JOURNEY TO DONGTSE.
December 26.—We were up early, finishing our letters and getting
Phurchung ready for his journey to the Sikkim frontier. After tea I
sent Ugyen to the market to buy provisions for our journey, and he
brought back a large quantity of ping, a piece of mutton, and
vegetables, and also purchased some fresh gya-tug (vermicelli), of
which I had become very fond. Two strong ponies were waiting saddled
for us in charge of a groom at the western gateway (gyalgo) of the
monastery. Our traps and bags being made over to the charge of the
Tung-chen’s men, we left Tashilhunpo at 3 p.m., and rode off at a
gentle trot towards the village of Tashi-gyantsa. The Tung-chen wore
his church raiment, and a silk-lined chosa, [115] or clerical hat,
covered his head; but as soon as we had reached this village he changed
it for a fox-skin cap lined with brown satin. The view of Tashilhunpo
from Tashi-gyantsa was most beautiful, and the four gilded tombs of the
former Tashi lamas, situated in the middle of the lamasery, blazed in
the rays of the sun. [116]
One approaches Tashi-gyantsa by a lane cut through a hillock some 20
feet high, on top of which the village stands. The alleys are crooked
and dirty, the houses of comfortable appearance, are painted with clay
in bands of red, black, and blue colour, and surrounded by walls
forming a courtyard in front of each. On the left of the road is a
neatly constructed mendong. The whole village is inhabited by clerks,
copyists, painters, and artisans from Tashilhunpo, most of whom get
allowances (pod) from Labrang. Cattle (jo) are plentiful in the
village, and as we passed, a few yaks with pack-saddles on their backs
were being led off from the village by two tall, savage-looking men
dressed in goatskin gowns (bokhu). The old people sat in their
doorways, warming themselves in the sun, and a caravan of yaks and
donkeys had halted at the chorten just outside the village.
We passed by Perong shavea, a group of hamlets, in the midst of which
is a little garden and a willow grove; then by the village of
Deki-rabdan; and when two miles from Tashi-gyantsa we reached the large
village of Khara Tedong, the chief of which is a Dahpon (general),
lately dismissed from a command at Gartok, near Rudok. Judging from the
outward appearance of the houses, the village is prosperous. Passing
the villages of Sunapara and Sarsha, and leaving Doring and Semaron on
our right, we came, after two miles, to the Num chu, now a nearly
dried-up stream, which comes down from the mountains to the north-west
of Nartang, which border the plateau-like valley of Chyugpu shung. A
little to the east of this stream is the large village of Gyatso-shar,
composed of a dozen hamlets forming two or three groups.
At 5 p.m. we reached the village of Chyang chu, about a quarter of a
mile from the Num chu, belonging to our friend the minister. To the
east of the hamlet is a little garden, and in it a small house called
Lobding; here the minister spends a few days during the autumn
holidays, and takes the baths. Chyang chu is the birthplace of the
Tung-chen, and we put up in his house, at the gate of which were
chained two big mastiffs. Two servants assisted us to alight from our
ponies, and two held the dogs back while we walked in. The headman of
the village, the Deba Shikha, [117] received us, and recognized me as
an old acquaintance. We were conducted to the central room of the upper
story, where we found two stuffed seats (bu-dan) spread for us. The
room, though spacious, was dark and dusty, and a heap of yak-hair bags,
resembling Indian gunnies, filled a corner of the room. My servant,
Lhagpa-sring, spread my khamba rug on the seats, and busied himself
fetching our bags and traps from the courtyard. The Deba presently
arrived, and begged us to refresh ourselves with tea and chang. Lhagpa,
looking with peculiar eagerness at the maid-servant who was pouring
chang in Ugyen’s cup, winked at her to fill his cup from her bowl, but
to his disappointment she turned away; but shortly after another maid
appeared with a large bowl, and poured out wine to the servants. Then
the Deba’s wife, with a very pretty jug in her hand, came to serve me,
but I declined. After a few minutes dinner was served in tin-lined
copper dishes resembling salad-bowls, the first course consisting of
minced mutton and tsamba. This was followed by minced mutton and
vermicelli, the Deba waiting upon me himself, to show me the attention
due to a guest from a distant country.
After dinner the Tung-chen, who had taken his meal in a separate room,
led me to his mother’s room, where old lady Angla [118] and the Deba’s
son, Damdul, were sitting around a blazing fire in a stove (jalang).
The old lady had seen upwards of eighty summers, and her hair was snowy
white. I joined the party, which was shortly added to by the entrance
of several other members of the household, and we sat drinking tea and
talking of the sacred cities of India, of Vajrashena, Varanasi, and
Kapilavastu, and the state of Buddhism in modern India. Angla sighed
repeatedly when she heard that all their sacred places in India were
now in ruins. I then gave her a short history of ancient India and
Tibet, which delighted the whole party, and the Tung-chen expressed
himself highly pleased with my narrative. Before taking leave for the
night of my kind host, I presented the Tung-chen with a couple of
rupees, and his mother with one. They very reluctantly accepted them,
saying, however, that as it was their duty to please me, they would not
deny me the pleasure of making them presents. Lhagpa led me to my bed,
which was spread in a corner of the room where we had dined; and the
Deba, coming in to see if I was comfortable, found my wraps rather
light, and brought me two thick blankets, in which my servant wrapped
me up.
December 26.—The Deba has a dozen jomo and cows yielding plenty of
milk. A jomo yields four times the quantity of milk which a cow or
female yak gives. The di yak cow, which pastures on mountain-tops,
yields ordinarily two seers of milk a day, is not much prized, though
yak milk is both sweet and wholesome; but the Tibetans value very
highly the jo, which is, besides a good milker, most useful in
husbandry.
The women of the house were up by four and busy milking and churning.
The village looked from afar like one big house, but it is in reality
composed of a number of houses, each with a courtyard in front. The
place is vulgarly called the “Anthill” (Dog tsang [119]), on account of
the great number of serfs inhabiting it. After breakfast, which
consisted of boiled mutton, minced radish, and pa-tug, or balls of
flour cooked in mutton broth, we mounted our ponies and started off.
To the south-west of Gyatsho-shar [120] is the plateau of Chyugpu
Shung, dotted with numerous hamlets, chief of which is Lhena djong.
About two miles from Chyang chu is Norgya Nangpa, with numerous hamlets
surrounding it, and one mile and a half to the east of Norgya, where
the valley approaches the edge of the mountains to the south, is Kena,
[121] composed of a dozen hamlets. The houses of Kena are well built
and prosperous looking, the door-frames and windows showing
considerable taste, and the walls of most of them painted with long
blue and red stripes, the favourite colours of the Tibetans. From Kena
the mountains of Pankor-shornub, [122] notorious as a lair of brigands,
were clearly discernible, and far to the east, across the Nyang chu, we
could just discern the village of Sanga-ling. At Kena we crossed, by a
culvert some fifteen feet long, an irrigation canal which comes down
from Nyang chu. From this point our way lay over a barren plateau more
than two miles broad; in the upper part of it are several villages, in
the largest of which is the Shalu monastery. A little above the
junction of the Shalu with the Nyang chu stands the hamlet of Chuta
Chyangma, three or four dilapidated mud hovels, the ground everywhere
overgrown with thistles and briars. Here, we were told, the Grand
Lama’s [123] camels are pastured in winter. The Nyang chu flows here in
several channels, and some cranes were seeking for food in the ice
along the banks.
Going south-eastward for nearly two miles and a half, we reached a
fertile tract of land, in which stand the villages of Panam-gang,
Jorgya, Pishi, Penagangdo, and Natog, [124] which, we were told,
belonged to Hamdang Kam-tsan of Tashilhunpo. At Jorgya, which belongs
to the Djongpon of Pagri, the same who stopped Sir Richard Temple near
Chumbi, there is an irrigation canal running from the Nyang chu, and on
its bank is a beautiful garden bordered with poplars, willows, and
other fine trees. Its walks are tastefully laid out, and the
two-storied building in its centre is the finest one this side of
Tashilhunpo. In the principal lane of this village is a deep well about
four or five feet in circumference at the mouth, and a number of women
were drawing water from it in sheep’s paunches.
A short distance beyond Jorgya we came to Pishi Mani Lhakhang in a
grove of poplars and willows, with a large orchard and several hamlets
close by. This place, which belongs to the Pishi Deba, is famous for
its manufacture of a superior quality of serge and broadcloth called
unam. [125] At the entrance to the Mani Lhakhang, a chorten-shaped
edifice, are rows of drum-shaped prayer-wheels. [126] Five furlongs
farther on we passed through Panam-doi, [127] and two miles beyond this
place we came to the village of Taugang (or Tagong). The trail—for
there is no regular road—then led by Patsal, Belung, to Penjang, from
which village we could see, on the hillside beyond the Nyang chu, the
large monastery of Kadong. We were now in the district of Panam, [128]
said to be very fertile, and to this the numerous hamlets scattered
about give testimony. A mile to the south of Tagong we came to
Tashigang, around which there is no vegetation, not a blade of grass
nor a tree, nothing but sand and gravel. Here we were to spend the
night. We were kindly received by an old lady, Angputi by name, and
shown by the servant up a flight of stone steps to the top floor, where
rugs were spread for us. Angputi had a headdress (patug) studded with
flawed turquoises and faded coral; she had worn it, she said, for
nearly twenty years, and purposed leaving it as a legacy to her second
son. Shortly after we were seated, her daughter, a nun who had lately
arrived on leave from her convent, brought us a kettle of tea and two
wooden bowls of tsamba. [129] The Tung-chen was given the room the
minister uses when travelling along this road. It was provided with
curtains, silk-covered ceiling, some nice tables, and had in it several
volumes of Yum scriptures, [130] a small chapel, two dozen bells,
oblation cups, a sofa-like altar, and a number of pictures. The rugs in
this room were made of the finest Panam wool, and were the best
articles of furniture in the house. After drinking tea, the hostess
brought me some boiled and dried mutton, tsamba, and tea. This kind of
present is usually offered to guests on their arrival in a house, and
is called solichi, [131] or “first show.”
December 27.—Leaving the Tashigang valley, we came to the foot of the
range which here borders the left bank of the Nyang. Two and a half
miles to the south-west (east?) there is a precipice called Ritong,
where some twenty years ago two generals of Lhasa were murdered by the
usurper Gadan Gyahu. At this point we obtained a fine view of the fort
of Panam, of Gontai, of Takar, Palri, [132] and various other
monasteries. Up to this point the river banks are overgrown with furze,
brambles, and various thorny plants of which it is said camels are very
fond.
Two miles to the west (east?) of this place we came to a large village,
called Tsog-chi, [133] with an imposing castle, formerly the residence
of several noted generals, but now the property of one of the chief
civil officers (Dung-khor [134]) of Lhasa. Close by is Dukpa-nagpa,
formerly a town of Sorcerers or Nagpa, [135] but now mostly in ruins,
and inhabited by only a half-dozen families.
A mile and a half farther on we came to Norpa khyung-djin (“Eagle’s
Gem” [136]), where there was once an important lamasery of the Karmapa
sect. Its ruins crown the hilltop, and the village, of a hundred
houses, is scattered along the slope and the base of the hills. Near
this place is Nembotong and Pangang. [137]
In the upland near Taimen, [138] a hamlet of three huts, where the wind
that sweeps the broad plateau on which this place is built has drifted
the sand in long waves, are the villages of Phola and Wangdan. The
former place is the birthplace of King Miwang, and the latter is noted
for the excellence of its rugs. Due south from Taimen, and at the head
of the broad valley which opens between that place and Norpa
khyung-djin, is the Gingu la, over which a trail runs to Retoi, or
Upper Re, near Iago, and also the fort of Darchung djong. [139]
A little more than a mile in a southerly direction from Taimen brought
us to Shar-chyog Aniung, also called Isa. [140] The poplar and willow
groves around it give it a most prosperous appearance. Here we overtook
a monk of the Dongtse monastery, sent by the minister to fetch him some
books from the Kahdong gomba, near Panam djong. His tall, lithe frame,
but poorly covered with torn raiment, his curious boots and headdress,
and the bundle of incense-sticks slung like a quiver across his back,
evoked smiles from our party as he walked swiftly along, keeping pace
with our ponies. Across numerous frozen irrigation ditches, and through
various little hamlets of three and four houses, the road led us by
Taling, Dao-targe, [141] and Pangri, to the village of Nesar, where
live some twenty families. Just before reaching this place a mad dog
ran by, and though it bit an old man and several donkeys, the Tung-chen
would not let me shoot it. Nesar has, on the hillside above it, a
neatly built temple and a number of small towers, the latter sacred to
the sylvan goddesses or Mamos. The images of Shenrezig and Padma
Sambhava are painted on the walls of its mani lhakhang and on the
towers on the hill. A little beyond this village we fell in with four
Khambas, each armed with a long, straight sword, who were
unquestionably highwaymen. Their dress and features showed them to be
natives of Gyarong, in Markham, in the eastern part of Tibet. [142]
At 5 o’clock we arrived at Dongtse. [143] The monastery where the
minister was residing was on a rocky eminence some 300 feet above the
village. After walking up several flights of stone steps, we reached
the gateway in the now partly ruined wall of the monastery. Near this I
was welcomed by the minister’s page, and led to the eastern room of his
master’s apartments, which had been set apart for my use. Before we had
finished drinking tea a message came calling me to the minister’s
presence. With two scarves and a couple of rupees in our hands, we
proceeded to the drawing-room, and approached his holiness with
profound salutations. He touched our heads with his hand, and returned
us the scarves we had in the first place presented him, tying them
around our necks. His holiness graciously inquired after our health,
and asked if we had not suffered great privations and hardships on the
way. We gave a brief account of our troubles in the snows and of our
miraculous escape at Tashi-rabka. “By the grace of the Three Holies,”
[144] I added, “we have overcome all difficulties, and now our delight
is boundless in being able to present ourselves at last at your
Holiness’s feet.” The minister expressed his regrets at our sufferings
and his pleasure on our safe arrival after an absence of three years.
He had to go to prayers, but before leaving he gave orders that all
proper attentions be shown us. Large dishes of biscuits, bread, fruit,
and meat were then placed before us, and tea was poured into our cups
from the minister’s own pot, as a mark of his special favour.
December 28.—After we had finished taking tea the page Ka-chan Gopa
called us to the minister’s presence, to whom we gave a detailed
account of our journey. After listening with attention, he observed,
“Pundib la, I fail to see why you chose such a dangerous route as that
by the Kangla chen and Tashi-rabka, for you had the passport issued to
you three years ago by which you were permitted to return to Tsang by
way of Khamba djong. Did not the officials at that place treat you well
when you passed there on your way back to India?” I replied saying that
I had feared that difficulties might have been raised by the Sikkim
Durbar at the instance of the Phodang lama, who had of late been making
trouble in Sikkim. The minister again remarked that there had been no
necessity for our undertaking such a difficult and perilous journey
through the Tingri djong country, when we had the Grand Lama’s (Panchen
Rinpoche’s) passport authorizing us to cross the Lachan pass, which was
very easy and free from snow. After a short conversation he retired to
his contemplation room (oratory).
December 29.—We had an interview with the minister in the Nihog [145]
on the roof of the Tsug-la-khang, over which a canopy had been spread.
His holiness said that since last I had been to Tibet he had composed
two large volumes on the history of the philosophical schools of Tibet,
and that they were now being stereotyped at the Namring monastery. He
showed us the manuscript of the second volume, and read us extracts
from it.
December 30.—After breakfast Ugyen-gyatso and I went to make obeisance
to the deities (choi jal), carrying with us a bundle of incense-sticks,
two tankas’ worth of clarified butter, and about a dozen khatag, to
present as offerings to the gods. Descending a steep ladder, we came to
the lobby of the congregation hall (du-khang) of the Tsug-la-khang. The
portico faced eastward; its painted wooden pillars had capitals most
fantastically and picturesquely carved, the walls painted in fresco,
with relief images of the sixteen Sthaviras (Naten chudug [146])
gorgeously coloured, but of a much lower style of work than what is
seen in India, though the thick coat of varnish which covered them hid
their defects, when not examined too closely.
The most remarkable part of the building was the floor made of pebbles,
nicely set and smoothly beaten to make a glossy surface. [147] The
du-khang is about 25 feet long and 20 broad; the images of the gods
were arranged on a beautifully carved wooden and metal altar along the
north and south-west side of the building, the principal ones occupying
niches. Most of the images were very old, and of gilt-copper, called
ser-zang (“gilt-copper”), and had been made with much skill. The image
of the Lord (Jovo) Buddha had been made, the Tung-chen told me, by a
great Indian Buddhist in imitation of the great image of Shakya tuba at
Lhasa. [148] The founder of the monastery, Je Lha-tsun, once prayed
that the gods might send him a skilful artist to make images for the
newly built lamasery; and shortly afterwards an Indian visited Dongtse,
made this image, and then returned to India. The Tung-chen, when he had
told me this, smilingly asked me if I was not a reincarnation of this
Indian Buddhist, and I felt proud to hear of my countrymen being so
highly admired and venerated. Ugyen-gyatso prostrated himself before
every one of the images, and touched with his head their feet or body,
and I showed my veneration for these sacred shrines by touching with my
head their right hand, to thus receive their chyag wang (blessing). My
companions muttered mantras and made prayers to them, while I felt
reverential gratitude to the Supreme Ruler alone, whose merciful
providence had brought me safe thus far.
The roof of the du-khang is supported by two rows of pillars of wood,
on the artistically constructed capitals of which hang shields and
quivers full of arrows, the arms of the Dharmapalas, [149] with which
they protect Buddhism against demons and heretics. From the ceiling of
the hall hang rich China brocades, with dragons magnificently
embroidered on them in gold and silver. Among the various pictures seen
here, the most interesting is that of the first Dalai lama,
Lobzang-gyatso, in which he is portrayed receiving the kingdom of Tibet
from the Mongol conqueror, Gushi Khan. His prime minister, the
celebrated Desi Sangye, is seated on his left, and is thanking the
magnanimous and liberal prince for his munificent gift on behalf of his
thrice holy master. I was also shown the dais reserved for the
minister. Opposite it, and at the top of the second row of seats
reserved for the monks, is a chair three feet high, on which the head
lama of the monastery sits during service. There is accommodation for
about eighty monks in this hall, and I was told that service is held in
it daily, at which most of the monks are present. They receive a
monthly allowance of sixty pounds of barley from the church endowment
fund (labrang gzi). This they parch and grind themselves, and bring a
little supply of it daily with them to the hall in a small bag, to eat
with the tea, which is given them three times during each service, and
is furnished from the church stores (labrang djo). On returning from
the choi jal, I was called to the minister’s, whom I found seated on a
satin-covered cushion in the shade of a nyi-hok on the roof of the
third story of the chief temple of the Tsug-la-khang.
His page (shabdung), [150] Ka-chan Gopa, placed a cup of tea before me,
together with some tsamba, meat, and twisted sugar-biscuits. The
minister raised his cup to his lips, and graciously said, “Drink,
Pundit, please” (Pundib la, sol ja nang). I at once drank a third of my
cup, as etiquette requires, and every time he drank I also took a sip.
He made inquiries respecting the lithographic press and the various
other articles which I had brought to present to him, and which were
now on the way to Tashilhunpo. After dinner he showed me a work he was
writing on history, rhetoric, astrology, and photography. The latter
section he had composed from notes I had furnished him, in 1879, from
Tassinder’s ‘Manual of Photography,’ and I was delighted to see the
diagrams he had drawn to represent the various photographic apparatus I
had then left with him. He afterwards read to me an account of the
ancient controversies between the Brahmans and Buddhists of India.
While we were thus engaged the page informed him that the Dahpon [151]
Phala and Kung Chyang-chan were approaching Dongtse, so we went to the
top of the fourth story of the Dongtse choide to see them arrive. The
Dahpon being the chief of Dongtse, the monks had to show him due
respect. When the party got near the foot of the hill on which the
choide stands, two monks in full canonicals blew two long copper
hautboys (horns?), two others played on a clarionet-like instrument
called gya-ling; and when the party came to the grove, or linga, in
front of the castle, the Chya-dso-pa [152] received them with his
band—a gong and two tambourines. The Daphon and his friend rode
spirited mules gaudily caparisoned with brocades and tinsel. They were
preceded by five sowars, and followed by an equal number, all carrying
lances with pennants at their points. The minister told me that of the
four Daphons, or commanders of forces in Tsang, two are ordinarily
stationed at Shigatse, one at Gyantse, and one at Tengri.
December 31.—I was anxious to take a trip to Gyantse, which Ugyen said
was only eight miles distant, and could be reached in two hours. He
dissuaded me, however, saying it would not be prudent, as that place is
frequented by Bhutia traders from Darjiling and Phagri. At nine I was
called in to the minister’s, and read a few sentences of English from
the ‘Royal Reader No. 1’ with him. After this I asked to be allowed to
visit the great temple of Gyantse, called the “Palkhor choide.” “If you
want to visit Gyantse,” he replied, “I will arrange it for you; but you
must bear in mind that the people of that town are not good. They speak
much, and are given to spinning a great deal out of a little. I will
have the Tung-chen take you there.” Ugyen-gyatso then asked if he might
go there, as he wanted to buy me some blankets; and having obtained the
minister’s authorization, he left at noon.
January 1, 1882.—For about half an hour the minister practised writing
the Roman characters on a wooden slate (chyang-shing) about two feet
long and ten inches broad. A little bag of powdered chalk was tied to
it; and when the slate had been washed and dried, the minister rubbed
the chalk-bag lightly over the board, and thus covered it with a thin
white film. In this he scratched letters with a steel style about a
foot long. I told him of the slates we had in India—how much more
convenient and neat they were than his rude contrivance. He smiled and
said, “My chyang-shing is a very nice one; even the great ministers of
China use the like; [153] but they are not clean. And if you can get me
a couple of your Indian slates from Calcutta, I shall be much obliged.”
January 2.—In the morning preparations were made for a grand reception
of the Dahpon Phala and Kung Chyang-chan, the Tsipon. [154] All the
furniture of the room we occupied was replaced by choice articles from
the minister’s storeroom. Silk drapings and curtains were hung in the
waiting-room and lobby, beautiful silk cushions were spread in the
minister’s drawing-room, and its ceiling made resplendent with a
covering of orange-coloured Chinese brocade. Artistically worked
dragons appeared everywhere—on the ceiling draperies, on the curtains,
and even in the carpets. Handsome dining-tables, three feet by eighteen
inches, and two feet high, were placed before each cushioned seat. The
minister’s seat was placed as usual before a gilt chapel (niche), and
three feet above the floor, on his right hand, were seats, two feet
high, for his two guests, and to his left two other cushioned seats,
about eighteen inches high, for their sons. Pretty china cups, painted
wooden and gilt metal bowls, were set on the tables, and all the
curiosities and ornamental objects the minister had here with him were
conspicuously displayed. On the corner of his table was the beautiful
stereoscope I had given him in 1879, with some two hundred slides, and
in the middle of the table a calendar-watch and some toys I had
recently presented him. Different kinds of Tibetan and Chinese dainties
were arranged by the head cook, under the Tung-chen’s directions, and
the minister personally supervised the arrangement of the seats and the
decorating of the room. When all was ready I went on to the roof to see
the procession arrive. On both the roads leading to the monastery from
Dongtse the monks were waiting, bearing a dozen or so flags and musical
instruments—two flageolets, a pair of brass hautboys (horns?), or
dungchen, two tambourine-like drums, the same number of bells, and a
gong.
At 1 o’clock the Dahpon and his friend, the Tsipon, together with their
sons, arrived at the Dongtse choide, escorted by the Chya-dso-pa. They
were very simply dressed in silk robes, Chinese jackets, soft yellow
woollen hats, velvet boots, and silk trousers; from their right (left?)
ear hung long earrings. [155] The Dahpon appeared to be about thirty
years old, the Tsipon a little older.
Arriving before the minister, they thrice prostrated themselves, each
time touching their foreheads with their joined palms. The minister
touched their heads with the palm of his hand and blessed them, and
then they presented him with two pieces of red English broadcloth and a
handful of silver coins each.
I was surprised to see such powerful and wealthy chiefs kotow before
the minister; but great is the triumph in this country of the Church
over the laity, and the greatest ministers of state fall down at the
feet of the incarnate lamas!
Dinner was served with great ceremony. As soon as the minister had said
grace, all fell to with chopsticks and spoon, and partook of each
succeeding course in profound silence. After dinner, tea was served,
when at last the silence was broken, conversation began, and the guests
were shown the minister’s curios, the watches and the stereoscopic
views especially interesting them.
In the evening there was a review in the pleasure grove, or linga, by
the commander of the militia, when exercise in musketry, running,
archery, etc., took place in the presence of the two dignitaries.
January 3.—After tea I was asked to read English with the minister. He
transliterated the English words phonetically, but did not take the
trouble of spelling them, observing that his ordinary duties left him
hardly any time to devote to study. He intended asking the Grand Lama
to relieve him for a time from his numerous duties in connection with
the Church, when he hoped to be able to apply himself assiduously to
the study of English.
Breakfast was now brought in, and consisted of a kind of pot-herb,
called pa-tsal, [156] cured in the cold draught, potatoes, and
radishes, which had been kept in sand underground. I asked the minister
if I might go to visit the Palkhor choide of Gyantse with the Tung-chen
on the morrow; and having obtained his consent, two ponies were ordered
to be ready for an early start.
January 4.—The ponies were ready at an early hour, and after receiving
from the minister a few khatag to present to the deities of the Palkhor
choide, the Tung-chen and I rode off.
Our way lay across fields watered by the Nyang chu. The Nyang chu
valley is one of the richest in Tibet, and extends from Shigatse to
about 15 miles beyond Gyantse, a distance of from 60 to 70 miles, and
has an average breadth of 10, every inch of which is cultivated. Its
great natural fertility, and its being so very favourable for the
growth of different kinds of millet and pulses, has given the whole
district the name of Nyang, or “land of delicacies,” and the river
which fertilizes it has been called Nyang chu, [157] or “the river of
delicious water.”
Flocks of wild geese and ducks were swimming on the river, near the
bank of which our road now and then led us, and long-billed cranes were
stalking along searching for food. From the bushes of furze and other
thorny plants with which the river banks were overgrown, hares [158]
leaped out and made off towards the mountain recesses, and beautiful
little birds, probably a variety of kingfisher, were seen fishing in
the stream—but the Tung-chen said that though the bird was pretty to
look at, it emitted a most offensive odour from its body.
Passing a few villages, we came to a stream flowing into the Nyang chu
from the south. Here were two flour-mills, of which we had seen at
least a dozen since leaving Shigatse. They were very large, and the
stones four times the size of our ordinary millstones in India. In the
village of Gyabshi the people seemed very industrious, the women
engaged with their looms or spinning, the men tending sheep or
collecting fuel from the fields.
When we came within two miles of Gyantse, our attention was attracted
by the Tse-chan monastery, the entire north-eastern slope of a hill
being closely covered by its whitewashed houses, so that it looked like
a great castle of towering height. The Tung-chen told me that this
lamasery was nearly eight hundred years old, and that the great
reformer Tsong-khapa had spent several years here in the study of
metaphysics (tsan-nyid). I was also shown the Tinkar la, by which
herdsmen travel to the foot of the Lachan pass of Sikkim, this being
the shortest route between Gyantse and the latter country.
A few minutes’ ride brought us to the bridge over the Nyang chu, a
light temporary wooden structure, about twenty feet long and six feet
broad, built on the ice which covered the stream.
We entered the town of Gyantse, [159] passing beside a long mendong, on
either side of which were dwellings, and by a narrow lane reached the
gate of the Gandan Chakhang on the left side of the main street, and
facing the great chorten of the Palkhor choide.
The Kunyer, or priest, of the Gandan Chakhang, an acquaintance of the
Tung-chen, greeted him, and, showing him to a seat, had tea served us.
We sent the groom, Lhagpa-rida, to the market to buy arrack, and he
there met Ugyen, and told him of our arrival.
As we were eating our meal several pilgrims chanting sacred hymns
entered the chapel of the Lhakhang, and added some spoonfuls of butter
to the lamps. Some of them stared at Ugyen and me, observing to one
another that we were strangers from beyond the Himalayas, taking Ugyen
for a Sikkimese, but not being able to decide whether I was from Ladak
or Besahir.
Ugyen told me of his movements since leaving me at Dongtse on December
31.
He had left Dongtse at noon on December 31, riding one of the
Tung-chen’s ponies. On the road he met some of the muleteers of the
Dongtse Dahpon Phala, who were proceeding to Lhasa with barley, butter,
and meat for the use of Bangye-shag, Phala’s residence.
Ugyen inquired of them about the state of the road to Lhasa, and the
best time to make the journey there. They told him that winter was the
best season to travel to Lhasa, for then there was no rain, and one
could easily ford the streams and get across the Tsang-po; moreover,
feed was cheap, and meat, barley, and wine obtainable everywhere.
The following day (January 1, 1882) Ugyen visited the Gyantse tom. This
market and the town generally are inferior to Shigatse in importance
and in the variety of articles for sale. There were people selling
Calcutta and Chinese goods of very inferior quality. He saw fifteen or
twenty Nepalese shops and half a dozen pastry shops kept by Chinese.
The tom (or market-place) is the property of the Palkhor choide, the
great monastery of Gyantse, and contributes largely to its maintenance.
The monastic authorities also collect rents from the shops in the
vicinity of the tom, which do not belong to either the Government or
landholders (gerpas). The barley for sale was inferior to that of
Shigatse, as was also the chang, which was, however, cheaper than
there; and butter and mutton were in larger quantities than at the
latter place.
The market only lasts for three hours daily, opening at 10 a.m. Ugyen
here saw, for the first time, women selling fresh meat and dried
carcasses of sheep and yaks. At Shigatse they never take part with the
men in this business. [160] Some of these women have amassed much
wealth by this profession, and wear rich headdresses (patug) thickly
studded with pearls, amber, and turquoises.
Returning to his lodgings, Ugyen made the acquaintance of a lieutenant,
or Dingpon, named Nyima tsering, who was putting up in the same house.
Ugyen plied him with chang, and when he had become very jolly over it,
he questioned him about the military arrangements of Gyantse. The
Dingpon stated that there were ordinarily 500 Tibetan soldiers
stationed here. This force was divided into two battalions under two
Rupon. Under each Rupon were two captains (Gyapon) and four
lieutenants, or Dingpon. The commander, or Dahpon, of the Gyantse
troops was Tedingpa. Besides these troops there are 50 Chinese soldiers
under a Chinese official called Da-loye, [161] and the native militia.
The troops both at Gyantse and Shigatse are under the inspection of the
Chinese paymaster (Pogpon) of Shigatse. Nyima tsering told Ugyen that
the Tibetan soldiers were very poorly paid by the Government. The
Emperor of China contributes towards their maintenance five rupees per
man a year, and the Government of Tibet gives them forty pounds of
barley per man a month, but no pay in money, on the ground that they
are furnished by the landholders at the rate of one soldier for every
kang [162] of land.
The Dingpon and Gyapon receive pay at the rate of thirteen srang and
twenty-five srang a year from the imperial treasury, but no more
rations from the Tibetan Government than the soldiers.
The Emperor allows Chinese soldiers serving in Tibet a family allowance
of six srang a month and sixty pounds of rice per head as subsistence
allowance, in addition to their monthly pay of six srang. [163] On the
next day (January 2) Ugyen surveyed the town and its great monastery,
the Palkhor choide. A stone wall nearly two miles and a half long
surrounds the town. He estimated its length, by means of his
prayer-beads, to be 4500 paces. [164] At each pace he dropped a bead
and muttered om mani padme hum, and the good people of Gyantse who
accompanied him in his circumambulation (lingkor) little suspected the
nature of the work he was doing. When he reached the foot of a mendong
called Gojogs, and situated to the north of the Djong, he took the
bearing of the Tse-chan monastery, one of the most ancient religious
establishments of Tibet. It bore south-west, and was nearly three miles
from him. To the north of Gyantse he saw Ritoi gomba, a cloistered
lamasery with five or six long houses, each with a large number of
cells. To the south-south-east of Gyantse djong is the road to Pagri,
in the direction of the Nia-ni monastery and the Niru chu, one of the
principal feeders of the Nyang chu, which drains the northern glacier
of the Chumo-lha ri mountain. To the north-east of Gyantse the Nyang
chu is visible for a great distance, and Ugyen conjectured from its
course that it came from the snow-clad Nui-jin kang-sang mountains,
which stretch out to the north and north-east. On the uplands to the
north of Gyantse, and some three miles away, is the Choilung gomba.
The Chinese cemetery Ugyen found situate at the foot of the hill on
which the Djong stands, a little above the high-road to Lhasa, and some
three miles from the town. He counted three hundred tombs, some of
which appeared very old and dilapidated, but a few quite new.
The castle or Djong of Gyantse stands on the top of a hill nearly 500
feet above the town. It is very strong, and was built by the famous
Choigyal rabtan who ruled in the fourteenth century over the province
of Nyang, of which Gyantse was the capital. This province was a part of
the domain of the Sakhya hierarchs. He had built a long stone-covered
way running from the Djong to the foot of the hill, by which he meant
to secure a supply of water in time of siege from the three deep wells
at the foot of the hill. Ugyen visited these wells, where
water-carriers were drawing water in hide buckets attached to a rope
about 150 feet long passing over a pulley.
The landlord of the Litophug sub-division of Gyantse told Ugyen that
about eighteen years ago the ex-Dewan of Sikkim had come here on some
State business, and had put up in the same house in which he was now
stopping. One night about fifty sinister-looking Khamba traders
suddenly broke into the house, beat him with clubs, tore his earring
out of his ear, stripped him of his clothing, carried off all his
property, and thrashed his servants and forced them to run for their
lives. Some of the robbers ran away from Gyantse, taking the Dewan’s
property, his mules and ponies; but on the following morning, when the
matter was brought to the notice of the Djongpon, the chief of the
robbers, who had stayed behind, was apprehended. He said that a year
previously the Dewan had treated him and his accomplices most harshly
during their stay at Chumbi on their way to Darjiling, exacting from
them the last pice they had in their purses, besides depriving them of
all their property to the value of upwards of Rs. 500. The Dewan lost,
in his turn, over Rs. 1000 in cash, besides jewellery, clothes, etc.
A well-informed Nyingma lama, the manager of Palri kusho’s (an
incarnate lama) estate near Panam Jong, came and put up at the house
where Ugyen was stopping. He was on his way back from Lhasa, where he
had stayed for two or three months after a pilgrimage to the Tsari
country. His master was studying sacred literature at Lhasa. He
promised to let Ugyen see the books of the Palri library, and to lend
them to him on the surety of the minister or his Chyag-dso-pa. He told
him, furthermore, that there existed two printed volumes about Choigyal
rabtan, the famous king who had founded the Palkhor choide of Gyantse,
but that these works and the history of Gyantse were now kept as sealed
works (terchoi) by the Lhasa Government. Ugyen also learnt from the
lama that in the recluses’ monastery of Lhari-zim-phug, situated on a
wild mountain to the east of Panam djong, there was a complete account
of the life and writings of Lama Lha-tsun chenpo, who had introduced
Buddhism into Sikkim. [165]
At this season of the year the climate of Gyantse is very bad, high
winds blowing daily, raising dense clouds of dust. The inhabitants
spend this time of the year in idleness, having but little to do
besides weaving and spinning.
Such was the information that Ugyen gave me to-day.
When we had finished our breakfast we went with the Kunyer of Gandan
Lhakhang to perform choi-jal at the different shrines of Gyantse. The
chorten is a splendid edifice of an unique style of architecture.
Hitherto I had been under the impression that chorten were nothing more
than tombs intended solely to contain the remains of departed saints,
but now my views became entirely changed. This chorten is a lofty
temple nine stories high. Ugyen, I, the Kunyer, Lhapa-rida, and our
servant, Lhagpa-sring, went into the enclosure and entered the shrine
with a number of pilgrims and travellers, most of whom seemed to be
from Ladak or the Changtang. In the service hall, where the priests
were assembled for religious service, hundreds of lamps were burning,
and incense-sticks were smoking so as to nearly darken the room. We
ascended at once to the top story, but the other visitors began their
circumambulation from the bottom upwards—the usual practice, though
many become so wearied going round and round that they do not reach the
uppermost story. The chorten is about 100 to 120 feet high, the top
covered by a gilt dome, the gilded copper plates of which are so thick
that they have withstood centuries of exposure to the weather. The base
of this sacred edifice is, we found by actual count, 50 paces square.
From the cupola (pumpa), immediately under the gilt dome, I had a
magnificent view of the town and monasteries and the surrounding hills
and distant mountains; their black surface, broken here and there by
some white-walled monastery, offered a singularly wild aspect.
There were inside the chorten innumerable niches filled with images of
Buddhas and saints, and in visiting the various chapels we were
required to do so walking from left to right, for this is the Buddhist
usage.
On the first floor we were shown the statue of Choigyal rabtan, under
whose benign rule Gyantse became famous, and who gave a fresh impulse
to Buddhism and literature. The Kunyer of the chorten touched our heads
with the sword of this illustrious monarch, and said that by his
blessing (jin-lab) we could triumph over our enemies and enjoy
longevity and prosperity in this world.
We were also shown two images of Dorje chang, the supreme Buddha of the
Gelugpa sect, [166] one of which was very old and of small size, the
other large and very highly burnished. Once on a time, the Grand Lama
of Tashilhunpo, visiting the chorten, touched the breast of the former
image to see if it was warm and full of life, as was popularly said. He
soon repented of his sacrilegious act, confessed his sin, and, to atone
for his wrong-doing, had made the large gilt image, which was placed
beside the old one.
Returning to the Gandan Lhakhang, we were refreshing ourselves with
copious draughts of tea, when the abbot of the Palkhor choide, with
half a dozen disciples, came to make reverence to the great image of
the Buddha in the shrine, on whose right and left were images of
Tsong-khapa and Maitreya.
The Kunyer remarked to me that I was peculiarly fortunate in having
come to Gyantse to-day, as it was the full moon, a sacred day with
Buddhists, on which day, and on the day of the new moon, the doors of
all the shrines and of the great chorten were thrown open to the
public.
After an hour’s rest I went with the Tung-chen and Ugyen to visit the
Palkhor choide. Its grand “temple of learning” (tsug-la khang) is a
splendid and lofty edifice, the hall lighted by one thousand lamps. On
three sides—the north, east, and west—are high niches, in which are
huge images of the Buddha and Bodhisattvas. The image of the Buddha is
made of copper, heavily gilt. Five hundred monks were engaged in divine
service, and some two hundred more were occupied reading the sacred
scriptures. No one lifted his eyes to look at us, so strict is the
discipline observed here. We were conducted to the great library, the
very sight of which filled my mind with feelings of awe and reverence.
The books were all old, broad-leaved, and some two to four feet long. I
was shown the sacred scriptures, all written in letters of gold.
With what assiduity and devotion the Buddhists perform the sacred
duties of their religion, the deep interest they take in the collecting
of sacred books and images, and their zealous care in preserving them,
can only be realized by visiting such places as this. I was shown some
sculptures executed by Indian Buddhists, and some stone images similar
to what I had seen at Buddhagaya. The gilt, Indian-made images of the
Sravakas, of Saripu, Mudgalputra, Ananda, Kashyapa, and other arhats
were of exceeding interest. On each side of the image of Shakya Buddha
were four rows of monks, of twenty each, and in front of them burned
hundreds of butter-fed lamps. Behind the seats of the monks were drums,
each with a long handle; these the monks beat at intervals, and to the
accompaniment also of cymbals, brass hautboys (dung chen), and
clarionets (gyaling), they chanted hymns in deep sonorous voices.
When exhausted by continual repetitions of mantras, they refreshed
themselves with tea. Wine is not brought within the precincts of these
Gelugpa monasteries; and, in fact, all drinkers of wine among the monks
are expelled from the Gelugpa Church.
In the lobby of the monastery I found a grand collection of stuffed
animals, such as the snow-leopard, wild sheep, goat, yak, stag,
mastiff, etc., and a Bengal tiger. [167]
Returning to the Gandan Lhakhang, we visited the second and third
floors of that building, where several recluses were reading the sacred
books. I was told that when the Tashi lama visited the Palkhor choide,
he puts up in this building, and I was shown the raised seat he
occupies when here. I also learnt that successful students among the
monks of Tashilhunpo are sent here to complete their course of study
for the degree of tom-ram-pa [168] (bachelor of sacred literature),
which this lamasery alone has the right to confer.
In the portico of the building and underneath its eaves I noticed
several sorts of flowering plants in bloom.
At 3 p.m. we left for Dongtse, where we arrived before dusk. The
minister’s page met me at the foot of the hill, and led me to his
master, who made many kind inquiries about my trip. I told him how
greatly I had enjoyed it, and that, as it was a holiday, all the
buildings, the great chorten and the temples, had been open to me. “I
rejoice at it,” he replied; “and I must say the gods have shown you the
way [lha lam tan song], for it did not strike me at the time that
to-day was a holiday. If you should have put it off till to-morrow, you
would have seen but very little.”
January 5.—I called on the minister, and talked to him of my visit to
Gyantse. He told me that there were half a dozen chorten in Tibet like
the one I had seen there. There were now, he said, about six hundred
monks in the Palkhor choide, and an equal number in the adjacent
lamaseries, but in former times there were three thousand monks on the
register of the college.
Ugyen-gyatso returned to-day from Gyantse, and told the minister of his
experiences there. He had been lodged in Litophug in a priest’s house,
where the master (nabo) and mistress (namo) showed him great courtesy.
Ugyen presented the minister a dozen oranges he had bought in the
Gyantse market for one anna each. I told the minister that these
oranges came from Sikkim. “Oh, indeed!” he said. “It must be a happy
land. In Tibet no oranges mature; at Lhasa there are orange trees
producing small fruit, which do not, however, ripen.”
In the evening Ugyen told me a tale he had heard from the Chyag-dso-pa
of the Palri monastery.
Once on a time Dugpa-kunleg, a famous but eccentric saint of the
red-hat school, was staying at Khang-toi shikha, in Lhasa. He saw the
wife of his host stealing a piece of amber from the bag of a beggar who
was stopping in the house, and putting an apple in its stead into his
wallet. The saint told her it was both sinful and criminal to act thus,
and related to her the following tale by way of instruction.
In ancient India there lived two friends. One, a highlander, was a
dishonest man; the other, a lowlander, was upright and honest. One day
the two, while walking in a valley, found a bowl of gold. The lowlander
said, “Well, now that fortune has favoured us with a treasure, let us
first return thanks to the local divinities, and then divide the gold
between us.” The other rejoined, “Friend, the day is far advanced; we
can do all this to-morrow; let us rather take the bowl home now.”
To this the lowlander agreed. The next morning when he called at his
friend’s house, he found him in a corner wailing and shedding tears.
“Ah, friend,” he exclaimed, “my heart is filled with grief and shame.
How can I tell you! The bowl of gold has been miraculously changed, for
this morning I found but sawdust in it. The gods alone know what has
become of the treasure! This, I am grieved to say, will put an end to
our friendship, for it will create in your mind a suspicion against
me.” So saying he began weeping afresh.
The other, perceiving his design, said, with wonderful calmness,
“Friend, you need not cry. The loss of the treasure is not the greatest
mishap which might befall us. If we two continue friends, we should
hold ourselves very happy. Chance brought the treasure; chance has
taken it away; crying will not bring it back.”
The false friend, thinking he had gained his end, soon dried his tears.
Before leaving for his home, the lowlander said, “Friend, I have not
mentioned something to you. In my orchard most delicious mangoes and
other fruits are now ripe. I have no children to eat them; let your two
sons come home with me that I may regale them with the luscious
fruits.”
To this the other assented, and the two boys accompanied the lowlander
home. On his return to his home he bought two monkeys, to which he gave
the same names as the boys, and trained them to come when called by
their names.
After a while the false friend came to take his boys home, when the
other came out crying in a loud and pitiful voice, “Friend, my heart
bleeds to have to tell you of the misfortune which has befallen you.
Your two darlings have been changed into monkeys!” “How can I believe
such a story?” the other replied. “If you doubt it, call your sons, and
you will see.” So the father called his older son by name, and a monkey
came leaping forth, and sat upon his lap, fondling him and chattering
to him as if he were an old friend. Filled with surprise, he called his
second son, when out came the other monkey, and climbed into his lap
also.
After a while the lowlander asked his friend, “How can this have come
about? Tell me how it was that the gold was changed into sawdust; it
may help to explain this new wonder.” The other, fearing lest his sons
had been transformed into monkeys by the incantations of the friend he
had deceived, replied, “Friend, I deceived you when I said the gold had
been turned into sawdust. I have got it with me; we will divide it
equally between us. Is it true, my much injured friend, that my sons
have been transformed into monkeys?” “Oh no. How could men become
monkeys? Your sons are in excellent health, and are now in one of my
distant orchards.” So the two returned to their houses with their
respective treasures—the one with his children, the other with his
gold.
Years passed by, and the two friends were finally summoned to the court
of the Lord of death, there to have their good and bad acts weighed.
Their moral merits and their prayers were also weighed, and the balance
turned in their favour. A game of chess was then played by the gods and
the demon, in which, by means of casting dice, the merits and demerits
of gods and men are determined. In the mirror of karma (mundane
actions) the two friends saw and blushed for the evil deeds they had
done—the gold turned into sawdust, and the boys into monkeys. The Lord
of death decreed that the uplander should pass five hundred years in
hell, and that the other should for five hundred existences be born a
monkey. The punishment of the latter was the severer in that he had
stolen human beings, and said that they had been transformed into
monkeys; but because he had desired to make offerings to the gods when
the treasure had been found, the gods had pleaded for him.
Having finished his tale, Dugpa kunleg exhorted the woman to keep from
stealing, and threatened her with such-like dire punishment if she did
not desist. The woman put the amber back in the beggar’s bag, and the
saint left her house and returned to Lhobrag.
Ugyen also heard at Gyantse that much was to be learnt concerning the
ancient history of that place in a work called ‘Nyang choi jung Nyimai
odser.’ He furthermore told me that he had heard that last year a
mendicant from Gyantse visiting Sikkim gave out there that he was one
of the discoverers of sacred books of which the Nyingma history of
Sikkim makes mention. He showed what he claimed was a very ancient
manuscript volume on the propitiatory ritual of Guru Thag-mar, a
fearful deity of the Ningma pantheon. The Sikkim rajah gave him a very
warm welcome, and, in consultation with the chief lama of his Durbar,
arranged to have block prints made of the text. Recently this impostor
had returned to Gyantse, bringing with him many valuable copper and
brass articles, silk gowns, and coined money.
January 6.—The minister’s mother, accompanied by a maid-servant, came
to pay reverence to her saintly son while I was seated with him. I
could not believe that she was his mother when I saw her make three
profound salutations before the minister, touching the ground with her
forehead and receiving his blessing. She then presented him with a few
balls of butter and a khatag; and when his holiness said he would leave
for Tashilhunpo in three days, she wept bitterly.
January 7.—Early in the morning we received a message from the minister
asking us to postpone our departure for Tashilhunpo, as the
Chyag-dso-pa much wished me to accompany the minister to his house at
Kye-pa Khangsar, where he proposed staying three days.
The parents of the minister, accompanied by their youngest boy, came
again to pay their respects. The father, a quiet, respectable-looking,
elderly man, saluted me by taking off his yellow felt turban and
inquiring after my health. They kotowed before the minister, who gave
them his blessing by touching the crowns of their heads with his hand.
At 2 o’clock the minister, dressed like a Buddhist cardinal, and
accompanied by the Tung-chen, ourselves, and his domestics, entered the
grand hall of worship (du-kang), the Tung-chen carrying a bundle of
incense-sticks and some khatag. The head lama threw some grains of
barley towards the images of the deities, and recited some mantras;
then the minister, standing, recited a short prayer, and approaching
the image of the Buddha, took off his mitre and placed a khatag on it.
Then the head lama took the other khatag which the Tung-chen had
brought with him, and flung them one by one at the other images, while
the monks who accompanied him scattered flowers before them.
After this we circumambulated the monastery, and descended to the foot
of the hill, where the son of the Chyag-dso-pa, dressed in a rich
Mongol costume, was awaiting us with two spirited and richly
caparisoned ponies held by grooms, one of which the minister mounted,
while we walked the short distance which separated us from the gateway
of Kye-pa Khangsar. A band of drums, hautboys, bells, gongs, and fifes
marched before us, playing as we went through the lay town (sho) and
along a broad road lined with poplars to the gate of the Khangsar,
where the Chyag-dso-pa was standing to receive the minister. He was
dressed in a rich scarlet satin robe girded by a yellow scarf, a yellow
woollen turban, and a pair of Tartar velvet boots. His tall stature,
graceful looks, broad forehead, and uncommonly well-shaped nose, gave
him a commanding appearance. He greeted the minister with a profound
bow, and presented him a khatag, and received a blessing (chyag wang)
from the latter, who afterwards dismounted, putting his foot on a
velvet-covered stool placed here for the purpose.
The Chyag-dso-pa salaamed to Ugyen, whom he took for me; and the
latter, not taking off his hat to return his salutation (or pay his
chyam-bu, as it is called), was reminded of it in a whisper by the
Tung-chen.
We then ascended a flight of steps and entered the building. The
minister was conducted by the host to his drawing-room, while we were
led by his third son, Phuntso Yu-gyal, in company of the Tung-chen, to
the chapel, the central room on the first floor. The house was very
neatly built, with solid rubble walls and beautifully carved beams of
old poplar. There was a skylight in the centre of the roof; thick
cushions covered with Khamba rugs were placed around, and on these we
took our seats. A collation was served on little tables consisting of
Chinese cakes, buckwheat cakes, twisted sweet biscuits, and tsamba and
tea was given us by the Chyag-dso-pa’s page Pinu. After a little while
we were led into the Chyag-dso-pa’s presence, when we presented him a
khatag and a few rupees, also a khatag to his wife, Ama Tung-la, and
his daughter-in-law, Rinpoche. After dinner we were conducted to a
dormitory on the south side of the chapel, where we found three
bedsteads, and after a cup of tea we retired to rest.
January 8.—Early in the morning we asked our host’s leave to start for
Tashilhunpo, but he was most reluctant to let us go, and, having
obtained the minister’s sanction to our remaining here two days more,
we postponed our departure.
Breakfast was served by a maid-servant (shetama) and our host’s
daughter-in-law (patsa), Rinpoche, the only wife of his two sons. She
is entitled to be addressed as Chyam Kusho, though it is seldom used in
speaking to her. She is a young lady of about twenty, of modest manners
and intelligent looks. She lingered about until the servants and other
guests had left, with the evident intention of conversing with us.
Ugyen-gyatso opened the conversation by asking her to what family of
Tibet she belonged. She replied by asking him if he had ever heard of
Kusho Mankipa of Tanag. “Yes,” replied he, “if you speak of Manki, who
is the maternal uncle of the Rajah of Sikkim.” “’Tis he,” she said;
“and he died last year without my seeing him. Are you a subject of my
cousin Den Jong gyalpo [the chief of Sikkim]? Oh, how I long to see my
aunt!” And she began to weep. “It is now full three years since I came
here, and never in that time have I been allowed to visit my
fatherland. Oh, I am miserable! I have to work continuously at the
loom, supervise the workwomen, attend to the kitchen, and serve the
meals. My mother-in-law is without mercy. She thinks my frame is made
of iron. Though this family is rich, they work like ploughmen.”
She then begged Ugyen to inform the Sikkim rajah’s mother, Lha-yum
Kusho, of her trouble, and to persuade her, if possible, to take her to
Chumbi for a couple of months. I told her, by way of consoling her,
that she was a most accomplished person, married into one of the
richest families of Tsang, and might hope to soon be a mother, so she
must not consider herself miserable. “Do you know palmistry?” [169] she
suddenly asked; and placing her right hand on the table, she desired me
to tell her fortune by the lines on her hand (lag-ri). I was much
embarrassed, and told her that I understood very little of this art.
Fortunately just then a servant came and called us to the presence of
the Chyag-dso-pa.
I took a seat on his right hand, and his wife, Ama Tung-la, occupied
one on his left, while Ugyen, seated a little distance off, acted as my
interpreter. The Chyag-dso Kusho began with: “In the sacred books we
find mention of Indian Punditas who laboured for the diffusion of the
enlightened religion. If you be a Pundita, as I hear from the minister
that you are, we are most fortunate to have you among us. I also learn
that you know about medicines, and I will later on avail myself of your
knowledge.” Then, calling his son, Phunsho Yugyal, he desired me, to my
great embarrassment, to foretell his fortune by the lines on his hand.
Being considered a Pundit, it was impossible for me to say that I did
not know such an essential science as palmistry. After mature
reflection I told him that although I had studied a little palmistry, I
never attached much importance to explanations it afforded of men’s
fortunes. The science was very little understood, anyhow, and, in my
opinion, it did not deserve any more attention than it had received:
nothing could be more unpleasant than a foreknowledge of one’s misery.
Human life was, albeit, full of trouble; it was for deliverance from
its recurrence that the Buddha has expounded the doctrine of nirvana.
He listened attentively to me, and seemed to think very highly of me.
He said that if he but knew how long he and his son would live, he
could devise means of preventing accidents in consultation with the
minister, for in the sacred books one is told of religious remedies by
the use of which calamities caused by devils (dé) can be averted. He
pressed me to examine his palm, and stretched it out toward me. How
could I refuse, and how could I predict falsely? So I told him that
there are certain figures and lines in the palm of the hand from which
experts in palmistry can draw indications of a long or short life. In
his palm the line of life was very long; and as to fortune, it was well
known that he was favoured by the gods.
Ama Tung-la then showed me her hand, and I said, “Ama-la, you are very
fortunate. The mother of three sons, all of them grown up and
accomplished men; the wife of a great man. What more can you want of
the gods?” She smiled at this, and said that for some days past she had
been suffering from a cough; could I give her some medicine that would
relieve her? I asked for some black pepper and rock-candy, and prepared
a powder for her.
At noon we dined with the minister and the Chyag-dso Kusho. The dishes
were prepared and served in the Chinese fashion. Chopsticks and spoons
were used. The first course was gya-tug, a tape-like preparation of
wheat-flour and eggs, cooked with minced mutton, and soup. The minister
did not eat it, as he had, in common with all lamas, taken the vow of
abstaining from eggs. The second course was rice and half a dozen
preparations of mutton curry, rice, mutton with preserved vegetables,
white and black mushrooms, Chinese green grass, vermicelli, potatoes,
and fresh shoots of peas. [170] The third course (leu, literally,
“chapter”) was buttered and sweetened rice; the fourth, and last,
boiled mutton, tsamba, and tea. The Tung-chen told me that at sumptuous
entertainments thirteen courses are usually served.
About an hour after dinner we visited Jerung la, the second son of the
Chyag-dso Kusho, who is a monk in the castle of Diba Dongtse. This
building, about six hundred years old, is built of stone of the best
quality; it faces south, and has balconies (rab-sal) provided with
shutters along each of its five stories. It is of a partly Indian,
partly Tibetan style of architecture, with a central courtyard about
100 feet broad and 200 long. Around this, on the sides, the building is
40 feet high, and has three stories, along the outer edge of which, on
the courtyard side, are rows of drum-shaped prayer-wheels two feet
high, and as much in diameter, that take the place of railings. There
are some three hundred of these prayer-barrels on the stories of the
three sides. The main building is on the north side of the court, and
is some 60 to 70 feet high. We ascended to the top story by a steep
ladder, and were there shown the gonkhang, [171] the shrine of the
guardian deities—terrible figures, among which I noticed three of
Mamos, resembling Jaganath, Balavendra, and Subhadra, of the Hindus.
There were several chapels, in each of which was a resident priest
called am-choi. On the balconies of the wings three or four old women
were weaving blankets, and at the entrance to the building a huge
mastiff was chained, who made furious attempts to rush at us as we
passed.
One hundred yards south of the castle is a garden (linga) with tall
poplars—some 80 to 100 feet high, and four other kinds of trees planted
in rows along its four walks, in the middle of which is a tastefully
built summer-house, its cornice and external decorations remarkably
pretty. One hundred yards away from it is a target for musket and bow
practice.
While we visited the linga a greyhound [172] was running about it, but
he paid no attention to us. On our way homeward we passed through the
village where, under some tall poplars, tradesmen were displaying
pottery for sale. We also saw four yellow-turbaned men, who, we were
told, were the tax-collector’s understrappers.
January 9.—While we were breakfasting Rinpoche came in, and again spoke
of her hard work and of the merciless treatment of her mother-in-law. I
asked her if her husband was not fond of her. “Oh, sir,” she said, “we
two are like one soul and body; but he is most of the time at Shigatse,
where he is the Dahpon’s steward” (Nyerpa [173]). She told me that she
had just heard that her cousin, the Rajah of Sikkim, was coming to
Tibet to get married. If his mother came with him, she could surely
persuade her to take her with her to Chumbi for a couple of months. She
also said to me that her mother-in-law ought not to have given her such
a high sounding name as Rinpoche (“the Jewel”), for it is a name given
to incarnate lamas and chiefs; but I answered, to her evident pleasure,
that Rinpoche was a most appropriate name for handsome and accomplished
women.
After this I went to the minister’s apartment for dinner. Before it was
served we washed our hands. A large copper bowl, or katora, was placed
for the purpose before the minister, who, in washing his hands, rubbed
them with a kind of wood dust called sugpa, [174] obtained from a plant
growing in Tibet, and used instead of soap.
After dinner the Chyag-dso-pa made presents to the minister, consisting
of blankets, Tibetan serge (pulo), three pieces of red, scarlet, and
yellow English broadcloth, Gyantse rugs of superior quality, Khamba
rugs, Chinese brocaded satin, spotted woollen chintz, about two bushels
of tsamba, a large quantity of buckwheat cakes, twisted sugar cakes,
loaves of bread, and three hundred tankas. The presentation of these
gifts he accompanied by profound salutations, and the minister gave him
his blessing, when he begged him to pray to the gods to make him
prosperous and happy. After this he gave presents of about half the
value to the Tung-chen, and so on, less and less, according to each
one’s rank; to me he gave two Gyantse rugs, two pieces of spotted pulo,
and a khatag. Alms were also distributed among the monks and the
minister’s menials.
When the Chyag-dso Kusho had finished making all these presents he
returned to the minister’s room, where we were with him. In course of
conversation he suggested the propriety of my presenting the Tashi lama
with an elephant. He said that two had recently been sent by the Rajah
of Sikkim to Lhasa, to be presented to the Dalai lama, one of which had
died on the way. [175] He also spoke of the superiority of Indian metal
images over those made in Tibet, and said that those made in Magadha,
and called jai-khim, were very rare in this country. “If you had
brought some of these, or of shar-li [Bengal bell-metal], or nub-li
[lower Indus valley], [176] and presented them to the minister, he
would have been infinitely more pleased than with glass and other
fragile and useless toys.”
In the evening it was settled that the minister should start for
Tashilhunpo on the morrow, and that Kusho Jambala, the Chyag-dso-pa’s
elder brother, who was suffering from ophthalmia, should accompany him,
to submit there to my medical treatment.
January 10.—We were up early, and got ready to leave for Tashilhunpo.
The Tung-chen advised me to start ahead of the minister, who would
overtake me on the road, as he travelled very rapidly, and he
furthermore let me pick out for my use the quietest pony in the stable.
We had not gone four miles when the minister and four attendants caught
up with us. We rode on together some six miles, and when we reached the
bed of the stream, now dry, which empties into the Nyang chu, we all
alighted. The minister ordered his page to bring him a basketful of
earth from a spot he pointed out. This was placed before him as he sat
cross-legged on a rug, when he muttered some mantras and made an
oblation of tsamba and water. The Tung-chen informed me that on the
last journey the minister had made this way he had at this spot fallen
from his pony, and it was supposed that some evil spirit haunting this
spot was desirous of hurting him, and so this ceremony was performed to
drive it away.
When it was over we had a light collation, the minister giving me some
dried dates and Cabul fruits, while the Tung-chen gave the others
treacle, biscuits, and tsamba.
At 4 o’clock we reached Tashi-gang. After partaking of refreshments the
minister took his seat on the roof of Ang-putta’s second story. He
called me and Ugyen up, and asked us to teach him the foreign system of
land surveying. Ugyen showed him his prismatic compass with attached
clinometer. We explained the use of these instruments, and expressed
regrets that we had no tape-measure or chain with which we could take
measurements, carefully abstaining from mentioning measuring distances
by pacing, lest he might suspect us of being surveyors, and withdraw
his protection.
He then spoke of his desire to have a sextant, various mathematical
instruments, a chest of medicines, and an illustrated work on
astronomy. Ugyen expressed his willingness to go to Calcutta to
purchase them, were it not that he could not leave me here alone, and
with my desire to see Lhasa unfulfilled. The minister replied, “That is
easily provided for. I will look after the Pundit; and as to his going
to Lhasa, why, there is every probability that the Tashi lama will go
there to ordain the Dalai lama in the fourth month (June), when it will
be possible to arrange for the Pundit’s going there also. The Shape
Rampa, and Phala are my friends; they will help him. However, we will
think of all this later on at Tashilhunpo.”
He then said there were five persons in Tsang who took interest in
science and study—the Shape Porapa, the Chief Secretary (Dung-yig
chenpo) Ka-chan Dao, the Donyer, and himself. “There are,” he added,
“many other learned men at Tashilhunpo and in various other monasteries
of Tsang, but they only interest themselves in sacred literature; they
do not care to know of the science and civilization of other great
countries such as that of the Phyling (foreigners) and India.”
The minister finally informed me that to-morrow he would visit the
Kyi-phug nunnery, about three miles off in the hills behind Tashigang.
The Lady Superior and her nuns (tsun-mo) had repeatedly begged him to
visit their convent, but he had been so pressed for time that he had
only been able to do so once in the last six years.
January 11.—The minister and his party left for the Kyi-phug convent at
7 a.m., and we set off for Tashilhunpo after breakfast. Old Kusho
Jambala was unable to keep up with us. As he followed slowly the
minister’s muleteers, his yellow-satin mitre, his spectacles, his
manner of sitting on his pony, and his tall lank figure recalled to my
mind the renowned knight of La Mancha. With his leave we rode ahead. We
saw on the way a woman sweeping the ground, and on inquiry she told us
that she was removing the thick grime which covered the ground so that
her cattle might the more easily pick up the grass. Many sheep, we were
told, die in winter on account of the ice crust which covers the grass.
At 4 p.m. we arrived at Chyang chu, where we were most kindly received
by the Deba Shikha, and lodged in the same quarters we had previously
occupied.
January 12.—After breakfast we strolled about the linga in front of the
minister’s bathing-house (cham chu). It is surrounded by a wall of
sun-dried bricks, stones, and turf seven feet high. In the south-east
corner is the snug little two-storied house where the minister passes a
few days in October. The cooking and bathing is done under yak-hair
tents pitched in the western avenue of the grove.
At 9 o’clock we set out, and were at Tashilhunpo by noon, and there
found Phurchung, who had arrived the day before from Khamba jong. The
Djongpon, who knew him, had told him that unless he came bearing a
passport from the Tashi lama or the Commander of Shigatse, he could not
let him pass the frontier. There were formal orders from the Lhasa
Government not to let any one cross the frontier, even if bearing
letters from the high officials of Labrang, who are not, however, in
charge of frontier affairs. So Rinzing Namgyal had to leave our luggage
with the Pipon of Lachan, and had gone back to Darjiling.