for thousands of years pursued its
course to the mysterious narrows of the Dihong.
What an intoxicating pleasure to be borne along eastwards by the
Tsangpo! Is the river one of the forbidden paths of Tibet? If they come
now and stop me I shall return: "I am not in Tibet; I am on the holy
river of the Hindus; let me alone." The view changes with quite
perplexing frequency: we have a dark wall of rock in front of us; at the
next turn it has disappeared, and another comes into sight on the
opposite side of the stream. We often wonder what above and below mean
here; we seem to remain motionless while the panorama revolves round us.
Robert is plunged in thought, looks over the gunwale, and, misled by the
water and ice-blocks about us, exclaims with astonishment: "Why, Master,
surely we are not moving." "Look at the sandbank yonder on the left," I
reply, and he is puzzled at seeing it move upstream. And where the river
is shallow and the bottom can be seen, it seems as though the gravel,
rounded stones, and sandbanks were all passing upwards underneath the
boat.
[Illustration: 106. FERRY-BOATS.]
[Illustration: 107. PILGRIMS ON THE WAY TO TASHI-LUNPO.]
We fall into reverie on this fairy-like voyage. A thought occurs to me:
shall we travel on to the mouth of the Ki-chu and thence go up to Lhasa
on foot? We can travel by night, and hide ourselves during the day; and
Tibetan is Rabsang's mother-tongue. But it passes away as quickly as the
eddies beside the boat. In Lhasa I could add nothing to the knowledge
acquired by Younghusband's expedition two years before; my hopes were
fixed on the friendship of the Tashi Lama. On the Sela-la I had
conceived a great fancy for the Trans-Himalaya, and no geographical
problem on earth had greater attractions for me. All my future
enterprises should have the object of making as thorough a scientific
investigation of the Trans-Himalaya as could possibly be accomplished by
one man in a single journey. Yes, this task was so tremendous that my
former longing for Lhasa died away like the red of even in the Tsangpo
valley, this gigantic colonnade of granite, this royal highway of
Buddha, which, breaking through the mountains and becoming hazy in the
far east, leads direct to the mouth of the Lhasa valley, while we now
glide along on its floor of liquid emerald to the holiest town of
Lamaism. Fascinating and attractive as fairy dances the current carried
my thoughts eastwards, but it also prompted new plans of campaign in
districts which had hitherto lain outside my sphere of interest. In the
valleys which pour their water to the My-chu, I had heard more than once
of Nain Sing's Raga-tsangpo, which some Tibetans had described as quite
as important as the Tsangpo itself. Was, perhaps, the Raga-tsangpo the
main stream? Had it, perchance, tributaries deriving their water from
the heart of the mysterious country to the north? Not an evening had
passed during the whole winter when I had not studied attentively
Ryder's and Nain Sing's maps. Was it certain where the source of the
Brahmaputra lay? Had I not here a task before me much more profitable
than following in the steps of Tommy Atkins to Lhasa? The sun-lighted
waters bearing our boat brought me intelligible messages from distant
ravines, from the melting margins of perpetual fields of firn, from
bluish glaciers and green ice grottoes in the heaven-kissing crest of
the Himalayas, nay, a sonorous echo from the valley where the source of
the Brahmaputra bursts out from the rock.
But we must not forget the demands of the present amid dreams of the
future. The golden gods of Tashi-lunpo expect us at their festival.
Sometimes the river contracts and deepens, and the bottom ceases to be
visible, sometimes it spreads out and the velocity decreases. Below the
village Pani, where a valley opens out, the river makes a bend to the
south-east, but quickly turns eastwards again, where it traverses the
great bed which in summer lays almost the whole breadth of the valley
bottom under water. We seldom pass a high, clearly defined bank covered
with grass, which is not flooded at high-water. From time to time the
river sends out a side channel, which, however, soon rejoins the main
bed. Wild-geese stand on the bank and scream as we pass by; black and
white ducks, herons and other waterfowl, are fearless and trustful, as
though they well knew that it is strictly forbidden in Tashi-lunpo to
quench the light of life in any living thing.
Just as we were leaving Tanak a dozen boats passed the village; some
were tied together in couples so that they could not capsize. The
passengers were pilgrims from farther up the river on their way to the
New Year festival. There women sat in their most elegant holiday attire,
with necklets of coloured glass beads from which little silver boxes
containing images and relics or silver coins were suspended, and with
high arched frames at the back of the neck covered with red woollen
material and adorned with turquoise and coral. There sat greybeards,
men, and boys, and a couple of lamas in their red togas had joined the
party of laymen. Most of the boats carried small prayer streamers on
rods tied to the gunwale, and small reliquaries hung over it to bring a
blessing on the boat journey. In some boats sand was laid on the bottom
and slabs of stone, where a fire could be kindled and tea infused. They
took little notice of us, but talked and gossiped continually and seemed
very merry. Evidently the passengers of some boats were well known to
one another, and were travelling together from the same village. All the
boats on the river were engaged on a day like this, and a continuous
succession of pilgrims streamed down the water highway to the holy
monastery. Where the banks were low these small black points could be
seen both up and down stream (Illustrations 106, 107).
We float past a sandbank, where some blocks of ice are stranded, warning
us of danger. The boat only twice grazes the bottom, for our boatman is
watchful and steers well. He knows the way, too, and here it is not so
easy as it looks to find the course; for the river splits into arms, and
only a boatman acquainted with them all can choose the best and
shortest. Sometimes he guides us into a narrow channel where the water
rushes swiftly.
Now the river turns towards the right, southern side of the valley,
where a mountain falls sheer to the water, leaving only sufficient room
on the bank for a road buttressed up with stone blocks. There a dozen
boatmen are carrying their skin boats on their backs, and, seen from
behind, resemble a row of gigantic beetles. And in the other direction
caravans of mules laden with firewood are being driven to Shigatse. Here
begins a succession of views of inconceivable grandeur, picturesqueness,
and wildness. One cliff after another falls steeply to the river, and is
washed by the water murmuring at its foot. Often a block of ice is
tilted up in a whirlpool, rises above the surface, brightly glistening
in the sun, and then falls back again.
We waited for an opportunity of landing, but the current was too strong.
At length the boatman succeeded in getting us into a backwater, and I
got out on to a promontory just as a party of pilgrims were passing by,
and was in time to take them with my camera. They could not make out
what I was doing, and they ceased talking; they seemed relieved, and
breathed freely again, when they found that they had got off with a
whole skin, and that my camera was not a firearm. Wherever I turned my
eyes new subjects presented themselves and invited me to stay sketching
all day long. But there was no time; it was my last day, and I had
ventured on too great a game to let everything depend on a single card.
"It is still far," the skipper said, pointing at starting to a point
behind which lay the Shigatse valley, a considerable distance off
(Illustration 103).
When we come again into the middle of the valley the river becomes as
broad as a lake, is smooth as a mirror, grand and majestic, flows slowly
as oil, and reflects the forms of the mountains and the boat. The spurs
and cliffs of the mountains on the northern bank have a rosy hue, the
water, usually green, shines blue from the reflexion of the sky, and all
is solemnly quiet and peaceful. Robert and Rabsang sleep in a corner,
but I grudge to lose a minute of this pilgrim voyage. Here and there
stands a cairn with a streamer-decked rod--these are the places where
routes cross the river. At one ferry a large caravan of yaks were
halting, and their loads of sheep's wool were piled up in a wall on the
bank. The black men stood out sharply against a background of yellow
sand dunes. Farther down Tsering was engaged in getting his detachment
into a boat, while his horses were being driven on to another by coaxing
and scolding. Here the great road from Tanak crosses the river, and
Tsering shouted to us as we shot rapidly past that Muhamed Isa was far
ahead. Fishermen in two boats were at work with their net in a bay of
the river, trying to drive the fish into the net by throwing stones;
they had a poor catch, but promised to bring us fish for sale in the
morning to Shigatse. We again make a bend to the south-east and approach
the mountains of the southern side, at the foot of which we pass the
villages Chang-dang, Tashi-gang, and Tang-gang, prettily situated among
gardens. The river now flows slowly in a single channel, as though it
must be careful in passing the mouth of a valley leading to a monastery.
There is much life and movement at the foot of the next promontory; many
boats laden with barley, straw, firewood, and dung are on the point of
putting in, and from others the cargo is being cleared amid shouts and
singing. Rows of boats are drawn ashore, and lie turned upside down like
large hairy toads. The boatman who has conveyed us to the mouth of the
Nyang valley receives four times the usual pay, and can scarcely believe
his eyes. He will be able to give himself a day's rest to-morrow.
At this singular landing-stage Guffaru is waiting with our horses. I
mount my small white Ladak horse and Robert his Tibetan bay, and while
the sun is setting we ride up the Nyang valley with Rabsang as outrider.
We soon plunge into a labyrinth of hollow ways and fissures in yellow
loam. But we do not need a guide, for several travellers and
mule-drivers are on their way, and give us instructions, and none is
uncivil. A little to the left of our road flows the Nyang-chu, the river
of Gyangtse, one of the largest southern tributaries of the Tsangpo,
with several villages on its banks. Twilight falls; I feel my heart
beating; shall we succeed? It becomes dark; a large white _chhorten_
stands like a ghost close on the right of our way. Rabsang asks a
belated wanderer how far it is, and receives the answer: "Follow the
road and you will come soon to a lane." On the right rises a hill, and
on its summit the outlines of the Shigatse-dzong, the Council House, are
faintly seen against the sky. Now we are between white houses and follow
a narrow lane, in which it is still darker. In an open place some
Chinese stand and stare at us. Snappy dogs come out of the houses and
bark at us. Otherwise the town is asleep, and no popular assembly
witnesses our entry. But where are our men? We do not know where they
are quartered. Ah! there stands Namgyal, waiting to show us the way, and
he leads us to a gate in the wall behind which Kung Gushuk's garden
lies.
Here Muhamed Isa and all the other men meet and greet us, as though they
would offer me their congratulations on a great triumph. We dismount,
and cross the court to the house which Kung Gushuk has placed at my
disposal. But it is cold and cheerless, and I prefer my tent set up
under the poplars of the garden. While we are waiting for Tsering we sit
by a large fire of brushwood, whither also several Tibetans gradually
gather. I pay no heed to them; I am too much engaged with my own
thoughts. I had been fortunate, and after a six months' journey through
Tibet had reached my first goal. It was late at night when my dinner was
ready; it was very welcome, for we had had no provisions on the boat.
Then I had two hours' good work at the notes I had made during the day.
But I was disturbed by a gentleman who belonged to the secular staff of
the Tashi Lama. He said that he was not acting upon orders, but that he
had been told that an unusual visitor had arrived, and he begged me to
furnish him with particulars. Then he wrote down the names and
nationality of us all, and the size of the caravan, and inquired by
which way we had come, whither we intended to travel, and what was the
object of my visit to Shigatse. He was exceedingly polite, and hoped
that we had not suffered too severely in the cold of Chang-tang. He was,
he said, an official of too low a rank to venture to address the Tashi
Lama, but he would communicate the information he had obtained to his
superiors. I never heard anything more of him. Seldom have I slept so
well as on this night--yes, perhaps, when I had fortunately completed my
college course.
When the next day passed without any one, lay or spiritual, giving
himself the least trouble about us, I sent Muhamed Isa up to
Tashi-lunpo. Its golden roofs shone fierily in the rays of the evening
sun on a slope in the west close to our garden, which was situated in
the southern suburb of Shigatse. My excellent caravan leader sought out
a lama of high position, who answered that he would send some one next
day to inquire particularly about my intentions and he would then
communicate with me further. At the same moment a Chinaman of high rank
named Ma paid me a visit. He introduced himself as the commander of the
_lansa_, or detachment of 140 Chinese soldiers, which, it seems,
garrisons Shigatse. Ma, who was a Dungan and a follower of Islam, became
my particular friend from the first moment, and smirked with good temper
and cheerfulness. He had arrived from Lhasa five days previously, and
was to stay until the Amban, the Governor-General, Lien Darin, recalled
him.
"It is inconceivable," said Ma, "how you have contrived to get through
to Shigatse without being stopped."
"Yes, to speak frankly, I had expected all kinds of annoyances, if not
sooner, at any rate a couple of days' journey from here."
"I did not hear a word of your coming; if I had known that you were
approaching the town, it would have been my duty to stop you."
"Then it is fortunate for me that you are strange here."
"Yes, but the worst is, that I shall come off badly as soon as the Amban
hears that you are living here, in Shigatse. But now it is too late; I
cannot help it now."
"Tell me, Ma Daloi, do you think that the Tashi Lama will receive me?"
"I doubt it. Immediately on my arrival I begged for an audience with the
Grand Lama, but he has not even condescended to give me an answer. And
yet I am a Chinese officer."
[Illustration: 108. COURT OF RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES IN TASHI-LUNPO.]
[Illustration: 109. RELIGIOUS DECORATIONS ON THE ROOFS OF TASHI-LUNPO TO
EXORCISE EVIL SPIRITS.]
This was little encouraging to me, a stranger, who had come from the
north without permission, and of whom no one knew what spirit he was.
And then next day was the New Year festival, which I could not attend
without some understanding, especially as the Tashi Lama himself would
be present. But he must know something about me, or how could Ngurbu
Tundup's arrival at Ngangtse-tso with the letters be explained?
Meanwhile we awaited the course of events, and went out with a paper
lantern to inspect one of the horses which had died in his stall and
must be removed. Why could he not remain alive now, when the mangers
were so full of barley, straw, and chaff, and the animals stood against
a wall which sheltered them from cold and wind, and had an idle time
before them? Five of the veterans and the last mule from Poonch were
still living, the last six of the splendid caravan which had set out
from Leh six months before. All the rest lay in Chang-tang and the
storms roared above them. These six should be cherished as the apple of
my eye and be well cared for. Their sore backs should be washed and
rubbed, their flanks groomed, at night they should sleep in cloths, and
of barley and chaff they should have abundance. The ground beneath them
should be strewn with straw, and they should be led to water at regular
times. I stroked my small grey, but he bit and kicked as usual. He, of
all the veterans, was in the best condition, and Guffaru declared that
he could cross the Chang-tang again if necessary.
We were very comfortable in the garden. To right and left of my tent
stood Robert's and Muhamed Isa's, and that of the Ladakis a little
farther off, and huge fires burned as usual before the latter two. A man
and woman of Kung Gushuk's household lived in a wretched hut in the
entrance gate, and procured for us anything we wanted. The woman was old
and infirm, and her face was bedaubed with black, but she was
exceedingly friendly. She was always coming to my tent, bowing, giggling
and grinning out of pure goodwill.
On February 11 I was awaked at half-past six with the news that two men
wished to speak to me at once. The brazier and warm water were brought,
I dressed in great haste, the tent was swept and put in order, and then
I sent to invite my guests to enter. The one was a tall lama of high
rank, named Lobsang Tsering, and he was a secretary of the Tashi Lama;
the other, Duan Suen, was a Chinaman, with handsome and refined
features. Both were extremely polite and had polished manners. We talked
for two hours on all kinds of subjects. Singularly enough, my arrival in
Shigatse seemed to be a complete surprise to both gentlemen. They
inquired my name, the route by which I had come, and my intentions, and,
of course, had never heard of poor little Sweden; but they wrote down
the Swedish, English, and Chinese names of my country.
"I intend to be present to-day at the New Year festival," I said. "I
cannot leave Shigatse without witnessing one of the greatest church
feasts."
"A European has never attended our festivals, which are intended only
for Tibetans and pilgrims of our faith, and permission will never be
granted to witness them."
"The Panchen Rinpoche (the Holy Teacher, the Tashi Lama) must have been
informed of my coming some months ago. His Holiness also knew from which
direction I should come, or he could not have sent my mails to the
Dangra-yum-tso."
"The Panchen Rinpoche never meddles with worldly matters; these are
looked after by his brother, the Duke (Kung Gushuk)."
"Still, I must see His Holiness, for I know that he expects me."
"It is vouchsafed only to a small number of mortals to appear before the
face of the Holy One."
Now the letter of the Raja of Stok and the Chinese passport came into my
mind. The letter made no impression on them; but the young Chinaman,
when the passport with its blue border and red stamp was unfolded before
him, became very interested, and opened his eyes wider the farther he
read. He read it once through, and then translated it slowly to Lobsang
Tsering.
"Why," they then both asked, "did you not show us this paper at once?
It would have saved us all discussion."
"Because the passport is made out for Eastern Turkestan and not for
Tibet," I answered truthfully.
"That does not matter, now that you are here. You have an excellent
Chinese passport, and therefore are under Chinese protection."
The young Chinaman took the passport and went off with it, while Mr.
Lobsang Tsering put further questions to me and examined our weapons and
other articles. At last I asked him whether he would like to see our
garden, and I hurriedly ate my breakfast during his absence. Then the
Chinaman came back and declared shortly that I might attend the
festival, that especial seats were reserved for myself and a couple of
my people, and that a chamberlain of the Tashi Lama's court would call
for us at the proper time. Now I blessed the Chinese passport which had
caused me so much vexation at the time, and I blessed the Indian
Government which had forced me to procure it; I blessed Count Wrangel,
who had obtained it so quickly, and I blessed the Chinese ambassador in
London, who had written out the passport with permission of his
Government. But I had never dreamed that it would be of the slightest
use to me, being issued for another country than Tibet.
This was our entry into Shigatse, and these were our first experiences
there. Not a finger had been raised to stop us, no inquisitive people
had jostled us in the streets to gaze at us. But now, when we had
already set up house in the town, our presence in the place excited as
general astonishment as if we had dropped down straight from heaven.
That this stroke had succeeded, and through no action of mine, was due
to certain peculiar circumstances. Hlaje Tsering had himself for some
unexplained reason reopened the bag in which he had caught us, and the
chieftains dwelling south of the Ngangtse-tso probably thought: "If the
Governor of Naktsang lets them pass, we cannot stop them." It was also
lucky for us that some of these chiefs had betaken themselves to the New
Year festival at Tashi-lunpo, and that we ourselves were lost in the
crowd of other pilgrims when we came to the great highway; for during
the days of the New Year the Tibetans are like capercailzies at breeding
time: they neither see nor hear. And, lastly, I, the only European of
the caravan, had ridden into the town when night had already spread a
veil of darkness over the earth.
[Illustration: 110. THE UPPER BALCONY OF THE COURT OF CEREMONIES IN
TASHI-LUNPO.]