CHAPTER I.

JOURNEY

TO

LHASA AND CENTRAL TIBET.

BY

SARAT CHANDRA DAS, C.I.E.,

Of the Bengal Educational Service,

Member of the Asiatic Society, Bengal, etc.

EDITED BY

THE HON. W. W. ROCKHILL.

LONDON:

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.

1902.

INTRODUCTION.

Sarat Chandra Das was born in the town of Chittagong, in Eastern

Bengal, in 1849, in a Hindu family of the vaidya, or medical caste. He

received his education in the Presidency College at Calcutta, where he

became favourably known to Sir Alfred Croft, the present Director of

Public Instruction of Bengal, who ever since has been his friend and

guide in his geographical and literary work, and by whose

representations to the Indian Government it became possible for him to

perform his important journeys into Tibet.

While still in the engineering department of the college he was

appointed in 1874 head master of the Bhutia Boarding School, just

opened at Darjiling by order of the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, Sir

George Campbell. Sarat Chandra at once applied himself with

characteristic energy to the study of the Tibetan language, and

established friendly relations with the Raja of Sikkim and many of the

leading lamas in that country, to which he made several short trips in

the succeeding years.

In 1878, lama Ugyen-gyatso, who was attached to his school as Tibetan

teacher, was sent to Tashilhunpo and Lhasa with tribute from his

monastery, and advantage was taken of this opportunity to ascertain

whether permission could not be obtained from the Tibetan authorities

for Sarat Chandra to visit Tibet. The lama was so fortunate as to

obtain from the Prime Minister of the Panchen rinpoche of Tashilhunpo

an invitation for Sarat Chandra to visit that great centre of lamaist

learning, of which George Bogle and Samuel Turner have left us such

interesting descriptions; and, so as further to insure his safety and

justify his presence in the country in the eyes of the suspicious lamas

and Chinese, the Minister had the Babu’s name entered as a student of

theology in the Grand Monastery of that place. A passport was also

brought Sarat Chandra by the lama, issued to him by the Prime Minister,

by which a choice of roads to enter Tibet was given him, and his safe

conduct insured to Shigatse.

Armed with these credentials, Sarat Chandra set out for Tashilhunpo in

June, 1879, accompanied by lama Ugyen-gyatso, and there he remained for

nearly six months, the guest of the Prime Minister, with whose

assistance he was able to make a careful examination of the rich

collections of books in the great libraries of the convent, bringing

back with him to India a large and valuable collection of works in

Sanskrit and Tibetan. He also explored during this journey the country

north and north-east of Kanchanjinga, of which nothing was previously

known, noting with great care observations of bearing and distances.

Not the least valuable result of this journey was, however, the

friendly relations which the traveller was able to establish with the

liberal and powerful Prime Minister, who, deeply interested in western

civilization and its wonderful discoveries, of which he had learned

much from the mouth of Sarat Chandra, requested him to come back again

to Tashilhunpo, to instruct him further in the wonders of the west.

An account of this first journey was printed by the Bengal Government

some time after the author’s return, with a prefatory note by the

traveller’s friend, Sir Alfred Croft. As the route therein described is

the same as that followed by the traveller in his second and more

extended journey of 1881–82, and as the results of his studies in Tibet

in 1879, as shown in this report, bear nearly exclusively on historical

and religious subjects, it has been deemed advisable to omit it from

the present publication, embodying in footnotes all such details as

have been found in it bearing on the geography and ethnology of Tibet,

and which are not in the later and fuller report.

The year 1880 was passed by Sarat Chandra at his home in Darjiling,

working on papers on the history, religion, ethnology, and folk-lore of

Tibet, drawn from the data collected during his journey. These papers,

most of them of great value to Oriental students, have since appeared

in the Journal of the Bengal Asiatic Society and in that of the

Buddhist Text Society of India, which Sarat Chandra founded in 1892,

and of which he has since remained the secretary.

In November, 1881, in fulfilment of the promise previously made to the

Prime Minister of the Panchen rinpoche, Sarat Chandra started on his

second journey to Tibet, again accompanied by Ugyen-gyatso, who acted

as secretary, collector, and surveyor, though much of the later work,

including the extremely important survey of Lake Palti (Yamdo tso), was

done by the traveller himself. Sarat Chandra again established his

headquarters at Tashilhunpo, whence he made various excursions along

both banks of the great Tsangpo, from Sakya in the west to Samye and

Tse-tang in the east. He was also so fortunate as to be able to make a

short visit to Lhasa, which had only been done twice by native

explorers prior to his time, once in 1866 by Nain Singh, and again in

1880 by Kishen Singh, the latter making a detailed map of the whole

city and its environs. He was present at an audience of the Tale lama,

and visited a number of the important monuments of the city; but for

various reasons, especially of a prudential nature, he was prevented

from seeing many places of great interest in and around the city; but

his valuable notes are a most important addition to the descriptions

left us by previous travellers.

After this brief visit to the capital of Tibet, Sarat Chandra explored

the valley of the Yalung, where Tibetan civilization is said to have

first made its appearance, gathering everywhere, with the usual

thoroughness which distinguishes his work, valuable information

concerning each locality traversed. In January, 1883, he re-entered

India after an absence of about fourteen months.

The report of this journey was printed in two separate publications by

order of the Government of Bengal. They are entitled, “Narrative of a

Journey to Lhasa,” and “Narrative of a Journey Round Lake Palti

(Yamdok), and in Lhokha, Yarlung, and Sakya.” For various reasons these

reports were kept as strictly confidential documents by the Indian

Government until about 1890, when selections from them, bearing

exclusively upon the ethnology of Tibet, however, appeared in an

article in the July number of the Contemporary Review, and five years

later further extracts from them were published in the August number of

the Nineteenth Century. It is these reports which, with only such

slight modifications as have seemed absolutely necessary to make the

narrative connected, are published in the present volume.

In 1885, when the Government of India contemplated sending a mission to

Tibet, and the late Honourable Colman Macauley was sent by it to Peking

to obtain the necessary authorization of the Chinese Government to the

projected embassy, Sarat Chandra accompanied him to the Chinese

capital, where he remained several months in the early part of the

year. It was during this visit to Peking that I became acquainted with

the Babu, to whom I felt strongly drawn by my lifelong interest in

Tibetan studies. Sarat Chandra lived, while at Peking, in the lamasery

outside the An-ting gate, known as the Hsi Huang ssu, and in which all

Tibetan traders stop when at Peking. He wore the dress common to lamas

in China, and was always called the “Ka-che lama,” or “the lama from

Kashmir.” His knowledge of Tibetan, his extensive travels, and his

courteous manners gained for him the friendship of many of the lamas,

among others of the Chang-chia Hutuketu, the Metropolitan of the lama

church in China. Had the mission ever been sent to Tibet, it was

understood that Sarat Chandra was to accompany it, and he would have

rendered it valuable service; but the project was abandoned, and since

then the Babu has bent all his energies to the publication of Tibetan

texts and to the preparation of other works on Buddhism while living in

Darjiling, where he holds the position of Tibetan translator to the

Government of Bengal.

The services he rendered Mr. Macauley while in Peking were deemed,

however, of such value by the Indian Government, that on his return to

Bengal he was given the title of Rai Bahadur, and created a Companion

of the Order of the Indian Empire, and in 1887 the Royal Geographical

Society awarded him the “Back Premium” for his geographical researches.

The amount of literary work accomplished by Sarat Chandra since his

return from Tibet in 1883 is enormous in bulk, and its value to

students cannot be over-estimated. He brought back with him from his

travels over two hundred volumes, manuscripts or block-prints, obtained

from the great libraries in Tibet, a number of them in Sanskrit, and

for many centuries past lost in India. From these sources he has drawn

for the preparation of the valuable papers which he has since

published, a list of which would occupy several pages. Besides a large

number of translations into English of Tibetan texts, he has edited in

Sanskrit for the ‘Bibliotheca Indica’ Kshemendra’s poem, entitled

“Avadana Kalpalata,” which he was so fortunate as to discover in Lhasa,

and in Tibetan an historical work of great value, another giving the

history of the pre-Buddhist or Bon religion of Tibet, a very valuable

native grammatical work, and others too numerous to mention. He is now

engaged, and has well on through the press, a Tibetan-English

dictionary, which, he tells me, will be of about two thousand pages,

exclusive of a Sanskrit-English appendix of Buddhist terms.

This brief notice of Sarat Chandra’s literary work will suffice,

however, to show that his labours in this field are as important as

those which he has rendered to geography. Personally, I am under a

lasting debt of gratitude to him for the valuable information which he

gave me while in Peking, and which was later on of great use to me

during my explorations in Tibet, and I hold myself particularly

fortunate in having been chosen by the Royal Geographical Society to

edit his reports, as it is a means of publicly expressing my

indebtedness to him, and also, I trust, of helping him to take the

place he so justly deserves beside Csoma de Kőrös, as one of the

greatest pioneers of exploration and discovery in Tibet.

This introductory note would not be complete if further reference were

not made to the Babu’s faithful companion and assistant in his two

journeys to Tibet, lama Ugyen-gyatso. The lama, who is a Tibetan from

Sikkim and connected with the reigning family of that State, was born

in 1851 at Yangang, and at the age of ten entered the lamasery of

Pema-yangtse, where he took the usual course of monastic studies for

twelve years. In 1873 he visited, for the first time, Darjiling in the

suite of the Raja of Sikkim, and a little later on in the same year he

was designated by that Prince, and at the request of the

Deputy-Commissioner, Mr. Edgar, to fill the post of Tibetan teacher at

the Bhutia school at Darjiling, which it was proposed to open. For a

time the lama was employed in the office of the Deputy-Commissioner,

and accompanied that officer on a visit to Sikkim. In 1874 he entered

upon his duties as teacher in the school, and continued there until

1878, when he went to Tibet, as previously noted, to bear tribute from

his lamasery to the heads of the church. During the lama’s residence at

Darjiling he had been instructed in the use of such surveying

instruments as it is customary for the trans-frontier surveyors to use,

and the accurate work which he did during his various journeys bears

witness to the thoroughness with which he was instructed and to his own

ability. From this journey of 1878, the lama brought back with him the

passport which enabled Chandra Das to make his two journeys to Tibet,

in both of which he accompanied him, rendering him everywhere true and

valuable service.

The discovery by Sarat Chandra in 1882 of the true dimensions and shape

of Lake Palti, [1] seemed to Sir Alfred Croft so important that in

June, 1883, he despatched the lama to cover the same ground in order to

check off, verify, and complete the survey of the Babu. This he

successfully did, adding only to the latter’s work a small portion to

the south-east of the lake, but establishing the great accuracy of the

previous survey. He also explored the Lhobrak (Manas) valley, and again

visited Lhasa, returning to India by way of the Tang la and Chumbi

valley, and reaching Darjiling in December of the same year. A report

of this work was prepared by Colonel, now Sir Thomas, Holdich, and

appeared in the “Report of the Explorations in Sikkim, Bhutan, and

Tibet from 1856 to 1886,” which was published in 1889 by the

Trigonometrical Survey of India, and is frequently quoted in the notes

to the present narrative.

Since then the lama, whose services have been rewarded by the Indian

Government with the title of Rai Bahadur, a silver medal and a grant of

money, has been employed as chief Tibetan translator to Government,

serving in that capacity during the late Sikkim expedition, and has

also given valuable assistance to Sarat Chandra in editing Tibetan

texts.

W. W. ROCKHILL.

Block Island, U.S.A.,

July 27, 1899. [2]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Journey from Darjiling to Tashilhunpo 1

II. Residence at Tashilhunpo 45

III. Journey to Dongtse 69

IV. Residence at Tashilhunpo, and preparations for

Journey to Lhasa 104

V. From Tashilhunpo to Yamdo Samding, and thence

to Lhasa 122

VI. Residence at Lhasa 148

VII. Government of Lhasa—Customs, Festivals, etc. 171

VIII. Return to Tashilhunpo and Ugyen-gyatso’s visit

to the Bonbo Sanctuary of Rigyal Sendar 195

IX. Funeral of the Panchen Rinpoche—Visit to the

Great Lamasery of Samye and to Yarlung 213

X. Visit to Sakya and Return to India 237

XI. Social Divisions—Marriage—Funerals—Medicine—

Festivals 246

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

Portrait of Sarat Chandra Das Frontispiece

Map showing the Routes of Sarat Chandra Das through

Sikkim and Tibet 1

A Kirati Woman of the Limbu Tribe 9

Sikkim Soldier 25

Sarat Chandra crossing the Donkhya Pass 42

Town of Shigatse 45

The Grand Monastery of Tashilhunpo 50

Khandro Ye-shes. Padma Sambhava. Lha-cham Mandara sa 58

Chang-sa Rgyab-pa, Wine-drinking concluding Wedding Ceremonies 73

Black-hat Dance (Shanag Cham) 115

A Lhacham, or Lady of Rank 120

Tibetan Nobleman 125

Nam Tos-sras (Vaisravana), the Guardian King of the North 136

The Disposal of the Dead (by cutting the Corpse into pieces) 140

Plan of Lhasa 149

Plan of the City of Lhasa 151

Potala, the Residence of the Dalai Lama, at Lhasa 154

Paldan Lhamo (srimati-devi) 158

Cho-Khang, the Grand Temple of Buddha, at Lhasa 160

Funeral Procession 164

Potala, the Palace of the Grand Lama 166

Lama delivering an Oracle 175

A Little Girl, daughter of a Tibetan Nobleman 200

Picnic in a Grove 201

Glaciers of Kanglachan Pass 215

River Zemu, Chatangla Pass 219

Glacial Lake and Moraines at the Source of the Zenni (?) 223

Cane Bridge on the Rungit River 229

Bridge at Bri, near Yangyang 233

Waterfall below Pachungri, between Gera-tang and Metang 239

Khamba Djongpon’s Encampment on a Moraine beyond Kangchan

Jang Mountain 243

Semarinu and adjoining Snowy Mountain 249

Snow Mountains beyond Chattayla Pass 253

Map of Tibet and the surrounding Regions At end

JOURNEY TO LHASA AND CENTRAL TIBET.

CHAPTER I.

JOURNEY FROM DARJILING TO TASHILHUNPO.

November 7, 1881.—On the night of my departure from Darjiling, [3] the

moon was shining brightly, though some dark clouds presaged a slight

fall of rain. Our eyes often turned with anxiety towards the

mountain-tops on the eastern outskirts of Nepal, to see if snow was

falling on them; and the fear of death in the snows and the hope of

overcoming the obstacles of nature alternated within me as I left my

home in Darjiling, soon to bid a long farewell to my native land, with

but faint hope that I would ever see it again.

I rode on silently, and, to my great relief, unnoticed by any one, save

one or two Bhutias on their way towards Darjiling, and in the stillness

of the night we could hear the songs of the workwomen of Takvar and the

music of their pipes and drums. Coming to the river, which was rather

broad at this season of the year, I met lama Ugyen-gyatso, who was

waiting to help me across. Three or four bamboos loosely laid over the

main stream enabled us to cross, though with some difficulty, and with

the help of an intelligent Bhutia attendant I was able to push on over

the narrow slippery path till half-past one, when I reached Gok, now a

deserted village, where, in place of the dozen shops and pretty

Buddhist shrine which formerly marked the place, I found but a cow-shed

where a Nepali was snoring fast asleep. It was here that the up-country

grain-sellers used to come to buy large quantities of Indian corn and

cardamom seed to resell in the Darjiling bazar.

Spreading our rugs in the long grass near the cow-shed, we tried to

rest for a while; but what with the unevenness of the ground, insects

creeping over me, the prickly points of brambles and weeds penetrating

the thin rug on which I lay, and a shower of rain which wetted us

through, we could get no sleep, so we started again at four in the

morning. The path, hardly a foot broad, was choked with weeds and long

grass. Lighting my lantern, I followed Phurchung, my shot-gun tied

across the top of the load he carried, and with many a slip and tumble

we reached the valley of the Rummam at daybreak.

November 8.—The Rummam, one of the principal feeders of the Great

Rungit, rises in the Singli mountains, and forms the boundary between

British territory and independent Sikkim on the north-west, all the

country to the right (south) of it belonging to the former Government.

We found it a raging torrent, and only spanned by a light footbridge of

bamboo poles resting on a huge boulder in the middle of the stream, and

held down by rocks. The Lepchas and Limbus catch fish, sometimes of

considerable size, in the cold season in the pools in the river-bed,

which the former sell in the Darjiling bazar. Sal trees were abundant,

and on the hill-slopes we saw cardamom and cotton now ready to be

picked. On the larger patches of cultivation, guards were stationed in

bamboo watch-houses to scare away the monkeys and bears with bamboo

clappers. I was told that a large species of monkeys, besides the small

variety of which we saw a few, are found in this valley, and that they

are a terror to the peasants and to solitary female travellers. [4] To

kill these the Lepchas use dogbane and other poisonous roots, which

they mix with cooked edible roots or rice.

On nearing the bridge, we fell in with some twenty men carrying oranges

to Darjiling, but I was fortunately able to pass by unnoticed. After a

short rest, during which I had some breakfast, and changed my Indian

dress for a Tibetan one, we resumed our journey uphill, leaving the

Mitogang road on our right. Antelope and wild goat abound hereabout,

but the villagers shoot but little: they are so poor that they have

hardly a dozen matchlocks among them all. Nepalese settlers are

numerous here, and I noticed some Brahmans and Chetris who live chiefly

by selling milk and butter. We passed several paddy fields made on

terraces along the hillsides, where ploughs drawn by bullocks were

used; but the Bhutias neither terrace the hillsides nor do they use

ploughs, but keep to their time-honoured implements, hoes and clubs

(in) of oak, by which they get but scanty returns. The Limbus [5] till

the ground for three consecutive years, and then leave it fallow for

three, when the weeds are cut and burnt, and it is again put under

cultivation.

After ascending several hills by steep paths, we came to the top of a

ridge marked by a mendong and a chorten, [6] and from whence a

picturesque view of the valley of Dhuramdien, dotted with numerous

houses, and of the surrounding country is obtained. This spot is called

Mani-dara by the Pahirias, and Chorten-gang by the Bhutias, both names

meaning “the ridge of the sacred stupa.” Here we halted by the side of

a rill, and purchased two bottles of murwa beer [7] and vegetables from

some Limbus.

November 9.—Our way led along an easy path by Limbu houses with

sheepfolds and pigsties in front of them, and around which a few goats

and cows were also seen. The Limbu fowls, by the way, are not so large

as those of the Bhutias. As I journeyed on we talked of some of the

Limbu [8] customs, the most remarkable of which is that of beating

drums on every trivial occasion. Every Limbu family, be it poor or

rich, possesses, as a rule, three or four tambourine-shaped drums,

which they beat on going out of or returning to their villages. The

wife or children beat them in honour of the husband when he goes out,

and the latter when he leaves the house.

Crossing the range we entered a richer country, as was evidenced by the

vegetation and the abundance of trees. We saw long canes growing

luxuriantly, and there was quite a large grove of plantation trees,

showing the warm climate the country enjoys.

November 10.—The sky was cloudy and the atmosphere filled with fog when

we set out. Along the banks of the streams we had to cross grew tall

pines and giant ferns, while thick brushwood, ferns and rattans lined

the banks, the water dashing down from the hill-tops in cascades.

Pushing our way through the dense forests of the Hi range, the sky

scarcely visible through the lofty oaks, pines and magnolias, we

reached after an hour’s hard ascent the Rishi chorten, near which is a

moss-covered mendong. The Hi La commences here, and from it one

commands an excellent view of South-Western Sikkim, including Tonglo

and Singli, and the hills of Darjiling. In the thickets roundabout were

to be seen the tracks of wild pigs, and the woods were alive with

monkeys which feed on acorns.

At about 1 p.m. we reached the top of the range, some 6000 feet above

the level of the sea. Crossing a number of brooks which empty into the

Rishi, we came to some cowsheds, where I would have liked to have

rested; but no rest was possible, for I could see the leeches [9]

spanning their length with swift but measured paces, making for me with

haste.

At 4 p.m. we commenced our descent from the top of the ridge, which is

marked by a lartsé [10]—here a bush of dwarf bamboos, with scraps of

red cloth tied to it, near which Phurchung uttered his lha sol, [11] or

invocation to the mountain deities. We halted for the night in a little

clearing in the jungle at the foot of a gigantic oak, a few miles above

the village of Lingcham. The giant nettle creeper here attains its

largest growth, some more than 100 feet long. The tree nettle also

abounds in this forest, and our servants found also the common nettle,

the tender leaves of which make excellent soup. [12]

November 11.—The sky was overcast, and there was rain and sunshine at

the same time, a phenomenon the Bhutias call metog-charpa, or “flowery

shower.” The village of Hi, by which we passed, contains several

Bhutia, Lepcha, and Limbu houses. [13] The latter people seem to be

prosperous; they cultivate rice on irrigated terraces, and use a plough

drawn by buffaloes. A few hundred yards above the River Kalai (also

called Kalhait) we saw cardamom patches carefully fenced. The Kalai

river, which we found rapid at even this season of the year, rises in

the Singli pass, and after a circuitous course of about 20 miles,

empties into the great Rungit near the foot of Tashiding hill. Villages

are numerous along the river for many miles; they are situated on

ridges, which look like lateral ribs of a range running on either side

of the Kalai from west to east, generally sending out southerly spurs.

The Kalai is overhung on both sides by lofty trees growing on steep

banks apparently inaccessible when looked at from the river bank. The

river is bridged by two long, stout bamboos resting on a huge boulder

in the middle of the stream, and weighted down with slabs of stone.

In the shallow part of the stream piles have been driven to hold bamboo

nets for capturing fish. This torrent is well known for its delicious

fish; and we saw growing by some of the Limbu houses the na-dag-shig,

[14] a tree, the leaves of which are used to poison fish which swarm in

the stagnant pools in the river.

There are five classes of priests among the Limbu people, who perform

their religious and secular ceremonies. They are called Phedangba,

Bijua, Dami, Baidang, and Srijanga. [15]

The Phedangba enjoy the privilege of conducting the religious

ceremonies, and of dealing in omens and fortune-telling. The Bijua are

trained to the Shamanic worship, of which fantastic dances are the

characteristic feature. The third order practice witchcraft

exclusively, and are said to be able to expel evil spirits through the

mouth. The fourth class, called Baidang, are physicians, the name

Baidang being undoubtedly derived from the Sanskrit Baidya. The fifth,

which is the most important of the five orders, has the exclusive

privilege of interpreting the religious books, and of studying

religious observances and rites. My informant, though a Srijanga,

combined in his person the qualifications of the other four orders;

hence his great reputation among the Limbus, who considered him endowed

with divine attributes.

Leaving the banks of the Kalai, we pushed on uphill through long grass

and reed thickets, where wild pigs were numerous and the porcupine

abounds. [16] The latter animal is said to do much harm to pulse and

radish fields, and destroys a great many of the wild yams on which the

people chiefly subsist. On ascending about 3000 feet above the Kalai

valley, we enjoyed distant views of Pema-yangtse, Yantang, Hi, Sakyang,

and other villages on the high flat ridges on either side of the Kalai

and Ratong rivers, and on our right was the village of Lingcham with

its orange groves and numerous murwa fields. We halted near a Limbu

house, and the coolies plucked wild onions (lagog) [17] growing in the

crevices of the rocks, with which they seasoned their curries. This

lagog, though smelling like the common garlic, is not half so strong,

and gives a peculiar flavour to meat. It is said to produce coughing.

November 12.—We continued to ascend by a hardly discernible trail,

passing patches of Indian corn and a few miserable Limbu houses: one

woman we saw was carrying a basketful of wild apricots. At 2 p.m. we

reached the top of the ridge, on the furthest extremity of which to our

right was the Sangnag Choiling (pronounced Changachelling) monastery,

while near the path we were following was an old moss-covered chorten.

Passing through dense woods of oaks and pines, and pushing our way

through thickets of tree-nettle and underbrush, we reached, after two

hours, the little village of Tale, where there are some twenty houses,

and around which some mares, buffaloes, pigs, and a large number of

cows were feeding. The inhabitants were anxious to get salt from us in

exchange for chang, [18] for the October fall of snow had prevented the

Yangpung salt dealers from reaching this place, and salt was in

consequence scarce; but we had to decline their offers, as we had no

more than we required ourselves. [19]

November 13.—Our way led us through the village of Tale to the Ringbi

river, a stream as rapid as the Kalai. There is a strong bamboo bridge

over it, but we crossed by some bamboos laid side by side where the

river was narrowest. To the north-west of the village, on a parallel

ridge trending northward from the same range of hills, is the village

of Nambura. We followed the stream up for 5 miles by a circuitous

trail, and then crossed over again to the right bank, a little below

Nambura. The path led along the side of a cliff, and we had great

difficulty in making our way along its slippery side, placing our feet

in fissures of rocks and holding fast by creepers and grass. Then,

following the course of the river, we ascended towards the village of

Ringbi, and looking back we saw Tale, Nambura, and many other villages

perched high up on the mountain sides several thousand feet above us.

Passing under a huge rock, below which the stream had cut gullies, we

crossed over by means of bamboos and wooden ladders. Looking up once I

saw some stuffed pheasants and a Tibetan shirt of red cloth hidden in a

fissure of the rock, evidently by some bird-shikaris. Birds of various

hues, especially several varieties of pheasants, abound in these woods,

which are frequented by shikaris who earn a livelihood by selling

stuffed birds at Darjiling.

A mile further on we came to the village of Ringbi, [20] situated in a

beautiful plain, behind which rose cragged rocks; to the north and east

the Ringbi river roared far down below us. The wild plantain, a

gigantic rattan, and numerous pines and oaks covered the hills on the

other side of the torrent. There are here a half-dozen houses inhabited

by Limbus, who raise rice, Indian corn, murwa, and other varieties of

millet.

As soon as Phurchung had laid his load on the ground, he ran off to the

house of an acquaintance to buy for me some bottles of beer, and

presently returned with three, of which he well knew one would be given

him. Our tent was pitched on the flat near the river, and my rugs being

spread, I stretched myself at my ease, forgetting the fatigues of the

journey. The servants had dispersed, some to collect firewood, some to

pick edible wild plants, others to buy vegetables for our evening

meal—nothing broke the silence save the sound of the rushing torrent

below. I slept soundly, my mind more occupied with the future than the

past.

November 14.—The morning was clear, the view on all sides superb, and,

though familiar with mountain scenery, my eye never tired of its wild

grandeur. We waited and waited for hours for Phurchung, whom I had sent

to Nambura to buy provisions; but, as he had not appeared by noon, we

had to give up all thoughts of travelling that day. In the afternoon he

made his appearance, loaded with rice, maize, murwa, eggs, vegetables,

etc., and leading a ewe, which he said had cost him Rs. 4. He was very

drunk, but conscious of his condition. He begged to be excused, and,

after numerous salams and lollings of the tongue after the Tibetan

fashion, he vanished from our sight.

We were asked by the Limbus to exchange salt, of which they stood much

in need, for tsuo, [21] a dyeing creeper which grows here in abundance,

and of which they had collected many large bundles; but again we had to

refuse.

Phurchung much regretted that one of his best friends among the Limbus

of this place had gone to a distant village to attend a marriage, for

he might have rendered great assistance in many ways.

The marriage customs of this people are very curious and interesting.

Some among them at the time of marriage consult astrologers. When a man

and a girl think of marrying, they meet, without consulting their

parents, at some place—a market, if there be one near—in order to sing

witty songs, in which test the man is required to excel his fair rival.

If he is beaten in this contest by the maiden whose hand he covets, he

runs away in deep shame at his defeat; but if he wins, he seizes her by

the hand and takes her to his home without further ceremony, but

usually accompanied by a female companion. If the man has had some

previous knowledge of the girl’s superior attainment in singing, he

sometimes bribes the maiden’s companion to declare him the winner in

the singing competition.

Another means of wife-winning is by courting her in the house of her

parents, to which free access is readily gained by presenting the

girl’s nearest relative living in the house with a pig’s carcass, a

present called in their language phudang. When the marriage ceremony

takes place, the bridegroom, if rich enough, kills a buffalo or a pig,

which is presented to the bride’s parents, a native coin fixed on its

forehead. Among the lower people, the parents of the bride seldom know

anything about the marriage till the return of the girl from her

captor’s house. Then the marriage ceremony takes place. The friends and

relatives assemble in some spacious courtyard, each bringing a present

of a basket of rice, a bottle of murwa or arrack. The bridegroom then

beats a drum, to the music of which the bride dances, outsiders also

taking part in the dance. This over, a Phedangba priest conducts

certain religious ceremonies beginning with the following mantra:

“According to the commands handed down to us from ancient times and the

doings of the patriarchs, we bind our son and daughter to-day in

marriage.”

As the priest repeats the formula, the bridegroom places his palm on

that of the bride, holding at the same time a cock, and she a hen,

which they afterwards hand over to the Phedangba. When the above

formula has been recited, the fowls’ throats are cut, and they are

thrown away for any one to pick up and keep, and the blood is collected

on a plantain leaf, and from it omens are drawn. In another leaf is

some vermilion paint, in which the bridegroom dips his middle finger,

which he passes across the forehead of the priest to the tip of the

bride’s nose. The bridegroom then says, “Henceforth, maiden, thou art

my wife;” and shouting repeatedly, “Maiden, thou art my wife,” he puts

a vermilion mark on her brow.

The following morning the priest invokes some friendly spirit, and says

to the newly married couple, “You two should henceforth live as husband

and wife as long as you remain on this earth;” to which the parties

suitably reply, “We will do as you command.” Unless this period of a

lifetime is mentioned, the marriage is held to be unlucky; and to make

it fortunate further ceremonies, which open new sources of profit for

the priest, are considered necessary.

At the marriage feast, where first murwa is served to each guest, the

meat is generally pork, and finally a dish of rice is presented to

every one of the party.

When the marriage ceremony is over, the bride, released from her

captor’s hands for the first time, returns to her parents, who are

supposed to have been in ignorance of the previous proceedings. Two or

three days after her return comes a go-between, or parmi, [22] to

settle differences with the bride’s parents. He brings, as a rule,

three things—a bottle of arrack, the carcass of a pig, and a silver

coin, as presents to the bride’s parents. Just as he is about to make

them the presents, they are bound to fly into a passion and threaten to

beat him, whereupon he entreats them not to do so, and tries to pacify

them with the present of another rupee. Then they ask him in an angry

tone, “Why did you steal away our daughter?” and such-like questions.

When their anger has subsided, he pays the price of the bride, which,

according to the wealth of the groom, varies from Rs. 10 to Rs. 120, or

the equivalent; but in all cases a pig is an indispensable part of the

price. Then a further present of usually Rs. 12, or its equivalent, is

made to the soffas (subahs) and village headmen.

This present is known in Limbu as turayimbag, meaning satisfaction to

the parents for stealing their daughter; and though it is really due to

the bride’s parents, it is nowadays appropriated by the village

officials.

Like the Tibetans, the Limbus present white cotton khatag to all who

are interested in the marriage. When the time comes for delivering up

the bride to the parmi, the parents must say, “Oh, our daughter is

lost! She is not to be found! Some one must go and find her!” Then a

couple more silver coins are paid, and one of the relatives discovers

the lost bride, who has usually hidden herself in the storeroom, and

she is handed over to the parmi. Nowadays, however, it is more common

for the bride to come forth of herself as soon as the money has been

paid, but not before. [23]

November 15.—The villagers tried to dissuade us from attempting to

cross the passes where the paths were hidden by the snow, saying that

it would be more convenient to stay at Ringbi, where provisions were

easily procurable. If I remained here, however, various reports would

be spread to prejudice the frontier guards of Tibet against us, and we

would, moreover, be unable to ascertain when the snow should have

hardened sufficiently to admit of our setting out on our journey, as

the passes were three or four days’ march from the village. We

determined to try the Yampung la, which still remained free from snow.

Our coolies gave the villagers to understand that we shikaris (for

Phurchung, with his fowling-piece and load of cartridges, was enabled

to pass us off as such) had very little to do with the passes, except

for going to Kangpa-chan, where game was more abundant: if we failed

entering Namga-tsal, we should most probably return by Jongri to

Darjiling.

We passed behind the village, where there are some tall cypresses and a

solitary juniper tree, which the people erroneously call chandan, or

sandal wood. [24] A short distance from the village we passed the road

leading to Dechan phug, “the cavern of bliss,” a huge rock, the hollow

in which is haunted by numerous demons and evil spirits. Now and then

we saw Limbus making bamboo mats or collecting osiers to thatch their

houses. The road along the river was easy, the rills falling into it

bridged, and the steep banks carefully crossed by stone dykes, while

steps were cut in the rocks where necessary.

By one o’clock we reached Paongtang, where, in a wretched shed for

travellers (dong-khang), we made our camp. A light rain was falling, so

we had to cook our food in the miserable shed, where we could not stand

erect, where ants and centipedes were creeping over everything, and the

smoke and dust raised by the bellows nearly suffocated us. Though we

had a tent, the obstinacy of my servants compelled me to forego the

comfort it afforded, for to them the dong-khang was a comfortable

dwelling, and they insisted that I should enjoy it too.

Phurchung bought some milk, cheese, murwa, and excellent fish from one

of the neighbouring herdsmen, a cousin of his; and when we had

refreshed ourselves with the beer, we sat listening to two of our

companions, Jordan and Tonzang, as they sang and declaimed over their

drink. Though these men carried our loads, they were men of much

respectability in their own country, and had been induced to do menial

work only to oblige me, as I did not care to trust outsiders with the

secret of my movements. I amused myself listening to Jordan, and really

wondered that even among the uncivilized dwellers of the hills wine

could inspire such eloquence. Among the volleys of his eloquence were

quotations from a book called ‘Rinchen Tenwa,’ or ‘The Precious

Rosary.’

“All here assembled, pray attend.

“The eagle is the king of birds; when he rises, all rise.

“The lion is the king of beasts; when he leaps, all leap.

“He who drinks is the prince of speech; when he speaks, all hear.”

Here Jordan’s analogy broke down, for he should have said, “When he

speaks, all speak;” but as his were quotations, he could take no

liberties with the text. [25]

November 16.—After having started Jordan and Tonzang to Darjiling with

letters and my Indian clothing, we resumed our journey, and after a

mile along the course of the Ringbi we climbed the Lungmo la, which is

thickly covered with dwarf bamboos and mossy oaks of immense size.

At 2 p.m. we came to Chonjom, the junction of the two head-streams of

the Ringbi, where there is a well-made bridge across the river with

strong boulder-made buttresses; its bed is here covered with thick

green moss. A little later on we halted at a place called Keta, in the

midst of dark woods, the abode of bears, pigs, and Sikkim leopards. As

I had sent my tent back, we had to make a shelter against the

inclemency of the weather by a contrivance made with our bed-clothes,

and on the branches of a neighbouring tree we hung our meat and fish,

which attracted owls and mice during the night.

November 17.—Our hearts quaked as we continued our way through the

dense wood and thick undergrowth, for a man-eater was reported to have

killed two Nepalese wood-cutters in the Singli la. The year before last

a tiger came up to Jongri, where it killed a dozen yaks, and we feared

lest now it might have come back to make havoc on the Yampung yaks.

While crossing one of the numerous fences dividing different pieces of

property, we found a pheasant caught by the neck in a hair-trap. The

way was steep and stony, and the cold piercing.

At noon we reached the zone of rhododendrons, and, passing through the

pines, where we startled pheasants and some other birds of beautiful

plumage, we came to a snow-covered ridge. Then we began the ascent of a

steep spur, where we were told the Lepcha troops of Sikkim had repelled

the Gurkha invaders, shooting their arrows at them, and then rolling

rocks down on the enemy. After this difficult piece of road, the ascent

became more gradual and easier. On the way we saw some beehives, which

differ in shape from those of the plains, being like great white fungi

projecting from the rock.

At 2 p.m. we reached the Dok of Yampung, situated on the lee side of

the range. Long mendong mark the approach to the village, and flying

flags show the whereabouts of the yak-sheds and houses; patches of snow

and ice glistening in the sun gave, from a distance, a fine appearance

to the village, but, on approaching, the beauty vanished, as we

perceived the forlorn and deserted condition of the place. Not a living

being, not a yak, nor a dog, only some hungry crows perched on the

flag-poles and the roofs. The village is composed of a dozen houses

built very rudely of loose stone slabs, the roofs made of long pine

planks kept in their places by stones. The larger houses were locked

up, and the doors of those without locks were sealed by strings. Heaps

of red dye-creepers were in every house, which the people exchange for

salt brought here from Eastern Nepal in the summer months and in

November after the first snows. The Limbus and Lepchas of Western

Sikkim come here annually to buy salt, wool, tea, and Tibetan

earthenware, in exchange for murwa, maize, dye-creepers, and other

little commodities of the Darjiling bazar.

November 18.—The Yampung la, though not lofty, presented much

difficulty in the ascent, the vegetation on its sides not so luxuriant

as that on the Jongri la, which is nearly of equal height. To the north

the range skirts the snows of the famous Kangchan, the dreaded Khumba

Karna of the hillmen. The eye, on all sides but the east, met only

snow, and as I descended to the south-western flank of the Du la,

“Demon Mount,” I looked down towards the deep gorge through which the

Ringbi leaps with ceaseless roar. The snow-streams from the Yampung la

flow into a lake some half-mile in circumference, called Tama chu, on

account of its crescent shape; the Nepalese call it Lampokri.

With the Du la the difficulties of the ascent began. Ugyen complained

of headache and shortness of breath, and said he was sick with la dug

(mountain-sickness); and to add to our troubles, such a gale was

blowing that I was thrown to the ground several times. One of the

coolies fell helpless to the ground, his feet frost-bitten. I gave him

my shoes and Kabul socks, putting on myself a new pair of Tibetan

boots. The direct way to Gumo tang was blocked with snow, so we had to

make a detour by the northern and western flanks of the pass. The snow

was frozen, and walking became very dangerous. I made my way as best I

could, using both hands and feet. The gorge along which we advanced was

so deep that the eye tired of following its windings. The snows from

the pass supply the headwater of the Yong-dso chu, which runs past the

Jongri (la). The descent was even more dangerous than the ascent; my

coolies, used to such work, had soon left me far behind.

Leaving the snows of the Du la, we again came in sight of deep gorges

filled with pines, with here and there bits of pasture-land overhung by

rugged cliffs.

Again we had to cross a spur, beyond which lay Gumo tang, our next

halting-place, in a deep gorge, some 2000 feet below us. We followed a

glacier, and by six in the evening I reached the beautifully wooded

Gumo tang gorge, and found it flooded by a torrent coming from the

melting snows to the north-east. On the other side of the precipice

which overhangs Gumo tang is Lachmi pokri, “The Lake of Fortune,” said

to contain gold and precious stones. It is a mile in circumference,

deep black in colour, and in its depths are water-elephants, the people

say.

November 19.—Crossing a stream, with water knee-deep, flowing eastward

to feed the Ratong, we began the ascent of the Bogto la. Firs and

junipers of various species overhung our way, which lay along the sides

of a dry, glacial channel, with a stream flowing down it, and débris on

either side. There are two tracks from here leading to the only shed on

the slope of the Bogto; one follows the course of the stream which

comes down from the Tso-nag lake, and is usually taken by the Yampung

herdmen and the salt traders from Yangma; but the one we followed is

not liked by them, as there grows along it a plant called Dug shing,

[26] a deadly poison if eaten by yaks or sheep. Pheasants were feeding

on the rhododendron berries, and we also saw herds of wild sheep; but

before we reached the summit the rhododendrons and junipers

disappeared, and we only saw now and then some lichens or moss-like

vegetation in the clefts of the rocks. [27]

Reduced for the last few days to a miserable diet of rice and tea, we

were but ill prepared to go through the exertion of climbing up to such

high altitudes. I pushed on for half a mile, my head aching violently

and with continual retching; I finally fell to the ground, and lay

there breathless and utterly exhausted. The coolies suffered even more

than I, for while I had only my heavy clothing to carry, they had their

loads besides. The wind was piercingly cold, and clouds scudded across

the sky. One of the men prepared some tea; I drank a little, but I had

no desire for food, though Phurchung insisted on my eating a frozen egg

and a little dried fruit. Wrapped in all my blankets, I lay prostrate,

my feet resting against one of the loads to prevent me rolling into the

abyss. I passed the night in a troubled sleep, while close by me my

companions were snoring in deep slumber.

November 20.—The sky was overcast and a gentle breeze was blowing, and

the guide, who saw signs of a snowstorm, took up his load reluctantly,

after chanting some mantras, and, leaving this dreadful place, called

the Noga slope, we began the ascent of the pass.

A few hundred yards of ascent brought us to the Tso-nag tso, a lakelet

now frozen to the bottom, of oval shape, and about 400 yards long and

200 broad; passing this we crossed from ridge to ridge, each covered

with sheets of ice, the scenery of the wildest grandeur, the solitude

appalling, no sound of water, not even the fall of an occasional

avalanche was heard, no one spoke, all were intent on making their way

over the slippery surface.

After a mile ascent we reached another frozen lake. The guide ran

forward, and, collecting some snow and pieces of ice, he sprinkled them

across the lake to show us the path and prevent us from slipping. This

lakelet, of about the same size as the one just referred to, is held in

the sacred books of the Sikkimese to be an object of special sanctity.

It is called Tso dom-dongma, “The Lake of Peacock’s Spots,” and the eye

of the enchanted devotee can see something like spots in the bubbles in

the icy sheets of the lake. The glorious peak of Chum-bok la rose right

before us. Clouds now swept swiftly across the sun, and within half an

hour the whole vault of heaven was hidden from our view. Courage then

failed our hitherto intrepid guide. “Why proceed further up, sir?” said

he. “Death awaits us in this desolate place. One hour more and we shall

be gone.” “What do you mean by this, Phurchung?” said I. “Where see you

death?” “Sir, look at the sky; those clouds will shortly fall in heavy

snow on us, from which no human means can enable us to escape. If you

escape the snows on this side of the path, you cannot do so on the

other.” He trembled and looked pale and depressed. He cried, and said,

“Oh, sir, we pon-yog [master and servant] will perish if we go not back

to Bogto. The skies are ominous, and tell you to return towards the

Bogto la.” He repeated his entreaties with childish tears, but in vain.

I told him and the coolies that I was determined not to retrace a

single step, and that all his entreaties were to no purpose. In an

hour’s time we could scarcely reach Bogto, and if the snow began

falling in the mean time, we could hardly escape; besides, such a

course would not lessen our troubles, as we should have the risk of

recrossing the distance we had now travelled over. There might be a

second snowfall, when we should again have to turn back.

Ceding finally to my arguments, Phurchung pushed forward. I took the

lead, and with fresh energy clambered on, till after an hour we stood

on the pass. The skies had cleared up, the azure heavens again smiled

on us, and the welcome reappearance of the brilliant sun dispelled all

our fears. To our left was Sundub phug, to the right the towering

pinnacles of Kangla jang-ma, while the rounded form of the lofty

Lap-chyi in the Shar-Khambu district of Nepal rose above the haze. The

valley of the Chum-bok la is called Chu lonkyok, “The Water-spoon,”

because it receives the waters of the surrounding mountains in a

spoon-like basin.

I had hardly time to congratulate myself on having reached the summit,

when our guide, now smiling, put his arms in the straps (nambo) of his

load, and uttering the usual prayer (lha sol), resumed his journey. The

descent was fraught with immense dangers, for it lay through trackless

snows. The guide sounded the snow everywhere for a path, and not

finding one, he took a circuitous direction which seemed practicable to

his experienced eye.

After walking about an hour we found we had made but little progress,

when we came on the tracks of a Tibetan long-tailed leopard (sah). [28]

I wondered how the animal had been able to walk along over the soft

snow without ever sinking in it, but my men explained this by

attributing supernatural powers to this beast, which they said was

indeed the goblin of leopards. An hour’s struggle in the snow exhausted

my strength, and I could proceed no further. The guide opened the loads

and repacked them, putting all the breakable objects in one, all the

clothing and provisions in the other. The latter he threw down the

slope, and it ploughed a path, down which I followed till the load

brought up against a rock. Then I let myself slide down the

half-hardened snow, guiding myself with my elbows so as to escape any

crevasse across my path.

By 3.30 p.m. we had descended so far in the gorge of Chu lonkyok that

patches of grass showed here and there amidst the snow, and I saw an

alpine shrub called upala, [29] with large pink leaves at the top like

those of the water-lily, waved in the wind, which had again begun to

blow. The coolies now pushed rapidly ahead, leaving me far behind, but

the gradual reappearance of grass, rhododendrons, and juniper bushes

revived my spirits as I walked on, frequently halting to catch my

breath. Continuing down the gorge through rhododendrons, junipers, and

several species of prickly, sweet-scented shrubs, we finally reached,

about dark, a great boulder, underneath which we camped. In front of it

ran a brook about four feet wide, said to be the head-stream of the

famous Kabili of Nepal, which receives the waters from the Chum-bok and

the Semarum mountains.

November 21.—Though I still felt, when I awakened, greatly exhausted, I

had to start without breakfast, as the coolies had left early, fearing

lest the fine morning might be followed by a bad afternoon. Dressed

very lightly in order to be able to climb more easily, I set out,

following in Phurchung’s footsteps. The trail at first presented no

great difficulty, though it was continually up and down over mountain

ridges five or six hundred feet high; but our previous day’s experience

made us think little of such a road. After a few miles we reached a

kind of gateway lying between two rocky cliffs, where began the region

of scanty vegetation that invariably is found just below the snow-line.

Here we halted for a while and drank some tea; then, resuming our

journey, we reached the summit of Semarum after a couple of hours of

most trying climbing over ice and melting snow. The pass is protected

to the south and west by a very rugged cliff resembling the outspread

wings of an eagle both in colour and shape, and inspired me with a

strange feeling of dread. Sitting on the summit of the pass, I enjoyed,

though tired and unwell, the grandeur and sublimity of the scene. No

poet could adequately describe Nature’s exploits in this part of the

world, no pencil could delineate these romantic scenes.

Legend has it that many years ago, on this very pass, a certain cunning

and designing Limbu of Tambur Khola concealed under the rocks a red

earthen jar filled with charcoal, with the object of establishing his

heirs’ right over the whole easternmost part of Nepal, called Yangoro,

which includes Singli la, and in his will he made mention of this

bequest. A few years later hostilities broke out between the Limbus of

Tambur Khola and Yangoro, which lasted for nearly twelve years, during

which time the Gurung were the chief sufferers. Pasturing their cattle

on the disputed land, both parties stole them as a rent for the right

of pasture. Finally the Chambisi Rajah, who ruled at Bhatgaong, settled

the dispute in favour of the Yangoro Limbus, the trick of the Tambur

Khola Limbus having been found out.

From the Semarum pass I saw the Choma Kankar, or “Lord of Snows,” the

famous sacred mountain of the Buddhists which overhangs Lap-chyi, the

highest of its three peaks, dome-shaped, the two others standing side

by side, of truncated cone shape; then to the north-west of these

appeared the Shar Khambu Mountains, half lost in the rising mist; to

the west, beyond the great chasm formed by the Tambur valley, were the

valleys of Feylep, Yalung, Dhunkota, all indistinct in the general

haze.

Phurchung endeavoured in vain to find a way down through the deep snow

which everywhere covered the ground, and finally we had to slide down

through the snow for several hundred feet; and then, finding a

foothold, we waded on, dragging the loads behind us. I saw tracks of

rabbits, [30] snow-leopards, and a species of bird called chamdang,

probably the snow-pheasant. After a little while we could advance no

further down the slope, so Phurchung made a detour over a ridge to our

right, its summit a huge bare rock some forty to fifty feet high. From

this we descended with great difficulty, throwing the loads down ahead

of us and sliding down ourselves in the deep, soft snow.

By 4 p.m. we were clear of the snow, and once more found vegetation.

After a short rest we resumed our journey along the gentle rill which

leaps down from here with a pleasant murmur, and is known as the second

headwater of the Kabili, although the brook which we followed empties

into the Namga stream which rises in the Kangla Nangmo pass near

Jongri. The snow, reaching several miles below the Kangla pass on

either side of the Namga, showed us that this pass was inaccessible.

These early snows are called shingsa pahmo. The road led through dwarf

rhododendrons, bushy junipers, and prickly shrubs bearing a red fruit.

The river was frozen over, except in the narrow parts. In the distance

the pine-clad flanks of Juonga, through which the Yalung dashes, were

seen resplendent in the rays of the setting sun. We plodded on to 6

p.m., when we reached a broad flat called Namga tsal, “The Grove of

Joy,” and shortly after crossed the river by a wooden bridge of the

East Nepalese type, and some forty feet long, and came to the

halting-place under the widespread branches of a high dung shing or

cedar. Namga tsal received its name, I was told, from Lha-tsun, the

great Buddhist patriarch of Sikkim, having spent a few days here to

rest from his fatigue when travelling for the first time from Tibet to

convert the Lhopas (Southerners). He so enjoyed his rest here that he

ordered his disciples to hold the place sacred, and to celebrate their

annual inaugural religious ceremonies at the cavern in which he had

spent a few days. We could see the cave from where we were camped, and

were told that the Buddhists of Sikkim and Eastern Nepal still resort

to this place on pilgrimage.

November 22.—Crossing two streams with swampy banks, the way led uphill

for a while through thickets of rhododendrons, where we saw numerous

green pheasants of the colour of a green parrot, with spurs on their

legs and a deep, thick red line round their eye. In size they were

larger than a domestic fowl. [31] Next we came to the Yalung river,

which we crossed by a substantial bridge of cedar logs and silver-fir

planks, and then we began the ascent of the steep and lofty Chunjorma,

or “Collection of Cascades.” In the wooded solitudes on the lower

slopes of the great Kanchanjinga stood the little monastery of Dechan

rolpa. The predecessor of the present abbot, it is said, was able to

visit Na-Pematang, the Lepcha Paradise, which has only been entered by

seven families, and which lies between the Cho-kanchan and

Cho-kanchanjinga.

Some three miles to the west of the Dechan rolpa gomba is the village

of Yalung, where twelve families live who spend their summer in tending

yaks at Yalung, and their winter at Yanku tang, in the valley of the

Kabili. [32]

Passing by the two lakelets of Tso chung donka, we ascended the

mountains of the same name, and finally reached by the Nango la the

summit of Chunjorma, which name applies to the portion of the pass

between the Nango la and the Mirkan la, where the road from Nepal by

Khan-do-phug joins it.

From Mirkan la we passed some lofty crags, called Ta-miran kukyab, the

principal of which is said to be the image of the horrible deity

Tamdrin, or Hayagriva. In shape it resembles a horse’s head (Ta-mgrin)

facing towards Kanchanjinga. Descending, we found grass growing on the

Pangbo la, and on the Zinan la were junipers and rhododendrons. At

about 7 p.m. we reached Mudang phug, Phurchung carrying me on his back

for part of the way,

November 23.—Our way led along an extensive moraine, the huge reddish

boulders of which were covered with creeping tamarisks and dwarf

junipers. After about a mile we reached Manda phug, a hollow between

two gigantic boulders, the one inclined towards the other; and here we

took our breakfast of rice and buttered tea. The vegetation improved as

we neared Manda la, and the sight of thick forest growth in the deep

glens refreshed our eyes, so long tired with looking on barren rocks.

From Tama la, where we saw some shepherds tending their flocks and some

yaks, one descends the Yamatari valley, the top of the slope being held

sacred to the dreaded Mamo goddesses; on the rhododendron bushes were

white and red flags offered to them by wayfarers. From this point I

obtained a good view of the Kangpa-chan valley.

Finding that I was greatly exhausted, Dao Namgyal, Phurchung’s

brother-in-law, took me on his back and carried me till we reached the

north-west flank of the Tama la. Soon after this we came to a flat,

grass-covered valley with tall rhododendrons and ferns growing about.

Phurchung held this spot to have been a singularly lucky one for him,

for it was here that his parents had met Hooker some thirty-five years

ago, while the great botanist was exploring Nepal. Phurchung’s father,

suffering from snow-blindness, was led by his wife to the Doctor, who

not only gave him excellent medicine, but presented her with a pretty

coin to hang about the neck of her child, Phurchung, then a baby in the

arms. [33]

At about 2 p.m. we reached the Yamata ri, formed by the streams which

issue from Kanchanjinga. The gorge in which this river flows is

singularly beautiful. Above the steep crags on either side were blue

glaciers, and at their feet forests of native firs and larches, covered

with pendant mosses waving like feathers in the breeze. Just before

reaching Kangpa-chan (Gyunsar) village, the Yamata ri river is crossed

by a little bridge, and then the village with its wooden huts comes in

view. Some of the houses were empty; a few old hags with goitre sat on

their thresholds basking in the sun and spinning.

Phurchung had reached this, his native village, ahead of us, and he now

came, much the worse for drink, to greet us, and led us into his

mother’s house, where a fire of rhododendron boughs and aromatic firs

blazed in the middle of the room. Chang [34] was ready in wooden

bottles, and his mother poured some boiling water into them as soon as

we were seated on the cushions placed for us. Some dry junipers and

pines were burnt as incense, and two joss-sticks smoked before us. Then

two brass plates full of boiled, red-skinned potatoes were offered us,

followed by rice and boiled mutton, the rice being served wrapped up in

the broad leaves of some kind of hill plant. When night came on we sat

around the fire, each with a bottle of murwa before him; but drowsiness

soon overtook me, and I fell asleep.

November 24.—The village of Kangpa-chan [35] is built on several

terraces facing the south-west, the houses enclosed in low stone walls.

Several small streams empty into the Kangchan below the village, and

mountains covered with snow and ice rise precipitously on either side

of it, their lower slopes clad with thick forest growth of moss-covered

silver firs, deodars, and larches. Juniper and rhododendron bushes

surround the village. Round about it are patches of barley, [36] from

one to the other of which flew flocks of wild pigeons.

Coming back from a stroll, I found two men waiting to invite me to

drink chang at their houses; and having accepted their invitation, I

went first to that of a man called Jorgya. Taking my seat on a thick

mattress-like seat covered with a piece of Khamba carpet, a bamboo

bottle filled with murwa, with a little piece of butter placed on top

of it, was set before us. [37] Tea was first drunk, the housewife

serving mine in a china cup, a form of Tibetan politeness only shown to

persons of superior social standing, those of equal or inferior rank to

the host using the wooden bowls each one carries about in the breast of

his gown. After this, a brass plate filled with potatoes was placed

before us on a little table, together with parched Indian corn, milk,

and butter, of all of which we ate heartily.

Our host advised me not to attempt to go by Wallung, as I would be sure

to meet with much difficulty, but rather to enter Tibet by Yangma and

the Kangla chen pass, which was still possible, he said, even at this

advanced season of the year.

I next went to the house of Pemazang, Phurchung’s uncle, which I found

well plastered and with a tastefully painted chapel. His son and wife

received me at the head of the ladder, and led me into the house.

Pemazang had long, thick, and tangled hair. He wore gold earrings in

the shape of magnolia flowers, and his looks and talk were grave and

serious. He often sits in deep meditation for the purpose of arresting

hail or other storms by the potency of the charms he is able to

pronounce. [38]

Leaving Pemazang, we crossed the river and paid a visit to the

Tashi-chos ding monastery, which we found nearly deserted, one or two

old women here and there turning the prayer-wheels outside the temple.

Ascending two flights of ladder-stairs, we entered the lama’s house. He

and his ani [39] received us most kindly, and the latter asked me for

some medicines for the old gentleman, who was suffering with dyspepsia

(pakan).

Returning to our lodgings, we found that the lock of the bag in which I

kept my money had been tampered with, but I did not open it, as six

other persons were living in the room we occupied, and I feared lest

they might see the contents. Whatever the loss might be, I made up my

mind to bear it silently, and keep my suspicions to myself.

November 25.—Phurchung’s brother, Dao Namgyal, brought me a quantity of

presents—potatoes, murwa, millet, butter, and last, but not least, a

kid, for which I gave him a return present of five rupees. The poor

people of the village all followed with various presents, not that they

had any great respect for me, but solely with an eye to return

presents, which they hoped would be greater than the value of theirs.

Fortunately there were but few people in the village, otherwise they

would have drained me of all my cash.

By noon Phurchung had sufficiently slept off his drunkenness to procure

for me several pair of kyar, [40] or snowshoes, from the people of the

village. I had learnt from a newly engaged coolie that he had lately

crossed the Kangla pass on kyar, and had reached Jongri, where he had

met Captain Harman, who had been much struck by the great usefulness of

this rude contrivance.

In the evening the men killed two kids; the blood was poured into the

intestines, which had been washed and cleaned, barley-flour (tsamba)

being mixed with it. [41] These blood puddings were boiled and packed

away with the tripe in a small wicker basket for my use on the journey.

It is told of the upper Kangpa-chan valley that it was first peopled by

Tibetans, called Sharpa (Easterners), whose original home was in the

mountains of Shar Khambu, or Eastern Kirata. [42] Lower down the valley

lived the Magar tribe from Nepal, whose chief extended his sway over

the Sharpa, and exacted such oppressive taxes from them that they

decided to avenge themselves. The Magar chief, going to the village of

Kangpa-chan, he and his followers were murdered, and their bodies

buried. No clue could be had of the missing men, so the chief’s wife

went herself to Kangpa-chan, but she also failed to discover what had

become of them. While going along the river bank, a boulder, undermined

by the current, tumbled down, when a swarm of flies flew buzzing out.

Attracted by this, the queen had the earth removed, and discovered the

bodies of her husband and his followers. Returning home with the

chief’s body, she ordered great funeral ceremonies to be held at a

place some six miles up the river, near the Rapa-chan torrent, midway

between the two great villages of the Kangpa-chan valley—Gyunsar and

Yarsa, [43] as being more accessible for the people, for whose

entertainment great bowls of wine were to be provided. In the wine

poison was mixed; and as soon as the Magars had finished drinking, they

passed it to the Kangpa-chan people, who drank deeply, and fell asleep

to awake no more. Nearly a thousand people were in this way done to

death, and the babies were carried away by the queen’s followers. The

place where this foul deed was done became known as Tong-shong phug,

“the place which witnessed a thousand murders.”

The few who escaped carried the news to Tibet, and soon returned with a

large army to wage war against the Magars. The queen shut herself up in

one of her castles, and, though ill-prepared to stand a siege, she and

her people defended it for three months. The Tibetans decided to reduce

the place by famine and by cutting off the water-supply. Then the

queen, to deceive them, opened the reservoir in the castle and let the

water flow towards the Tibetan camp; and the enemy, thinking that she

must have a great store of it and that their attempt was vain, raised

the siege, and withdrew to a distance. The queen now attacked them in

turn, but fell in the first skirmish, fighting valiantly. The Tibetans

finally expelled the Magars from the Kangpa-chan and Tambur valleys,

and restored them to their former possessors.

It was among the Kangpa-chan tribe that I had found Phurchung, the most

devoted and faithful of all the men I ever came across in the

Himalayas. Although Ugyen distrusted him, and he abhorred Ugyen, yet I

placed implicit confidence in his loyalty and ability, and his devotion

and fidelity to me were boundless.

November 26.—We left Kangpa-chan, our party now comprising four

coolies. Phurchung marched along with my gun as a sign of his

importance, but its red cloth cover, its principal beauty, had been

stolen the night before; his younger brother, Sonam-dorj, carried his

pack. Ugyen-gyatso and I rode ponies, hired for eight annas each, to

take us halfway up the Nango la. The old women (ama) of the village

waited our approach at the east end of the bridge to give us the

stirrup cup (chang kyel) (a custom invariably observed in Tibet at the

parting of friends setting out on a long journey), with bowls of wine

in their right hand, and plates full of parched barley flour (tsamba)

in their left. Each of the old women poured a little wine into a china

cup, to which a pinch of flour was added, and we were asked to take a

sip, with the wish of “May we offer you the like on your return.” We

thanked them for their kindness, and put a couple of rupees in one of

their plates, to be divided amongst them.

We rode slowly on by the bounding river, into which a number of little

rills empty, flowing down from behind the monastery, and over which

were several prayer-wheels turned by the water. Our way lay amidst

thick woods up to Daba ngonpo, where the natives used to get blue clay

to make images. This clay they held to be exceptionally good, as it

came from the summit of a holy mountain. From this point we followed up

the bed of a former glacier, passing Kamai phugpa, and reaching at

Khama kang tung, the timber line. A mile beyond the latter place we

came to the end of the pasture-lands on this side the Nango la, not far

from which we saw a flock of spotted birds, called sregpa, [44] which

Ugyen tried, without success, to shoot.

The ascent of the Nango la now began over deep snow, in some places its

surface frozen, in others so soft that we sunk knee-deep in it. I soon

became so exhausted that I had to get one of the coolies to carry me on

his back, and so we reached the summit of the pass. [45]

Two miles to the west of the pass is Sayong kong, a plateau whence

there is a direct road leading to Yangma. A mile below this place is

Sayong-hok, [46] where vegetation begins again, and gradually increases

as one advances along the Lungkyong chu. We camped on the river bank

under a great boulder, spreading our rugs on beds of long dry grass,

which covered, but very imperfectly, the rough, stony soil.

November 27.—We followed down the Lungkyong chu (the only way of

communication between Kangpa-chan, Yangma, and Wallung), the mountains

on our left nearly hidden in the morning mists. For part of the way our

road led along a steep path through thick woods of firs, feathery

larches, and deodars, amidst which I saw many pheasants and other kinds

of birds, and the coolies told me that musk deer and wild sheep were

also found there.

About two miles above the junction of the Yangma with the Lungkyong, we

crossed the former stream by a wooden bridge, and finally arrived at

the village of Tingugma, where we rested a while and ate a light meal.

Shortly after starting again we met a party of Yangma natives driving

before them a few sheep and a dozen yaks laden with blankets, yak

hides, barley, and salt. They were going to a village called Chaini, in

the Tambur valley, to exchange their goods for rice and Indian corn.

Phurchung asked them if the Kangla chen pass was still open. Some said

we could easily cross it; others expressed doubts about it, for they

said three feet of snow had fallen on it a few days previously.

Passing by Maya phug (a cavern sacred to the goddess Mamo), we crossed

a little juniper-covered plateau called Shugpa thang (“Juniper plain”),

and after a short but steep climb reached the summit of the pass, from

whence I had a most extended and beautiful view of the surrounding

country—behind me great reddish granite rocks, looking like the ruins

of gigantic ramparts; before me a plain some two miles long, the bed of

a former glacier, encircled by snowy mountains rising the one above the

other; while to the south-east was the Nango la, and behind it the

plain of Sumdongma. Crossing the Djari thang, or “Plain of Gravel,” and

the Do la, or “Rocky pass” (round the base of which the Yangma flows),

I reached by dusk the monastery of Yangma, or Manding gomba, situated

on a broad, shrub-covered terrace some 40 to 50 feet above the stream;

where Phurchung found me lodgings in a wretched cell, where I settled

myself as best I could for the night. He obtained a few eggs and some

milk from the lamas; and while one of the nuns (ani) helped Dao Namgyal

to cook the food, another blew the bellows. The lamas were engaged in

their annual reading of the Kahgyur, which occupied them daily from 5

in the morning to 7.30 p.m., when they retired to their respective

cells. There were fifteen monks and seven ani in the lamasery. [47]

Ugyen had been suffering most of the day with violent pains in the

bowels; he now wrapped himself in all the blankets I could spare, and

lay groaning and crying, “Achi-che apa-ouh!” so that I felt grave

apprehensions for him, and feared that his illness might oblige us to

stop over in this wretched place.

November 28.—Phurchung had been away on a drunken bout all night, and I

arose full of fear lest he might have disclosed our plans to his

companions, and Ugyen shared my alarm. After a while Phurchung and

Phuntso appeared, and with much salaaming and lolling of the tongue

asked me to wait here a day, the latter assuring me that he hoped to

obtain, without much difficulty or the payment of custom duty (called

chua in this part of Nepal), permission for us to proceed on our

journey. Shortly after the elders arrived, the richest man among them

recognizable by his tamuski hat, a long earring, and a deep red serge

robe of purug. [48] He had come from the village of Yangma riding a

half-breed yak (jo), which, with the saddle still on its back, stood

tied at the gate of the monastery. I anxiously awaited the result of

their conference with my men, and in great anxiety prayed to the

Supreme Dispenser of our destinies that nothing might happen

unfavourable to ourselves and our enterprise.

The Manding gomba, or Nub Man-ding gomba, “The Western Flying-Medicine

Monastery,” owes its name to the fact that lama Lha-tsun once lived for

three years in a cave close by called the Zimphug, to discover

medicines of wonderful potency, and that he there obtained three

wonderful pills. One came to him through the air, falling on the spot

where the lamasery now stands. The second pill fell a little above the

monastery, where the people of the village now burn their dead; and the

third alighted on the spot where the great chorten now stands.

Manding gomba is held in great sanctity, for it is one of the first

cis-Himalayan lamaseries founded by the great red-hat Lama Lha-tsun;

but Wallung ranks first, and Kangpa-chan second, in point of wealth and

power. Manding possesses a fine copy of the Kahgyur in 125 volumes.

The Lha-khang, or temple, has massive and neatly painted walls and

doors, after the manner of the Sikkim donpa. The huts or cells of the

monks in its immediate vicinity, all painted red with clay obtained

from the adjacent mountains, are of irregular and ugly style, the

doors, windows, and cornices being roughly made; each house has around

it a low stone wall, inside of which the sheep and yak find shelter.

After a little while Phurchung and Puntso came back to me in high

spirits over the result of their conference with the village elders.

They had told them that I was only a pilgrim (nakorpa) who spoke

Tibetan and dressed in Tibetan fashion. The head lama said that he knew

of no order from the Nepalese Government for stopping pilgrims on their

way to Tibet, and that he would certainly not prevent me doing so, as I

spoke Tibetan with greater fluency and accuracy than many Nepalese. The

headman (gopa) asked that Phurchung should give bond, holding himself

personally responsible for my character as a traveller, and a custom

duty of eight annas a head was levied on our party. Phurchung also told

me that the headman and head lama were coming to bid me farewell, and

that I must not forget, after exchanging compliments with them, to say

sangpoi ja chog, “May we meet again next year.”

In a little while the big men arrived. The headman, conspicuous by his

earring, boots, and red serge robe, nodded to me slightly, and took off

his hat. He asked me why I had chosen such a bad season for going to

Tibet. I told him that I did so in obedience to the command of our holy

and learned chief lama (Tsawai), and not by my own wish. His object in

coming to see me was to find out if I spoke Tibetan and understood the

Buddhist religion. My fluency in Tibetan, and the citing of one or two

proverbial sayings in course of conversation, made him form a high

opinion of my knowledge of the sacred texts and histories, as well as

of my character and holiness. “Laso, laso” (yes, yes), he said, and

then he apologized for not having brought me some presents; but I

answered him that our acquaintance was only just begun, and there would

be time in the future to cultivate it, and, handing him a scarf

(khatag), I expressed the hope that we might meet the next year

(sangpoi ja chog). Many of the bystanders made wishes for our welfare,

but some one in the crowd said that I was certainly not a Tibetan. Then

another swore I was an Indian; and a third said that they would soon

have news of me: “That Hindu will surely die in the snows, and his

servants will soon return here with the news of his death.”

It was past noon when the coolies picked up their loads, and I set out

in excellent spirits, having now escaped the much-feared obstruction

from the Yangma people, on whose mercy and good-will our success

entirely depended.

We passed by some mendong and chorten at the entrance to the convent,

and then followed up the course of the Yangma, passing by a pretty

lakelet, the Miza, or “man eating,” [49] now filled with ice, and

seeing on the way some very high chorten, known as thongwa kundol, [50]

“bringing deliverance when seen,” which had a few years previously been

repaired by the head lama of Wallung. Near these we saw a half-dozen

wild sheep (nao), but we gave up all idea of shooting them when told

that the Yangma people think the gods of the land and mountains

(Shi-bdag, ri-lha) would be deeply offended if any one molested them.

By 3 p.m. we got sight of the village of Yangma, [51] whose houses

could only be distinguished from the boulders everywhere strewing the

ground by the smoke issuing from the roofs. There were not more than a

hundred houses in the village, and the fields round about were enclosed

within low stone walls. Buckwheat, barley, turnips, radishes, and

potatoes are grown here, and rice brought from Yang-ku tang and other

villages in the warmer valleys is procurable. The village was founded

by Tibetans from Tashi-rabka, one of them having discovered the valley

and its comparative fertility while hunting for a lost yak calf. The

name Yangma was given it on account of the breadth of the valley. [52]

The male part of the population is idle in the extreme, but the women

are correspondingly busy; some I saw were threshing corn, some

gathering fuel, others engaged in various kinds of household work.

By 5 p.m. we got off from this wretched valley, where Phurchung and the

coolies, by the way, were most desirous to remain to continue drinking

chang, though Phurchung showed unmistakable signs of having already

imbibed too much. After an hour’s march we reached Ki phug, where we

found, under an overhanging rock, a bit of ground free from snow on

which to camp; but Phurchung remained behind in Yangma, in a helplessly

drunken condition.

November 29.—The way lay along the Yangma, which was scarcely visible,

snow and ice covering entirely its bed. There was nothing to give life

to the scenery; the river flowed in a deep gorge, or else opened out

into lake-like expanses; on either side the mountains seemed to reach

to the sky; not a bird, not even a cloud in the heaven, not a sound

save that of our feet crushing the light dry snow. It was 11 a.m. when

we came to an unfrozen pool, by which we ate our breakfast of tea and

meal. This place, which is in a broad portion of the valley, is a

favourite summer pasture-ground (tser chan) for the Dokpas, who, from

July to September, bring their herds of yaks here.

Po phug was reached after a march of three miles through the snow, then

the ascent became steeper and freer from snow, and we came to Luma

goma, “Fountain head,” the source of the Yangma river; and after an

easy ascent of half an hour we arrived at Tsa-tsam, the limit of

vegetation. [53]

Here we began climbing a huge glacier, a quarter of a mile wide and

more than three miles long, the Chyang-chub gya-lam, or “Highway to

Holiness,” over which I was carried on Phurchung’s back wherever the

snow lay deep. Then we climbed a huge mass of bare black rocks (Dsama

nagmo), and darkness had overtaken us before we reached the “White

Cavern” (Phugpa karpo), where we proposed passing the night. The fog

added to the obscurity of the night, our feet were benumbed by the

cold, and we frequently slipped into crevasses or between the clefts of

rocks. Finding it impossible to reach the cavern, we scraped away the

snow from between some rocks, and there I sat, my knees drawn up,

hugging myself during the long night.

How exhausted we were with the fatigue of the day’s journey, how

overcome by the rarefication of the air, the intensity of the cold, and

how completely prostrated by hunger and thirst, is not easy to

describe. The very remembrance of the sufferings of that dreadful night

makes me shudder even now, but I quickly recover under the

inexpressible delight I feel at the consciousness of my great success.

This was the most trying night I ever passed in my life. There was a

light breeze blowing, attended with sleet, which fortunately weighed my

blankets down and made them cover me closer than they otherwise would

have done. And so with neither food nor drink, placed as if in the grim

jaws of death in the bleak and dreary regions of snow, where death

alone dwells, we spent this most dismal night.

November 30.—The coolies once more picked up their loads, and our guide

began in his gravest tones to recite his Pema-jung-ne samba duba and

other mantras. The morning was gloriously radiant, and the great Kangla

chen glittered before us, bathed in a glory of golden light.

Fortunately for us, there was no fresh snow on the ground; for, had

there been any, we could not possibly have advanced. We found that we

had stopped not more than a furlong from the Phugpa karpo, which, by

the way, is not a cave at all, but only a crevasse between two detached

rocks. Our guide, leaving his load in charge of his brother, took the

lead, driving his long stick into the snow at each step, and digging

footholds in the soft snow. From the White Cavern the top of the pass

bore due east, and was distant about two miles. Just at the base of the

final ascent there is a little sandy plain, in the middle of which is a

huge boulder: this is the “Place of Salvation” (Tarpa gang), thus

called because, when once this point is reached, travellers may be

confident of attaining the summit of the pass.

I steadily followed in the footsteps of the guide, and would not let

him take me on his back; for if I succeeded in ascending to the highest

summit of Kangla chen without any help, I could look to the achievement

with greater pride. Ugyen here gave out, and it was with difficulty

that I persuaded Phurchung to carry him on his back, for they were far

from being on the best of terms. An hour’s hard climbing brought us to

the summit of the pass. The sky was cloudless and of the deepest blue;

against it a snow-clad world of mountains stood out in bold relief. Far

beyond the maze of snow-clad peaks we saw in the north-west the

mountains of Pherug, in Tibet, while those of Shar Khambu stood

gloriously out to the west.

The summit of Kangla chen is a plateau, some two miles from east to

west, and one mile and a quarter from north-west to north-east; it

inclines towards the west, while to the north-west it is bounded by a

mountain of considerable height. Our snowshoes (kyar) now stood us in

good need; unfortunately we had but three pairs, so Phurchung and I had

to wade through the deep snow in the footsteps of the others, with many

slips and more than one narrow escape from falling into the deep

crevasses. On all sides there was nothing visible but an ocean of snow.

Innumerable snowy peaks touched with their white heads the pale leaden

skies, where stars were shining. The rattling roar of distant

avalanches was frequently heard; but, after having succeeded in

crossing the loftiest of snowy passes, I felt too transported with joy

to be frightened by their thunder.

These splendid scenes of wonderland, the grandest, the most sublime my

eyes have ever beheld, which bewildered me so that even now my pen

finds no words to describe them, inspired me with feelings of deep

gratitude to Heaven, by whose mercy my life had been spared thus far.

We camped on a rock bare of snow, and passed another miserable night

with nothing to drink, and but a couple of dry biscuits to stave off

our hunger. To add to my misery, Ugyen was still suffering, and I had

to give him half my covering, for he had none of his own; and so, with

not even enough room to lie down, we passed the night huddled together,

the loads placed on the lower side of the rock so as to prevent our

falling off in our sleep.

December 1.—’Twas not yet dawn when all were on foot and busy packing

up. The track was hardly visible; below our path lay the great glacier,

extending for miles, which feeds the Tashi-rabka river. The snowy sides

of the mountains beyond this were furrowed by glacial streams, very

noticeable in their varied shades of blue and green, and on the surface

of the glacier itself rose huge rounded surfaces, or hummocks,

evidently produced by boulders concealed under the ice.

Following carefully in the footsteps of Phurchung, we crossed some six

spurs of the Dorjetagh range, and then came to an easy path down the

central moraine of a former glacier, now only a huge heap of boulders

and débris. The mountains lost, as we advanced, the whitish colour

peculiar to the Indian ranges, and assumed the blackish or ochre colour

distinctive of the Tibetan region. ’Twas with a feeling of intense

relief that we finally discerned vegetation and heard the babbling of a

little brook, near which flew birds feeding on rhododendron and juniper

berries, and a little way off we saw some herds of yaks grazing, and

smoke rising from a camp fire. Here we stopped at the foot of a great

rock, and enjoyed, after our long fast of two days, a meal of rice and

buttered tea.

We continued down the course of the stream, passing with some

apprehension near a huge bull-yak or shalu, though low stone walls

separated us from him and kept him away from the she-yaks (di) in the

adjacent pasturage. This part of the valley is frequently visited by

packs of wolves, which kill large numbers of yaks, but the bulls are

able to drive them off with their long sharp horns.

At 3 p.m. we passed Dsongo, the extreme border of the district of

Tashi-rabka, and where are the ruins of a stone house built on a huge

boulder. This was formerly a stage-house used by the Sikkim Raja’s

people, when the Yangma and Wallung districts still belonged to him,

when going to or returning from Tibet. A little way beyond this point

we met some herdsmen, who made inquiries as to whence we came and where

we were going. Near by were their tents, where I noticed two swarthy

women and a fierce Tibetan mastiff. Phurchung entered one of the tents,

sat down to chat and drink a cup of tara, a sort of thin curd. [54]

Ugyen was much preoccupied about our getting by Tashi-rabka and

escaping its headman (Tongzungpa). At about 6 o’clock we were close to

the village, and so we hid till dusk in a gully, where we boiled our

tea and ate some tsamba. The moon shone out brightly when we resumed

our march and passed along a portion of a high stone wall, erected by

the Tibetans during the Nepalese war, when, it is said, they put up

five miles of it in a day under orders of their general, the Shape

Shata. [55] This wall is carried across the river on a bridge, where it

has eight small watch towers. It crosses the whole valley, its ends

being high up on the sides of the mountains. On the farther side of the

wall is the village. Ugyen and Phurchung stood trembling, not knowing

whether to turn back towards the Kangla chen pass or to proceed onward

towards the chorten, near which the headman resides. Phuntso alone was

equal to the occasion. “If the guards are awake, we will sing some of

our national Wallung songs, and pass ourselves off for Wallungpa.”

After a few words of encouragement to the others, we set out. Before we

had reached the chorten, a voice from a yak-hair tent cried out,

“Whence are you, and where are you going?” To which Phuntso replied

that we were Wallungpa going to Shigatse, asked them where they were

going, and without waiting for a reply we hurried on and passed by the

dreaded headman’s house without awakening any one, not even the fierce

mastiffs tied up in front of the dwelling.

About 30 yards beyond the house we came to the bridge, a rough

structure of logs and stone slabs. The Tashi-rabka river was partly

frozen, and its swift current was sweeping down blocks of ice. We

crossed over unnoticed, and I then broke the silence with thanks to

merciful God who had enabled us to overcome this the most dreaded of

all difficulties, one which had frightened my staunch friend Phurchung,

that the snows of the Kangla chen had not daunted.

We followed the river in an easterly direction, passing on the way two

poor traders (Gyagar Khamba [56]) who were going to Wallung to sell a

wild sheep (nao) they had killed. Then we came to Ri-u, where is a

large Nyingma [57] monastery, and three miles further on to a bridge

over the two branches of the river. ’Twas nearly midnight when we

reached a sand-covered hillock called Shara, where we halted for the

night, and slept in a sheepfold, near which two hunters with a hound

(shyakhi) were also camped.

December 2.—At sunrise we resumed our journey, and after an hour’s

march got sight of the village of Guma Shara, at the foot of a range of

mountains trending north-west and south-east. Leaving this village some

miles away (on our right?), we turned a little to the north and made

for the Langbu la. There was not a soul to be seen on the vast

table-land we were traversing, only a few little birds like swallows

twittered on the hillsides by the way, and some kites were soaring in

the sky near Guma Shara. We ascended steadily till we came to the foot

of the pass, from which point the summit was reached by a zigzag cut in

the rocks, the whole surface of which was inscribed with the mystic

syllables, Om mani padmé hum. [58] I became so fatigued before the

summit (some 700 feet above the plateau) was reached, that Phuntso had

to carry me up; and Ugyen also made the ascent on Phurchung’s back, as

he was still feeling very badly and was quite unable to keep up with

us. From the summit we could see due north, perched on a lofty peak,

the Lhakha of Sakya, and to our west were snow-clad peaks of the lofty

Perugh mountains.

On the northern slope of the Langbu we found much drifted sand, and a

short distance from the foot of the pass we came to the source of the

Ge river, [59] where we met a party of rice-collectors (dadubpa) on

their way to Tashi-rabka with a dozen yaks and some donkeys, there to

buy rice from the Wallung traders. While Phurchung talked to one of

them, a former acquaintance, I slipped by without attracting their

attention; for had they spoken to me, they would certainly have

detected my nationality by my appearance and speech.

Proceeding onward, we met other parties of swarthy Tibetans, in which

the women were conspicuous by their headdress (patug). Their

dirt-covered faces, their white teeth and eyeballs, made them look

exceedingly wild. Crossing the rivulet by a bridge made of two stone

slabs, the valley broadened as we advanced, till we found ourselves on

a plateau several miles broad, where the rivulet turned to the west, to

empty probably farther on into the great Arun. Phurchung here pointed

out a place where there is a large underground monastery, [60] the

chief temple (tsugla khang) of which is cut out of the massive rock.

There are twenty inmates to this lamasery, and the church furniture and

images are said to be of great antiquity.

Fording the little Tibgyu chu, said to rise in the Chabug la, we

proceeded in an easterly direction, and passed the little village of

Wena, a mile from which stands the village of Chani, where lives the

Chyugpo mepang family, or the “rich men who never reply nay.” When

travellers passing by this way have asked the rich men (chyugpo [61])

if there was such and such a thing to be had at their place, they have

never replied in the negative. One day, in the month of August, a

traveller who had heard the story concerning this family came to test

its truth, and asked the housewife to give him a piece of ice, when she

at once produced a piece from the butter-cask. On another occasion a

traveller asked for a chile pepper in February, and the mistress of the

house gave it to him at once.

December 3.—At about a mile from our camp of last night we came to a

rivulet some fifteen feet broad, flowing in a north-easterly direction.

We selected a shallow part of it, across which Phurchung waded,

carrying me on his back. Irrigation ditches led the water of this

stream on to the neighbouring barley-fields. We stopped towards 7

o’clock at the camp (dok [62]) of Pole, situated in the middle of a

plain extending from east to west some ten miles, and bounded to the

north by the Arun river. There were several sheep-folds with walls of

sun-dried bricks six or seven feet high and two feet thick; in the

corners of these folds were turret-like houses, in which the shepherds

sought shelter from the severity of the weather. Here we hired two yaks

for a tanka [63] a-piece to carry us to the village of Tebong, about

six or seven miles away. This whole plateau was covered with a species

of briar, amidst which grew long fine grass, on which cows and jo

(half-bred yaks) were feeding, and whence innumerable hares and foxes

ran, startled by our approach. Midway between Pole and Tebong, but on

the mountain side, lies the village of Mug, with some forty families

(mitsang). Before reaching Tebong, which is the first village this way

on Tashilhunpo soil, we crossed the dry bed of the Chorten Nyima river,

forming the boundary, and which I had already passed over on my first

journey to Shigatse in 1879. [64] Near here we were overtaken by a

violent dust-storm, which hid the whole country from our view and

forced us for a while to remain motionless.

Once on Tashilhunpo territory, all my fears of being arrested were

over, and I walked on to the village of Tanglung [65] with a light

heart. An hour’s walk brought us to the door of my old acquaintance,

Nabu [66] Wanga, who led me with much ceremony into the best room of

his home, apologizing for his not being able to lodge me in his chapel,

which was filled with carcasses of sheep and goats drying for winter

use.

December 4.—Our host appeared early in the morning to inquire what we

required in the way of food for our journey, and Ugyen gave him a list

of articles, comprising mutton, barley-meal (tsamba [67]), butter, etc.

He also undertook to procure us three ponies, for which I was to pay

Rs. 4 each as far as Shigatse. While we were breakfasting a number of

old acquaintances came in, bringing me presents of tsamba, mutton,

butter, and chang. One man, a doctor (amchi), brought a fox-skin cap of

ingenious make, which he offered to sell me. It was so contrived that

it protected every part of the head, leaving only the eyes and nose

exposed, or it could be turned up and used as an ordinary hat. [68]

In the evening Delah Tondub, the head of the militia or village police

(yulmag [69]), received an order from Khamba djong, which he brought me

to decipher. It was to the effect that he must hold himself and force

in readiness to proceed at once to the Lachan boundary, fully equipped

with matchlocks, lances, swords, slings, etc., in view of the fact that

a “very important European official, deputy of the Lieut.-Governor of

Bengal, was on his way to the Tibetan frontier. This information was

communicated by the frontier guards, in consequence of which necessary

precautions were urgently needed.” I told them that the official

referred to was probably Captain Harman of the Survey Department, with

whom he was acquainted, having met him the year before at Tangu, near

Lachan.

December 5.—Our arrangements being completed and the ponies at the

door, we hastened to finish our breakfast. From the sheep-pen close by

the house we saw some fifty sheep led to the slaughtering-place behind

the village. The butchers mutter some mantras over each one before

killing it, and they receive as their perquisite the heads.

Following the same route I had taken in 1879, we left the village of

Mende [70] on our left, and, crossing several frozen streams, we came

to the village of Targye, where we stopped in the house of an old man,

who invited us to be his guests in the hope of getting some medicine

for dyspepsia from which he was suffering. He put us up in his

storehouse, amidst his barley, yak-hair bags, farming implements, etc.

He had manufactured some rugs, and I bought one from him for a couple

of rupees. The villagers, hearing of my purchase, brought me a number

of their choicest carpets, but the price asked was larger than I cared

to give.

December 6.—I learnt with pleasure from my host that the Minister of

Temporal Affairs (Kyab ving [71]) of Ulterior Tibet (Tsang) was Phendi

Khangsar, to whom I was well known. My host and his wife came and

begged some medicine, and I prepared for him an effervescent draught,

which the old man swallowed with much difficulty. “Oh, sir,” he

exclaimed, “it boiled and foamed even as it ran down my throat; it must

be a medicine of wonderful potency! I never took such a drink in my

life, nor heard of its like before!” And the spectators all said, in

amazement, “This amchi is a miracle-worker (tulpa); his medicine boils

in cold water.” And so my fame was noised abroad.

Crossing the Yaru la, we made for Kurma, before reaching which place we

experienced some difficulty in crossing the broad bed of the frozen

river. [72] Near the village we saw in the fields several wild asses

(kyang), some wild goats (ragyo), and wild sheep (nao). At Kurma we put

up in the house of a doctor, an acquaintance of Phurchung, who had

brought him a quantity of medicines the amchi had the year past

commissioned him to buy at Darjiling. Our supply of meat being

exhausted, Ugyen bought a sheep’s carcass (pagra). When the sheep get

very fat, the people, for fear of losing any of the fat by skinning

them, roast the whole as they would a pig. [73]

December 7.—Leaving Kurma early in the morning, we arrived at Iago [74]

by 6 p.m., where we got accommodations in the house of a rich farmer,

paying him a tanka as room-rent (nala). I had been feeling very badly

all day, but Phurchung whispered to me to let no one know I was ill, as

sick men are not admitted into people’s dwellings in this country.

December 8.—By 10 a.m. we reached Tamar, [75] in the valley of the Re

chu, here thickly dotted with hamlets. Numerous flocks of pigeons and

swallows were picking worms and grain in the fields, and Ugyen told me

that the pigeons were a serious nuisance to the people, for they are

not allowed to kill them, animal life being held sacred.

We passed the foot of the hill on which the Regyinpai lamasery [76] is

situated, and by 2 p.m. came to Labrang dokpa; but finding all the

houses closed, we continued on to the Nambu la, [77] crossing which we

reached the village of Nambu, where we stopped in the house of a friend

of Phurchung.

December 9.—We arose by 3.30 in the morning, and put on our best

clothes, for to-day we were to enter Tashilhunpo. Travellers were more

numerous now; we met several parties of traders with yaks and donkeys

or laden sheep going to or coming from Shigatse. The day was cold, and

there was a light wind blowing. I alternately rode and walked, and

though I was by this time greatly reduced in flesh by the hardships I

had had to encounter, I was in high spirits at the success which had so

far attended me. Not so Ugyen: he was ill, and fretted fearfully, his

appearance was repulsive, and his language to the Tang-lung men, whose

ponies we rode, was most abusive, but they bore patiently with him. At

9 o’clock we passed through Chuta, and an hour later came to the

village of Jong Luguri, [78] where I was most kindly received by my

former host of 1879, Lobdon puti. I ate a couple of eggs and drank a

few cups of tea; then, reloading our ponies, we paid our bill (jaltse)

and set out for Tashilhunpo, where we arrived by half-past four,

entering it by the small western entrance marked by two chortens. [79]